45 Years (2015)

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There’s a moment in 45 Years in which Charlotte Rampling’s character reaches up towards her attic door in the middle of the night, there is a breeze in the house and the bedroom door behind her creaks on it’s hinges as air whistles round the halls. It’s a perfect frame. Everything in this moment works – the performance, the direction, the sound design – and landing where it does in the film’s narrative, it is loaded with meaning, full of dread and intrigue. Now, while the rest of Andrew Haigh’s movie didn’t quite sustain that perfection, I can appreciate how good the lead-up and fallout from that moment are in order for it to be as effective as it is.

The absolute centrepiece of 45 Years are the two performances by Tom Courtenay and Rampling. Both are iconic figures in New Wave cinema in one way or another so to see them team up with Andrew Haigh for a late-career showcase of their talents is a real treat. The film’s beautiful staging and ambient tension aren’t enough to distract from it’s British kitchen-sink trappings, however. Social realism just isn’t my preferred cup-of-tea but I can still appreciate a helping when the brewing is this good. It might not become a favourite of mine, but I can see why so many people are flipping out over this thing.

Let’s hope Jesse and Celine have a better 45th anniversary than these two…

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Manos: The Hands of Fate (1966)

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Manos: The Hands of Fate is a crude, crude movie. So crude in-fact that it barely qualifies as a movie at all. Production value, technical craft and acting talent are completely absent so the only redeeming quality about this movie (aside from the unintentional comedy value) is that it’s an example of independent horror filmmaking in the 1960s. Harold P. Warren wouldn’t go on to acheive the same cult status as Herschell Gordon Lewis but somehow Manos has earned itself a loyal cult following. The fact I watched this thing on a blu-ray (!!) loaded with extra features is pretty crazy. As terrible as this film is, I can’t deny I enjoyed it. Basically the 1966 equivalent of a shitty YouTube video.

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Bridge of Spies (2015)

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The great pleasure of Bridge of Spies is watching a bunch of really talented people doing their job exceptionally well. The first hour of the movie you’re reminded that, yes, Steven Spielberg knows exactly how to direct a movie. By now he’s gotten so good at it that it’s actually hilarious how effortless he combines camerawork and editing to the point that both are beautifully invisible yet effective. Tom Hanks too shows why he has sustained a career for over thirty years with hardly any dip or sag. The guy is such a joy to observe, so warm and entertaining but never totally predictable. Working together as actor and director for the fourth time now, it’s clear Hanks and Spielberg were meant for each other. Hanks’ Capra-esque everyman shadings are perfect for Spielberg’s own optimism and inherent sentiment. People don’t tend to talk about Hanks and Spielberg the same way they discuss Scorsese and De Niro but they should. They compliment each other perfectly and when paired with the right material, the results are very special indeed.

That being said, Bridge of Spies is without a doubt the least essential of the duo’s collaborations. As I said, the film begins strong with some genuine immediacy but starts to dissolve as the plot finds new focus around the midway point. As great as Hanks is, the film really belongs to Mark Rylance who, to my eyes, might as well be a newcomer. Ofcourse I’m aware now of his legendary status as a stage actor and theatre figure but this is the first film I’ve ever noticed him in. It’s no surprise because he is given the spotlight role as Rudolf Abel. The film begins with him in one of the most engaging cold-opens of Spielberg’s career. It works so well because Rylance plays it with such understated oddness that you’re never sure what the fuck this guy’s deal is. The first half of the film is stronger because Abel is the focus and crux of all the action. As soon as he is sidelined the film feels less fascinating and more of a chore to sit through.

In the same way Lincoln occasionally felt like a tiresome history lesson, Bridge of Spies too ends up being a bombardment of scenes featuring people talking in rooms. But while Lincoln sustained interest by being a striking stylistic departure for Spielberg, this film feels far too familiar in his canon to be really engaging. The court room dashings we’ve seen in Amistad (and Lincoln), the wintery war-time tableau’s are at the centre of Schindler’s List, you just end up with an urge to see Spielberg tackle something new.

Yet these criticisms are only here because of how good the filmmaking is. If this was the work of a lesser filmmaker, it might be a career-best entry into their filmography but as it’s from arguably the greatest American director of populist entertainment it can’t help but feel slight and expected. As much as I struggled to love Lincoln I found it to be a thrilling change of pace in Spielberg’s career and wanted this film to expand on that journey. When you think about how far out of his comfort zone Hanks was willing to go in Captain Philips, his performance here ends up feeling like just another rendition of the Tom Hanks persona. But then again you have Mark Rylance who is nothing short of a revelation and the film’s real talking point.

Bridge of Spies looks beautiful and is impeccably crafted from top to bottom but it just struggles to take all of the ingredients and blend them into something really special.

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River’s Edge (1986)

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In what is surely one of the most overlooked and under-appreciated American movies of the 80s, a psychopathic teen murders his girlfriend and casually tells all his friends about it causing the group to slowly splinter and self-destruct. River’s Edge begins minutes after the murder has occurred as Samson (Daniel Roebuck) sits on a river bank next to his girlfriend’s naked, lifeless corpse and screams victoriously into the morning air. It’s an image straight out a dream and an immediately arresting one. For a film filled with a cast and imagery from 80s teen movies you have to ask yourself “where is this going?” Talk about unfamiliar territory.

River’s Edge is kind of like Stand by Me for not-pussys. That’s not to knock Stand by Me but as far as movies about teens and dead bodies go, this one is easily the darker and more complex of the two. There’s something extremely fatalistic about River’s Edge. Obsessed with death and de-saturated suburbia, it has a post-apocalyptic tinge that chronicles a generation of teen druggies and deadbeats as they stumble around their shithole of a town scoring free drugs off of a nutty Dennis Hopper or moping around look all downbeat. It’s just so bleak, man. In the process though it captures something about being a teenager that all those poppy John Hughes and hip studio movies never could – the feeling that life flat out fucking sucks. If Tyler Durden ever time travelled to the 80s and defaced a popular teen movie as he does with airline safety sheets it would probably look a lot like River’s Edge.

All of the actors are excellent, either fresh faces at their freshest or future-character actors at their most raw. Crispin Glover is the real stand-out as the haywire Layne. His performance is in total contrast to everyone else on screen, heightened to the point of cartoon and frenzied way beyond realism but somehow, within this universe, it makes sense and is actually quite a remarkable piece of work. I mean, this guy even makes Dennis Hopper look subtle. And this is in the same movie where Dennis Hopper plays an amputee ‘nam vet who spends most of his time dancing around with a sex doll! Just crazy.

I really loved this film and I’m astounded it got made. It’s one of those weird, fucked up things you come across that makes you feel thankful it exists. You watch something like River’s Edge and you just want to tell all your friends about it. This thing should be a flat out classic. An amazing slice of darkened 80s Americana that can happily sit on the same shelf films like Blue Velvet occupy. A goddamn gem of a movie. See it. Tell your friends. Just don’t kill your girlfriend in between.

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Tangerine (2015)

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I like the comparisons to Crank this movie keeps stirring up. It’s not the obvious companion piece but once someone has said it you can’t think of a better film to pair it up with. Tangerine is super kinetic and vibrant. It just keeps lunging forward and making a relentless amount of noise, usually in the form of Mya Taylor and Kitana Kiki Rodriguez’s dueling voices. It reminds me of being sat on a bus and just hearing a bunch of over-excited girls talking non-stop so loud you can’t hear yourself think but instead of wanting to shout “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” you’re somehow entertained and enamoured by them.

Both of these actresses are real discoveries and I genuinely don’t know how much of their performances is invention and reality. Part of me feels like Sean Baker just stumbled on these two one day and whipped out his iPhone (three cheers for indie filmmaking!) and followed them around for a day. Then ofcourse James Ransone pops up (three cheers for James Ransone!) and you remember “oh yeah, this is a movie with actors in it!”. Clearly this is how Baker intended the film to be perceived but the sheer life and high-octane hysteria of Tangerine owes as much to aesthetic as it does to banal every-day melodrama. It’s a perfect balancing act. As colourful and lively as a Spike Lee joint and as inclusive and emotional as the best of Almodovar. We need more films like this, which demand your attention with raised voices and wide eyes.

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Ghosts…of the Civil Dead (1988)

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This is one of those movies that just chills you to the bone. John Hillcoat’s first film is part documentary, part dystopian prison drama and part horror flick. Anchored on a script that features contributions from the great Nick Cave (as well as a fierce acting performance from Cave) Ghosts…of the Civil Dead features the same blend of myth and reality that would go on to define many of Hillcoat’s (and Cave’s) later films. Having worked backwards to this movie though, I can say without a shadow of a doubt that this is by far his most authentic and disturbing film. It shudders with absolute reality and pulsates with violence.

From the gritty faces who make up the cast to the clinical desolation of the prison location, there’s a confrontational unease from the first frame to the last. It definitely has a lot of rough edges and the pacing can be frustratingly slow but there is an atmosphere and choking sense of dread that makes it all worthwhile.

Definitely not something I’ll be in a hurry to revisit but it’s a fascinating debut full of bold ideas and an essential Australian discovery. It doesn’t seem widely available and only known by select groups (in the UK at least) which makes it feel all the more forbidden and notorious. Seek it out however you can. This is a cult shocker that really delivers.

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Blood Rage (1987)

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A typical yet fun 80s slasher movie that boasts a terrific character performance from Louise Lasser. Lasser cropped up in an eclectic bunch of films in the 80s and she is always memorable in them. Here she plays a troubled mother of an even more troubled pair of twins. One of them has just escaped a mental institution after being framed for a crime the other twin committed in their youth. As was all the rage in the late 70s and 80s, Blood Rage hangs itself on a popular holiday, in this case Thanksgiving, which acts as a nice bit of background dressing for the dysfunctional family’s descent into swaying machetes and carved limbs.

While it unsurprisingly runs through the generic slasher motions, the ping-pong narrative between the two twins – one an arrogant jock of a serial killer, the other a beaten down manchild, both played by Mark Soper – as they simultaneously try to track down and avoid each other, is very entertaining. Soper looks like the type of actor who would probably play the jock victim who gets skewered mid-intercourse in the second act of any other 80s slasher flick so it’s fresh to see him as the machete-wielding psycho here. The practical effects courtesy of future Terminator 2 FX man Ed French are great and a lot to do with why the film is even being talked about nowadays.

As I said above though, the reason this film will stick with you, if it sticks at all, is because of Lasser’s performance. Between all the nutty gore sequences and scenes of late twenties actors acting badly, we cut back to Lasser’s mother character slowly crumbling. Whether it’s sat on the kitchen floor eating the sad remains of the Thanksgiving dinner or wielding a vacuum in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, she is always doing something interesting and strange. Moments like these usually have no business in a bog-standard horror flick but the fact they are here makes Blood Rage all the more commendable.

I certainly wouldn’t have come across Blood Rage if it wasn’t for Arrow Video’s new special edition. I’m at the point now where I just buy practically everything they release. Some are good, some are bad and some are an interesting mix of the two, like this film, but they’re always worth the time. I wouldn’t say go out of your way to check out Blood Rage but if you have an appetite for this period of horror filmmaking and know what to expect, it will treat you to some surprises.

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My Dinner with Andre (1981)

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The original talking heads movie, My Dinner with Andre is impressive and revolutionary because of it’s commitment to simplicity. This is literally just a filmed conversation, albeit a very intellectual one, between two actors, Wallace Shawn and Andre Gregory, in a restaurant. The film is very tightly scripted and wonderfully performed by the two actors but even though they use their own names the characters on screen are not representative of their actual personas. This isn’t a documentary, it isn’t an interview piece, it’s a film and a very unconventional one. So unconventional in fact, that it’s banal presentation becomes quite thrilling.

When you know the concept of My Dinner with Andre and look at the running time, you wonder if the conceit can remain interesting for close to two hours. It does. The movie is like taking a big dive into a sea of words, storytelling and language. Even though you’d be hard pressed to remember every detail of the conversation once you’ve finished the film, aren’t most conversations like that? There’s something hypnotic about both these actors reeling off endless natter, I’m sure it helps that their individual voices are also pleasing and distinct. I’m a big fan of talk in movies anyway so whenever a film promotes dialogue above visuals and makes it work I’m very rarely disappointed. You really get to know these two characters and feel friendly with them by the end and sort of want to eavesdrop on their next get together, whenever that may be.

Director Louis Malle resists any temptation to spice up the film visually and relies on the same four or five set-ups for the duration of the whole conversation which in itself is a bold thing to attempt. This is the first Malle movie I’ve seen so I don’t know what his default visual setting is (though I recognise that this film is in no way representative of his key output either) but he seems happy just to sit in and present the scenario as realistically as possible. It got me thinking about Steve Jobs a film I absolutely love but can appreciate how Boyle’s zippy, cut-away heavy approach might grate on audience members who would prefer just to sit, watch and listen without having their attention forced all over the place. Sometimes the words and performances are strong enough and My Dinner with Andre is a great showcase of that.

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Long Weekend (1979)

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Long Weekend is another classic ozploitation flick that really widens your eyeballs. A feuding couple bicker and bitch with one another in the outback and their careless treatment of the wildlife is repaid by the wildlife fighting back. Birds attack, trees close in, insects feast…who needs an explanation when the results are this satisfying? Rarely will you come across two characters that demand your hate as much as these two. Seeing them get their comeuppance is truly glorious. The final twenty minutes are dialogue free and instead rely on sound and image to tell the story. It’s fierce and nightmarish but handled with real vigour. Squint hard enough and this looks a lot like better version of The Happening thirty years before The Happening even happened. Nature vs. man. Nature wins.

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Patrick (1978)

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Patrick is one of a handful of Australian horror movies I’ve been eager to watch ever since I saw the Ozploitation doc a few years back. It’s directed by Richard Franklin who also helmed the fantastic Roadgames and underrated Psycho II and written by Everett De Roche who scripted some of the most well known Australian genre movies the late 70s and early 80s had to offer. Now Patrick is an exciting thriller in the tradition of Hitchcock and early De Palma. The hook? After murdering his Mother and her lover, Patrick has regressed into a coma but seems to be continuing his rampage through telekinesis. It’s upto a young nurse to get to the bottom of Patrick’s psychosis.

That concept is full of cinematic potential and Franklin really milks it for all it’s worth. The editing is fierce and there are lots of smash-bang-wallop moments, which give the film a dangerous edge. Sometimes the concept works against the action, however, as Patrick’s primary means of communicating with our heroine is by typing words on a typewriter. So cue long scenes of the protagonist watching a typewriter clip clap away until the final message is revealed. This gets a bit tiresome, especially in the film’s climax when everything is moving fast…apart from that damn typewriter. But no matter, it comes with the territory.

I really enjoyed the film’s sick sense of humour. Powell and Pressburger favourite Robert Helpmann plays a cantankerous doctor who gets some great lines as do the other nutty patients who reside on Patrick’s ward. It has a real madhouse vibe and, as with the best telekinesis movies, has a current of psychological electricity running through it that is quite exciting. I do think the film is a bit too long and would be much tighter if it were closer to 90 minutes than 120 but it ends with an absolutely smashing jump-scare. A cool and technically efficient Aussie thriller that deserves a wider audience. Might check out the remake, hopefully the typewriter has been replaced by quicker text messages.

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