Don't be fooled by appearances. In Hawaii, some of the most powerful people look like bums and stuntmen.

The Descendants

(2011)

An odyssey of self-discovery has been a feature of Alexander Payne's previous two films, and it now feels like it has become a fully-fledged running theme. Not that his central characters necessarily come to some point of profound realisation, but they do take (physical) journeys that leave them more aware and accepting. Payne has a propensity for making deceptively palatable films, where the subject matter (as here) doesn't appear instantly amenable. Perhaps it's just the deceptively loose, easy-going style he infuses his stories with.

George Clooney's somewhat absent father has to fill the void when his wife falls into a coma. Complicating matters is the news (from the older of his two daughters) that his wife was having an affair. Gorgeous George doesn't have a huge amount of work to do to make his character appealing, as he's essential a nice guy if somewhat out of touch. But he does have the gift of making a compelling performance seem effortless.

Great supporting work too from the likes of Beau Bridges, Robert Forster and judy Greer. It's the younger performers who stand out the most, though. Amara Miller and Shailene Woodley don't hit a bum note as his daughters, while Nick Krause steals the film as space cadet Sid. You start off wanting to thump him as much as Clooney does, but by the end you've most definitely seen his better nature. Payne's next film features the great Bruce Dern in the lead, so at least there won't be another seven-year gap between projects.

****

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Do you know that the leading cause of death for beavers is falling trees?

The Interpreter (2005) Sydney Pollack’s final film returns to the conspiracy genre that served him well in both the 1970s ( Three Days of the Condor ) and the 1990s ( The Firm ). It also marks a return to Africa, but in a decidedly less romantic fashion than his 1985 Oscar winner. Unfortunately the result is a tepid, clichéd affair in which only the technical flourishes of its director have any merit. The film’s main claim to fame is that Universal received permission to film inside the United Nations headquarters. Accordingly, Pollack is predictably unquestioning in its admiration and respect for the organisation. It is no doubt also the reason that liberal crusader Sean Penn attached himself to what is otherwise a highly generic and non-Penn type of role. When it comes down to it, the argument rehearsed here of diplomacy over violent resolution is as banal as they come. That the UN is infallible moral arbiter of this process is never in any doubt. The cynicism

Now listen, I don’t give diddley shit about Jews and Nazis.

The Boys from Brazil (1978) (SPOILERS) Nazis, Nazis everywhere! The Boys from Brazil has one distinct advantage over its fascist-antagonist predecessor Marathon Man ; it has no delusions that it is anything other than garish, crass pulp fiction. John Schlesinger attempted to dress his Dustin Hoffman-starrer up with an art-house veneer and in so doing succeeded in emphasising how ridiculous it was in the wrong way. On the other hand, Schlesinger at least brought a demonstrable skill set to the table. For all its faults, Marathon Man moves , and is highly entertaining. The Boys from Brazil is hampered by Franklin J Schaffner’s sluggish literalism. Where that was fine for an Oscar-strewn biopic ( Patton ), or keeping one foot on the ground with material that might easily have induced derision ( Planet of the Apes ), here the eccentric-but-catchy conceit ensures The Boys from Brazil veers unfavourably into the territory of farce played straight.

Yeah, it’s just, why would we wannabe be X-Men?

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I can always tell the buttered side from the dry.

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Never underestimate the wiles of a crooked European state.

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Yes, exactly so. I’m a humbug.

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It’s always open season on princesses!

Roman Holiday (1953) (SPOILERS) If only every Disney princess movie were this good. Of course, Roman Holiday lacks the prerequisite happily ever after. But then again, neither could it be said to end on an entirely downbeat note (that the mooted sequel never happened would be unthinkable today). William Wyler’s movie is hugely charming. Audrey Hepburn is utterly enchanting. The Rome scenery is perfectly romantic. And – now this is a surprise – Gregory Peck is really very likeable, managing to loosen up just enough that you root for these too and their unlikely canoodle.

Dad's wearing a bunch of hotdogs.

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Farewell, dear shithead, farewell.

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Have you betrayed us? Have you betrayed me?!

Blake's 7 4.13: Blake The best you can hope for the end of a series is that it leaves you wanting more. Blake certainly does that, so much so that I lapped up Tony Attwood’s Afterlife when it came out. I recall his speculation over who survived and who didn’t in his Programme Guide (curious that he thought Tarrant was unlikely to make it and then had him turn up in his continuation). Blake follows the template of previous season finales, piling incident upon incident until it reaches a crescendo.

Now In Full Color, with a Happier Ending

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