You nicknamed my daughter after the Loch Ness Monster?

The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn Part 2

(2012)

The final finale of the Twilight saga, in which pig-boy Jacob tells Bella that, “No, it's not like that at all!” after she accuses him of being a paedo. But then she comes around to his viewpoint, doubtless displaying the kind of denial many parents did who let their kids spend time with Jimmy Savile or Gary Glitter during the ‘70s. It's lucky little Renesmee will be an adult by the age of seven, right? Right... Jacob even jokes that he should start calling Edward, “Dad”. And all the while they smile and smile.

Borrowing the trick of Harry Potter in splitting the last book in the series in two movies to make more cash (or to preserve the artistic integrity of the material, take your pick), both series have in common an action-lite part one and an epic face-off in part two. However, Twilight distinguishes itself with the usual mixture of dreadful acting, dialogue, sub-Dido songs and sluggishly banal but slightly surreal domesticity. Obviously a vampire soap opera shouldn't be dull, but this manages it for the first hour.

After Part 1's freakishly protracted disease movie, I feared the series had returned to the simply forgettable qualities of the second and third films. Sure, there were a few bright spots (Lee Pace enjoying himself as a sub-Spike vamp) and a touch of the altogether wrong with a horrifically odd CGI baby, but director Bill Condon finds himself mostly imprisoned within protracted canoodling between Edward and Bella. And clumsy voiceovers to cover the parts visual storytelling cannot reach. He tries all sorts of tricks to deflect attention, hitting the cutaways-to-nature button like an undiscerning Nic Roeg devotee. Often his choices are ultra-cheesy or just plain naff (vampire super-fast running, the slow motion love marathons of our super-sex-charged couple). And yet, what he is doing visually is always much more interesting than anything in the middle sequels, helped along by Guillermo Navaro’s lucid cinematography.

As for subtexts, who knows what the hell is going on, but it’s all ripe for analysis; what goes through Stephenie Meyer’s peculiar Mormon mind to come up with this stuff? There’s the aforementioned fixation of Jacob with a baby/child; it’s okay that he “imprinted” on her, it’s totally natural (that’s what they all say). Then there’s the now supervamp Bella, whom Edward constantly smiles over like in slightly sickly fashion; look how he empowered her and made her all she could possibly be (after nearly killing her)!

The acting is the usually mixture of wood and ham; Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattison have given perfectly respectable performances in other movies but barely register here. Taylor Lautner, of course, makes an impression for the entirely plankish reasons he usually does. You realise that some of his dialogue might be quite mockingly amusing if he wasn’t delivering it. But also that, if anyone with any range were playing Jacob, the ultra-creepy aspect of his child-bride obsession would be even more of an issue.

The rest of the cast range from model-type eye candy posing about with nary a line to speak, to a sprinkling of proper actors either looking out of place because they can act (Peter Facinelli, Billy Burke) or because they are so over-the-top (Michael Sheen). There are others, like Dakota Fanning, where you wonder that they took the gig since it certainly wasn’t for the challenge. And then there’s that sallow Jamie Campbell Bower managing to irritate as usual just by being there smirking, Edward Scissorhands clone Jackson Rathbone remaining as unnaturally immobile as ever and Ashley Greene proving she has the best hair stylist of the cast. There’s a Kurt Cobain look-a-like vampire too, but I’m not sure how intentional that was. Maggie Grace also shows up (I think I’d forgotten she was in Part 1), this time without Liam Neeson in tow.

Just as it looked like it would end as insipidly as it had continued, there’s a big scrap. The poster, surely one of the most appalling ever designed, suggested that the final confrontation wouldn’t be worth the wait. But hats-off to Condon for a highly impressive battle sequence in the last half (take note, action directors; good staging is everything, even if the stage looks like a big white fluffy stage). This is as full-on as 12-certificate decapitation-crazy movie can be, and I was cheering away as beloved characters were offed right left and centre.

And then... I knew it was too good to be true. Still, a whole extra star for the easily the most involving half hour since the first movie. There is also a fun moment where the increasingly pay cheque-orientated Michael Sheen emits a high-pitched laugh that must have sent most of this am-dram cast scurrying in alarm behind their acting coaches.

**1/2

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You guys sure like watermelon.

The Irishman aka I Heard You Paint Houses (2019)
(SPOILERS) Perhaps, if Martin Scorsese hadn’t been so opposed to the idea of Marvel movies constituting cinema, The Irishman would have been a better film. It’s a decent film, assuredly. A respectable film, definitely. But it’s very far from being classic. And a significant part of that is down to the usually assured director fumbling the execution. Or rather, the realisation. I don’t know what kind of crazy pills the ranks of revered critics have been taking so as to recite as one the mantra that you quickly get used to the de-aging effects so intrinsic to its telling – as Empire magazine put it, “you soon… fuggadaboutit” – but you don’t. There was no point during The Irishman that I was other than entirely, regrettably conscious that a 75-year-old man was playing the title character. Except when he was playing a 75-year-old man.

I just hope my death makes more cents than my life.

Joker (2019)
(SPOILERS) So the murder sprees didn’t happen, and a thousand puff pieces desperate to fan the flames of such events and then told-ya-so have fallen flat on their faces. The biggest takeaway from Joker is not that the movie is an event, when once that seemed plausible but not a given, but that any mainstream press perspective on the picture appears unable to divorce its quality from its alleged or actual politics. Joker may be zeitgeisty, but isn’t another Taxi Driver in terms of cultural import, in the sense that Taxi Driver didn’t have a Taxi Driver in mind when Paul Schrader wrote it. It is, if you like, faux-incendiary, and can only ever play out on that level. It might be more accurately described as a grubbier, grimier (but still polished and glossy) The Talented Ripley, the tale of developing psychopathy, only tailored for a cinemagoing audience with few options left outside of comic book fare.

Poor Easy Breezy.

Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood (2019)
(SPOILERS) My initial reaction to Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood was mild disbelief that Tarantino managed to hoodwink studios into coming begging to make it, so wilfully perverse is it in disregarding any standard expectations of narrative or plotting. Then I remembered that studios, or studios that aren’t Disney, are desperate for product, and more especially, product that might guarantee them a hit. Quentin’s latest appears to be that, but whether it’s a sufficient one to justify the expense of his absurd vanity project remains to be seen.

The guy practically lives in a Clue board.

Knives Out (2019)
(SPOILERS) “If Agatha Christie were writing today, she’d have a character who’s an Internet troll.” There’s a slew of ifs and buts in that assertion, but it tells you a lot about where Rian Johnson is coming from with Knives Out. As in, Christie might – I mean, who can really say? – but it’s fair to suggest she wouldn’t be angling her material the way Johnson does, who for all his pronouncement that “This isn’t a message movie” is very clearly making one. He probably warrants a hesitant pass on that statement, though, to the extent that Knives Out’s commentary doesn’t ultimately overpower the whodunnit side of the plot. On the other hand, when Daniel Craig’s eccentrically accented sleuth Benoit Blanc is asked “You’re not much of a detective, are you?” the only fair response is vigorous agreement.

You're skipping Christmas! Isn't that against the law?

Christmas with the Kranks (2004)
Ex-coke dealer Tim Allen’s underwhelming box office career is, like Vince Vaughn’s, regularly in need of a boost from an indiscriminate public willing to see any old turkey posing as a prize Christmas comedy. He made three Santa Clauses, and here is joined by Jamie Lee Curtis as a couple planning to forgo the usual neighbourhood festivities for a cruise.

So you want me to be half-monk, half-hitman.

Casino Royale (2006)
(SPOILERS) Despite the doubts and trepidation from devotees (too blonde, uncouth etc.) that greeted Daniel Craig’s casting as Bond, and the highly cynical and low-inspiration route taken by Eon in looking to Jason Bourne's example to reboot a series that had reached a nadir with Die Another Day, Casino Royale ends up getting an enormous amount right. If anything, its failure is that it doesn’t push far enough, so successful is it in disarming itself of the overblown set pieces and perfunctory plotting that characterise the series (even at its best), elements that would resurge with unabated gusto in subsequent Craig excursions.

For the majority of its first two hours, Casino Royale is top-flight entertainment, with returning director Martin Campbell managing to exceed his excellent work reformatting Bond for the ‘90s. That the weakest sequence (still good, mind) prior to the finale is a traditional “big” (but not too big) action set piece involving an attempt to…

It's their place, Mac. They have a right to make of it what they can. Besides, you can't eat scenery!

Local Hero (1983)
(SPOILERS) With the space of thirty-five years, Bill Forsyth’s gentle eco-parable feels more seductive than ever. Whimsical is a word often applied to Local Hero, but one shouldn’t mistake that description for its being soft in the head, excessively sentimental or nostalgic. Tonally, in terms of painting a Scottish idyll where the locals are no slouches in the face of more cultured foreigners, the film hearkens to both Powell and Pressburger (I Know Where I’m Going!) and Ealing (Whisky Galore!), but it is very much its own beast.

I’m the famous comedian, Arnold Braunschweiger.

Last Action Hero (1993)
(SPOILERS) Make no mistake, Last Action Hero is a mess. But even as a mess, it might be more interesting than any other movie Arnie made during that decade, perhaps even in his entire career. Hellzapoppin’ (after the 1941 picture, itself based on a Broadway revue) has virtually become an adjective to describe films that comment upon their own artifice, break the fourth wall, and generally disrespect the convention of suspending disbelief in the fictions we see parading across the screen. It was fairly audacious, some would say foolish, of Arnie to attempt something of that nature at this point in his career, which was at its peak, rather than playing it safe. That he stumbled profoundly, emphatically so since he went up against the behemoth that is Jurassic Park (slotted in after the fact to open first), should not blind one to the considerable merits of his ultimate, and final, really, attempt to experiment with the limits of his screen persona.

Of course, one m…

You're a dead tissue that won't decompose.

Collateral Beauty (2016)
(SPOILERS) Will Smith’s most recent attempt to take a wrecking ball to his superstardom, Collateral Beauty is one of those high concept emotional journeys that only look like a bad idea all along when they flop (see Regarding Henry). Except that, with a plot as gnarly as this, it’s difficult to see quite how it would ever not have rubbed audiences up the wrong way. A different director might have helped, someone less thuddingly literal than David Frankel. When this kind of misguided picture gets the resounding drubbing it has, I tend to seek out positives. Sometimes, that can be quite easy – A Winter’s Tale, for example, for all its writ-large flaws – but it’s a fool’s errand with Collateral Beauty.

Now we shall keep our mysterious rendezvous.

Ice Station Zebra (1968)
The fourth big screen adaptation of an Alistair MacLean novel, Ice Station Zebra was released in the same year as the more successful Where Eagles Dare. 1968 represents probably the high water mark for interpretations of the author’s work, although The Guns of Navarone remains the biggest hit. As with most movie versions of MacLean novels (or, let’s face it, movie versions of anybody’s novels) fans of the book find much to gripe about; the latter half diverges greatly from the page. Those who complain about the languid pace are onto something too. To be sure, there’s an array of valid criticisms that can be levelled at Ice Station Zebra. But it also has a factor going for it that elevates John Sturges’ movie, and keeps me coming back to it; the über-cool presence of Patrick McGoohan.

The man who played The Prisoner (he filmed Zebra during a break from the TV show, which helps to explain the only truly hopeless episode in the run; Do Not Forsake Me Oh My Darling, …

Now In Full Color, with a Happier Ending

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