Talking about the now can sometimes put one in the then.

Space Station 76

(2014)

A 1970s space soap opera, actor turned director Jack Plotnick’s debut feature Space Station 76 is a casually kitsch idiosyncratic curiosity. It’s possibly too high concept, the visual affectation suggesting a capacity for comedy and camp that is never really made good. But Space Station 76 (1976, obviously) is undeniably well observed, balancing out the retro-indulgence with surprisingly strong characterisation and performances.

The picture has little in the way of narrative trajectory, hence the concentration on soapy elements; characters work through their issues in a very ‘70s fashion, which naturally includes period-appropriate drink, drugs, sex and psychoanalysis. The crew include the unhappy, closeted, chain-smoking Captain Glenn (Patrick Wilson, offering a more subdued but tache-laden approximation of Ron Burgundy).

New co-pilot Jessica (Liv Tyler) struggles with inherent sexism in the work place and her conflicted feelings on not being able to have children. She forms a maternal friendship with Sunshine (Kylie Rogers) a seven-year old who doesn’t have much luck with pets and has no friends her own age. Her adversarial parents are robot-handed mechanic Ted (Matt Bomer) and self-involved, manipulative Misty (Marisa Coughlan). Misty is seeing Steve (Jerry O’Connell) on the side, and Ted and Jessica become attracted to each other. And, of course, tensions escalate. In a fairly lackadaisical manner. You get the idea.

Embedded in this space suburbia are recognisable ‘70s artefacts and mores. Ted is growing weed in the geodesic garden (very Silent Running, well not the weed bit although you know Bruce Dern would have been), Missy is addicted to prescription medicines (with which her robot shrink plies her), the Captain attempts to hide his drinking (when he gets pissed he powers the engines up and down continuously, a substitute automobile) and sexuality and takes out his tensions on those around him. There are ‘70s futurism ideas like food machines, and then-modern toys like videotapes and viewfinders. Burnt orange is a common colour for walls, and turtleneck sweaters are in.

Because the picture is unwilling to be pigeonholed, it’s easy to assume it is misrepresenting itself. The space age material is limited to Kubrick nods (the sets, Keir Dullea cameoing - and bearing a passing resemblance to Emperor Palpatine) and a reflection of the essential mundanity of space that evokes Dark Star by way of sets and lighting that consciously evoke ‘70s TV science fiction; there’s no proper science fiction here, and comments about never having been to Earth and the Quasar Revolution are more nods to those trappings than suggestive of any interest in them.

Occasionally it looks as if Plotnick intends to veer off into Airplane! territory; the dramatic music during an opening sequence, where it appears as if the captain is about to open fire, merely leads to him sparking the equivalent of a car cigarette lighter. The captain’s attempts at suicide or consistently foiled by the ship computer, be it electrocution or poisoning.

Therapy sessions with Sleeper-esque Dr Bot, a programmed psychotherapy robot, are consistently very funny and invariably lead to the suggestion, “Perhaps you would you like to try valium?” His response to Missy’s declaration of feelings for her therapist is “Emotional overload!”. But this isn’t really a spoof, and the performances aren’t self-mocking, they’re treading a line between Frank Drebin deadpan and earnest portrayal.

Space Station 76 is reasonably engaging once one slips into its groove, but it’s very slight. The science fiction conceit is just that, obstinately refusing to indulge its potential aside from the occasional comedy (Dr Bot) or emotional beat (Sunshine’s favourite game is playing zero gravity). It’s a decision that is likely to elicit Marmite responses of “Oh, that’s clever; I see what they did there” (it isn’t especially, but it is attention seeking) or discontent that the makers have done some misleading. I’m somewhere between the two, however. This isn’t really much of comedy or, drugs references aside, much of an oddball stoner movie either. And yet, while there are interludes of borderline boredom, the characters themselves gradually creep up on you, aided by an ensemble of strong performances.

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She writes Twilight fan fiction.

Vampire Academy (2014)
My willingness to give writer Daniel Waters some slack on the grounds of early glories sometimes pays off (Sex and Death 101) and sometimes, as with this messy and indistinct Young Adult adaptation, it doesn’t. If Vampire Academy plods along as a less than innovative smart-mouthed Buffy rip-off that might be because, if you added vampires to Heathers, you would probably get something not so far from the world of Joss Whedon. Unfortunately inspiration is a low ebb throughout, not helped any by tepid direction from Daniel’s sometimes-reliable brother Mark and a couple of hopelessly plankish leads who do their best to dampen down any wit that occasionally attempts to surface.

I can only presume there’s a never-ending pile of Young Adult fiction poised for big screen failure, all of it comprising multi-novel storylines just begging for a moment in the Sun. Every time an adaptation crashes and burns (and the odds are that they will) another one rises, hydra-like, hoping…

Rejoice! The broken are the more evolved. Rejoice.

Split (2016)
(SPOILERS) M Night Shyamalan went from the toast of twist-based filmmaking to a one-trick pony to the object of abject ridicule in the space of only a couple of pictures: quite a feat. Along the way, I’ve managed to miss several of his pictures, including his last, The Visit, regarded as something of a re-locating of his footing in the low budget horror arena. Split continues that genre readjustment, another Blumhouse production, one that also manages to bridge the gap with the fare that made him famous. But it’s a thematically uneasy film, marrying shlock and serious subject matter in ways that don’t always quite gel.

Shyamalan has seized on a horror staple – nubile teenage girls in peril, prey to a psychotic antagonist – and, no doubt with the best intentions, attempted to warp it. But, in so doing, he has dragged in themes and threads from other, more meritable fare, with the consequence that, in the end, the conflicting positions rather subvert his attempts at subversion…

My name is Dr. King Schultz, this is my valet, Django, and these are our horses, Fritz, and Tony.

Django Unchained (2012)
(MINOR SPOILERS) Since the painful misstep of Grindhouse/Death Proof, Quentin Tarantino has regained the higher ground like never before. Pulp Fiction, his previous commercial and critical peak, has been at very least equalled by the back-to-back hits of Inglourious Basterds and Django Unchained. Having been underwhelmed by his post Pulp Fiction efforts (albeit, I admired his technical advances as a director in Kill Bill), I was pleasantly surprised by Inglourious Basterds. It was no work of genius (so not Pulp Fiction) by any means, but there was a gleeful irreverence in its treatment of history and even to the nominal heroic status of its titular protagonists. Tonally, it was a good fit for the director’s “cool” aesthetic. As a purveyor of postmodern pastiche, where the surface level is the subtext, in some ways he was operating at his zenith. Django Unchained is a retreat from that position, the director caught in the tug between his all-important aesthetic pr…

Must the duck be here?

The Favourite (2018)
(SPOILERS) In my review of The Killing of a Sacred Deer, I suggested The Favourite might be a Yorgos Lanthimos movie for those who don’t like Yorgos Lanthimos movies. At least, that’s what I’d heard. And certainly, it’s more accessible than either of his previous pictures, the first two thirds resembling a kind of Carry On Up the Greenaway, but despite these broader, more slapstick elements and abundant caustic humour, there’s a prevailing detachment on the part of the director, a distancing oversight that rather suggests he doesn’t feel very much for his subjects, no matter how much they emote, suffer or connive. Or pratfall.

Whoever comes, I'll kill them. I'll kill them all.

John Wick: Chapter 2 (2017)
(SPOILERS) There’s no guessing he’s back. John Wick’s return is most definite and demonstrable, in a sequel that does what sequels ought in all the right ways, upping the ante while never losing sight of the ingredients that made the original so formidable. John Wick: Chapter 2 finds the minimalist, stripped-back vehicle and character of the first instalment furnished with an elaborate colour palette and even more idiosyncrasies around the fringes, rather like Mad Max in that sense, and director Chad Stahleski (this time without the collaboration of David Leitch, but to no discernible deficit) ensures the action is filled to overflowing, but with an even stronger narrative drive that makes the most of changes of gear, scenery and motivation.

The result is a giddily hilarious, edge-of-the-seat thrill ride (don’t believe The New York Times review: it is not “altogether more solemn” I can only guess Jeannette Catsoulis didn’t revisit the original in the interven…

I don’t think you will see President Pierce again.

The Ballad of Buster Scruggs (2018)
(SPOILERS) The Ballad of Buster Scruggs and other tall tales of the American frontier is the title of "the book" from which the Coen brothers' latest derives, and so announces itself as fiction up front as heavily as Fargo purported to be based on a true story. In the world of the portmanteau western – has there even been one before? – theme and content aren't really all that distinct from the more familiar horror collection, and as such, these six tales rely on sudden twists or reveals, most of them revolving around death. And inevitably with the anthology, some tall tales are stronger than other tall tales, the former dutifully taking up the slack.

Can you float through the air when you smell a delicious pie?

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
(SPOILERS) Ironically, given the source material, think I probably fell into the category of many who weren't overly disposed to give this big screen Spider-Man a go on the grounds that it was an animation. After all, if it wasn’t "good enough" for live-action, why should I give it my time? Not even Phil Lord and Christopher Miller's pedigree wholly persuaded me; they'd had their stumble of late, although admittedly in that live-action arena. As such, it was only the near-unanimous critics' approval that swayed me, suggesting I'd have been missing out. They – not always the most reliable arbiters of such populist fare, which made the vote of confidence all the more notable – were right. Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse is not only a first-rate Spider-Man movie, it's a fresh, playful and (perhaps) surprisingly heartfelt origins story.

I don’t know if what is happening is fair, but it’s the only thing I can think of that’s close to justice.

The Killing of a Sacred Deer (2017)
(SPOILERS) I think I knew I wasn’t going to like The Killing of a Sacred Deer in the first five minutes. And that was without the unedifying sight of open-heart surgery that takes up the first four. Yorgos Lanthimos is something of a Marmite director, and my responses to this and his previous The Lobster (which I merely thought was “okay” after exhausting its thin premise) haven’t induced me to check out his earlier work. Of course, he has now come out with a film that, reputedly, even his naysayers will like, awards-darling The Favourite…

There's something wrong with the sky.

Hold the Dark (2018)
(SPOILERS) Hold the Dark, an adaptation of William Giraldi's 2014 novel, is big on atmosphere, as you'd expect from director Jeremy Saulnier (Blue Ruin, Green Room) and actor-now-director (I Don’t Want to Live in This World Anymore) pal Macon Blair (furnishing the screenplay and appearing in one scene), but contrastingly low on satisfying resolutions. Being wilfully oblique can be a winner if you’re entirely sure what you're trying to achieve, but the effect here is rather that it’s "for the sake of it" than purposeful.

Never compare me to the mayor in Jaws! Never!

Ghostbusters (2016)
(SPOILERS) Paul Feig is a better director than Ivan Reitman, or at very least he’s savvy enough to gather technicians around him who make his films look good, but that hasn’t helped make his Ghostbusters remake (or reboot) a better movie than the original, and that’s even with the original not even being that great a movie in the first place.

Along which lines, I’d lay no claims to the 1984 movie being some kind of auteurist gem, but it does make some capital from the polarising forces of Aykroyd’s ultra-geekiness on the subject of spooks and Murray’s “I’m just here for the asides” irreverence. In contrast, Feig’s picture is all about treating the subject as he does any other genre, be it cop, or spy, or romcom. There’s no great affection, merely a reliably professional approach, one minded to ensure that a generous quota of gags (on-topic not required) can be pumped out via abundant improv sessions.

So there’s nothing terribly wrong with Ghostbusters, but aside from …

Now In Full Color, with a Happier Ending

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