Everything is everyone’s fault.

Leviathan

(2014)

(SPOILERS) Andrey Zvyagnistev’s tale of misery and despair is the sort of sunny fare one typically expects from Russian cinema. Taking its cues from the Book of Job, the director has fashioned a bleak and persuasive vision where persevering through suffering and loss yields no ultimate reward; indeed, punishment elicits further punishment. The powerful get more powerful, while the impoverished are ground under foot. God has no place in this universe, except as a totem of the religious structures using his iconograpy to support the state.

The picture, partially funded by the Russian Ministry of Culture, was subjected to criticism from its Minister for its cynical view of a country inflicted with an utterly corrupt system and a populace fuelled by vodka. Naturally then, western media has seized this upon this, since Putin’s Russia being held in new lows of regard. One wonders if this wasn’t partially the reason for its Best Picture Oscar nomination; the chance to use a picture from and financed by his own government to dress the President down.

Leviathan isn’t going to change anyone’s preconceptions on Russian fare (“Always full of women staring out of windows, whining about ducks going to Moscow”), although the amount of alcohol consumed here would make even Withnail blanche. This isn’t a picture populate by likeable protagonists; the most sympathetic character is driven to suicide following an affair with her husband’s lawyer. There’s no new dawn to look forward to in this dying coastal town, where handyman Kolya (Aleksei Serebrayakov) is unsuccessfully fighting Mayor Vadim’s (Roman Madyanov) order to possess his land (the only thing they have in common is a proclivity for liquor).

As his former army friend and lawyer Dima (Vladimir Vdovichenkov) tells Kolya, he’s a “hothead”; as much as chain-smoking Kolya is on the receiving end of corrupt deals and persecution, he has only as much clarity as he can see through the gauze of a vodka bottle. His young second wife Lilya (Elena Lyadova) is unhappy, isolated, stuck with a dead-end job gutting fish, prospectively consigned to an apartment that makes most squats look plush and resented by their stepson; it’s little wonder she seeks respite in Dima’s arms, leading to further ructions. When she kills herself, it’s the caustic icing on Kolya’s downfall; whether by Vadim’s direct involvement or not, Kolya is tried for his wife’s murder (“Thank God. That’ll teach him to know his place” Vadim comments on learning of Kolya’s 15 year sentence; he has already seen off Dima by staging a fake-out execution).

In the early part of the picture, Dima’s voice of reason and logic at least appears partially as a guiding light (Kolya is only comparable to Job in as much as his situation is hopeless; he isn’t comforted by any affirmations or abiding belief). Facts are most important to Dima; facts can change things. Truth will out. His bafflement with the townsfolk’s preoccupations (“Why do you all keep asking me about God?”) only becomes thematically clear as the relationship between Vadim and the local bishop in his pocket plays out. The final scenes reveal that Kolya’s house has been knocked down to make way for a new church, not the subtlest illustration of the hypocrisy of the religious edifice and the manner in which it is just another side of the same coin as government. The wiles of a Moscow lawyer have no place where the rules are disregarded and truth won’t out (although the main reason for Dima being chased out of town is presumably that he bluffed Vadim, and there wasn’t actually anyone with any weight behind the dossier he presents to the mayor).

As acutely well performed as Zvyaginstev’s picture is, understatement is not its strongest suit. Not only is Kolya cast as Job, but a priest he converses with also quotes the book as a recipe for stoicism in the face of torment. He just so happens to pick a passage featuring the leviathan of the title, and there just so happens to be an immense whale skeleton decorating the local beach, a symbol of the barebones poverty of the town and the fate of Kolya. It’s also a rebuke to the scripture, which claims that nothing can pull in such a beast – it seems the machinations of the powerful can hook it (although it’s much more evocative to see the biblical leviathan as a sea monster, rather than a common or ocean whale).

The cast deserve universal praise. In particular, Lyadova’s descent into oblivion is devastating in its claustrophobic inevitability. Madyanov is also strong portraying the mayor’s loathsome tyranny. Perhaps a problem here is that, in remaining with Kolya’s essentially unsympathetic character (drunk, ill-tempered and violent), it is difficult to fully engage with the tragedy after Lilya exits. Leviathan ends on a note of resigned inevitability, which may be a reflection of how Zvtaginstev sees his homeland. In one scene, framed pictures of former Russian and Soviet premiers are used for target practice. Kolya asks where the more recent ones are; the current office holder is conspicuously framed in Vadim’s office.

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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.

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.

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…

They literally call themselves “Decepticons”. That doesn’t set off any red flags?

Bumblebee (2018)
(SPOILERS) Bumblebee is by some distance the best Transformers movie, simply by dint of having a smattering of heart (one might argue the first Shia LaBeouf one also does, and it’s certainly significantly better than the others, but it’s still a soulless Michael Bay “machine”). Laika VP and director Travis Knight brings personality to a series that has traditionally consisted of shamelessly selling product, by way of a nostalgia piece that nods to the likes of Herbie (the original), The Iron Giant and even Robocop.

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…

Welcome to the future. Life is good. But it can be better.

20 to See in 2020
Not all of these movies may find a release date in 2020, given Hollywood’s propensity for shunting around in the schedules along with the vagaries of post-production. Of my 21 to See in 2019, there’s still Fonzo, Benedetta, You Should Have Left, Boss Level and the scared-from-its-alloted-date The Hunt yet to see the light of day. I’ve re-included The French Dispatch here, however. I've yet to see Serenity and The Dead Don’t Die. Of the rest, none were wholly rewarding. Netflix gave us some disappointments, both low profile (Velvet Buzzsaw, In the Shadow of the Moon) and high (The Irishman), and a number of blockbusters underwhelmed to a greater or lesser extent (Captain Marvel, Spider-Man: Far From Home, Terminator: Dark Fate, Gemini Man, Star Wars: The Rise of the Skywalker). Others (Knives Out, Once Upon a Time in… Hollywood, John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum) were interesting but flawed. Even the more potentially out there (Joker, Us, Glass, Rocketman) couldn…

It’s like an angry white man’s basement in here.

Bad Boys for Life (2020)
(SPOILERS) The reviews for Bad Boys for Life have, perhaps surprisingly, skewed positive, given that it seemed exactly the kind of beleaguered sequel to get slaughtered by critics. Particularly so since, while it’s a pleasure to see Will Smith and Martin Lawrence back together as Mike and Marcus, the attempts to validate this third outing as a more mature, reflective take on their buddy cops is somewhat overstated. Indeed, those moments of reflection or taking stock arguably tend to make the movie as a whole that much glibber, swiftly succeeded as they are by lashings of gleeful ultra-violence or humorous shtick. Under Michael Bay, who didn’t know the definition of a lull, these pictures scorned any opportunity to pause long enough to assess the damage, and were healthier, so to speak, for that. Without him, Bad Boys for Life’s beats often skew closer to standard 90s action fare.

I'm reliable, I'm a very good listener, and I'm extremely funny.

Terminator: Dark Fate (2019)
(SPOILERS) When I wrote my 23 to see in 2019, I speculated that James Cameron might be purposefully giving his hand-me-downs to lesser talents because he hubristically didn’t want anyone making a movie that was within a spit of the proficiency we’ve come to expect from him. Certainly, Robert Rodriguez and Tim Miller are leagues beneath Kathryn Bigelow, Jimbo’s former spouse and director of his Strange Days screenplay. Miller’s no slouch when it comes to action – which is what these movies are all about, let’s face it – but neither is he a craftsman, so all those reviews attesting that Terminator: Dark Fate is the best in the franchise since Terminator 2: Judgment Day may be right, but there’s a considerable gulf between the first sequel (which I’m not that big a fan of) and this retcon sequel to that sequel.

To defeat the darkness out there, you must defeat the darkness inside yourself.

The Chronicles of Narnia: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (2010)
Easily the best of the Narnia films, which is maybe damning it with faint praise.

Michael Apted does a competent job directing (certainly compared to his Bond film - maybe he talked to his second unit this time), Dante Spinotti's cinematography is stunning and the CGI mostly well-integrated with the action.

Performance-wise, Will Poulter is a stand-out as a tremendously obnoxious little toff, so charismatic you're almost rooting for him. Simon Pegg replaces Eddie Izzard as the voice of Reepicheep and delivers a touching performance.
***

You’re a slut with a snake in your mouth. Die!

Mickey One (1965)
(SPOILERS) Apparently this early – as in, two years before the one that made them both highly sought-after trailblazers of “New Hollywood” – teaming between Warren Beatty and Arthur Penn has undergone a re-evaluation since its initial commercial and critical drubbing. I’m not sure about all that. Mickey One still seems fatally half-cocked to me, with Penn making a meal of imitating the stylistic qualities that came relatively naturally – or at least, Gallically – to the New Wave.

Now In Full Color, with a Happier Ending

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