The law is the dark shadow of justice.

Criminal Law

(1988)

(SPOILERS) Martin Campbell directed a trio of bawdy big screen British sex comedies more than a decade before he made Criminal Law. Obviously, they weren’t his ticket to Hollywood. Rather, it was his work on the Beeb’s extraordinary Edge of Darkness, still unequalled in his filmography (including his own, pared-down movie version). Criminal Law, then, represents something of a reintroduction to the cinematic arena, but it would be another half decade before he really found his footing in the medium.

This isn’t especially anyone’s finest hour. Mark Kasdan was previously credited on brother Lawrence’s Silverado, but Criminal Law remains his only other (produced) screenplay credit. Gary Oldman, sporting a supremely yuppie look, all ‘80s power suits and slicked-back hair, touches down for one of his rare Hollywood lead roles. Even rarer to find him as the good guy in a mainstream thriller. Perhaps it was this picture that put him off such forays, as he doesn’t seem to have much to dig into, other than engaging in hyperbolic histrionics.

Kevin Bacon is Martin Thiel, the serial killer Oldman’s Ben Chase gets acquitted in the opening sequence, and he fares better, embracing the chance to break bad in a role, but the character lacks substance, the parallels between killer and defence attorney are rather trite, and the Thiel’s motivation really is the stuff of preposterous shlock (he’s killing his mother’s patients, who administered abortions on them; somehow, the police never discovered the link).

The movie’s moral line grows tedious very quickly. Yes, Chase got a bad guy off; give him a break, someone, since he’s now putting everything on the line in rather haphazard fashion to make things work. The main problem here is that there’s insufficient connecting tissue to create something suspenseful. Chase has to go looking for trouble in rain swept parks (there’s a lot of rain in this) or underlit buildings. If Thiel had been better conceived, waging a one-step-ahead cat-and-mouse game, the movie might have passed muster, but instead he’s called upon to be a careless psycho, one who helpfully wraps things up by arriving at the courthouse firing shots.

Campbell brings along his Edge of Darkness lucky charm Joe Don Baker as a detective (they’d reunite again on Goldeneye), but the part doesn’t amount to much. Tess Harper wears a pair of flinty eyes as the lead detective, while Karen Young makes an impression in the underserved girlfriend part. The best scenes are entirely tangential, though. Chase goes to consult with his dying mentor, Professor Clemens (Michael Sinelnikoff), who provides philosophical, quotation-laced advice to his young protégé. It’s the only part of the movie that justifies the opening’s rather pretentious, and hackneyed, use of Nietzsche’s “If you gaze long enough into an abyss…”

Agree? Disagree? Mildly or vehemently? Let me know in the comments below.

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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…

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But maybe I’m wrong about this. While I’ve seen every instalment in the franchise (only the once, mind) I haven’t followed it avidly in order (1, 4, 5, 2, 3, 6, 7, 8, I think, only the first and last two at the cinema), although, it isn’t as if t…

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It does seem a tad churlish to complain about what a movie might have been when it maintains the series’ consistent high quality, but I’m now firmly in the camp of wishing some of the more tonally-varied content of the original pictures was finding…

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I’ve seen reviews complain about the rape subplot herein – some even seem to think the Blind Man’s defence of “I’m not a rapist” is a representation of the views of the filmmakers, and that it thus needs emphasising that he is, in fact, which rather suggest a desire to be outraged than ends up making them look a bit dim – but it seems to me to go with the generally dubious territory of this ki…

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What impressed me most about this sequence was the way it develops – escalated would be the wrong word. You think the scene is about one thing but then it becomes about something else, and then it becomes about something else entirely. During the build-up to this we’ve had the ominous, Blue Velvet-esque scene in which a boy playing ball sights Miriam crawling bloodied from the woods. Followed by Shelly riding the bonnet of her car until Becky throws her off.

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The big takeaway is that Lindelof has successfully rehabilitated his reputation after the litany of brickbats coming his way following the Lost finale (3.8: The Book of Nora is the anti-Lost finale) and the unfair maligning he received following Prometheus (blame …

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(SPOILERS) Pure cinema. There are plenty of directors who engage in superficial flash and fizz (Danny Boyle or JJ Abrams, for example) but relatively few who actually come to the medium from a root, core level, visually. I’m slightly loathe to compare Edgar Wright with the illustrious likes of Sergio Leone and Brian De Palma, partly because they’re playing in largely different genre sandpits, partly because I don’t think Wright has yet made something that compares to their best work, but he operates from a similar sensibility: fashioning a movie foremost through image, supported by the soundtrack, and then, trailing a distant third, comes dialogue. Baby Driver is his most complete approximation of that impulse to date.

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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…

Now In Full Color, with a Happier Ending

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