Closed Circuit

**

No one could accuse Closed Circuit of not being current. It captures key fears in this day and age: international terrorism and its connected shady government dealings. It is a great pity that the film is so lifeless.

A bomb goes off in London, annihilating Borough Market and killing a large number of people. A suspect, Farroukh Erdogan (Dennis Moschitto) is apprehended and preparations are made for the high-profile trial. Erdogan’s lawyer dies suddenly and a new defence attorney, Martin Rose (Eric Bana) takes his place. Due to classified material required as evidence, the government appoints an additional defence lawyer - a Special Advocate, Claudia Simmons-Howe (Rebecca Hall). Rose and Simmons-Howe once had an affair and are forced to keep it secret so as not to jeopardise the case. As the trial progresses, the pair uncover increasingly-sinister information. It is not long before a government conspiracy is discovered.

The film starts quite well. The initial explosion is directed in a unique and different way – seen from multiple closed circuit cameras, splitting the screen. The every-day banality of the victims’ behaviour in the build-up to the event makes for a chilling watch. There are some nice surveillance touches which certainly feel authentic. The underhandedness of the intelligence agencies, to get a result by any means, is decidedly creepy.

The central conceit, on which the film rests – Rose and Simmons-Howe’s romantic history threatening to disrupt the case – is a dismal and unexciting plot device. The eternally peeved-off pair regret the affair simply because it’s affecting their work. Not the sexiest set-up to re-ignite the flames of passion. Of course, those flames are re-ignited, but to little cinematic effect. Both the leads are hugely unlikeable. The only redeeming feature in each of them is a commitment to their work. Hall is unpleasantly frosty throughout and the Australian Bana is a horrible toff (with a questionable plummy accent).

The film is held back by expositional dialogue. There is so much information, leadenly conveyed, that the human story is engulfed by it. It impedes the characterisation too. While these facts and figures may push the action forward it does little to flesh out the characters. Most lines sound like recitations from a law book.

There is a top notch cast but an astounding number of performances miss the mark. The talented likes of Ciarán Hinds, Julia Stiles, Anne-Marie Duff and, most notably, Eric Bana all fail to deliver. The director even manages to elicit a bad performance from Jim Broadbent. Kenneth Cranham (as the judge) is an exception, as is Riz Ahmed who plays a sinister agent. That, sadly, is not enough to save the film. It is flatly directed by John Crowley. As well as the performances lacking pizzazz so does the courtroom jousting and any action involved. It all descends into an underwhelming climax. There is no visible attempt at a cinematic style. The result feels less like a film, more like any generic TV drama.

Enough Said

**** 

In this her fifth feature, writer and director Nicole Holofcener brings us a good-humoured and extremely likeable tale of a couple and their surrounding relationships. This is not to say it’s a rose-tinted view. The darker and more unpleasant aspects of love are also explored but its general mood is one of tenderness and warmth.

Eva (Julia-Louis-Dreyfuss) is a single parent who is dreading the imminent departure of her teenage daughter, when she starts college. Eva works as a masseuse on the Westside of Los Angeles. At a party, she meets two people separately – poet Marianne (Catherine Keener) and Albert (James Gandolfini) whose daughter, similarly, is soon leaving for college. Eva takes Marianne on as a client and they quickly become friends. Eva starts dating Albert and that look promising. She then soon discovers that Marianne and Albert were previously married.

Enough Said explores a number of scenarios in modern family life – at least some of which will undoubtedly be familiar to audiences. It's deals with them sweetly but without being syrupy. It brilliantly captures the nuance of relationship interactions, good and bad. Moments of intimacy are played with an easy naturalism by a first-rate cast making it simultaneously funny and realistic. There are some big laughs to be had and all in a very smart vein. The combination of writing, direction and delivery of lines result in a perfect storm of comedy.

The performances are impeccable. Julia Louis-Dreyfuss displays comic chops that we all knew she had. Further than that, she breathes dramatic life into her character, making Eva a lot more than just a conduit for jokes. This is James Gandolfini’s penultimate screen appearance. While Tony Soprano had a soft side (brilliantly displayed by the late actor) he always remained the sociopath. Here, Gandolfini plays a straightforwardly nice guy (not without faults, mind) and it’s a lovely performance. The two leads share a nice chemistry. Solid support is given by Toni Collette, Ben Falcone and all the younger cast members, notably newcomer (and internet fashion guru) Tavi Gevinson. The surrounding ties make for a fascinating watch. Eva’s close relationship with her daughter’s best friend Chloe (Gevinson) is a quirky side story.

The good and bad in people is put under scrutiny here. The imperfection of humans, and the messiness of their relationships, certainly makes entertaining viewing and is almost celebrated. The film has a gentle charm. It also has a lot of heart. Enough Said feels like bona fide auteurism. Nicole Holofcener clearly possesses a supreme knowledge of the characters/scenarios and her script-to-screen execution is beautifully realised.

Escape Plan

**

Sly’s been there before (in Lock Up and in Tango and Cash) and now he’s back doing hard time. But on this occasion, he’s there on purpose. Heading an only-in-the-movies security firm used by the US government to test its toughest federal prisons, Ray Breslin (Sylvester Stallone) is a master escape artist. If there are any cracks in the system he’s the guy who can find them. With a false identity and criminal backstory, Breslin poses as Spanish terrorist Portos. He allows himself to be captured and then sequestered in a unique hi-tech, and supposedly inescapable, prison nicknamed ‘The Tomb’. (Formerly known as The Tomb, this was re-titled thus condescending audiences with a name that can mean nothing other than, THIS FILM IS ABOUT A PRISON BREAK. The poster image of Sly and Arnie sat in adjacent cells was clearly not enough of a clue for audiences.) Once inside, Breslin befriends Rottmayer (Arnold Schwarzenegger) and they join forces to break free.

The film starts well with an inventive prison break displaying Breslin’s talent and setting things up nicely for the big one. Unfortunately, ‘The Tomb’ itself is spectacularly underwhelming. The glass cells look interesting enough but much of the production design is woeful. Anyone who’s watched Oz knows that a modern prison relies on bare minimalism. In Escape Plan there are swathes of extraneous hardware everywhere, all screaming out to be appropriated as weaponry or escape implements. It also looks rather cheap. The action itself is ho-hum. I don’t think we can blame director Mikael Håfström. He’s not without talent. He displayed imagination and resourcefulness with 1408. Escape Plan’s key problem is a duff script, lacking in so much invention that make prison breaks compelling. It’s so unoriginal that a key reveal is lifted from Face/Off.

Sadly, the dream pairing of the two action icons is not exploited sufficiently. The only thing going for the film is the nostalgia element. But alas, the mere sight of Arnie and Sly sharing screen time is far less than thrilling. It’s the movie equivalent of a Rolling Stones album post-1981. For both stars, the physicality was a huge part of their screen personas. Here however, the muscles are kept discreetly from view. With both Arnie and Sly rapidly approaching 70 this is probably a good thing that the shirts stay on throughout. Instead, they are required to rely more on their acting ability. (Of which neither were ever particularly renowned.) So between the bursts of action what we have is simply a couple of big lumps mangling dialogue. It results in something tired and a little bit depressing. There just seems very little point in any of it.

The two stars are supported by some decent acting talent - Amy Ryan and Vincent D’Onofrio are on Breslin’s team, Jim Caviezel chews scenery as the evil warden and Sam Neill really slums it in a tiny role as the prison doctor. They are also supported by some less-than-decent talent. Vinnie Jones makes little impact as a sadistic guard and charisma vacuum, Curtis ‘50 Cent’ Jackson is out-acted by the furniture.

There’s nothing wrong with action veterans staying in the genre. Clint Eastwood has proved time and again that it’s possible, but he always plays his age. Escape Plan makes little acknowledgement of Arnie and Sly’s antediluvian status. If you inserted say, Jason Statham and The Rock into the respective leads you wouldn’t need to change a single word in the script. (And the movie would probably have been a lot more fun.) It doesn’t bring to mind the two stars’ heyday, more the straight-to-video cannon of Jean-Claude Van Damme or even Dolph Lundgren. If you enjoyed The Expendables or The Last Stand you’ll probably get a kick out of this. But really, you’d have a lot more fun re-watching Tango and Cash.

Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa

****

At long last Steve Coogan brings his comic creation to the big screen and succeeds in hilarious fashion. Though the central conceit – a siege at North Norfolk Digital – upgrades Alan’s story to an intentionally-more cinematic outing, the action stays firmly in Norfolk. It’s an outlandish storyline but hey, this is comedy and it’s certainly not an incongruous gimmick like a holiday abroad for the entire cast. The Partridge Universe is thus expanded while staying close and very true to its roots.

North Norfolk Digital has been taken over by a large conglomerate and been rebranded as the more youth-aimed ‘Shape’. A victim of its restructuring, disgruntled DJ Pat Farrell (Colm Meaney) comes back to the station armed and takes everyone hostage. Alan Partridge (Steve Coogan) is recruited by the police to assist in the negotiations.

The simplicity of the story is key to its success. The action surrounds one main location - the radio station – and its sheer lack of glamour is used to splendid comic effect. Nakatomi Plaza this is not. The mores of the siege genre are followed to the T (negotiation through bullhorns, media circus etc) but in a quirky and exquisitely Partridge manner.

Alan Partridge’s shortcomings are legion: he’s bigoted, shallow, egotistical and selfish, to name just a few. The film fleshes out that persona, but revealing (even more so) that he’s only human. His awkwardness is intrinsically English and his behaviour, while not entirely forgivable, is understandable. Well, sort of. Coogan is wonderful in the role. You feel sorry for Alan but accept who he is and you’ll always end up rooting for him.

Declan Lowney has a long and impressive CV (Father Ted is just one of the great TV comedies he’s directed) and he’s worked with Coogan before on the little-seen-but-rather-lovely Cruise of the Gods. He draws great performances from all and exacts devastating comic timing. The always-superb Colm Meaney brings bona fide Hollywood heft to the table and is alternately funny and scary. Solid support comes from Partridge regulars Lynn Benfield, Simon Key, Simon Greenall, Nigel Lindsay and Phil Cornwell, along with an effective host of new blood. Writing duo, twins Neil and Rob Gibbons reinvigorated Partridge with Mid Morning Matters which established the film’s foundation and, I imagine, helped bring this to fruition. Here they supply a fine, economically-scripted and stupendously funny cinematic outing.

It’s peculiar sharing the normally-confined-to-your-home experience of Alan Partridge with an audience who will, undoubtedly, be laughing their heads off so I cannot recommend this enough. NB: While not as earth-shaking as some of Marvel’s recent output, it’s worth staying a while as the credits roll.

The Lone Ranger

**

While only just released in the UK and still yet to open in a number of other territories The Lone Ranger is looking to lose Disney - by its own admission - $190 million. The film-makers have been quoted as blaming the critics. If I may be included in that critical fraternity, it’s flattering that they think we wield such power. There have been more than a few critically-lambasted stinkers that have made pots of cash. Transformers: Dark of the Moon and Titanic were not noted for kind appraisals yet they still made over a billion dollars, as did two execrable Pirates of the Caribbean sequels. Of the latter, that same team - star Johnny Depp, director Gore Gorbinski and producer Jerry Bruckheimer - reunite here to produce a work of inconceivably-less effect. It’s not the critics who are to blame for its failure, it’s the sheer flat-footedness of the film.

Lawyer John Reid (Armie Hammer) is a deputised Texas Ranger who unwillingly teams up with Native American Tonto (Johnny Depp). They step outside the law to avenge his brother who died at the hands of stone killer Butch Cavendish (William Fichtner).

The Lone Ranger himself is a figure of fun – inept and silly – whereas the put upon Tonto is the brains of the duo. That’s a lovely dynamic, seen to exceedingly-greater effect with, for example, the far-smarter Gromit ever propping up the hapless Wallace. The Tonto part does work but the film tries to offer John Reid pathos and dignity when he’s nothing more than a clown. In this respect, it’s very uneven in tone. His story swings clumsily from a serious man out for revenge, winning back his true love to a fool, hopelessly out of his depth and incapable of change.

Armie Hammer is not bad in the role, it’s just badly written and due to the writing (not the actor) he’s an unlikeable hero. He does his best with the material and I hope this doesn’t put a kibosh on his career because the man has talent – he has comic chops and dramatic presence. Depp is really quite brilliant, though. The level of commitment in his performance makes me very sad because he simply deserved a better film. His Tonto offers some glittering nuggets of humour amidst this big pile of dirt. It doesn’t help that he’s the sidekick, playing second fiddle to someone we care two hoots about. But when he’s on screen he is rather wonderful, giving a consistently-comical performance as the put upon Comanche in a white man’s world. And, ingeniously, he pulls it off without being in the least bit patronising.

At two and a half hours I immediately assumed it to be overlong for a family film. However, Mary Poppins runs just ten minutes shorter and, like Mary herself, that film is “practically perfect in every way”. It’s the lack of fun in The Lone Ranger that makes it so bloated. For all its big action set-pieces there is much tiresome, humourless plodding. So its length will certainly exceed the attention span (and popcorn consumption) of younger viewers.

Only God Forgives

**

You'd be forgiven for expecting Drive 2: Bangkok Boogaloo. However, this is a very different beast from Nicolas Winding Refn and Ryan Gosling's previous collaboration.

Julian (Ryan Gosling) is a drug smuggler in Bangkok operating behind the veneer of a Thai boxing gym. As a result of his vile behaviour, scumbag brother Billy (Tom Burke) meets a grisly end. Julian accepts the consequences of his actions but their mother Crystal (Kristin Scott Thomas) seeks vengeance on corrupt cop Chang (Vithaya Pansringarm).

Sounds exciting, right? Alas, the film is painfully dull. It's all very attractive, mind. The beautifully-lit Thai locations are richly bathed in colour. Crisp neon hangs against endless deep reds. There's also great camera work involving some very sexy tracking shots. The entire piece is an exercise in stylish flourish but it’s seriously lacking in substance. The absence of a solid script makes the rudderless direction acutely self-conscious. This provides plenty of unintentional laughs. The supposedly profound comes across as plain silly.

An otherworldly atmosphere is achieved by the director but that spell is often broken by cringe-inducing lines of dialogue. For a film without a great deal of talking, much of the dialogue is fantastically klunky. In terms of writing, the director has gained more success through collaboration. (And Drive was scripted entirely by Hossein Amini, adapting from James Sallis’ book.) Here, Winding Refn takes a sole screenplay credit which, I believe, speaks volumes. The timing has a lot to be desired too and I don't think you can blame the editor. It actually feels like a first-time director finding their feet. As a result, I found the whole thing extremely daft and incredibly boring.

One of the few things the film shares in common with Drive is the bursts of eye-watering violence. Winding Refn executes these moments with proficiency and great relish. On more than one occasion this softy reviewer was struggling to keep his eyes on screen.

Kristin Scott Thomas does have a few good lines and, as a result, steals the show. It's an impressive performance as a very different kind of ice queen. A key issue is the Gosling role. I don't mind characters not having an arc but the problem with this protagonist is that you are offered scant reason for everything he does. As a result, the film’s message is very confused. 

In an industry of endless derivation I admire the director’s intention to create a different commodity. In that respect he has succeeded. Only God Forgives is unique in its peculiarity but it’s deeply flawed.

Behind the Candelabra

****

Shame on all you studios for passing and congratulations to smarter backers HBO, who picked this up. As if we didn’t need further evidence that we’re in a golden age of television, this lends even more dazzle to that credo. Here in the UK - where it has been granted a cinema release - Behind the Candelabra has been doing very respectable business. Possessing a lot of elements that Oscar so loves, it could also have basked in some awards glory. Like Tarantino, biopics are probably this reviewer’s least favourite genre but this particular one is a real riot. One thing it isn’t, as more than one Hollywood exec remarked, is “too gay”. You might equally argue that this look at Liberace is not gay enough.

Rather than attempting to show his entire life, or even career, the story focuses on the relationship with young lover, Hollywood animal trainer Scott Thorson (Matt Damon). It starts in 1977 and Liberace (Michael Douglas) is in the middle of a residency at Vegas. He twice-nightly wows straight crowds with his glittering showmanship. In his performance we see a supremely-honed talent giving the audience a lot more than just bright, shiny things (and there are a lot of bright, shiny things in this film). Following one of his shows Scott rapidly becomes his lover, is hired as an assistant and then moves in. He finds himself increasingly stifled and his trophy status becomes painfully clear when Liberace insists he undergo plastic surgery to resemble his younger self. All done under the careful tutelage of Dr Jack Startz (a hilariously-nipped-and-tucked Rob Lowe). So far so creepy. Other indulgences send Scott on a further downward spiral.

It shines a big, bright light on all of Liberace’s excesses and does so cleverly. It pokes gentle fun but never in a mean-spirited way. Even Liberace recognised the absurdity of his lifestyle (“Too much of a good thing…. is wonderful!”) and the film evokes that same attitude.

Douglas is incredible in the role. The performance could have descended into cliché in lesser hands but, drenched in high camp, he makes Liberace human and very real. Matt Damon delivers a performance so un-flashy it would be easy to start taking the man’s talent for granted. Neglecting to rely on any thespy tricks, he’s just brilliantly and quite simply there. Soderbergh’s direction is appropriately workmanlike. With so much gaudiness on screen there’s little need for directorial flare. Richard LaGravenese’s script (adapted from Scott Thorson’s book) is straightforwardly-plotted. Skipping through an entire life would have denied so much depth. The decision to focus on a specific era allows time and energy to be devoted to detail. It’s an effective and healthy trend and one that really works. This approach shows conventional ‘birth-to-death’ biopics up to be unrealistic in their ambition. It also avoids the need for multiple actors in roles and/or too much prosthetic make-up. Not only do we get a deeper experience it’s all the more realistic.

If you can still catch it on the big screen, I highly recommend it. Seeing it with an audience is a hoot and it’s the way Liberace would have wanted it.