Café Society (Allen. 2016)

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Few people have amassed a creative portfolio the size of Woody Allen’s.  Now 80 years old, he has kept up a relentless pace, hammering out screenplays like a man who has a gun against his head. Laced with dry humour and romanticism, his films are easily recognisable as ambling tales of masculinity, love and the magic of city life. However, a director that churns out films one after another is bound to make a few stinkers. His new ode to the razzamatazz of 1930’s Hollywood and New York is relaxed, romantic and witty, but it’s not terribly memorable.

On a basic level, it’s a sort of screwball comedy harking back to films like Philadelphia with Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart. A light and fluffy ride, Café Society’s narrative centres on a young Jewish man (Jesse Eisenberg) who moves to Hollywood to find a job with his big-shot uncle (Steve Carell). Falling for a young secretary played by Kristen Stewart, Eisenberg’s cynical Allen-esque character finds himself thrust into a romance full of twists and turns.

But while there are twists and turns aplenty, the film is about as deep and meaningful as the movement and people the title references. A term for the group of wealthy, glamorous socialites that descended upon the metropolitan nightclubs and music halls of the 20th century, it is referencing vanity and indulgence. And that’s Allen’s problem here. He’s made a film about shallowness and superficiality that is, in itself, shallow and superficial. Full of pretty people talking romantically to each other in a detestably fake way, the result is a bland mesh of events with no particular sense of consequence at all. You have no real understanding about the motives of Eisenberg’s character, you have no idea of his faults and not much of what he does seems to make sense. The relationships don’t seem true and the characters are boring and unimaginative.

But the truly criminal aspect of this film is the way in which it treats its female characters. This is a film about men’s relationships with women, not relationships between men and women. What Allen seems to have done is take a boring, grey-like paintbrush to every one of his female romantic interests. For all the depth that Kristen Stewart can deliver, she’s simply made into a cardboard cut-out that Eisenberg bounces off soppy, selfish declarations of love. For a character that men keep falling in love with, she’s not very interesting. She’s kicked around emotionally as well, but isn’t given the faintest glimmer of a backbone.

Bland, easy to consume and all too lacking in intrigue, Café society is an unengaging exercise in mushy Hollywood nostalgia.

What Do We Find Funny About War?

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Funny Bones: The Black Comedy of the War. Now on at the BFI

As part of  ‘The View from the Ground’ season, the BFI (in partnership with the Imperial War Museum) is now screening a selection of the most memorable comedies about the Great War. On show are silent films and early talkies that bring laughter to the squalor of the trenches. It’s squaddie humour about the hopeless private, the dumb generals and the illogicality of war. It’s also morale boosting comedy about men dodging the draft, soldiers dressing up as women for talent shows, and the ridiculousness of life in a muddy, wet trench. But beyond the silly First World War slapstick of Charlie Chaplin and others, there is something deeper to the fascination with humour and battle. British cinema audiences have an enduring love for finding laughter in the arena of combat, but why are we laughing and what are we laughing at?

Understanding what we find funny about war does not necessarily come from looking at just comedy, it also comes from what we find most dramatic and engaging. Recent dramas about modern conflict are probably the most useful signposts. With films like Lone Survivor and American Sniper being churned out, Hollywood seems perfectly happy to consume stories of glamorised heroism and rigid structures of good and bad. However, on the other side of the Atlantic, recent dramas like 2014’s Kajaki suggest distaste to the idea of painting the modern battlefield with any sense of thrill, instead making the subject of its story the problems and faults within the army’s make up. The story of soldiers caught on an old minefield, Kajaki humanises soldiers instead of deifying them, and suggests a lack of any greater cause. It understands that war is hell, but doesn’t label it as some great battle against a faceless evil.

Herein lies what British audiences feel about war. Currently, the central emotion is skepticism. It is abundantly clear that the British public dislikes the concept of war, and is mistrustful of anyone suggesting it. This is reflected in the number of films being made about recent conflict. We don’t feel comfortable with linking heroism and the act of killing, and we don’t believe the army’s decision is always the right one. Thus, it is more comfortable to make fun of the stupidity of war than to accept it as something that we should take pride in and therefore encourage.

So, with skepticism in mind, the humour of British war comedies is found in who the audience associates with, who it doesn’t, and how we feel about what they’re fighting for. For WWI comedies, we laugh at the hopelessness of the private’s situations in Old Bill and Charlie Chaplin’s Shoulder Arms, stories of men trudging through mud in a war that seems completely illogical. On the opposite end, we laugh at ridiculed figures of authority – those not on the front line with the ordinary man.

The actuality of war is harsh. Men and women risk their lives for a cause they believe in. Whatever the battlefield, people die and many are injured. A situation so awful needs comedy for so many reasons. It’s needed to understand and sympathise with the ordinary soldier as a human being. While films of WWI may create caricatures of the private, they almost always express some deeper problem about the situation of the men doing the fighting. In retrospect, dark humour about the horror of war is there for us to make fun of it while it’s happening and stop it from ever happening again. More often than not, we are laughing because we are scared of what humanity is capable of.

Point Break (Ericson Core. 2015)

 

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It should be said that the poster for Point Break is indicative of the film’s quality. Said poster is a picture of a wave with the words “Point Break – find your breaking point”, literally explaining the entirely obvious wordplay of its own title. It wouldn’t be unwise to assume that this is not an intelligent film.

Like the original Katherine Bigelow film, it centres around a young FBI agent who suddenly finds himself in deep waters with a group of extreme sports athletes who are also international criminals. The twist in this modern retelling though, is that instead of being surfers with an eye for money, they are a group of polyathletes with a weird eco warrior philosophy behind their crimes.

And while the story may sound familiar, director Ericson core has captured none of the original’s brilliance. Led by Keanu Reeves, the 1991 film was a fantastic blend of ideas for a very specific time. Like a cross between Michael Mann’s Heat  and John Milius’ Big Wednesday, it combined action and nature wonderfully. In a post Reaganite era it was also refreshing, looking at a new ideology or way of life for the young people of the west coast. It introduced a new and rather intoxicating Zen philosophy mixed with surfing, shattering it with the element of crime and violence.

In contrast, 2015 Point Break has none of this intrigue. Playing out as a cavalcade of set pieces and people jumping off of things or driving over things, it is a bizarre production that seems akin to a YouTube playlist entitled “stunts”. There is no depth of thought regarding the ideology of these characters and the time in which they live in. In fact, while the film tries to say they are a group of eco warriors, it also tries its utter best to undermine this throughout. Characters jet off on their private planes to numerous exotic locations, have yacht parties, drive fast vehicles and fly in helicopters. Instead of being ecologically aware soldiers in the battle for Earth’s health, they are vain, illogical machismo cardboard cut outs who rely on making bold physical statements that people on the internet will see. While the audience is bombarded with this pseudo philosophical story about them trying to be at one with Earth’s forces and “read the flow”, the impact is actually far blander. These characters are not individuals created with the concept of saying something important about the preservation of the Earth; they are an empty product of the Instagram generation. If not doing stunts or saying vague statements about our role in the universe, they are at parties or doing stuff that sexy young people might do.

As if to add gross insult to serious injury, this bonanza of dull action sequences and sexy young people doing sexy young people things is severely hampered by atrocious writing. The amount of expository dialogue is sublimely misjudged, only taking ten minutes to announce the whole plot of the film. Every line reeks of cliché, predictability and poor characterisation. The chiselled abs of FBI’s Utah (Luke Bracey) and the quasi messiah Bodhi (Edgar Ramirez) mixed with the weak dialogue makes for cardboard people. This leaves the audience utterly devoid of sympathy when Utah does eventually have to do his duty and bring in the criminals – despite his strong bond with them and the ‘radical’ parties they’ve been to together.

A hopeless mixture of Hollywood machoism, boring stunt sequences, poor CGI and weak dialogue, Point Break is a film completely lacking in quality. It is a pointless remake.

Mad Max: Fury Road (George Miller. 2015)

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As far as I can make out, Mad Max seems to be the result of George Miller, 150 million dollars and nothing to consume but a copious amount of amphetamines. It’s heady, brash, gigantic and absolutely bonkers.

Normally, a reboot of a gloriously stupid 80s film is serious and restrained. As gritty reboots go, Tom Hardy’s Max should be in a post-apocalyptic world deadened by famine and disease. He should be weak and sad, his enemies tired and lost. Every conversation should be a deeply philosophical dialogue helping to understand the meaning of insanity. However, this is not the case. Like a full on indulgence in to the world of 80s cult cinema, everything about Fury Road is joyously ridiculous. Dialogue is irrelevant and the word “Mad” is effectively the plot. There’s nipple clamps, a car chase (a 90 minute one), suicidal warriors, a disease ridden dictator, a rogue warrior with a prosthetic arm, kidnapped maidens and stupid monster truck muscle cars. Christ, there’s even a guy suspended on bungee cord that plays a flamethrower guitar. Good god it’s good fun.