On Objectivity

Around the age of 11, I developed an obsession with the Back to the Future trilogy. It was the latest in a long line of all-consuming obsessions, being a fairly nerdy shrinking violet of a child; I had already been through my Tudors phase, which made everyone in my family wish for their own swift beheading, and my collection of Beano comics were looking a little too well-thumbed. I needed a new fixation, something that will really allow me to get my geek on. The adventures of Marty McFly had plenty to go on; a mixture of total nonsense with cool gadgetry and a hero I could develop a childhood crush on. A bit like the Tudors really (Edward VI was age-appropriate and had this rather attractive portrait).

I loved all three films, but I liked the second one the best, mainly because I didn’t really understand it. The bit where Marty goes back to 1985 and finds it to be a dystopian hellhole run by sadistic Griff was shocking and scary to a green and cossetted slightly posh kid. I would badger my parents; ‘But why is 1985 like that now? It was fine before’. ‘Because Marty did a stupid thing in buying the Almanac in 2015 and therefore changed history’.

It blew my tiny mind. It was one of the first films I saw that really made me think about the relationship between cause and effect, that the decisions I made had consequences for others. One little decision like that and the whole town was done for and Lorraine was forced to get massive breast implants and dress like a prostitute. When Griff pushes her onto the ground in a fit of rage and she lies there, powerless and whimpering in her stupid dolly bird outfit and fluffy heels, I swear that this 11-year-old felt the first stirrings of anger at the injustice, the inequality of it all. Greed = bad. Yes, I know this is Hollywood, and Hollywood uses every trick in the book to manipulate your emotional reaction. But nevertheless, I was a little bit nicer to my mum for about a week afterward, and casinos still make me feel uneasy.

Now, as I approach my 30^th birthday in the same year the trilogy celebrates its own 30 years of existence, they remain my favourite films of all time, and I am still waiting for the film that will equal that emotional punch. Maybe with the cynicism of adulthood, that ship has sailed. My favourite is still that second one, the one which most film critics agree is the weakest in the series. Too convoluted, too high-concept, too much unconvincing Michael J. Fox in drag playing female members of his family. The last time I saw the film, maybe four years ago, I was not unaware of its feeble parts, but it did not dent my bliss for one second. In fact, the occasional crappy bits of acting and dated make-up and effects enhanced my enjoyment. I am not proud of my inability to ignore my cravings for childhood nostalgia, the subjective indulgence of it. It’s like giving in and scoffing that Findus Crispy Pancake.

Here we go, though. No film review can ever be objective. It is impossible. Because reviews are generated by human beings. We all carry around our own crap which affects our reactions to things, to every…thing. Perhaps it is fruitless to even try to write an impartial review. I know a bit about film and I can describe cinematography and mise-en-scene until I'm blue in the face, and make a plethora of (vaguely) witty and valid observations. In the end it all boils down to how a film has made you feel. I think in all honesty that is all anyone cares about, and why people keep buying cinema tickets. This blog is about how I feel about films that I have seen, and hopefully a few people might read it and have an opinion about my opinion.

It feels nice to write ‘I think’ and ‘I feel’ in a film review blog.

'The Imitation Game'... In which I finally 'get' Cumberbatch

In what appears to be in marked contrast to the rest of the Western World, Benedict Cumberbatch has simply passed me by thus far. I have never watched ‘Sherlock’, despite constant urging to do so by friends and family; it is one of those programmes that I have spent too long thinking about watching, and now probably never will. If I attempted Series 1 now, it would result in my feeling late to the party; in attempting to gossip about it with more happening folk, said folk will wink infuriatingly, and say things like, ‘Still on Series 1, eh? Well, I won’t give it away. How’s your love life?’

I digress. The point is, the hysteria surrounding luxurious sex otter Cumberbatch has up to this point been something to observe detachedly and with some amusement, the mania surrounding the recent announcement of his engagement providing the latest and greatest giggles. After watching ‘The Imitation Game’, I am finally beginning to see what all the fuss is about. His portrayal of World War II code breaker Alan Turing is just wonderful, the best performance I have seen for a very long time.

The film opens in 1952, and a police investigation into a burglary at Turing’s house. From here, we are treated to a thoroughly engrossing, emotionally stirring account of Turing’s life, sliced up into non-chronological chunks depicting his lonely childhood, astounding tenure at Bletchley Park during the War, and tragic decline. Cumberbatch is astonishing, plonking an arrogant, socially awkward prodigy on the screen for us all to dare to laugh at, then slowly, masterfully, peeling away the bluff and bluster to reveal the human behind this computer mastermind. The structure lends itself to Cumberbatch’s approach perfectly, treating the subject matter and intended audience with respect, allowing the spectator to gradually piece together the puzzle.

This is a meticulously designed and lushly captured piece of filmmaking, stunning in its detail and a real pleasure to watch unfold. It is explained to us that breaking the Enigma code was a painstaking and laborious task spanning many years, and yet the pacing here is superbly judged. Much emphasis is placed on the urgency of the task at hand, and as the alarm clock repeatedly signals the end of another day without success and the cryptographers must start all over again, the tension and frustration are palpable. This means that when Turing does have his breakthrough moment and cracks the code, it is genuine edge-of-your-seat cinema.

Surprisingly strong support is provided in the form of Keira Knightly as Turing’s close friend and one-time fiancée, Joan Clarke. The character is intelligently written and realistically fleshed out; Knightly ditches her wide-eyed, daft ingénue shtick and is impressive enough for me not to roll my eyes once. The scenes between Knightly and Cumberbatch are believable and tender, and Knightly holds her own even against a Cumberbatch who constantly threatens to chew up the scenery (squeal). Strong support is also provided by Rory Kinnear as the policeman investigating the 1952 burglary, and Matthew Goode as a caddish, egotistical member of Turing’s Bletchley Park team.

Sitting there in my local cinema, by the time the film reached its conclusion and what became of Turing is revealed, I felt unexpectedly moved, perhaps more so because ‘The Imitation Game’ managed to stir emotion in me without resorting to showiness or mawkish sentiment. Just a great story, great score, great acting. How very refreshing.

I might give ‘Sherlock’ a go, after all.

  

 

  

 

'Say When'. Say What?

On the evening I saw ‘Say When’, I got into an argument with my date. Yes, ‘Interstellar’ looked great- look at those effects, look at that cinematography! No, I was not averse to seeing it at some point but it had been a long and trying week and I was in no mood for two and a half hours of beautiful, plodding spectacle. I wanted to be able to be able to switch my mind off and indulge in nonsense. ‘Say When’ looked like it would fit the bill, a light comedy with Keira Knightly having some sort of quarter-life crisis and completely justifiably jumping Sam Rockwell’s bones. It looked like offbeat fun, but with a bit of an indie brain. Sam Rockwell was in ‘Moon’, I pointed out as the date flopped into the seat next to me. Now tell me you never get your own way.

‘Interstellar’ does look pretty good, though.

Knightly plays Meg, an overeducated but directionless late twenty-something struggling to make those big life decisions whilst everyone around her continues to tick off the life boxes: love, wealth, career. In opening scenes we watch her working a menial job for her overindulgent father, fail to connect with her more settled childhood friends, and duck a meeting with a careers advisor by skulking around and watching TV instead. As a late twenty-something armed with childish avoidance tactics, self-deprecation and a great education I’m not entirely sure what to do with, I found these opening scenes funny and relatable. Meg’s just like me!

Unfortunately, about twenty minutes in, Meg meets a bunch of teenagers, gets drunk with them and starts tediously throwing toilet paper around. Ah. I wouldn’t do that, you see. The date, slumped next to me, began to yawn. After a proposal from her soppy boyfriend, one of Meg’s new friends (a believable Chloe Grace Moretz) allows her to hide out at her house for a week. Sam Rockwell is the patriarch of the house. Sparks begin to fly. And I knew it as the end of the road for this film and I.

Ask anyone who knows me – If a film has enough magic, I will swallow any old implausible plot bullshit, because I believe in the magic of cinema like an old fool and constantly fantasise that the next film I watch will have the same effect on me as ‘Back to the Future’ did when I was ten, transcending Cineworld and whisking me away to another world entirely. On every trip to the cinema the same dialogue runs through my mind: Dear Next Film I See, it does not matter one iota that you have scored 58% and distinctly mediocre reviews on Rotten Tomatoes, push my buttons enough and you never know, you could be the next ONE.

However. Asking me to believe that a character such as Sam Rockwell’s Craig, a strict and loving father, a LAWYER, would let a stranger stay in his house for an entire week, for no discernible reason other than she bears an uncanny resemblance to that pretty actress from ‘Atonement’, is witless. This main plotline is played completely straight instead of treated with the kind of surreal, quirky humour such implausibility requires, and this renders the atmosphere flat and hollow. By the end of this sorry mess Meg does not need to worry about getting a job anymore (who needs that stress anyway, eh ladies?) and has taken up with Rockwell instead, presumably to take on the dream life role of ‘stepmother to someone ten years younger than her.’

It’s not just this elephantine plot hole that I object to. Relationships between the characters are pushed to the side just as they begin to take shape, the nuances of Meg’s interactions with her father and friends dropped in favour of hurrying the film to its final conclusion – all Meg really needed was the right man, all along, problems solved. The direction is lifeless and uninspired, one brief static shot follows another then another, all bringing nothing slightly original to the table. The dialogue is also mercilessly clunky. Meg has an epiphany towards the film’s conclusion and delivers a speech comparing herself to a snake that needs to shed its skin. It is so embarrassing the armrests still had imprints of my fingernails in them when the end credits began to roll.

I am by nature a fairly cynical and grumpy person but I have never walked through cinema doors armed with anything other than a kind of determined, joyous anticipation, not just because I am paying to see the bloody thing but because film genuinely excites me. I wanted this film to be cheeky and charming, I wanted to chuckle gently and above all, I wanted to be right, dammit. The date jumped up as soon as the credits began to roll and nudged my knee, and even in the darkness I could see that he was somehow pulling off an expression of annoyed triumph. Off we trudged, so that I may admit that I, on this one occasion, had misfired.