Take away my movies..

Comin' soon.

I really would love to say more but the powers that be (the clock and my laziness) are holding me back. I will get back to this on the regular though I promise. Just wait and see. In the meantime, brief and not so eloquent rundowns of the last three -

 
After Canary, I confess I expected Harmful Insect to be a more draining, gut check of a film. Perhaps too many Japanese directors have keyed into the disaffected youth scene. Bounce Ko Gals is still way up top for me and I still can't balance on Shunji Iwai's branch. Shiota's films do render me bleary eyed enough and the ending to this schoolgirl's tale is so morose you want to dive into that car and save her.- job done I reckon though it's missing the pedantic streak that many similar films have and work around so well.

 

 

Honestly I can't even remember the majority of House of Fury, just that disabled villains seldom seem menacing and that Gillian Chung for all her exposed naughty bits notoriety, does pretty convincing Kung Fu - and not just for a pop star either. The HK cornball effect that Fury was shooting for I'm able to stomach less and less of as the years go on, being accustomed to it hasn't done me many favours. The melee antics were crisp and nice when they weren't hampered by the over indulgent wirework. Oh and ninjas!

  

For the first act The Railroad threatened to run around the same tracks full pelt and provide me with nothing more than a comprehensive guide to the Incheon and Seoul subway lines. Thankfully the narrative began to develop as the film inched it's way along accompanied by beautiful cinematography. The final half hour was immensely satisfying, I was drawn into what felt like pure sincerity all the way  and let those waterworks fly. The tone, the performances, the look -  cut like a diamond.  If it hadn't been such a sloth at the start it might have shut up shop with full marks.

I just can't be arsed and I'm not on some whacky deadline, so it's another quickfire round.

Ichikawa-san you had me at Moshi Moshi. Then you lost me up until the last 10 minutes or so with Tokyo Marigold, a film I'm quite peeved about having to pay 25 quid for. Slice of city life movies that anchor themselves in romance o' rama come in like swings and roundabouts with me, yet I'm always looking for the next one that can break through and surprise me. The first act sees young Tokyoite Eriko wander around aimlessly, taking pleasure in the time and space afforded to her after a fairly nonchalant break-up. The Marigold euphamism of a flower that blooms, sets seed and dies the following year is played upon when she meets Tamura, who sets a sell-by date on their relationship until his girl comes home from studying abroad. As someone who quite enjoys solo outings and enjoyed the way her idling drift was captured, I take aim on the consensus that Eriko is desperately lonely. The aimlessness of her relationship with Tamura and the fact that she considers herself happy while not knowing why just seems far too contrary...it's born out of boredom and files itself neatly into Ichikawa's encompassing point. This however doesn't excuse the fact that the romance threatens to stick you in a coma or at the very least a fortified stupor. The placid atmosphere and static lens work could be confused for something less arbitrary if not for the weak connection between the couple that makes up to an hour of the film one hellish slog to get through. Hampering my enjoyment further still is that this just isn't a terribly interesting film to look at - I dunno what the fuck those who claim that the film 'numbs the visual senses' were smoking beforehand but I could have done with some of it myself. There's a difference between being visually perspicuous and being so simplistic that it doesn't impress the way it could or perhaps should. However after the emotional fallout Eriko takes stock of her losses and facilitates one key idea - that being with someone just for the sake of it can't erase the listless ennui so many become trapped in, that it's an internal process to overcome with the help of the many, not the few or the singular. Such a clear stance just makes me wish Ichikawa had the clairvoyance to attack the core of the film outside of his typically subtle touch and smash the characters home with a little solidarity. Shit no wonder Cannes turned him down ha!

  
        

 
I've had Park Heung-sik's Mummy, Dearest on my shelf for some time now and I often find rolling out the films I initially pass on when they arrive turn out to be worth the unintentional wait. Such is the case here, as it's proven to be a pretty nice little film - Park's best turn to date (which isn't saying much, but still) with Moon So-ri as watchable as ever and convincing child actors who aren't anywhere near as creepy as Dakota Fanning. It's an earnest late 70's family ties number, which sounds a bit niche but South Korea does seem to like setting movies along the timeline of when President Park Hee-chung was assassinated. It sets in a nice aura of uncertainty but is no means essential here as the characters impress upon all that's necessary within it's drama that's peppered with plenty of light hearted gags. If there is a weakness here it's only in the typical recipe for disaster plotting which ensures someone will die and some lives will be left in tatters. Though late on Mummy Dearest gears itself towards audience tear extraction, the characters in reaching humility swallow the lumps in their throats hard and dip into understated sadness,,,all except the baby of the family who rightfully has a go at bawling her eyes out and she's so cute you can't help but sink in your chair and feel the way Park wants you to. Chances are it's not going to change many lives but it may have some saps changing their contact lenses.

Park Chan-wook's nabbed himself a pretty illustrious career in a short stint of time and so I found it pretty amazing when I'm a Cyborg But That's Ok tanked so heavily on home soil. Surprised because beyond Oldboy I'm not much of a fan. But Cyborg, a lighter, twinklier and altogether cozier affair ticked all the right boxes for me and on my second run through (probably been over a year since I last saw it) made me hope that Park will care to indulge further in his move towards more contemporary stories - 'cause he makes you feel as though you haven't seen them before. Cyborg has so many neat little touches, from the opening credits being worked directly into items and clothing, to a gigantic pair of dentures that flow from overdone gag to macguffin-like plot device in one snap. It's also nice within the loopy hallways of the institution that (as romantic comedies go) love is no cure but suitably so the best medicine. The film makes light of mental illness, but romanticizes it gleefully to a point where the patients tenure inside seldom seems insufferable. A movie that can put over an eating disorder in such comical fashion is doing something right. Cyborg does just about everything right.

For my money Birth of a Family is still the most accomplished film Korea's put out since 2006. Kim Tae-yong has taken the linearity, the diminutive scope of small town life alongside a positively teeny budget and woven these apparent weak threads into tight saga strands of familial  fecundity. Yeah man I just said that shit! There's just no fluff here at all as each character in every scene feels integral to the slight span of the relationships - it's something of an anti-Magnolia in that respect and something that's close to perfect in my eyes when you're talking about movie drama versus real life drama. Also love the 'notably Korean' more deceptive than usual posters and covers on this one. So much more I could say but it all feels redundant in a blurb so let's settle on GIGANTO GOOD.

 

When screenwriters come out from under the shadow of the Guild and fancy themselves a directorial turn, it often proves to be a disaster. Most are better off sticking to scribing in spite of the fact that they hover around movie sets for years and cut their teeth in the presence of those who are good but seldom great. David Goyer is a fine example - a slick scriptguy whose worked with Del Toro and Nolan...and yet he can't steer his own stories in a straight line when he gets behind the monitor. Scott Frank is an exception because beyond turning out another really great script, he also let it roll out organically from a character base rather than a situational 'un.

The Lookout feels reminiscent of old school european thrillers, those which have the odd thrill and spill but are much more concerned with a sauntering pace to allow the characters time to develop. In fact if it wasn't for the plot contrivances of the heist then this film would have almost certainly made for a more impressive drama rather than a drama with some overly schematic actioneering interludes. Not to say that it hurt the intentions indefinitely, just that the first half of the film as a glacial-paced character study was far more interesting without any hint of tacked-on gun-totting to 'thrill'.

Amazingly enough it's taken almost a year after the US release for me to see this one, though I was aware of it long before then and was most interested in it simply because I wanted to see how Joseph-Gordon Levitt would take to a Leonard Shelby via Ray Babbitt role. His portrayal of Chris Pratt, a young man suffering from a debilitating head injury that hampers his day-to-day existence is all that I expected and probably more. To me it would be quite easy to try and convince someone that you had a mental disability just by odd facial tics or acting out in peculiar ways.

The stillness of Chris, the subtle reactions through his eyes and enveloping notion that certain things simply aren't registering with him creates a complexity that can be defined by how much the viewer wants to invest in him as a protagonist and eventual hero. When he does act out there's often a comedic reverb that takes the edge off what could otherwise be a succesive link of depressing encounters, one after the other. His inner conflict invariably spirals out and affects those around him to a point where he can't even stay at home amongst a clumsily condescending family.

One superb performance would have been enough to keep me in good stead with the film, but pretty much every character in here is dignified through reams of purely well written dialogue and in the case of the practically mute Uncle Bone, distinctive looks. Lewis, Chris' maternal roommate of sorts is the warm center that juxtaposes Chris' frustrations towards simply not being the same person he once was. Like most wholesome and prophetic blind characters, he can 'see' people better than most and is surely the kind of friend that any of us would be lucky to have.

The charismatic n' asthmatic villain Gary is also engaging as he suckers Chris into taking on the lookout role, using his gift of the gab and tempting hooks of his gal Luvlee to seal the deal. The solicitous and accidental femme fatale takes off too abruptly in the proceedings for whatever reason we care to speculate and though it creates an obvious rift, the time she does spend with Chris is warm beyond the temprature of her thighs...it's these little things that help elevate The Lookout far beyond your average fall guy flick.

Aesthetically The Lookout reaches far beyond it's necessary means and is filtered through a rich pastiche of textures and tones that I never imagined seeing on digital film. A modest budget and such a UV-heavy anamorphic print has never to my mind (haven't seen Inland Empire but that looks fucking cheap I guess) looked this good. On top of that the score is super good as well. I can't even remember the last time I wanted to grab an OST after watching a film. The main drama I have there is that you join the musical dots to the movie and it's not really your soundtrack, you just recall scenes and themes of characters and can't make those expressed personal connections with the tunes. It could have been a walk in the dreary cum edgy Michael Ironside bullshit park but it never got there, even late in the game when the bank's being HEISTED and the protagonist is on the lamb the score is unintrusive and enjoyable.

The whole bank job element is really what sells the movie a bit short. The relaxed progression of the piece has been so much so that it's carefully avoided plenty of the usual trappings of the lesser action variety. It's fitting from the standpoint of a protagonist whose coming to terms with where his life is as opposed to where it could have been - having an oppurtunity to do things he wouldn't have otherwise in stopping the robbery and finding solace in the alternative purpose his life holds. Thematically it's as rich as the rest of the piece but the actual shift in on-screen action does take you out of the loop for a fair whack of time. This conceit aside though, it's pretty safe to say Scott Frank isn't another David Goyer and I'm looking quite forward to seeing where he goes next. Lookout pun not included!

        

My first time sitting down with Punch-Drunk Love and though multiple viewings does seem like a requirement I'd go as far as to say it's P.T Anderson's most well-rounded turn to date. Sandler is basically playing the same guy he always does and that had me avoiding it up until now, but I feel as though he's finally keyed into the rationale behind the violent outbursts and social akwardness of that perpetually mirrored character and done something decent with it. By rom-com standards it's kinda sitting on it;s own shelf, far-removed that world the weird gal takes off the glasses to reveal that she's a real looker. Not a bad thing at all just makes it a little tougher to digest when you can apparently watch it through such fliters as 'Lena is an alien' and 'the piano is Barry's heart'. Goofy yeah but it feels honest and holds a certain discrete charm from start to finish.         

There is a good reason for Europe's lack of involvement in martial arts pictures. Luc Besson is the only properly renowned and bankable force in France, notably so because unlike pretty much anyone else who makes a go of it, he has an obvious appreciation for the trailblazers of Hong Kong action. Samourais is the opposite, just another quizzical European entry and most notably so because Giordano Gederlini and anyone else on his crew with creative clout clearly don't know the terrain. Or maybe they just don't care about being faithful or care about making anything that contains an ounce of quality. Because without a lick of uncertainty can I can say that Samourais is a behemoth of shit.

The plot hits you like a ten ton fever dream, so difficult to ignore that any real hope of avoiding it so you can appreciate how bad this adventure is, almost never flies. I suppose it must be worth something considering the fairly wide narrative reach but the trouble is that for all the time afforded to developing it, each additional layer is more ridiculous than the last. The first thing to note is that there aren't actually any Samurai in this movie...that is carrying a sword around doesn't make you one. Anyway a baby demon is born and develops into a fully fledged adult in about 10 seconds, the Mother done in by the Father and the demon boy goes on to live for 500 years before deciding he needs a new body - he's in a wheelchair and old fogey clothes but can still pull out the backflips and gun trickshots when need be.  

After bumping off a videogame designer in a bamboo forest (because apparently the game holds the key to his demise don'tcha know) he shuffles from the far east to the whacky west to find a female blood relative of his original Mammy, so he can pull some incestuals and bang her (on a bed in a flaming pit of Hell no less) so as to be born inside her once again. This way he'll come back rejuvenated and...do whatever it is he's been doing for the past 500 years - presumably playing lots of Dark Bushido 2 as himself and downloading plenty of porno. But as the lineage goes the blood relative Akemi is one tough cookie unlike her useless Great Grannie who couldn't even squish the little demon bugger as soon as he popped out. Akemi gets in tow with a couple of douchebags who feel as though they should be playing hero parts but gum up the works more than anything else. Enter evil minions who want to steal her away and insure the 5 minute pregnancy goes off without a hitch and you have all the makings for something... uh terrible.

Samurais has a rather testing identity crisis...it's not quite sure if it wants to play for laughs, shoot straight or just integrate both into an action comedy. The stock traits aren't exactly difficult to deliver and yet I still got to wondering how much of it was on call as laugh material. Every moment that exists as a gag is embarassing and almost every moment outside of that seems to be gags that are simply unsure of themselves. Nadir the stick figure sidekick flails around with a carpet that conceals his shotgun, shits himself over losing his scooter and  blocks an incoming shuriken when he kicks, his shoe flying off and intercepting - only to kill the assailant on the rebound. The dubbing is conveniantly terrible to cement in the fact that this little rodent is only there to be  made a fool of. And yet of all the characters he's the only one who seems to be doing anything interesting, revelling in his own awkward physical appearance and skittish antics that would get right on your tits if you had him round your place for more than half an hour. He's a thief too, pinching videogames like the best the dole has to offer.

Marco the self-assigned hero (who only steps up his game when he's being controlled by... a Playstation control pad) has about 2 mood-sets, befuddled and disgruntled - the only way we can tell the difference is by how deep he's furrowing his brow at good news, bad news and sad news. He's basically a Paul Walker looking douche who loves to rip his shirt off at any hint of danger...then kinda stands around throwing some off-looking kicks and punches before the camera cuts in close to disguise the fact that he sucks at martial arts. He also has a little shitbag brother with worse hair and an intolerable English accent. His eventual enemy runs around in some kinda diaper and stole Spidey's insignia for his head. He also shaves all his body hair off, eyebrows included so you know he's one mean motherfucker. Actually how bad can he be, given that we don't ever find out his name and in 500 years he hasn't done much bar work out at the local Y.

There's an abundance of things that never sit right in either realms of pure fantasy or reality. For one thing it seems as though everybody in France is unemployed as they never have to be anywhere or have anything to do. Also the aesthetic would have you believe that everyone in Paris is into Japan...you can't move for dragon t-shirts and kanji-clad jackets. It's like the Showdown In Little Tokyo gangs all over again! Also that latched on attraction between Marco and Akemi man...they've seen each other for about 30 seconds in a pool and next time you catch them together they're holding hands. It all seems like the world of the Japanese seen through the eyes of 30-something anime geek, living vicariously through the loser white boys who know what Pokemon is, eat sushi, do some Karate on weekends and fancy Asian women - this translates as having a deep appreciation for the culture you know.

Wth more wrenches than works it comes as a surprise that some of the set-pieces though blatantly wire assisted are actually pretty decent. The gym scuffle with the suits is probably the best example on offer, it's kinetic and loaded with notably more skilled stunt people who pass in and out of frame at a much snappier rate. But nominal payoff where it's supossed to count can't save a movie caught in a downward spiral shitstorm extravaganza like this...it might have even been epic in it's failings if it wasn't such a cheapo. Everybody hates the French for some reason I suppose...fucking frogs.

       

See that frame there? He's actually not being choked to death by a vengeful spirit. No he's recoiling in horror as he has a look at the final print of Whispering Corridors...and he's losing his shit because he realizes the movie should be called Drafty Halls That Smell Funny or perhaps Girls Who Feel Guilty In the Passageway of Yawns. Movies like this are denied the right to come under review in the typical sense because well, they're not worth my time be honest. So this will be kinda brief, biting and bullshit free - quite the polar opposite of the film itself hah!

One thing that I kept in mind throughout revisiting Whispering Corridors for the sake of it's posterity was that it was made in '98, at the tail end of Military dictatorship which greatly freed up censorship laws in South Korea - 2/3 years before the Korean Hallyu boom positively exploded. From the outset it's quite telling through the lack of a high-gloss finish that's become so synonomous with Korean film, that studios really weren't terribly interested in big movie funding sprees back then. The film is decked out in grainy, lowstock film and sound for the most part is a fuzzed out affair. Yet this effort was apparently so strong that it managed to spinoff another 3 loose sequels, each one more progressively hacknied than the last simply because the haunting angle goofed up what could have otherwise been, 4 decent highschool dramas.

The positives of this formula first time around are few and far-between and the plus effect tends to swing into view just because I try to find something worth anything in everything I watch. This is pre-Ringu material and that's a good thing since pretty much all Korean chillers from this point on (even the proud few winners) jumped on the J-Horror bandwagon and got far too keen on dodgy black wigs that obscured scary girls faces. Can't shake the feeling however that if Whispering Corridors had been produced a couple of years later then it would have been the movie to rock on heavily with that blooming trend. The grain though clearly a bi-product of the budgetary limitations , does create a peculiar aesthetic which throws off your typical visual balance and unsettles the mood up to a definite point. And for the first hour the score is pretty masterfully filtered in there, so evocative and pitch savvy in fact that I kinda wish it would have been used on a better film.   

That is the extent of Whispering Corridors' charms and yes even at that they're a shade on the meek side for what is supposed to be some kind of jarring emotional horror film. After a great deal of time is spent trying to dripfeed you a disquieting sense of dread the plot lumbers forward from one not-so-informative flashback to another, drawing out the secrecy to the point where it's as guessable as it is condescending to the audience. To imagine that you can't figure out why this ghost is hanging around and who she's dead set on turning dead highlights a terrible lack of faith in you the viewer, for half a dozen giveaway signs later the movie still wants you to be shocked when you're closer to schnoozing. The greatest mystery in the whole thing is how Jae-yi keeps her lips so glossy without touching up in the bathroom come the end of every period. Maybe the ghost did it for her OOOOHH SPOOOOKYYY.  

It also feels as though the horror element has been tagged on after a dry run of the plot, which is to say it doesn't resemble much of a ghost story or adhere to conventions that render it so. But at the same time it's not a genre busting original, it's just far more concerned with doing the thankless job of making the Korean education system look as fierce as it reputedly is. To my westernized eyes it even flops at that. Showing off a Teacher who belts his students and perves up on other ones isn't exactly deconstructing and shaming any society because every fucking high school the world over has it's share of  batshit crazy Professors. When it does aim for the scares many of them are in stark daylight which also baffles - it's hard enough to produce the goods under the cover of darkness but you have a real tension breaker on your hands when using natural light.

Then there's a wall of tears from every main character come the final reel, followed by a waterfall of blood . The need to overstate emotions like this doesn't scare but instead confuses the shit out of me time and again. I have nothing at all against broad drama but I really have no clue as to why half these girls were bawling to the point of exhaustion. But if anything from this film is going to give you nightmares, it's the pacing...I love slowburn drama when it has veiled content that you can soak up leisurely - I can't stand slowburn drama when it's padded with endless avenues that are designed to keep you out of the characters' headspace. That's the problem here...it's all surface momentum with little to nothing bubbling underneath. Each expression on Jae-yi's face is caricatured and warped to play to the lowest common denominator. Dumbshit film for dumbshit people who get scared by dumbshit things. Watch it at your peril muuahahahaaa.

As a young man, Eisenheim falls in love with Sophie, an attractive young thing who is hopelessly beyond his meager social standing - he’s a carpenter’s son, she a Duchess in waiting. But friendship blossoms nevertheless between the two and  romance soon afterwards. When their run away together balloon is burst, Eisenheim disappears, returning 15 years later in Vienna with a manager, a honed craft and heyyy a beard! Austria’s Emperor in waiting, the Crown Prince Leopold takes in an Eisenheim the Illusionist live performance and in so doing reveals that that around his arm is Eisenheim's lost love, Sophie. The mustache curling swine likes a drink, likes to thump his women around and revels in the notion of overthrowing his Father for the throne. Leopold also has Chief Inspector Uhl under his thumb, an honourable man whose only hope of climbing the food chain is to keep the Prince's skeletons locked tight in the closet. The latest boney addition being that Sophie is found murdered and Eisenheim calls upon the the Inspector to nail the scheming Prince.

Movies about Magicians outside the realms of pure fantasy a la Lord of the Rings carry an inherant quality by which the strengths of the story are measured. The degree of mystery, intrigue and supposition are often reflections of the quality of the final revelation. In one respect it's a shame that the plot twist is the crux of these films simply because from the outset you're looking (often unconsciously on my part) for threads in the pattern that give the game away. Thankfully most machinations of The Illusionist don't care to announce themselves or even give way to revealing just how the magic of Eisenheim is achieved. As such it doesn't seem so reasonable to compare it to The Prestige like so many have felt the need to do - the myriad of magical ideas aside, these are two rather different films.

The neatest trick the film plays is relayed over the top of the plotting, for The Illusionist becomes curiously difficult to tie-down into any genre niche. It's an unrequited love story and you could conceivably be satisfied in only treating it as such. To extract more interest and enjoyment however it's worth acknowledging the clever layering that presides over the reach of how things draw out. We don't learn the secrets of Eisenheim's theatrical ability, we don't see Prince Leopold's Father make an appearance nor do we catch the absolute gist of how Eisenheim makes himself vanish before being hauled off to jail. Then there's his apparently all too real ability to will the souls of the dead right in front of him. The fact that his craft seems to extend beyond the stage and into reality gives the character and film weight in a dimension less explored and more wondered upon...and you still wonder here, but it's just nice to be able to do so more thoroughly without being fed pure reason.

Normally I avoid mentioning actors and performances simply because I feel as though character and plot are key to a film's success. True, films are often elevated by particular performers and the way meanings and ideas are imparted can rest on the shoulders of an actor..but it's something I avoid talking about whenever possible. I'm breaking that little unwritten rule here though because all the key players really carve out something special. It's easy to overlook Ed Norton given that's he 's so consistently impressive from film to film, simple to chalk up just another good one and move on.The role of Eisenheim could quite easily have been overplayed, worked through the eyes to bring daft degrees of majesty and awe to the foray on his audience, but Norton maintains mystique without having to camp it up or crank it out in thick sheets. Paul Giammati, who I've never really been swayed into caring much about in the past, steals the show. Maybe it's just that voicework but he gives Inspector Uhl credibility despite the fact that he's corrupt though 'not completely corrupt'. Early on in the proceedings you simply become aware of the fact he's more noble than he lets on...all conveyed through tone and subtle gestures. Jessica Biel suitably underplays the part of Sophie and interstingly enough isn't all dolled up to compensate for it either. She's really a stronger plot device than a character and though not synonymous with turning in quality reels, she did hold her own when necessary.

However The Illusionist doesn't make or break heavily on the revelation alone simply because the few tiny giveaway points, though not in stark contrast, make the twist somewhat guessable. There are no out and out GOTCHA moments to be sure, but if you racked your brains aplenty (I didn't and still had a fair guess) then there's a chance you could have a fair portion of it tied up before it materializes on screen. Being that so many elements of Eisenheim's abilities are left in the shadows, you could argue that it's not terribly important that you get it or indeed guess it before it happens. It makes the film a little bit of a cheat since by going back you won't find more clues and collect more evidence to support more 'ooohs' and 'aaaahs' of how it all came together. Whether or not that's a bad thing is up to the viewer but personally I don't mind it and don't mind being generous with a mark of 4/5 either.         

Genre is a curious thing and most genre pieces are often very easily pigeon-holed between eras, reflective of whatever wave was prevalent and popular at the time. For that very reason Brick is something beyond a refresher course in hard boiled noir and a shade more important than the term homage would have you believe. On this my second or perhaps third sitdown with the film I was interested to see how well it would hold up after placing second in my favourites of 2006 list. Convincingly and comfortably enough it's still a seriously enjoyable little film  that does wonders with the very snore-inducing notion of all that is High School drama.

The plot plays out to the tune of the stalwart detective stories, the film itself an aspiring Hammet or Chandler piece with all the trimmings. The initial sense of dislocation hits you quick and clean, for what we have here is a modern setting with teenagers speaking in staple Noir prose. If you're not familiar with this anachronistic dialogue it initially seems like a mindwash, but it won't take you so very long to rejig phrases in your head and make sense of most if not all of them.

Brendan Frye delves into the seamy underbelly of  his shady hometown in order to come up with names and reasons behind the disappearance and demise of his ex-girlfriend Em. He is Bogart's Sam Spade or Philip Marlowe in the making, on the cusp of adulthood and a mere few levels of reproach away from never being able to turn back and save himself. The true Noir grit of it all wouldn't be complete without the help of another outsider, a femme fatale, a hired hand and of course some big cheese orchestrating all the dodgy doings underneath.

I feel as though Brick could have been pretty shambolic if not for the fact Rian Johnson knew exactly what he wanted to do with it. The film required the mind of someone who wouldn't regard the material as blotchy experimentation. Also coming in under the radar along with light funding insured that the film wasn't going to develop a heavy profile until the end of the road. Brick is really the antitheis of the big studio school of thought not just because a major company wouldn't even risk backing it but because it makes each subsequent limitation a strength.

There's a shopping list's worth of goodies contained within the film. The modern take on detectives making their plays and turning up new leads relies on the trappings of modern technology. Yet within the curious almost alternate world these high schoolers inhabit there isn't a lick of computerization or even text messages on the go. Brendan gets in touch with his aquaintance The Brain through an oldie style phone booth and with not even a tv in sight it's quite fresh for being positively geriatric on the scales.

Schoolyard banter is amiss in favour of dialogue driven in such mannered fashion that it adds depth and maturity to a setting where you rarely (if ever) expect to find it. The tight plotting running you into dead ends and red herrings is exemplary and eventhough the characters are stock typed by the book, the fact that they're teenagers lends more meat to the bones of each key player via the growing pains of puberty.

Straight-faced but often funny. A haunting and notably original score. A round of enjoyable performnces and hey it looks gorgeous for a half a million movie. It's difficult to find much wrong with the film and I'm not even going to bother looking cause it's solid, baby! 5/5        

Joan of Arc has always been a  character of great interest, a flight of fascination not only in history and literature but in cinema as well. The yardstick by which all filmic efforts are measured against is easily Dreyer's The Passion of Joan of Arc. Mundruczo however goes against the grain to a degree that makes the silence of Dreyer's 1928 classic seem all the more golden. Johanna is a streamline revision of the story, set in a modern Hungarian Hospital that's buckled under the immense influx of the sickly and suffering. Enter Johanna, a Morphine addict who tops up her habit on-site before lapsing into coma of conveniance...she is in a Hospital afterall.

Returning to the land of the living she has a new sense of purpose, she's got divine healing properties and all she has to do to cure the masses is...have sex with them. For extra novelty points the extent of this slant reaches a bit further...sex, surgery and song.  Every character belts out their lines in the form of an Opera. The born-again junkie takes up her post as a Nurse in the Hospital and proceeds to ride the ill back to good heath before being accosted by the staff. Johanna's redemptive quest is obliterated and her opotheosis realised just like Joan of Arc.

Mundruczo's accolades as a filmmaker are few and far between thanks to a disconcerting sense of detatchment that plagues Johanna as well as his first film Pleasant Days. Here he's crafted something quite unqiue with elements that are anything but. We've seen each stylistic hallmark and each narrative notation before on their lonesome, but together they make for an almost truly original cocktail. Most of all I can appreciate the guts to run with not only a musical sensibility but one of Opera, the most overstated of forms.

The problem with setting the story of Joan of Arc to song however is that it doesn't amount to much beyond artificial troping. All of the themes and value of the story are lost surprisingly quickly and the audience is never asked to invest themselves in character or the absolution of rights and wrongs. Such a tale seems better suited to the sparingly suggestive rather than the overpowering use of exposition. The structure seems flimsy enough without being threatened even more by a ton of bellowing voices.

It is a visually sumptuous film though, heavily saturated and washed out greens warp the screen and convey a clinical sterility which would probably make me feel sick if I didn't like the colour so much! While it agrees with me I'm quite certain it could stand as a real turn-off with others. Such is another eventual weakness that could quite clearly hinder your enjoyment if only by tiring out your eyes through time.

I'll call it an exercise in originality...one at which it surely succeeds. If that was enough to satisfy then you'd have yourself a landmark picture. Unfortunately it fails to tie much of anything together through it's disjointed mashup of materials. Only successful if you want to consider it a heavily overcooked music video. Might have been better off with a trip hop soundtrack actually. 2/5

It's funny how films that don't leave much of an impression on you first time around have a way of clawing their way back into your movie memory. From there you may garner a little more appreciation for them, but rarely they do manage to magically produce indelible qualities that make you think 'how did I miss all this before?'. The City of Violence doesn't really do the whole Phoenix rising from the ashes of initial impressions thing, but it comes pretty close! In finding a solid liking for it I've had to sidestep the less than accurate 'Quentin Tarantino Presents: The City of Violence' school of thought. See sometimes it pays to find out how film projects surface and materialize, it can subconsciously add dimension to an understanding of where the filmmaker really wants to take you. Since Tarantino became the plagiaristic fuck wagon of Hollywood, people are quick to identify copycats of the copycat - while often being too quick off the mark in doing so. In this case Ryu Seung-wan has felt the need to get a real nostalgia trip, an action flick emblazoned with homage nods and winks out of his system for years. Before Kill Bill...so yeah fuck you lazy critics, do your homework before you call ripoff on ideas which are native to the source of the original rippin'. But lets get beyond that and look at the city in question: Onsung, a small communal town caught in the clutches of big city mentality, becoming rife with council corruption and a slew of scum who are keen to enforce it. When reformed gangster Oh Wang-jae gets too close to the root of the problem, he's stomped out and in the wake of his demise, Seoul Detective Tae-su comes back into town for the Funeral of his childhood friend. Meeting up with old school pals Seok-hwan and Pil-ho, a plan to catch those responsible for Wang-jae's death is soon hatched - a plan that will invariably lead them straight to the top of the nasty food chain in Onsung. And that's pretty much it, a simple whodunnit geared by street savvy martial arts, predominant Tae Kwon Do and Haedong Kumdo swords. The characters are doomed to a past whose promises they cannot fulfill, and to a present that brings only abject disappointment. By this standard the most Tae-su and Seok-hwan can hope for is to catch the man responsible and yank out one weed in a vast field of inequity. The characters are given time to come into their own, they venture into emotional climes beset by the need for revenge, but ultimately the plot doesn't require any real heavy audience investment and at that you get plenty of wry laughs and of course plenty of action. And it  comes as no surprise that the villain turns out to be an old comrade, an atypical evil-doer whose been blinded by greed and oppurtunity. The proposal to further demonize the city by kicking people off their land in order to make way for a shady Casino venture is led by none other than Pil-ho, who makes for a fine baddie caught up in his bumbling banality and insistance that he's the good man deep down. Safe to say he's got a bit of an arse kicking coming his way then. By conception the action is a throwback to Last Chance Saloon dynamics, where each successive encounter is like a warm up for the final showdown. One element that's quite refreshing however is that early on it's made clear that the good guys aren't untouchable or invincible. The odds stacked against them often reach the summit of cartoonish proportions and they're made to suffer as much as they're made to dish out the punishment. It's simple yes but it humanizes the heroes and plants a little seed of doubt in your mind which questions if they're fit enough to see the task through to the end. Along the way they're caught up in hoodlum scampering montages, kicking (funnily enough) alot of teenagers asses as well as a gym full of boxers and martial artists. The Warriors-esqe throwdown for my money is the most fun sequence...Tae-su rumbles with Breakdancers, BMX'ers, Yo-Yo tricksters, Schoolies, B-Boys, and the small matter of a full Baseball and Hockey team before Seok-hwan shows up to bail him out. The editing is cross free-flowing with all the moves being surprisingly grounded in realism...well I suppose backflips won't really help you against 50 odd people anyway. My only real complaint with the majority of the actioneering is in the camerawork, which intrudes more than it should with workman-like precision which of course, isn't terribly precise at all. You have the Spaghetti Western trumpet and acoustics on the go, easily Korea's best fight choreographer guiding the very capable Seoul action school folks and generally well staked inventiveness - and yet it could have been more if not for the shagged lensmanship. Ryu Seung-wan clearly knew what he was after and I guess he was satisfied with the end result, but no matter how melee your martial arts get, I personally like it all to filter through looking crisp and clean. Cut to the juggernaut Tae-su and Seok-hwan have to run in order to get their bloody hands on Pil-ho and much of the spastic framing seems to wear off, and while there's still an obvious lazy eye where catching the all that kinetic buzz is concerned, they make good on the talent for the most part. But I can hover beyond style quibbles and consider the overall effort to ring true with the action fan in me, taking more enjoyment from it than I previously thought possible and slapping a 3.5/5 on it.    

Jidaigeki (period drama - to save you looking it up!) films are surely a hard sell on most if not all modern audiences, I know more often than not I have a hard time digesting all that familial nobility and namesake sanctity - probably because my family are a pack of rat bastards but whatever! The Lady of Musashino is set to the backdrop of post-war Japan, with the Edo era having came and went it's a land looking to escape the crippling aftermath of Hiroshima and embrace the industrial development of Tokyo and Osaka. The Lady in question, Michiko, is suitably bound by tradition while the landscape around her develops rapidly in more ways than one. The death of Michiko's parents afford her ownership of their property while being entangled in an altogether loveless marriage. While her husband Akiyama plays away from the nest, Michiko's younger cousin Tsutomo returns home from war and a POW camp with the apparent wrong idea about his past and future with her. Both men are lured away by the flirtacious neighbour, Tomiko, with Tsutomo soon realizing the bed and say byebye method isn't for him. He loves Michiko and it soon becomes obvious that she loves him too, but Michiko is the embodiment of Musashino itself - 'simple, pure and beautiful'. Reluctant to follow her heart and act upon her feelings, there's an ending in sight from a good ways away and it's either inspiring or a gigantic washout depending on your beliefs. For me it's an eventual washout in Spades, which is a shame given how affecting and sweet much of the film is... a shame that I saw it coming around the turn of the fifty minute mark. It's not that I'm one for advocating adultery, more I'm one who simply can't appreciate the stoic sensibilities of those old Japanese ways. They prove to be the kind of social stigmatics I'll disagree with as a human being who lives and reacts with verve and spontaneity if I do say so myself. It's something that's hindered my enjoyment of Ozu, Naruse and Kurosawa flicks in the past and I guess I'm not going to get over my feelings on the old moral code bullshit anytime soon. However if I can take a breather and appreciate what's appreciable throughout this, a less powerful Mizoguchi outing, then there's still stuff worth a mention. The ideas presented are defined through simple means and when watching a film like this for the first time, one with so many faces passing though, it's a godsend being able to stay focused on all the relevant angles. Of course when these old films are so simple cinefags always want to start claiming duplicity, there always being more than meets the eye with simplistic touches and then they spill their load over their own existential wankfests of reason. Grass blowing in a gentle breeze just can't be grass, it has to be the nature and cadence of the fair city before the winds of change sweep in. Well from what I've seen Mizoguchi has never been an alegorical filmmaker and so what's beautiful and simple is such from start to finish. Eventhough the print has seen better days we're looking at a tastily shot film, static form and standard delivery for the time maybe, but it supports the frame of the story and Michiko's sticky demeanor. As a character I found her easy to like but tough to support...all the moral decay falling in around her and evethough she keeps her integrity, I can't help feeling like she really could have afforded herself the oppurtunity to let go of society's grip and embrace her feelings for Tsutomo. When a heavy duty storm hits the city and she's forced to duck into a Hotel with Tsutomo, it's just heartbreaking to see her resist when we truly feel as though she can't afford to. Repression of such in my own experience shouldn't be measured against what's morally wrong, only what's mentally and spiritually right. To even call it a simple case of getting back at her husband Akiyama would  imply that Michiko is only motivated by self when really she's overtly selfless to a worrying degree. Then she goes ahead with suicide just to stop her husband and Tomiko taking control of the family home - the ideals go to shit. Tsutomo becomes the owner through her Will but refuses to accept in some kind of angsty protest! It's self-sacrifice that doesn't resonate on the heights that should it be able to scale to...I only wonder how Japanese audiences in the 50's reacted. It works to a point as a love-lorn tale of what could have been but for me it's a real should have been and at that I'd say it manages to pull a 2.5/5.

Okay well first of all, text-speak zietgeist titles have never really worked. They never quite facilitate the cool factor that they're supposed to be and really, Before Twenty just looks nicer don't you think? Thankfully any real allusions made in that title are quickly put to bed and you can enjoy the film on it's own terms. I found there was quite alot to enjoy too. The plot wants to play lots of coming of age love triangle notes but it's really not terribly involved in doing so for the most part. Instead the adulthood love chimes reverberate around what I found to be the bigger touchstone: mortality. the Death card gets played a good bit and yet it's never a dirgey, somber treck that brings you down. Of the three main characters it's the fresh-faced Koey that keeps most elements sparse, light and able to breeze through woes and even death for the better part of the proceedings. I liked her up to a late point and was sort of turned off from her charms when she blurted out that she was pregnant...I know Chinese films have trouble circumventing censorship laws and things like sex don't make the cut in their flicks but I actually got the impression she made it up. Maybe the relationship between Koey and Willy was too abstract but I never saw them dating in the truest sense or for that matter sleeping together. Besides that she was stick-figure thin...she couldn't have a baby bump without breaking her back! Also it was never made apparent that she visited her school friend who ended up in the wheelchair...and if she didn't then why not? After so much time was devoted to carving her a zesty free spirit arc, one which at least supposes that she cares for those she's been close to. Seems counter-intuitive or just shortsighted of Tang not to include a scene with them together. Then again as said before such plotting intricacies don't really cause the intensive ripples in the pond that they would in any other number of scripts. More important are the decorated discussions about nothing in particular, which funnily enough have inherent philosophical beats that indie asian flicks rarely avoid.  But it's not preachy in the slightest, more threeway insightful eventhough as the lead, Koey gets more time to wax lyrical about Que Sera Sera and essentially not giving a toss about life's hiccups. So while it's doing a fair job of making lots seem like a little, the visual splashes make a really beautiful mess of things. I love the aesthetic of pretty much the whole thing, it's the organized  slap dashery that seems unique to these kind of films and you don't see it anywhere else but in asian cinema. A kaleidascope pallette of reflections and trinkets in a locale that's both sharp and yet smooth, overlit messiness that would look like crap in your room is dense and beautiful here. If there's a failing in here then it simply comes down through how you want to see things pan out and eventhough the conclusion works within the context of what's on offer, I didn't care much for the last five minutes. Ideally I wanted all that introspective fumbling of Simon's to make good on more than just grabbing the money and yeah I think he should have got the girl. Koey and Jenny would have been sweet but you can't win 'em all I guess. Kinda like the film overall which I'll say is worth a 4/5.