Forty-five years is a long time to be married. It’s a long time for anything.
If you consider the implications of living with someone for that amount
of time then, by the very nature of us as human beings, there’s bound
to be as many things said as there are unsaid.
Marriage is a sacred vow, but sadly we are prone to keeping secrets
in order to spare the other person’s feelings, for better or for worse.
It’s these secrets that can fester when hidden, uncoiling themselves
into the cold light of day when you least expect them to.
Such a secret is kept by Geoff Mercer (Tom Courtenay) from his wife Kate (Charlotte Rampling),
a middle-class couple whose 45-year wedding anniversary is but a week
away. When a letter arrives for Geoff explaining that the body of an
ex-lover from nearly 50 years previous has been found frozen in the ice
of the Swiss Alps (yep, you read that right), there’s an instant
expectation that the film could switch into Fortitude mode
– Courtenay scouring snow-swept mountains and perilous glaciers for his
long-lost love. But no. Events stay much more low-key, and 45 Years plays out all the better for it.
This is a film about repression, guilt, heartache and loneliness
between two people who should, to all intents and purposes, know each
other inside out. But to sum it up in such a way does a disservice to
what’s on offer. There are many moments of black comedy in the
naturalistic dialogue between the two leads that show they really are
two old pros absolutely at the top of their game; the film’s muted,
unfussy camerawork and non-existent soundtrack amplifying all that’s
said (and unsaid) between them.
In the hands of Lars von Trier or Michael Haneke, 45 Years could
have been an exercise in emotional button-pushing – seeing how much
pain and heartbreak the audience could take before calling it quits. But
director Andrew Haigh
laces the mood with all the warmth and genuine love you’d expect from a
couple who have spent their entire lives together. For all the cracks
that start to show, there’s a glue that (just about) keeps the Mercers
in each other’s arms – even after dark secrets have been aired.
It’s not a stretch to compare 45 Years to von Trier’s avant-garde Dogme 95
movement in so much as it doesn’t once stray into genre fiction. There
are no smashed plates and no blazing arguments, just two pensioners
facing a difficult time in their lives, trying their best to keep the
status quo. If that sounds in any way boring, trust me – it ain’t. The
sound of a slide carousel may never be the same again.
First published on Northern Soul, Aug 8th 2015
“What’s it like, True Detective in Spain?” – Sarah Leech, digital content producer
This is a quote from a colleague of mine who, when I told her I’d watched Marshland
the night before, asked me what it was like. I swear to you, that was
the very tagline I’d created in my head about half an hour in. Even
Wikipedia references the comparisons in an online article for HoyCinema.
Great minds and all that.
And while it’s no detriment to the Goya-winning
police procedural to be compared to such a series (the first one, at
least), there’s a somewhat pedestrian air to said police proceedings
that casts a long, frowning shadow over its relatively brisk 106
minutes.
The story is fine, the acting is fine, the visuals are fine – special
mention going to several knockout aerial shots of brief criminal
encounters and sun-parched crime scenes. These alone could justify the
entrance fee, but only really if the film was a feature-length version
of Andrew Marr’s Britain From Above.
Which it isn’t. It’s a perfectly serviceable crime thriller, with
plenty of character ambiguity and serious faces to tick all the relevant
boxes. It’s such a shame it doesn’t do more than it says on the tin.
Suárez (Raúl Arévalo) and Robles (Javier Gutiérrez)
are two cops in Spain, circa 1980 – one young and grizzled, the other
slightly older (and slightly more grizzled). Packed off almost
immediately after the credits roll to investigate the murder of two
teenage girls in the backwater locale of the Guadalquivir Marshes (hence
the title), it soon becomes apparent that there’s more to this crime
than the townsfolk are letting on. Add to that the rather abrasive
methods Robles uses on his suspects – murky deals made with individuals
who may have something to gain from the investigation – and an all-round
sense that no-one wants to quite tell the truth no matter which side
they’re on, and you have a soup-thick plot which could give Broadchurch a run for its money.
However, unlike Broadchurch,
there’s very little page-turning tension to be chewed on. There’s
nothing wrong with the ingredients, but the resulting meal never fully
satisfies. Let me be contentious: if this film had been released as an
English language American production, you can bet it wouldn’t have
received half the plaudits. It’s a solid three-starrer, nothing more.
With that in mind, I do feel there’s a bigger discussion to be had
around the idea that a film being ‘foreign’ (excuse the colloquialism)
automatically grants it a free pass to be given more credit and kudos
than its English language counterparts. Case in point being
Schwarzenegger’s latest outing, Maggie.
It’s not bad, the script and style suitably muted in tone, a zombie
film with an emotional pulse. And yes, even the acting isn’t terrible,
Schwarzenegger making a half-decent fist of ‘real’ emotions; he fairs no
worse than any other Austrian former
bodybuilder-turned-actor-turned-State Governor. It’s ‘alright’. But were
it to have been Korean/French/Guatemalan? I fear the red carpet may
have been rolled out.
Food for thought? Maybe, maybe not. Watch this space – I’ll be back. (to argue my case a little better, that is.)
First published on Northern Soul, Aug 8th 2015
Ah, Pixar. How we've missed you. For a period you were lost in the wilderness, scared and alone, the rest of us wondering where the creative spark and effortless simplicity had been mislaid. For every thrillingly original Up, there was a Disney-centric Brave. For every tear-jerking sequel (Toy Story 3) there was a shoulder-shrugging misfire (Monsters University). Don't even get me started on Cars 2.
Still, a dozen or so five-star films isn't bad going - if Kubrick would have lived beyond his 12-film canon, maybe he'd have knocked out a few duds too. (and before you ask, yes, I quite liked Eyes Wide Shut.) But when Disney bought Pixar out, the glut of aforementioned sequels seemed to announce the new parent company's arrival as a reason for dismay rather than cause for celebration. Already iffy franchises were capitalised on for no good reason (Planes, Planes: Fire & Rescue), the wellspring of originality apparently dried up now The Mouse House had taken charge.
Then along comes Inside Out, riding an absolute barrage of press coverage touting it as a return to form for the studio. If anything could topple the domination of minion-flavoured animation, it was this. But with clips on chat shows showcasing nothing more than routine kid-friendly hijinks, it felt like another shrug of the shoulders was going to be in order.
How pleasant it is to be proven wrong.
Inside Out feels like a spiritual sequel to Monsters Inc. - indeed it's directed and co-wrote by the same helmsman, Pete Docter, following the misadventures of diverse characters tasked with looking after a young girl. However where Monsters Inc. dealt with the psychology of children in a somewhat straightforward manner, Inside Out takes an altogether more ambitious route.
The aforementioned Riley (Kaitlyn Dias) is first seen as a newborn baby, our protagonist Joy (Amy Poehler) coming into being in her head shortly after her birth. Joy is an unbridled representation of pure happiness, figuring out that the solitary button on her control desk puts her in charge of Riley's emotional state (a quick press invokes laughter). However things quickly escalate when Riley cries. Cue several other physical manifestations of Riley's emotional palette appearing out of nowhere to take charge of the expanding control desk: Sadness (Phyllis Smith), Fear (Bill Hader), Anger (Lewis Black) and Disgust (Mindy Kaling).
Whizzing through the first ten years of Riley's life, we are given a whistlestop tour of significant events that come to form her 'core' memories, represented as glowing coloured marbles. These in turn create parts of her personality, represented as floating islands (Family, Friendship, Goofball - Joy's favourite). All seems to be going well until Riley's family decide to move to San Francisco on her eleventh birthday, to a house that has frankly seen better days. Sadness feels an urge to start meddling with the core memories, turning them from happy to sad with a simple touch.
Things come to a head when Riley, introducing herself to her new classmates, breaks down in tears as she recalls all the things she's missing about her hometown. It's a heartbreaking scene, offset by the chaotic goings-on in her head (Sadness is all fingers and thumbs at the control desk). In a vain attempt to keep things on an even, frown-free keel, Joy and Sadness are accidentally ejected from the control tower along with the core memories; back in the real world, Riley suddenly falls silent and sits back down in her chair. In her head, she's left with Fear, Anger and Disgust at the controls, with their adventure just beginning - but on the outside, Riley is going through what any eleven-year old goes through; the pains of growing up, her confused emotional state no doubt familiar to anyone who's ever been a kid (so, that's all of us) or raised one.
As with the best Pixar films, it deals with serious and complex issues in a way that appeals to all ages. But Inside Out has the benefit (or indeed the burden) of being able to explain emotions and states of mind in a none-more-literal way. This is a film where the concept of abstract thought is discussed in significant detail, Riley's imaginary friend Bing Bong (Richard Kind) leading Sadness and Joy into a room dedicated to its four stages: non-objective fragmentation, deconstruction, two-dimensional and non-figurative. These oblique terms are actually used by the characters to describe what's happening to them as they morph into Picasso-esque shapes, fall apart into component pieces, become flattened and finally turn into rudimentary single-colour abstractions. Visually it's fun, silly even; plenty of laughs were heard from the kids in the audience. But it's also a pretty advanced lesson in psychology. For a U-certificate film to even attempt such a move is bold. To actually pull it off is frankly taking the piss.
No mental stone is left unturned: Dream Productions is a giant studio lot dedicated to creating Riley's nightly thought patterns; older, unnecessary memories 'fade away' and as such are vacuumed up by a two-man clean-up team. Even those annoying songs that pop up in your head for no reason are, in fact, reasoned - sent up to the control tower by the clean-up team to plague your consciousness, purely for the hell of it.
But for all its clever humour and multicoloured vibrancy, Inside Out is a film that thrives on dark, upsetting themes. Riley's journey takes in losing friends, dishonesty, disillusionment and regret. Even in her mind we witness the death of a major character, played out with such selfless poignancy that only the coldest of hearts won't be moved. Docter knows the big themes can be tackled without having to resort to cloying sentimentality, yet he provides all the major players (both inside and out) with such warmth and depth that the emotional beats seem almost effortless.
It's easy to get swept up in a film that had me crying about halfway in, the waterworks being turned off and on again repeatedly until the end credits. But Inside Out is what a Pixar film should be - funny, silly, yet layered and complex. Not unlike Riley, really. Not unlike any of us.
Ah, Pixar. How we've missed you.
