Baby Driver ★★★★☆

The poster for Baby Driver bills it’s leading man, Ansel Elgort, ahead of Kevin Spacey, Lily James and Eliza Gonzáles, with John Hamm and Jamie Foxx tailing as additions. Despite the stellar cast though, it’s director and writer, Edgar Wright, who takes the top billing. Whilst watching Baby Driver, it became clear that this is a manifestation of his intimate involvement in the film. Before it’s an action crime film, before it’s a comedy, before it’s jukebox musical, it’s an Edgar Wright film.

Baby Driver likes to pretend it’s telling the story of a baby-faced getaway driver (called Baby and played by Elgort) with a thirst for speed who’s trying to get away from it all – “it all” being ambitious bank heists with Buddy (Hamm), Darling (Gonzáles) and Bats (Foxx) and masterminded by Doc (Spacey). And it is about that, but the plot is secondary to the direction. Wright uses the narrative to grease the wheels and get us to his slick, stylish, musical action scenes as soon as possible. This isn’t a criticism, and the concept isn’t unique to Baby Driver, but it’s important to note Wright’s approach to the production. From the first scene, it’s clear this film is really an elongated music video, a chance for Wright to have fun with music, cars and guns. His artistic persona is so present in every frame that he might as well actually be in the scenes themselves.

Occasionally, this is to it’s detriment. There are moments when Wright’s camera trickery, visual puns, punchy sound effects and slick editing get in the way of a scene. It’s recurrent in all his films – he never lets the emotion break the surface to something deeper, in order for him to get back to the filmmaking fun. We are allowed to sympathise with a character, but rarely do we empathise, and that’s more prevalent in this film than any of Wright’s previous work. That said, it’s clearly not the point – Baby Driver is an adrenaline-filled action musical and it doesn’t need to do anything more than that. The chase scenes are some of the most thrilling cinema has ever produced, the in-sync music is satisfying in a way words can’t really describe, and this is all a result of Wright indulging himself.

Despite this, there are a couple of moments in which Wight actually holds back, in which his presence takes a backseat. The most memorable is a tense diner scene in which Bats, Buddy and Darling face off and Baby tries to keep schtum his relationship with the waitress (Debora, played by James). Here, Wright lets his script breathe and lets his class actors go toe-to-toe with real gusto. Foxx is fearsome, Hamm is haggard and Gonzáles is fierce. They swap quips and turn-of-phrase, grinding each others gears, while Elgort tries his best to remain anonymous in spite of his palpable discomfort. It’s Tarantino-esque and just as gripping as the car scenes, showing Wright has more depth than his flashy whip-pans and perfectly timed-jokes.

In some ways, the fact that Wight has more than showy style is a frustrating thought, because it would have been great to see him focus a bit more on the substance in Baby Driver. The action is so finely tuned, but the plot feels like it needs a couple more drafts. The film languishes in the beginning, taking far too long to get itself to the second act, while the whole ending is overwrought. Wright has the ability to pen interesting, concise stories, as evidenced by his previous work – but they were all co-written by someone else (Simon Pegg and Michael Bacall). It’s this distinction that sets Baby Driver apart from his other work, and not in a good way. The weak story and character arc of Baby diminish the film to make it arguably his worst yet. That’s not to say Baby Driver is bad – it’s brilliant, thrilling and genius at points – but needs more meat on its bones to give it the really special, ambitious quality we’ve come to expect from Wright.

Stray thoughts

• I really set out to avoid car puns in this review, but if anything, this made me realise just how much we use driving metaphors for EVERYTHING. Sorry, blame our use of the English language
• The action, comedy and musical elements of Baby Driver are so good that they really feel like the peak of what’s possible in that form. On the back of Guardians of the Galaxy 2, I have to wonder if we’ve reached maximum entertainment capacity for zany action cut to recognizable crowd-pleasing tracks.

Passengers ★★☆☆☆

The recent swathe of space-set science fiction flicks has been an exciting trend to witness due to a blend of intriguing, original storylines and down-to-earth, affable characters, placed against stunning visuals. The nuanced craft of Gravity, Interstellar, The Martian and, to a lesser extent, Arrival, have brought Hollywood science-fiction blockbusters away from colour-by-number action sequences, forced romances, and archetypal characters to a place where real, human stories built around sci-fi elements are captivating enough.

This is the context and the challenge for Passengers, a 116-minute romance tale, starring Hollywood’s current hottest – Chris Pratt and Jennifer Lawrence – as they float around a spaceship sent to colonise a new planet. Originally placed in hibernation for the 120-year trip, their new world settlement plans go awry when a meteor strikes the ship, leading to a host of mechanical issues and Jim Preston (Pratt) waking up 90 years too soon. 

The science is not too heavy handed to turn you off, and it gives director Morten Tyldum the chance to play with fun set pieces and bring a bit of awe. 

Sadly, that's the biggest positive to take from Passengers. I would like to avoid being too cynical about this movie, but the conclusion that's it's an empty Hollywood cash-grab is unavoidable. The story is a thin, tiresome, overwrought, cringe-inducing snooze fest that somehow manages to make Pratt, a loveable goofball, into total sleaze. He says he chose the role because he liked the themes, but I don't think “the redemption of Norman Bates” counts as a commendable character arc. 

Controversial plot points aside, Passengers is frustrating simply because of how much it rests on it’s laurels. Lawrence and Pratt’s effortless charm are to their detriment here as they show none of the depth we know they are capable of. Sony Pictures appear to have taken great ingredients – acclaimed director, writer and actors; a brilliantly cinematic setting; an intriguing sci-fi concept – and somehow have it add up to considerably less than the sum of its parts. The wasted potential is what is so vexing. Trying to fit into the zeitgeist of widely accessible science fiction, the film fails to live up to all that is making its genre so successful. It instead leans on that success to bring us a story we've all, in some guise, already seen. It might be Passengers by name, but it's pedestrian by heart. 

A Monster Calls ★★★★☆

There are some stories which express their necessity for existence simply through the way they leave you reeling as the credits roll. From recent memory, Room, 12 Years A Slave, Inside Out and selected others feature in a list where the artistry of a piece alone have elevated it to “must-see” status. 

  

A Monster Calls from J. A. Bayona and penned by the esteemed Patrick Ness from his best-selling novel, finds its place in this abstract category. It tells the tale of a boy (Conor, played by Lewis MacDougal) whose mother (Felicity Jones) is in a downhill battle with a terminal illness, supported by her own mother (Sigourney Weaver); and to help Conor face this labour is a titanic, terrifying monster (Liam Neeson), borne from a tree in the graveyard past his back garden. The Monster tells Conor three stories which are brought beautifully to life in animation that will remind many of the Deathly Hallows story in the 7th Harry Potter film. The tales, which will have you pining for a pop-up storybook of them, are enriched by Neesons bassy tones, creating a tense and thunderous atmosphere.  

These highlights resolve to an almost unbearable emotional intensity, for viewer and thespian alike. It would be easy to give A Monster Calls five stars purely for the power of pathos it demonstrates. My dictionary fails me in my search to define the feeling – part heartache, part joy, part relief, all tears. It’s one of the most perfect instances of cinematic catharsis, grounded by the gripping performances of the whole cast. MacDougal is a revelation, Neeson is petrifrying and Jones puts in one of her best showings.

The biggest negative is that the dialogue feels somewhat clumsy at points. Some lines appear to have been copied straight from the book; sometimes this is to its credit, as Ness’s writing is succinct and tense. When it fails, it is distractingly unpolished with awkward deliveries.  

However, this seems excusable when considering the films audience and doctrine. The Monster and Conor's mother tell parents and kids alike that it not just acceptable to wear your heart on your sleeve in order to face your own fears and emotions – it is necessary to. Any film that can impart such valuable wisdom in such an affecting manner is perfectly allowed to use a bit of clunky dialogue to do so. And that is the most significant argument for A Monster Calls’ existence – a positive, hopeful, practical message tied to characters you deeply care for, despite their faults and conflicts. Patrick Ness and J. A. Bayona will leverage your empathy and compassion in a beautiful way, wringing out every tear – and you'll come out more whole as a result.

Sieranevada ★★★☆☆

One of the most frustrating times of the year for many is the Christmas period; Not because of the incessant jingles or the freezing weather, but rather, the amount of time one is expected to spend with their family. Despite the presumed love we hold for them, they can at times be oh so excruciating to be around, whether it be down to the polarising political views, general food-related arguments or the grating personalities one can only stand once a year.

Sieraneveda, from Cristi Puiu in his seventh directorial outing, is not a Christmas movie. But with its drawing on family tension and feuds for its comedy and drama and its cold, grey, wintery look, you’d be forgiven for thinking so. The film is a 173-minute glimpse into the assorted nuts that make up the family of doctor Lary (Mimi Branescu), as they gather for an afternoon of food and pleasantries on the anniversary of Larys fathers death. Events do not unfold quite the way they expected. Nobody’s allowed to eat because the bishop is late, Aunt Ofelia is crying because her husband has been a neglectful arse and Sebi’s suit is too large. The drama swings from the surreal, when the family tells off Cami for bringing in her drunken, possibly stoned, friend; to the uncomfortable, when Evelina makes Sandra cry with her stoic political stance; to the heartbreaking, when Lary reminisces about his father.

Unfortunately the film also spends a great deal of time in the dull. It plays out in almost real time, forcing us to endure the purgatory-like state the characters do, with excruciating tediousness; The camera is static, claustrophobic, lingering in minutes-long takes without cut, feeling as inert as the plot. The upside to this is that it forms the platform for the laughs, and those come in abundance. Branescu is excellent in his dead-pan humour, bringing levity to even the most tense of scenes. Nobody is above his mockery, not even himself. When a complex and disorienting religious ritual plays out, he is there to have fun; when we are subjected to a barrage of names and faces, he introduces everyone with a joke; and when a husband and wife’s horribly large argument gets out of hand and their son leaves out of frustration, Lary hangs around with that infuriatingly cheeky grin to make everyone realise quite how silly they’re being. If we all had a Lary at our Christmases, he would be the one to remind us that we’re there to enjoy ourselves and be with each other.

The comedy is largely the best part of Sieranevada. The emotional drama doesn’t really reach any kind of climax, the context of recent Charlie Hebdo attacks doesn’t have any bearing on the plot or carry much weight, and the nearly-3-hour length is far from justified. However the film is filled to the brim with poignant moments, whether they be about recognising the banality of life after a death; about how the most pedantic of traditions can be a comfort; or about understanding there is always room for laughter even during the most intense family squabbles. For all of its faults, Sieranevda will leave you ponderous and amused and, as Lary knows, that is a feeling worth basking in.

Wiener-Dog ★★★★☆

In the first of the four stories in Todd Solondz’ comedy-drama Wiener-Dog, Remi (Keaton Nigel Cooke), a young cancer survivor with emotionally absent parents, concludes that life is pointless, death has no meaning and that nothing really matters. His mother’s feeble attempts to convince him otherwise helps represent the themes of death, grief and the different approaches to those, which permeate the four tales we are subjected to. Solondz, however, is not content to stick to something quite so mundane and sincere as a young boy with cancer trying to understand death – he instead puts his own, irreverent twist on the solemn subject and it is here that Wiener-Dog becomes something entirely unexpected.

Wiener-Dog is a perfectly normal, uninspiring canine who, over the course of 88 minutes, meets four different protagonists, each successively older than the last – Remi, Brandon (Kieran Culkin), Dave (Danny Devito) and Nana (Ellen Burstyn). They are all either facing or have faced death and are experiencing the consequences of it. In death’s wake, each are forced to reflect on their regrets and failures, and each come to different conclusions on how their lives should progress. Each story follows the line of screenwriter Dave’s formula for plot line success – “What If… Then What?” And that by and large is the essence of every story – What if a boy with cancer was given a pet dog?; What if a young woman with a dog met an old crush?; What if an middle-aged, failed professor was told he was on his last legs?; And what if an OAP was visited by her desperate and pleading granddaughter?

Meanwhile, the wiener-dog, under different guises, brings pure, hedonistic joy to each of the characters at times when they need it – to distract them, to provide comfort, or even to give them a means to an end. More than this, however, it enforces the more unorthodox sermon that Solondz preaches – one of pure nihilism; or rather, that life and death really are devoid of worth and if that’s true, then nothing has any meaning whatsoever. It’s from this line of thinking that the film finds it’s pure randomness, the theme that has turned off swathes of audience members.

Solondz plays with us, mocks us – he’ll have us watch a minutes-long tracking shot of festering diarrhoea faeces; or an awkward performance of a depressed mariachi band; or a Damian Hirst-despising “interactive artist” called Fantasy. These moments fail to tie into any plot lines as seamlessly as they should, and instead jar the audience. Solondz is not trying to pass this off as inherently artistic - rather, he is anti art, anti meaning. It is almost Dadaist in quality, right down to the very ending when our beloved wiener-dog is violently run over, repeatedly, his innards staining the tarmac.

It’s crass, disturbing and unfair to an audience who has had to sit through some of the more awkward points (the first story is particularly unpolished). Worse, it’s underlying nihilistic thought process is at odds with the four stories, where Solondz gives us moments of tenderness and humanity. He reels us in, teasing the order and compassion of a more typical drama, then snatches them away to give us a non-sequitur, jeering all the while. If Solondz had Twitter, he'd be a troll.

For all of that dizzying tomfoolery, however, the film is certainly funny. Even without the erratic surrealism, Wiener-Dog extracts humour from it’s excellent cast. Devito, Culkin, Burstyn and Greta Gerwig (playing Dawn) are all grounded, dry and effortless in their comedy. They are the highs of a film that seeks to confuse and frustrate. Despite the characters they portray resorting to the apathy that Solondz promotes, the actors grant them enough humanity to make them empathetic.

The film is neither as dramatic nor perfect as perhaps it should be, but then, it isn't really aiming for that. Wiener-Dog is designed to be divisive, controversial and shocking in order to have us let go of any sense of meaning or art. So if you’re conflicted by the random intermission, the casual planned terrorist attack or the bloody dog vomit and are unsure what to feel, consider taking a leaf from Todd Solondz’ book and deciding that it doesn’t matter anyway.

Finding Dory ★★★★☆

Finding Dory, directed by Pixar alumnus Andrew Stanton, faces more than "how do you follow up Finding Nemo?" It also has to answer, "how do you follow up Monsters University and Cars 2?", the studio's last two features to lean on preexisting stories, and which seemed to hit a snag Pixar had not faced before. Despite the successes of two excellent Toy Story sequels, Monsters University and Cars 2 never felt like they were breaking new ground. Considering Pixar's ultimate strengths - originality built into heartwarming stories - it was odd to find they may have a sequel problem. It would be a particularly troubling issue since three of their next four releases are sequels to their existing films.

Finding Dory hits similar snags as Monsters University and Cars 2 to a degree. The plot is the story of Dory, a blue tang fish played by the affable Ellen DeGeneres, one day remembering she has a mother and father and setting off on an adventure to find them, accompanied by her friends Marlin and Nemo, voiced by Albert Brooks and Hayden Rolence. It feels clunky at points and set pieces don't interweave quite so elegantly as Pixar's original films. However, much to it's credit, Finding Dory finds room to breathe in the moments we spend with Dory and her interactions with her friends and family, old and new. And it's here that the film finds it's feet and shines.

Dory is as hilarious and loveable as she was in Finding Nemo. However, her ailment of short-term memory loss now takes a somewhat darker tone and for the first time, we're made to connect with Dory on an emotional level. We glimpse her life as an infant fish and that makes it all the more heartbreaking when we cut back to her struggling to remember it. The great strength of the film is taking what made Dory so funny in the original film and making us realise that it's a lot more painful for her. When she repeatedly introduces herself to a class, we laugh, but there's an undertone of unease for her. But by taking away Dory's memory as her defining personality trait, we're made to see her other qualities - her happy-go-lucky spirit, her determination and her care for those she loves. It makes Dory funnier and more enjoyable to watch, which is saying a lot for an already universally adored character. It's really grown-up stuff, yet shown so successfully in a way family films rarely accomplish.

This exploration of Dory's character is extrapolated further in the way her relationships are presented. Her parents, more than just the object of desire, represent her journey of self discovery. The film is less concerned about Dory's interactions with her parents, and more about how it forms her character and her interactions with other fish. It has a knock-on effect to how she is with Marlin and Nemo, who have a complicated relationship with her. Indeed, the development of their friendship is one of the strongest points of the film, making the clownfish an integral and enjoyable part of the story, and the audience's way in to understanding Dory.

Finally is Dory's new friend, Hank the septopus (having lost a tentacle), gifted a rich, bassy voice by Ed O'Neill. Grumpy but warm, Hank is one of the funniest characters and it's a joy to watch him flail his limbs and camouflage himself - the end credits are a particular delight for this. His strained collaboration with Dory is a little by the book, but it hardly matters. Finding Dory is so uncynical and full of heart, any dodgy plot points are instantly forgiven - it is telling that, in a room full of young families, not a single child was disruptive barring raucous laughter and even then, the grown ups were louder.

Further to Pixar's sequel success is Andrew Stanton's direction in cinematography. How easy it would be for the animators to walk the beaten path and return to the stunning corals and deep blues that captivated us in Finding Nemo. Instead, they find new underwater locations to set the film apart and relish in supreme detail outside of the water, where much of the film takes place. It's impressively partnered with Stanton's wide frames, that emphasize the staggering size of the ocean and underscore Dory and co's gigantic journey, as well the blue tang's immense loneliness. Pixar have looked bigger than a paint-by-numbers sequel to one of their most loved features - they have approached every aspect with fresh enthusiasm to do something different and their newest film is better for it, for fans, families and critics alike.

With Finding Dory, Pixar seem to have worked out the formula to intertextual film success outside of the Toy Story franchise, which bodes well in today's Hollywood and children's movies climate (the latter of which is experiencing its most competitive era ever). It's a recurring theme amongst recent Disney properties, which have been dominating third week box office figures, suggesting they can churn out fan favourites at a rate of knots. Whilst Pixar's strengths will always lie in their groundbreaking originality, Finding Dory ensures their future's bright for their expanded stories.

Short Film, Short Review - Piper

Giving us a glimpse into the life of the sandpiper (small birds which scavenge the seaside sand in search of food), Piper is a delight to watch. With a bouncing musical score to give life to a dialogue-empty story and a stunning micro perspective into a baby sandpipers struggle, Piper will extract a smile from even the grumpiest of viewers.

The Lobster ★★★★☆

Calling Yorgos Lanthimos'  The Lobster a weird film doesn't cut it. Even being told the premise of this arthouse-drama-rom-com-sci-fi (and breathe) isn't enough to prepare you for the quicksand pit of dry-as-a-bone humour and series of emotionally-stunted trysts you'll find yourself experiencing, never mind the surprisingly intense moments of physical danger.

In a mildly-hinted-at dystopian near future, David (Colin Farrell) has become a single man and, naturally, finds himself in a hotel with his dog of a brother, given just 45 days to find new love or else turn into an animal of his choosing. His choice is a lobster, exemplifying a running theme of animal imagery throughout the film that treads the line between subtly hilarious and heartbreakingly sad. Lanthimos will have you giggling at David's brother's uninspired decision to be a dog one moment and then have you emotionally reach out for a pony who has to say goodbye to her scorned human best friend. 

This thematic line permeates the whole film and is presented to us from the offset - the opening scene is a stationary shot of a woman leaving her car to shoot a cow in a field. You don't know whether to laugh or feel mortified and The Lobster rarely lets you experience one without the other. Even as the dramas of the film reach their crescendo, there is a joke about a blind person, a stray camel walking past in the background or some other insensitive humour.

These moments offer little by way of comic relief and indeed there's little relief in The Lobster at all. No person is truly comfortable in this world and often it seems that is all anyone is aiming for  - a respite from the madness, a calm from the roar of loneliness, a break from running full pelt through the woods with a dart gun. 

This uneasiness all plays under the surface for Colin Farrell and Rachel Weisz. Their acting prowess and comedic timing is demonstrated not in what they say, but in what they don't. They tackle the offbeat script with deftness and subtlety, with Farrell echoing the pining stares and quiet discomfort he displayed in In Bruges (2008). Weisz brings surprising humour to what could be a flat character, proving that she has a part in the awkward, dry comedy that is so popular in indie cinema. The film is littered with a host of other stars, who all fit their characters to a tee - Olivia Coleman plays the overbearing hostess, Léa Seydoux portrays the Katniss Everdeen-esque outlaw and Ben Whishaw is the limping man who lies his way into a relationship. That's not to say any one of these stars (as well as John C. Reilly as Lisping Man and Michael Smiley as Loner Swimmer) aren't challenged. They have also had to adapt to a script of stunted speech and peculiar timing as well as endure cringe-inducing acts of physical abuse.

That harm that comes to several characters is an important one to note. The scenes are not shocking because of how explicit they are, but because they transform the film from a quirky, slightly dark comedy into a gripping, hard sci-fi that serves up plenty of allegory and forms much more interesting characters. In a story where it feels as if nobody is where they want to be, these moments of violence make their desperation much more painful, taking David and his cohorts to a bleak place. The Lobster leaves it's characters and audience in a more depressing state than which it began, yet somehow you walk out of the cinema more humoured and bewildered than pessimistic. You may depart Farrel and Weisz to their surreal, grey world, but you'll take with you all the joy that which they were bereft.


*side note - This is the second film Whishaw has been in recently where he's thrown the central character out of his residence, the other being Suffragette. I haven't yet seen Spectre, but I'm now expecting a front-porch stand-off between Q and Bond.