Review: The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford

In the 1880’s it was said that Jesse James was the most famous American after Mark Twain. A point noted in the film. On April 3rd, 1882 Jesse James was assassinate in his own home by a man he knew. Jesse is still famous today, as much for how he died as how he lived and a popular subject for filmmakers.

It would be easy, I suppose, to state the film was about Jesse’s death. After all, it’s there in the title and there is indeed a brutal recreation of the murder. Still that would be wrong.

Starting with his last train robbery, the film focuses in on the last few months of Jesse James’ life and his relationship with his eventual killer, Bob Ford. Rather than a grisly examination of his murder what is offered is a gritty drama about hero worship and obsession. The real lead is not Brad Pitt as Jesse but the green, Jesse worshipping, gun hand Bob Ford and his obsession with stepping out of Jesse’s shadow.

The film features an interesting and competent performance by Casey Afleck (as Ford), a casting choice that seemed a touch ironic. There is of course Brad Pitt who, despite moments of nuance, pitched James a bit too close to Tyler Durden for this reviewer. A choice underlined by some of the costume choices. However, for me, it was Sam Rockwell as Bob’s older brother stole the show with a captivating turn as a man hopelessly trapped in a situation that he knows will ultimately destroy him.

The writing is good, and like Brad Pitt’s performance, actually moves into brilliant in places. Handfuls of genuine insight: where Jesse calls on an old friend who is less than pleased to see him, where Bob watches Jesse in the bath and when Jesse gives Bob the gun that will eventually kill him. Yet in other places it just clunks, breaking the spell.

The film’s major let down is the dreadful voice over that seemed superfluous to requirements. Perhaps it was intended to give the film the feel of folk lore but all it did for me was break the narrative structure and take me away from the film’s characters. The film’s premise is also diluted by the bloated runtime.

Overall it’s a gritty, hard drama with a strong cast and solid writing. It could have benefited from a nip and a tuck but, if you like this sort of Western (I do), it’s well worth a look.

Review: Iron Man

Saturday morning got off to a bad start. The car is due for it’s M.O.T and I thought – because the mechanic in the garage told me – that I had booked the car in for the necessary work at 8.30 this morning. Bleary eyed I set off for the garage clutching the fairly simple instructions on how to get to the garage.

Never made it.

Proving once again I can’t navigate my way out of a paper bag I managed to get lost in Erith prompting a phone call to said garage. Only to discover that there was no M.O.T booking. That furthermore I had zero chance of getting an M.O.T this side of 2009.

I eventually found my way home.

All of which is a long-winded way of segueing into the information that I went to see Iron Man this afternoon on the grounds that I needed to go and sit in a darkened room following this morning. I figured I might as well enjoy it.

Iron Man is the film adaptation of the Marvel comic by the same name. Tony Stark is a sickeningly wealthy weapons maker come playboy charming the US army en route to a weapons sale when his convoy is ambushed. Fatally injured in the attack by one of his own weapons and kidnapped by the attackers Stark is saved from death by another captive.

Finding himself amongst a sea of terrorists supplied with his own weapons Stark begins to realise just what his company has been up to. When the terrorists demand he builds his latest weapon – the Jericho missile – or die Stark begins to form a plan…

As with Indiana Jones, I wasn’t really expecting much. Marvel has such a hit and miss ratio with film adaptations. Spiderman and X-men both had strong adaptations but the adaptation of the Hulk was just too disjointed and failed to really make use of Eric Bana.

I was pleasantly surprised.

First off it’s a really good cast. I’ve admired Robert Downey Jr.’s work since Chaplin and if you have any doubts at all about his abilities you should watch Two Girls and a Guy. I digress: the point is the dude’s got chops. And speaking of the dude he’s in Iron Man: a bald Jeff Bridges (The Big Lebowski, Starman) graces the screen as Obadiah Stane. A cast made up of –amongst others – Gwyneth Paltrow and Paul Bettany supports these two heavyweights.

The film’s plot is not hugely complicated, and not dissimilar to other films of this nature. The danger with plot by numbers films is that the story unfolds independently of the characters however Iron Man director Jon Favreau avoids this with a script that plays a great deal of attention to characterisation. The result, as it should be, is a plot that unfolds as a result of the consistent reactions of a well written, well played, central character.

Iron Man is an entertaining treat that you can happily loose yourself in for a couple of hours. I recommend it without reservation and urge you to see it in the cinema, before the obligatory set pieces loose their gravitas in the transition to the small screen.

Review: Indiana Jones And The Kingdom Of The Crystal Skull

WARNING: Contains spoilers.

As hinted at earlier in the week I went to the cinema for the first time in ages last Saturday.

I went to see the new Indiana Jones film. I’m a huge fan of the first two films and retain a lot of affection for The Last Crusade - in the way you might a simple but harmless relative. I’d purposefully avoided as much of the press as was conceivable given the media onslaught that surrounded the premiere and really only had one requirement: entertain me. Doesn’t seem like much to ask does it?

The film begins from the pragmatic premise that quite some time has passed since the previous three films and Dr Jones now has quite a few years under his belt but is still cracking the whip where he can. It’s the 1950s and McCarthyism is rife. Everyone is a suspected enemy of freedom, even Indy, and you’d have to be some kind of hermit not to take the somewhat unsubtle dig at naughties America. [HINT: If you want to make a political point do a film on what’s happening right NOW.]

Anyway, it’s the fifties, Indy is getting on a bit and after a falling out with his university Indy leaves for Europe. Accosted by a brash young biker by the name of Mutt Williams, and enlisted in a search for the crystal skull of the title, our hero proceeds to trek through South America followed by a mad Russian dominatrix.

I’m not going to go into the plot in anymore detail.

Suffice to say it was somewhat wasted on me as I managed to guess it in thirty seconds courtesy of accidentally seen Karen Allen on the red carpet with Harrison Ford for the premiere. Raiders of the Lost Ark was one of my favourite films as a child and as a teenager I never really got over seeing Allen’s bum in Animal House. It was not, therefore, a leap of imagination to work out why she was there.

She’s still hot.

*Coughs* Moving on…

That’s really a problem with this outing. Too many of the film’s big pops appeared on the plethora of “specials” enabling any of the audience with even the most rudimentary knowledge of film narrative to guess what’s going on. There are genuinely enjoyable moments: an attention to continuity that is quite rare in this type of franchise, intentionally funny moments, old school live action stunts and a spattering of myth.

And of course there’s the cast.

It’s quite hard to go wrong with Harrison Ford, John Hurt, Ray Winston, Cate Blanchett and Karen Allen. Even newcomer Shia LaBeouf turns in a well judged, nicely understated performance that bounces agreeably off Ford. Yet go wrongis precisely what Spielberg and Lucas manage to do: they fumble it.

First off the pacing is poor and I mean really poor. The trademark care of Raiders and Temple seems to have gone by the wayside. The script starts a few beats too late with Indy already in trouble, this continues through spluttering segues as the weak plot trundles on, never really offering the depth or texture of the early films.

Yes, Indiana Jones films are about fun, nothing more really than fluff, popcorn films to fill the void left by the death of the Saturday matinee, but that doesn’t mean they have to be bland. Those early Indiana Jones films still had an unusually gritty, flawed, hero whom you actually saw in pain, who you saw bleed, who was quite frankly a genuine everyman. That’s what made them great.

Ford does his best to inject some of this into the older Indy but the fact is that the character was irredeemably softened in Last Crusade and Lucas/Spielberg complete the castration in The Lost Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Seriously, the ending of this one had me reaching for my vomit back. It was just…lame.

I’ll be honest. I don’t think it was Spielberg that fumbled it. Yes he’s the director. Yeah he gets it wrong occasionally, yes he’s not good at every genre he tackles but the man can do action, the man can do classic matinee cinema.

No. The person whose pesky little finger marks are all over this turkey is George Lucas. From the tepid dialogue that some poor bastard has done his best to fix, to the wooden plot, it reeks of the man whose output in recent years has consisted of one script disaster after another. Remember this is the guy who had possibly the most two dimensional actor of recent years (Hayden Christensen) utter the immortal line “His fate shall be the same as ours” in Revenge of the Sith.

Lucas has done a lot of good in the world of film - much of the kit used in modern cinema exists because Lucas companies developed it. He is a solid technical film producer but as screenwriter he sucks like a Hoover. Maybe his people can no longer say no to him. Maybe not but someone should have said no to this one.

The film had heaps of potential that were ultimately wasted. At least for this reviewer. If you’ve never seen the originals then you might get a big kick out of it, you might find some of the plot turns a surprise and not find the last act so jarring. If you do then I’m pleased for you. For me I’d just like George Lucas to stop ruining my childhood films. If I hear anything about a Willow sequel I may have to give him a stern talking to with a baseball bat.

Review: Cronos

Cronos was made in 1993 and still represents one of the most original takes on the vampire genre in recent years.

The film, Guillermo Del Toro’s third film, tells the story of Jesus Gris, an antique seller, who happens upon a golden scarab hidden in the base of a statue of an archangel. When the scarab, an invention of a 15th century alchemist, pierces his hand, Jesus finds himself changing: he has more energy, appears younger and begins to have problems with the brightness of the sun. Also he can’t stop himself allowing the scarab to pierce him.

Throughout he is visited by a non-made up Ron Perlman (Hell Boy). Perlman plays the nephew of a dying millionaire who has managed to track down the scarab and wants it for himself thus beginning a game of cat and mouse that provides much of the film’s tension.

That the film is an earlier example of Del Toro’s work is evident. In 1993 he has yet to win the critical acclaim and independence he fought so hard for after the disaster that was Mimic. Yet you can see his trademark craft in putting Cronos together, the layers of subtext, the idea that humanity is the monster - the real villains in this film are all humans - and the use of mythology to explore human themes of addiction, family and death. For such a short film (only ninety minutes) it really does pack in a whole lot of story.

The visual effects do date the film slightly as does the quality of the film print from which the DVD was mastered but this doesn’t really distract from what’s going on. Del Toro’s skill as a make up designer (his early career was spent doing this) are overall what keeps the effects in the game and more than makes up for the absence of CGI or modern prosthetics.

The cast was and is largely unknown to me. However the performances from the entire cast were very good but two deserve mention in particular. Tamara Shanath, who plays Aurora, turns in a wonderfully nuanced performance for such a young actress and provides the film with it’s heart as the film’s protagonist, Jesus, attempts to hide his addiction from her. The other is that of Perlman who delivers a brilliantly three dimensional performance as the vain, long suffering, nephew of millionaire De la Guardia. A chilling and intelligent performance.

There’s a lot to like here. This is smart horror delivered in a slick movie that’s not afraid to make you laugh, cry or scream. Most likely all three. I recommend it without reservation.

Illuminations reviewed

Over at The Fix, Alvaro Zinos-Amaro, has undertaken the not inconsiderable task of reviewing every one of the stories that went into Illuminations (featuring amongst others me) and the results can be read here. It’s quite flattering to have a reviewer (and a fellow writer if I’m not mistaken) take time out to look at nine of your stories.

Anyway, take a look and judge for yourself. For me the sun is shining, my head has cleared, I have plenty of food for thought, and I spend nowhere near enough time in my garden.

Review: The Philosopher at the End of The Universe By Mark Rowlands

I used to have this deal. I like to keep myself well anchored outside of the world of genre by reading widely – I also enjoy variety - and so I used to read at least one non-fiction book a month. I haven’t done this in ages but for various reasons I thought I’d start again.

Anyway, that’s how I came to be reading The Philosopher at the End of The Universe. A light introduction to the broad themes of modern day philosophy using science fiction films to illustrate the main arguments.

It’s a pretty broad canvas that Rowlands takes the reader on, from the nature of reality, through why you should be moral, to do you in fact really exist and can you actually be held responsible for your own actions. There’s a fair range of movies in the discussion including Total Recall, Terminator, Lord of The Rings (in the latest edition), Aliens, Blade Runner and Minority Report.

The book’s premise is a good one. Science fiction often deals with philosophical themes and arguments even with such sugar-coated films as Star Wars or steroid enhanced, fight fests like Total Recall. The prose style is clean and has a welcome smattering of humour although some of it not as funny as perhaps the author intended.

I did feel some of the essays – particularly the one on personal identity – failed to follow up properly on the theories covered - I found myself going “Yes but…” a lot. Also, none of the science anecdotes were followed up with any reference or further reading recommendations – a shame but I guess ready access to the internet could overcome this.

The most recent essay on The Lord of The Rings was actually the weakest essay. It was added as a way of bringing the book up to date and of talking about cultural relativism. I know the Lord of the Rings is a recent film hit but really there is no context where The Lord of the Rings could be called a science fiction film. It’s a fantasy film. I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea but Star Trek has a really good example of cultural relativism in its treatment of the Klingons over the arc of the films and through a single example in Star Trek VI.

And I’m sure even better more hardcore SF examples can be found with a bit of digging.

The book was a worthwhile read. I think if you’ve never read any philosophy and are seeking a light introduction then this is an entertaining walk through the major themes. However, you’re liable to get a bit frustrated if you’ve done any kind of prior reading in this area.

So it’s a bit of a mixed bag on this one. I think it probably achieves its aim but it irritated the hell out of me in the process. Then again I did read to the end – not something I do for all non-fiction.

Review: Odd and the Frost Giants By Neil Gaiman

I read Odd and the Frost Giants yesterday as a break from labouring on The Woodsman. Something I could fall into for an hour in order to think about something else; no real intention to review it. Reviewing Neil’s work is hard because I am quite clearly and obviously a big fan. No matter how many times I point out that I actually think Stardust – although enjoyable – is quite a weak novel technically speaking, or that much of his poetry simply falls short of his fiction, people rightly view me as biased.

But the problem is I do like to talk about his work.

Odd and the Frost Giants tells the tale of a Viking boy called Odd. Odd has had a hard time of it growing up: father dies at sea, mother remarries a bad tempered oaf and he accidentally shatters his own leg trying to use his dad’s axe.

One winter, after the snow has stretched on far too long Odd escapes his obnoxious step family by retreating into the forest to his father’s old cabin. On his journey he meets a bear, a fox and an eagle; creatures with a story that sends Odd farther than he ever imagined.

A journey to Asgard, the land of the gods, and an appointment with some frost giants.

It’s easy to forget just how clever Neil Gaiman is. Beneath the charm, the floppy hair, the disarming smile and the aura of eccentric dishevelment wrapped in a leather jacket it’s easy to overlook that there are some serious smarts lurking beneath the curls.

Odd and the Frost Giants is a beautifully crafted example of this. On the face of it you have an obvious, unashamed, recycling of Norse mythology into the form of a longish short story. Fun, entertaining but not too much going on.

This is a mistake.

Delving a little deeper you’ll find a whole host of cleverly blended mythology, history and fairy story, sprinkled with narrative echoes of Milne – intentional or not - and finished off with a healthy swig of humour. Imparted in the story - transmitted if you like - is a deep love of Norse mythology along with – hopefully – enough nuggets of knowledge to encourage children to pick up more books. To find out if bits of the story are true. To ask questions like “Did ice really once cover the world?” and “There were Vikings in Scotland, no way! Where did they go?”.

Told with prose that is direct, clean and crafted to let the story run with minimal interference from the author, Odd and the Frost Giants is a welcome escape for an hour whether you’re six or sixty.

And remember: all proceeds go to this.

Review: Unlundun By China Miéville

I’m generally speaking not a big fan of writers utilising successful, well-established, ideas and conceits as their central Big Idea for novels. On the face of it, that’s what Unlundun is: China’s version of Neverwhere. Albeit aimed at a younger audience.

And a cursory flick through the book reveals a somewhat unsurprising thank you/acknowledgement of Neil’s contribution to “London phantasmagoria” (fab word: phantasmagoria, and one you so rarely get an opportunity to use). Now I’m fairly certain from what’s been said by Neil in the past that he has no problem with this and indeed this review is not going to debate the merits of this approach.

The point is I was going to be a hard sell for this book.

Unlundun is the flip side of London, the place where all the things that fall through the cracks of the city wind up and where war is brewing. Zanna and Deeba are two friends who begin to notice that strange things are happening to Zanna. Approached in the street by strange people, things are being written in the sky about her and animals are paying her the most curious attention.

Following an errant umbrella they find themselves in a new place, a different London, an Unlundun. A strange place haunted by feral giraffes, conductors who actually conduct electricity, words come alive and where an evil cloud plans to take over the city. And where Zanna is hailed as a prophetic hero. Much to Deeba’s annoyance.

This is China’s first foray into children’s literature and it does show. Children’s literature works best when the author doesn’t talk down to the reader, and although the book is unflinchingly smart – as you’d expect from China, there are places where his voice becomes a touch patronising. I’m thinking mainly of the opening chapters where the primary hook is also a little weak although I particularly enjoyed the friendly pop at the genre.

Really once that gag, or conceit, whatever you want to call it, is out of the bag and in the open then it becomes a much more fun book to explore. There is a frenetic pace of invention, cleverness and joy in the written word that bleeds out of each page hopefully infecting the target audience.

As someone who spent ten years in London as child, there was something deeply familiar about Unlundun and that artful capturing – or possible remembering – of childhood in the city is a mark of fantasy at it’s best. Too often we see a romanticised view of childhood: in the country, in boarding schools and city kids are often looked on with a kind of pity. Forgotten or overlooked is the sheer imaginative inventiveness of children in turning the detritus of the city into entire worlds, where a piece of rubbish can be transformed into a pet or an umbrella into a weapon.

It’s great to see someone taking that dark, dirty, urban sprawl and turning it on its head, showing the magical side of the city.

Unlundun is by no means a perfect book: the beginning of the book clunks a little, there are one or two characters – such as Zanna – who are not fleshed out enough and the close proximity to Neverwhere might put some off. Yet it’s also smart, fascinating, enthralling, funny and wonderfully inventive. A book that as a boy I would have loved to have up on my shelf, that would have had me searching for more books in the same ways as the works of Dahl, Lewis and Tolkein did.

And ultimately that’s the point of a good children’s book.

Review: Spin by Robert Charles Wilson

Spin was the second of the e-books released for free to Tor’s mailing list and I started reading it pretty much by accident having been caught short without a book on my commute home.

Spin begins from a very simple - almost silly - premise. What would happen if the earth were surrounded by a physical membrane; inside the membrane time runs slower than the surrounding solar system? Suddenly human lifetimes are put on the same scale as stars – the drastically sped up time outside of the spin means that a single generation suddenly face the prospect of seeing the Earth swallowed up by the rapidly aging sun.

How would we react? Why would it occur? What effect would it have on people’s belief systems?

All questions tackled in the book.

But it’s not all what ifs. There’s the narrator’s story. The tale is told in the first person from the perspective of Tyler Dupree a friend of the man, Jason Lawton tasked with mustering the scientific response to the spin. On the flip side of the equation is Diane Lawton, Tyler’s childhood crush and Jason’s twin sister; and whose response to Spin is drastically different to Jason’s.

Spin is breathtakingly ambitious. You’ve got complex theoretical science in the form of how the spin might work, how space exploration might work in reality, how other life might evolve, terraforming, genetic engineering for the extension of life. And running concurrently, indeed interwoven with real care, a classic human drama about relationships, faith and friendship.

It shouldn’t really work. The starting off point - at initial viewing - is more fantastical than science fiction and the amount of ground Wilson is trying to cover is huge, I mean really epic. It just shouldn’t work. But it does. All of the elements synching together like a glorious symphony.

Spin is a densely packed layer cake of story, science and relationships. Wilson’s glee in crafting this is evident and the sheer fecundity of his ideas is awesome. As you may have guessed I loved this book. I recommend it without reservation.

You need to read this.

Review: Jumper

I went to the cinema on the weekend for the first time in what felt like an age. I was vaguely disappointed that there wasn’t a more interesting selection of flicks on offer but saw that Jumper was on. Pushing my reservations about Hayden Christensen to one side I went in.

Jumper follows David Rice from his teens when he discovers he is able to teleport through to his adult discovery that his ability is neither unique or a secret. Bullied and not very well looked after by his single-parent father Rice jumps at the opportunity to break out of the grim monotony of his life.

Travelling to the city he does what any fifteen year old boy would allegedly do and steals a whole ton of money. I may be getting senile but that’s not what I would have done when I was fifteen. *Coughs* Anyway, moving on.

The film then jumps to an adult Rice (Hayden Christensen), who has been narrating throughout, and his fun but essentially unfulfilling life jumping wherever fit women drink alone. His one regret is his teenage crush Millie, left behind in his home town and his one true love. [You may be able to guess where this review is going.]

When Rice is attacked by a blond haired Samuel L. Jackson – a hunter of jumpers – he realises his life has attracted attention. And so for some reason Rice runs back to Millie, offers to take her to Rome followed by Jackson along with an amusingly militant Jamie Bell.

The film sports great locations, interesting visual effects, a couple of great character actors (Jackson and Bell) and an entertaining if overwrought SF premise. But it also sucks like a Hoover.

Seriously.

I’ve not read Steven Gould’s novel but I doubt it bears much resemblance to the most formulaic and shameless attempt to generate a film franchise I’ve seen in quite some time. Why? Because it would never have got past an editor in that state. It’s just too easy to break the story down to its constituent parts – plucky but vain hero, the honest hardworking love interest, the psychopathic villain, the parental twist. Blah.

And then there’s Hayden.

Dude can’t act. Sorry. He simply doesn’t have it in him. I was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt after Star Wars, rationalising that the scripts were pretty dire and even Ewan McGregor was struggling to make it work. But he can’t. He’s like a binary circuit set to either calm or shouting. Neither convincing. And nothing can correct that, not Jackson with his fabulously fanatical turn as the villain, nor Jamie Bell’s crazed crusador.

In short: not worth the celluloid.