World War Z Review - OR - Brad Pitt's Metaphorical Nightmare

Plot

What begins as an ordinary day for Gerry Lane (Brad Pitt), his wife Karin (Mireille Enos) and two daughters turns out to be anything but as a relentless sprinting horde of the undead erupts out of nowhere to lay waste to Philadelphia. From there the Lane’s are swept into a desperate chase for survival that finds ex-UN employee Gerry travelling the world in the hunt for a cure.

Legit question: does gravity not work on helicopters? So many dudes just leaning out of the door...

Verdict

Similarly to Man of Steel, but in a thoroughly Earth-based context, the most commendable element of World War Z is its ambition for scope. Zombie outbreaks and the inevitable dystopic apocalypse that follows are as common a movie trope as ‘boy gets girl’ these days and are just as contrived, so it’s refreshing to see World War Z not just push the boat out but veritably rocket it into the ocean blue. This is no intimately set suburban survival story or city based infiltration but a full-blown global assault and Z delights in showing that off, flinging Pitt from the States to Korea to Israel and even Cardiff like a child’s plaything. It makes for effective – not to mention novel – viewing and frequently threatens to hit a home run if not for the sometimes torrid pacing and almost complete absence of direction.

While Zis obviously eager to show itself off as a grand-scale picture it still feels inclined to ground the experience in the warm fuzzy heart of a family – namely Gerry, his wife and two moronic children – leading to a split in focus where neither direction is given anywhere near enough attention to reach its true potential. The introduction, wherein Philladelphia is sacked by the undead, is one of the strongest sequences throughout and focuses squarely on Gerry and his hapless flock. But that’s it. Afterwards, wife and children sit idly by on a boat whilst Action Man Gerry travels the globe with remarkable speed to attempt to single-handedly save humanity. When the family split off its constituent parts refuse to develop any further; they get stuck in a dramatically laborious rut which does no end of damage to the film’s attempts at cultivating fear, excitement and empathy with it’s audience.

Looks like a hell of a gig.

So many elements of World War Z are so perplexingly odd – so intrinsically and nonsensically wrong – that you can’t help but question the entire production. Whether on purpose or not, the zombies themselves are frequently hilarious, seemingly trying to out do each other in a ‘bad dinosaur impersonation’ contest. It all comes to a head in the final clash – if that’s the right word to describe anything that happens in a fridge – involving a gormless Brad Pitt and the Mr. Bean of zombies.

In fact, Z raises so many questions you can’t help but wonder whether the entire thing was crafted under the world’s largest apathetic umbrella, the sort that only blocks a bit of rain while the rest runs down your leg or neck:
- why didn’t Gerry, a trained and apparently well-respected field agent for the UN, turn his frickin’ phone off?
- and why the hell were they on rusty bikes?

- why would a city sing very loudly through megaphones whilst under siege from an undead horde?
- why would you ever think it’s a good idea to try and block enraged bloodthirsty creatures from the netherworld with suitcases?

- why wouldn’t you just use a different door if it’s making more noise than the apocalypse itself?

- why would you use a gun against one zombie when you know it will alert the entire squawking army?

- why would you chug down a refreshing Pepsi (trademark) while your friends and allies are seconds away from being overrun by undead beasts?

And here we see Brad Pitt shoving children in a desperate attempt to survive.

While the opening offers a genuine impression of harrowing tension as the horror kicks off, Z loses all sense of pacing and action until the midway Israel scene. Though admittedly a stellar if not bewildering sequence, it serves to highlight the often-missed potential of Z. The concept is strong as is the cast (not that they’re given anything to do but look a bit sad) but there’s a general impression of incompleteness that mars the entire experience.

If Zdidn’t sport the name of Mr. Brad Pitt on all of its posters and adverts it would undoubtedly have found itself swiftly dumped in the bargain bin. As it is, names equate to money and so it was with Z and its tentatively stated $200 million-ish budget. But money does not equate to quality and Z is the definition of that. There’s a trilogy oncoming apparently and the foundations that Z lays are certainly sturdy enough to support future films that can really get their teeth stuck into the juicy premise. 

Unfortunately, Zis far from that level. A zombie film it may be, but that's no excuse for lacking any identifiable pulse or heart.

Mortal enemies or long lost friends?

Verdict

Ultimately, as with most things in life, the answer could be found in a Cardiff basement.

2/5

Traily trailers:

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Man of Steel Review - OR - Super Sparkly Muscle Fun

Plot

Faced with the impending doom of his planet Krypton, science chief Jar-El (Russell Crowe) sends his only son - the baby Kal-El - to Earth for safety away from the military might of General Zod (Michael Shannon). On Earth, Kal-El becomes Clark Kent (Henry Cavill) and with the help of his foster parents (Diane Lane & Kevin Costner) he must learn who and what he is.

'S'alright door, I've got this.'

Review

Superman, Supes, Kal-El, Clark Kent: DC Comics’ flagship spandexed alien has as many names as he’s had films. But while the names remain timeless the films have not and the ‘Superman’ franchise has been wallowing in the mire of ‘almost’ for over 30 years. 2013 sees the release of yet another re-boot, this time helmed by director Zack ‘300’ Snyder with the relatively green Henry Cavill donning the iconic red cape.

Man of Steel is technically impeccable, sporting quality visual effects (as it should with a $200 million + budget) and masterful camera-work and choreography. The sound mixing and editing are similarly superb and compliment a customarily rousing score from Hans ‘BLAHRM’ Zimmer.

If there’s one word to describe Man of Steel it’s ‘scope.’ This is a film that start’s things off with Russel Crowe’s Jar-El flying across the dying planet Krypton through the midst of an outrageously large warzone aback a four-winged dragon beastie. The final act, wherein Supes is finally given the chance to flex his muscles is nothing short of cinematic, blockbuster perfection. The action scenes are brutal and enormous, masterfully shot and edited, with a terrifically organic sound pallet as a garnish, throwing characters and audience from set-piece to set-piece, ranging from American suburbia to the Indian ocean. Marvel’s Avengershas nothing on this, though both include an almighty tear-up in the much-maligned Grand Central station.

Nobody expected the opera section.

However, the technical gravitas and visual pomposity additionally to serve highlight just how, well, empty the film is. No warmth or human interest, no humour (outside of the exceptionally poor dialogue) and character development amounts to little more statements of intent, which works about as well as it sounds. Despite it’s near 2.5 hours runtime, it always feels like it’s in a rush, a rush that doesn’t get it anywhere. Scenes cut disconcertingly from flashbacks to the present, represented by Clark’s new job or something similar and character’s move and react in ways that are actively strange and bemusing. Plot-holes – as with anything remotely sci-fi – are rife though they may be better described as ‘plot oversights,’ nothing game-breaking but still obtrusive enough to stick around like a bad smell in the air.

The screenplay however is a train-wreck. Man of Steel’s pacing is comparable to wresting pigeons – really freaking weird if not utterly non-existent – and the dialogue throughout is cringe worthy, drawing giggles and titters out of this reviewer’s screening when they were clearly not intended. Lines land like anvils, stinking like a sewer, and while the cast does a remarkable job with the clunky mess given to them, the sheer dramatic incompetency of many scenes threatens to irrevocably grate.

Man of Steel is a film that takes itself painfully seriously and harps on about its core themes and ideas with majestic unsubtlety. For a fun side game, tally the amount of times Kal-El’s relationship with Earth/Krypton is discussed, or his ‘destiny.’ You’d swear that little Clark couldn’t have a conversation with his adoptive father Jonathan without being forcefully apotheosized: ‘Hey Dad, can I have a Coke?’, ‘One day Clark, you’ll decide the fate of all the Coke in the world.’

'Clark, one day you'll have a haircut.'

Playing Superman can’t be an easy job for an actor on the basis of his supreme benevolence and general untouchability; his multitude of fantastical powers ultimately create a remarkably uninteresting character, especially in comparison his famously conflicted colleagues a la Bruce Wayne. There’s very little at stake for him and conflicts can easily feel contrived as, outside of certain particular parameters, he can be neither hurt nor killed. It’s an issue that cripples Man of Steel for a big chunk of its runtime; until Zod turns up in the 3^rd Act, the film is bereft of conflict and any kind of dramatic interest. It’s empty and more than a little dull, the sight of Cavill’s obscene pecks and Olympian physique doing little to alleviate the prevailing sense of ‘so what?’

Fortunately then, when he does eventually escape from the black hole prison he was flung into because of reasons, Zod is played with a superb intensity by Michael Shannon. Despite his obvious moral shortcomings (genocide is never cool, dude) Zod is by far the most interesting character if no reason other than he feels like a character. He has obvious goals and desires and is passionate about them, disturbingly so, a characteristic excellently pitched by Shannon. It’s just a real shame that none of the rest of the cast, despite the wealth of acting ability on show, even threatens to encroach upon Shannon’s maniacal dominance. Amy Adam’s Lois Lane in particular feels far more like a label than a character.

Lois refused to listen to any more Rick Astley.

Verdict

As a visual and action extravaganza there are very few better offerings that Man of Steel; eclectic, explosive and exciting when it wants to be, it sometimes feel as though it’s smugly holding back just because it can. As an impassioned origins story in the vein of Batman Begins however, it’s as deep as Superman’s costume is baggy.

3/5

A feast for the eyes:

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After Earth Review - OR - I Am Smith

Plot

In the distant future on a newly colonized world, Cypher Raige (Will Smith) is a respected captain and a Ghost, capable of fighting without fear and therefore able to kill Ursas; indigenous monstrous blind beasts that can smell fear, trained to kill humans. His son Kitai (Jaden Smith) wishes to be like his hero father and spies his opportunity after being asked to join him on a training mission. However, a meteor shower destroys their spacecraft, forcing it to crash-land to Earth. Only the Raige’s survive and, with Cypher left lame with two broken legs, it’s up to Kitai to adventure through the brutal terrain and set off the distress beacon.

Where better to get away from a volcano's signal scrambling smoke that at its peak #AfterEarthLogic

Review

Hollywood is no stranger to the power family. Its history is strewn with them, from the Baldwin’s, to the Sheens, to the Culkins to a thousand others. Newest to the fray are the Smiths, captained by the Fresh Prince himself. His daughter Willow is a pop starlet, his wife a film producer and his son Jaden a budding film star. After Earth marks the second double act from Smith and son, but the first time the young pretender has been old enough to take a starring role. The whole project has been a well-documented gamble, but has it paid off?

Apparently not.

As a technical exercise After Earth performs impeccably. The CGI is perfectly fine – nothing special – but the production design is something else, actually managing to stand out with a unique, almost tribal, aesthetic. It doesn’t always work, but kudos on the effort. The scenes set on the animal ravaged Earth are suitably lush and gorgeous, drowning in colour and plant-life. If nothing else, it can’t be denied that After Earth is pretty.

Elsewhere however…

It’s all perfectly functional sci-fi fodder: full of needless jargon, nonsensical plot twists and cringe-worthy dialogue. It’s nothing special but neither is it particularly egregious or insulting. The characters on the other hand, considering that there’re only two of them, are less forgiveable. It’s hard to tell who’s less likeable - who’s less developed - and it can therefore be difficult to care about their underdeveloped father-son/love-hate relationship.

The Wii-Too, where you are the game.

To put it plainly, the main issue here is Jaden Smith. His bewildering angst, sudden strops, bizzare inflections and general impression of inexperience doesn’t make for particularly attractive or engaging company. And when, for large periods of time, he’s the only company you’ve got…the going isn’t good. You can’t help but wish he’d had the broken legs and Will ‘Cooler-Than-You’ Smith could have gone twerking through the deadly undergrowth. Except then of course you’d be left with his equally annoying cries of pain…bottom line, mercy killing is okay sometimes.

That After Earth was a vehicle for Will Smith – who produces and is an un-credited writer and directing assistant – and his rampant egotism is clear from the off and proves that the bloke should really just stick to acting. It’s so ham-fisted with its themes and narrative developments that it must either assume that its audience is mentally challenged or, more likely, it’s own writers were. The prologue pre-amble – or Before Earth *snrk* – is either a geniusly satirical interpretation of woeful Hollywood writing or its dictionary definition. The amount of subtlety can measured by the thimble and the character’s initial development is as far as they go, almost like the writers forgot what they were doing.

Will Smith may as well march into the room and bellow ‘son, we have relationship issues!’ while waving a neon sign strobing ‘FEAR FEAR FEAR’ for all the good his glum-faced, hilariously monotone, too-hurt-to-be-understood thang does for him. Jaden too, upon being told that his character ‘like, really really wants to be like his daddy but also kinda doesn’t but does kinda’ took that to mean ‘act like a cartoon army soldier.’ Watching him mince his way past a bevy of fellow recruits is a moment of genuine hilarity.

Will Smith's turds are famously destructive.

So it’s as well written as a crusty a dog turd – the sort that’s started turning all white and weird, much like Jaden’s supposed ‘smart suit’ where ‘smart’ means be any colour that doesn’t camoflauge – spends 90 minutes reaching a conclusion that it as good as shows you in the opening flashback, is as developed as a slap in the face and generally lacks any discernable ‘point,’ whatever the hell one of those things is. And yet…After Earth is still a perfectly watchable film, the epitome of sci-fi fodder where jargon, plot-holes and paper-thin characters don’t matter because the glargon meter just went all suptertinzic and the hyperglockulene is running out faster than the nibblybumfluffs.

Chase scenes often feel genuinely tense, action is handled with enough nuance and skill to work and everything looks absolutely gorgeous. If switching your mind off for 90 minutes is what you’re looking from in a film – and I’m pretty sure such a recommendation is printed at the bottom of After Earth’s posters – you can’t really go wrong.

As a final message, let’s take a moment of silence for our fallen hero, M. Night Shyamalan. It’s only until the final credits that the film admits that he directed it – like it was holding back a dirty little secret – and while it would be nice to say that such an act is unjust, well…he’ll always have Sixth Sense.

Sir Willem Smith here photoshopped to look younger than his son.

Verdict

After Earth does so much wrong that it’s almost too easy to criticize. And yet there’s just enough there that, had this been something other than a vehicle for the Smith family and the inherent stigma that follows, it could and should be considered the epitome ordinary sci-fi.

2/5

It's like the film in short:

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The Big Wedding Review - OR - The Big Dump

Plot

Don (Robert De Niro) and Ellie (Diane Keaton) are a long-divorced couple brought back into each other’s company by their adopted son Alejandro’s (Ben Barnes) wedding to girlfriend Missy (Amanda Seyfried). However, Alejandro’s biological mother Madonna (Patricia Mae) – a devout Catholic – is flying in for the ceremony, meaning that Don and Ellie are forced to act like a married couple again to the ire of Don’s partner Bebe (Susan Sarandon). Can the dysfunctional family hold it together across the weekend?

For every smile that's genuine, I'll eat a groat.

Review

Every now and then, a film comes along that is a very much a ‘cast’ film; the abundance of acting superstars, both young and old, is the film. Everything else is pretty much secondary. The Big Weddingis one such smorgasbord of illustrious names, this time tackling one of cinema’s favourite farces: weddings.

The Big Wedding is an injustice to good name of ‘farce.’

While it’s always pleasant to see older actors billed above their younger – sometimes equally famous – colleagues, something went drastically wrong with The Big Wedding. The cast is of imperious prestige and of such unrepentant ability that they had no right to be anything other than peerlessly brilliant, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Like mushy fodder Valentine’s Day and New Year’s Eve before it, Big Weddingdoesn’t give it’s constituent parts any chance to breathe, instead leaving them gasping for air all piled up and disordered in the sexually frustrated corner.

It's not often you see a jazzy hobo for entertainment. The wedding had obvious budget issues.

It says a lot that Big Wedding advertises itself on having an ‘all-star cast.’ That’s the same as a film advertising itself as having ‘an ending.’ It isn’t a success or an accomplishment; it’s just a thing that the film has. Its value derives from how it’s used, and Big Weddinguses its cast to scrub away the skid-marks off of the toilet bowl.

Ben Barnes – continuing his reputation as a plague upon anything he might work in – is cast as a Columbian (seriously), Robert De Niro seems legitimately drunk for the entire affair and Diane Keaton spirals ever closer to self-parody while the numerous children add up to create maybe a half of one actual character.

So many of the characters fee so woefully pointless that they’re almost sympathetic. Take Topher Grace’s Jared for example, whose entire characterisation and story arc is ‘he’s thirty and hasn’t had sex yet.’…Right. There are no reasons given - outside of a vague and ultimately empty flap at 'true love' - no twists, no intrigue, no justification and there is ultimately no point except to leer garrulously at Ana Ayora’s naked body for a couple of seconds. And yet, he’s one of the few likeable characters. It’s almost as though he was thrown into the film at the last second purely so that the much-marketed cast wouldn’t plummet and burn in a repugnant plane crash.

This here be Jared, languishing in the warmths of success after another footsie victory.

Like It’s Complicated and Hope Springs, Big Wedding isn’t coy when it comes to sex, no matter what the age. The greater chunk of the ‘comedy’, if it’s okay to use that word, on offer is of a sexual nature, so it’s not likely to appeal to people of a more prudish sensibility. Or much of anyone else as it turns out.

However, The Big Wedding seems to think that with enough swear words – including the c-word those dirty dogs! – and hackneyed sex references comes success. All of the humour, outside of the little racist garnish dotted around the edges for absolutely no reason, is of a sexual nature. And almost none of it is good. If the punch line isn’t ‘hey look, they’re old people having/talking about sex, the hell is up with that right??’ it’s a wearying, cringe-worthy Carry-On styled wink-wink-nudge-nudge referencing the likes of which you could swear died out thirty years ago. Whereas the likes of It’s Complicated followed a similar topic of sex in later life, it did so with more nuance, care and comedy than Big Wedding could ever dream of.

Though some of it does work - particularly in regards to the criminally underused Father Moinighan (Robin Williams) who brings home the biggest laughs (note: only) – the writing is largely a joke. For writer/director Justin Zackham’s sake it has to be hoped that he asked his pubescent son to scribble the script for him, the sort of kid who recently discovered the word ‘f**k’ is and that sex is a thing that people can do sometimes if they like. And that it’s also hilarious.

Directionless, disordered, bereft of humour and utterly misguided: ladies and gentlemen, behold the big comedy of Summer 2013.

Unbeknownst to Dave, his 'fake-telephone-act' stopped being funny 20 years ago.

Verdict

A perplexing, aimless, pointless mess. A cast movie that does nobody involved any favours except to bulk up their bank balance. It does end in less than 90 minutes though, so it’s got that string to its bow.

1/5

You know those trailers that have all the funny bits in them? This is supposed to be like that:

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