Vertigo (1958)

There is something about this film, something in the atmosphere of it, which is quite unique. It isn't quite dreamy and it certainly isn't surreal, I'm guessing the best word is hypnotic. The film lasts about two hours but feels longer because it immerses the viewer within- it doesn't interest or intrigue or engage me, it enraptures me. Everything contributes- the storyline with its twists and juxtapositions, the cinematography which somehow makes contemporary San Francisco look ethereal (and this isn't the lustre added by the intervening years, I am sure), the performance of James Stewart with conflicting emotions of guilt and confusion and love and hope writ large across his brow, the direction which is confident, controlled and unhurried and finally- perhaps most importantly- Bernard Herrmann's haunting score.

There is such a great deal of depth to 'Vertigo' that you really can find new things to consider with each watch. Here's what I mean: watching this yesterday I was, for the first time, pondering the control that the male characters exercise over the female characters in their lives- Gavin Elster over Judy, 'Scottie' over Judy, 'Scottie' over 'Midge' and the unknown man from the bookseller's story over Carlotta (his comment "they could do that back then" being ironic in that context). Juxtaposed with this are the supposed obsession with Carlotta which Madelaine portrays and the obsession with Madelaine which leads 'Scottie' to possess Judy. The film examines these relationships without drawing conclusions- these are left to the viewer- in each instance the man is rich and substantially older, the girl becomes a plaything or a means of passing the time, to be moulded and shaped in whatever image suits the man's mood. What this says about patriarchal relationships for Hitchcock is unimportant, he posits the question for the viewer to consider without guiding those thoughts.

There are culture snobs who claim that cinema isn't art. If Goya or Rembrandt created anything that betters Hitchcock's 'Vertigo' then I'll eat my hat- 10/10.

The Man With The Golden Gun (1974)

Aside from my multiple, varied and significant faults I do have a couple of decent characteristics not least of which is my loyalty. If something brings me pleasure or pride or entertainment of knowledge, then I will support and defend and remain steadfast to it. And so it is with James Bond- I loved James Bond as a child and the child is the father of the man. On the downside, I do tend to take Bond seriously and as a result can become hostile and antagonistic to those who don't. That includes Roger Moore.

James Bond was forty-five when he began playing Bond- and not an especially youthful looking or acting forty-five at that. Having neither Connery's physique, virility nor gravitas, Moore took the films in the direction of comedy- a direction so disastrous that it took three relaunches to recover from. Being Moore's second Bond, this isn't the worst example of that by any means- worse excesses were to follow- but the slapstick comedy, the comical characters of Sheriff J.W. Pepper (Clifton James) and the dizzy Mary Goodnight (Britt Ekland) and the unfunny quips clearly signpost the direction.

That said, 'The Man With The Golden Gun' is a relatively interesting Bond movie, for a Moore Bond, as it shows the progression to full-on campy slapstick as a work in progress. But it isn't all bad. First and foremost amongst the positives, Bond is opposed (via a ludicrously contrived plot) with an formidable villain in Christopher Lee's Francisco Scaramanga. Being a ruthless and skilled assassin who can be debonair and attractive, he is set up as Bond's equal and this works well thanks- in the main- to Lee's performance. It was an inspired piece of casting and Lee carries the film admirably from his supporting role. What is most interesting about his character, however, is that it is he who possesses the gadgets- a golden gun constructed from a pen, cigarette box and lighter and a car which quickly transforms into an aeroplane (Bond wouldn't have a car to better that until he got the invisible one in 'Die Another Day' in 2002). The nearest thing Bond has to a gadget in the entire film is a stick-on third nipple. A minor digression, I genuinely have a third nipple and can confirm that neither Bond's fake nipple nor Scaramanga's is placed correctly on the 'milk line' from armpit to groin.

So, Bond versus his equal minus gadgets but with comedy. The storyline is roughly split into two halves, the opening piece is a roughly effective detective story which ends with Bond being captured by Hai Fat and the second is a less effective protracted cat and mouse duel with Scaramanga ending in an actual duel on Scaramanga's island. In between the two is a brief interval which features some Kung Fu (Bond films have always exploited what's current) and then a chase which includes one of the all-time great movie stunts being ruined by the addition of a slide whistle sound effect. How the movie shifts from Kung Fu to car chase is one of the great gaping plot holes in the series- Bond's police ally Lieutenant Hip and his two nieces appear from nowhere to fight off twenty? thirty? Kung Fu assailants and rescue Bond and then unaccountably drive away leaving him to run from the recovering assailants. Hip then disappears from the film.

Another point about this film is the sub-plot regarding Scaramanga's attempt to monopolise the supply of the world's solar power from his secret island hideaway (an almost carbon copy of the earlier James Bond spoof 'Our Man Flint') which was introduced because there was a crisis in British energy supply at the time and the three-day-week made the storyline current for the viewing audience. Personally, I don't think a multi-million pound solar machine which suddenly grinds to a halt when the sun disappears behind a cloud as this one does is worth the money but these were desperate times!

Bond, in this film, looks increasingly like a ridiculously effete caricature with his Safari suits and a hideously garish plaid sports jacket and slacks combination- another step away from Fleming's Bond- and acts like one of those men you avoid at parties because they're nowhere near as funny as they think. It's a dull and confused movie saved from total mediocrity by Christopher Lee and warrants 4/10.

The Reader (2009)

So, after 'Valkyrie', onto the second part of tonight's double bill of foreigners playing Germans. This time, with accents.

I came into this film with no prior real knowledge- I didn't even know that it was set in Germany- all that I did know was that Kate Winslet was highly regarded in her role and that my friend Tony D (a fine judge of all things cultural) really liked it and was intrigued by it. I really liked it too, but the most intriguing thing for me is how it so nearly a truly great film, but sadly ends up not being. It looks beautiful- as it should with the estimable Roger Deakins on board- and the sense of time and place are rendered beautifully through the settings and costumes and the script is excellent- by turns surprising and satisfying- so everything is in place for a classic.

The plaudits I'm hearing for Reading's finest, though, are overdoing it. She has a role that many actresses would kill for and nails it a lot of the time, but the performance is a little two-dimensional and the later scenes with Kate aged in make-up really let the performance down. She doesn't pull off the latter-day Hannah Schmitz at all for me because she doesn't act like an old woman in either her movement or her speech. I mentioned also that her performance is a little 2-D and this is something I wanted to comment on as a means of thinking out loud. Winslet's performance gives no real insight into the person or her motivation, the script does- a little- in the courtroom scene, but you never see these things acted out. The character is as much a puzzle at the start as at the end because no clues are given. When it comes to portraying her embarrassment over her illiteracy, Winslet is fine, but for the tougher stuff which would really have made the performance something spectacular I found her wanting. On the other hand, Bruno Ganz and especially Lena Olin's small cameos were of the highest calibre- especially her scene with Ralph Fiennes (who did his usual 'credible Liam Neeson' performance) and definitely worthy of greater scrutiny. Speaking of performances, David Kross as the young Michael really stood out- he moved from callow to embittered without missing a beat.

David Kross, however, is also one of the directorial weaknesses that held the film back. He does a fine job as Michael in 1958 and again in 1968, but the only concession to the ageing process that we see is that his fringe has grown a bit and he's stopped wearing shorts. When he reappears again in 1976 as Ralph Fiennes, more than a little ageing has gone on. And his nose has shrunk. I'm not a big fan of make up but a little on Kross in 1968 and a prosthetic nose on Fiennes would've helped keep things totally plausible. In addition to this choosing Lena Olin to play a mother and her daughter is unnecessary and distracting. Small touches like this counted against the director (Stephen Daldry). I like to see a film where everything is deliberate and rationalised, but too many things in 'The Reader' were left unexplored, rather than unresolved. It just seemed like the director sometimes felt "I'm not spending more time on 'that', they'll get the message" without ensuring that the message was properly conveyed.

What hampered the film most, though, was an intangible feeling it provoked in me. The themes explored necessitate ambiguity, but that doesn't mean things should be left unresolved for the filmmaker. I just got the sense that Daldry didn't really know how he felt about his characters- young Michael and the Auschwitz survivors aside. The ambiguity strikes you as possibly unintentional and so the power of the messages is lost. That's why it's an almost-amazing film but only rated at 7/10.

Milk (2009)

Another trip to the multiplex, another Oscar-nominated disappointment. This is such a great story but it's sadly just too conventional a retelling. The film opened with Penn, as Harvey Milk, recounting back his tale into a tape recorder- one of the oldest tricks in the biopic book. Apart from this being obvious and unoriginal, I was immediately reminded of Billy Wilder's noir masterpiece 'Double Indemnity' and if you're going to invite comparisons like that, then you'd better have something good up your sleeve to follow. And this isn't anything special at all.

There are good things in the film. Not least some great performances- Sean Penn is inspired (aside from the moment that he is on the verge of giving it up and is talked around in about half a second, but the script gave him bugger all to work with there), James Franco, who I've only ever seen in the utterly abject 'Pineapple Express', is charming and Josh Brolin does the very best he can with limited screen time. The Josh Brolin character is interesting because his role is obviously pivotal, yet his character arc is almost entirely missing from the script. Brolin conveys a lot of turmoil and frustration in his few opportunities, but the transition from Brolin's discomfiture to murderous rage is unbelievable (an award-nominated script shouldn't have such yawning logical gaps for me- it needed another few minutes of screen time to make that change believable). But not all of the performances are of that standard anyway- Diego Luna is crap in this. Absolute crap. I'm sorry but looking pretty and having the right accent really isn't enough. Emile Hirsch isn't much cop either, while I'm on the subject.

The film is well shot and edited for the most part. It looks authentic and even the riot scenes look fairly believable (which is a real rarity) but there are really ropey moments- the people in boxes as the message spreads graphic was really poor, especially as there were about 100 boxes with about 15 people repeated- and there are bits that are skipped over (the conflict with the shop-owner across the street is all done in about eight seconds) the politicking that got support from every Supervisor except Brolin is ignored, while the entire Diego Luna subplot is poorly rendered- Milk's friends don't like him, he's a tit, he hangs himself. The three people getting the majority of the positive press for this film are director Gus Van Sant, writer Dustin Lance Black and Penn- but only the latter really deserves it. The other two got lots right and some very key things wrong. Pah!

This film is just so bland and non-descript that the things to admire are kind of lost in a mush of mediocrity. The irony is that Harvey Milk's biopic is just too straight and conventional to do justice to a man whose life was anything but. 3/10.

Infernal Affairs / Mou Gaan Dou (2002)

A couple of years back I resolved to watch the IMDb Top 25o as a means of discovering films I never would've otherwise seen. Somewhat unaccountably- other than it's relatively recent release- 'The Departed' was on the list and this wasn't. Therefore, I saw the remake before the original. It's already a major regret of mine that it worked out that way because this film has all of the tension, intrigue, atmosphere and intelligence that Scorsese's bloated remake lacked- but much of the impact was undermined by having seen the same scenes done before only in English, with big-name actors not really giving a shit. I imagine that this is how it must feel to watch the Hitchcock version after seeing Gus Van Sant's massacre of 'Psycho'.

Enough about Scorsese's version, this is masterful. Slick, intelligent, with a clear but compelling narrative and perfectly cast- Tony Leung brings a kind of grubby paranoia to the role of Yan. There is an obvious fear of exposure about him which is undercut by an ambiguity about how deeply entrenched in the crime world he has become as if he's continuing to do the right thing but isn't totally sure why or if he wants to. Equally Andy Lau projects an overarching ruthlessness which is at once compelling and off-putting- as if he has charm available to use, but he has chosen not to.

This is a great movie and if I ever see Martin Scorsese on West Bromwich High Street I'm going to stick on one him for almost ruining it for me with his flaccid imitation which lacks the depth, soul and watch-ability of this original. 7/10.

The Chorus / Les Choristes (2004)

A couple of days back I got stuck into Slumdog Millionaire for many reasons, one of which was its contrivance. At the time I said that many films I loved were also contrived, but not quite so blatantly. Well, this came close. And I still loved it.

The premise is as old as time: well-meaning, soft-as-shite teacher takes on a class of bad kids and inspires them to become good kids through art (music in this case). No points for originality there, then. And because there is a cast largely made up of children, it will take a lot of luck to avoid some really robotic characterisations- well, 'The Chorus' almost gets away with it. Apart from a couple of kids who were clearly chosen as singers not actors (Jean-Baptiste Maunier as Pierre Morhange, I'm looking at you) the young players are fine. The performances from the adult players more than compensate in any case- Gérard Jugnot, Kad Merad and Marie Bunel were, I thought, excellent.

I had never heard of this film before tonight, it was simply part of a collection I bought recently and I only chose to watch it tonight as it had a short running time. Sometimes life springs these happy surprises upon you- 8/10 and a big soppy grin on my face.

Carry on Up The Khyber (1968)

When I was bigging up 'Carry On Camping' recently I said "it is neither the best scripted nor the most inventive of the Carry On series". This one might be. The regulars are given characters which suit them beautifully and the occasional players integrate beautifully- especially Roy Castle (or Roy Fucking Castle as I will always remember him since hearing it on 'Bottom' when I was far more impressionable than I am now) who is a straight-laced foil for the others to bounce off.

The plot, which acts as little more than a device to move from one gag to another, concerns the 3rd Foot in Mouth regiment in India and their reputation as 'devils in skirts'- which is debunked when Bernard Bresslaw as Bungdit Din, leader of the Burpahs, steals the woollen underwear that Charles Hawtry wore beneath his kilt. This causes a battle at the Khyber Pass (a mountain path in Wales in reality) leading the Burpahs to attack the Ambassadorial residence of Lord Sidney Ruff-Diamond, causing the famous closing battle scene. The puns are delicious and delivered with camp perfection: When the Fakir fails to entertain Kenneth Williams (the Khasi of Kalabar Rhandi Lal) he commands "Bring on the dancing girls. Get rid of this idiot!" leading to Bernard Bresslaw instructing "Fakir! Off!"; When Roy Castle instructs his men "Fire at will!" Peter Butterworth counters "Poor old Will, why do they always fire at him" and so on.

It's obvious, cheaply made, unsubtle, childish and camper than a row of tents, but it entertains me immensely. 8/10.

Aguirre, Wrath of God / Aguirre, der Zorn Gottes (1972)

This is powerful and intense stuff. 90 minutes inside one man's descent madness and a group's descent into starvation, treachery, fear, panic and damnation. The film depicts a trek through South American jungle by river-raft in search of El Dorado (a mythical city of gold) by Spanish conquistadors. Their motive is blind greed. Greed for money and greed for power.

The cinematography is fantastic with a constant contrast between handheld cameras amongst the actors, literally inside the action (in several orations to the group, actors speak directly into the camera as though the viewer was with them) and longer shots of the jungle which surrounds and dominates them on all sides. Indeed the opening shots of the entire party (over 1100 men) from above as they follow a single track through the jungle growth, give a sense of the scale of the expedition. And of how difficult the film must have been to complete.

The film is tranquil for stretches before sporadic bursts of violence that end as suddenly as they start. interrupt. We are conveyed into the world of the conquistadors who are bored, afraid and starving, drifting in absolute silence for hours awaiting an attack from an enemy that they cannot see or slay.

Whilst the attention to detail, painstakingly authentic direction and bare, powerful script are also key to the film's success the cornerstone of the movie is the central performance of Klaus Kinski as the title character. He seethes, literally seethes with irrationality and a burning lust for power. Kinski is awesome. His contorted frame and maniacal breathing, his timing, his very awareness of what his eyes are conveying are phenomenal. His bloodless reading of key phrases such as "I am the wrath of God, who is with me?" or "If I, Aguirre, want the birds to drop dead from the trees... then the birds will drop dead from the trees" make compelling viewing.

This is a tale of folly and madness, rendered truer than any literal depiction by the claustrophobic atmosphere and pervading air of desperation. A magnificent achievement. 10/10.

Whisky Galore! (1949)

I've always felt that 'Whisky Galore!' gets a little unfairly overshadowed by 'Kind Hearts And Coronets' and 'The Ladykillers' in the Ealing canon. They're both marvellous movies but without the lightness of tone that makes this film- and 'Passport To Pimlico' to be fair- such perfect entertainment. Alexander Mackendrick- who I lauded recently for his 'Sweet Smell of Success'- directs and the cast are on great form. Especially Basil Radford as the uptight Englishman Captain Waggett who has great fun with lines like "They don't do things for the sake of doing them like the English". And where else will you see the wonderful James Robertson Justice as a Doctor who not only recommends that his bedridden patient smokes, but furnishes him with a pipe to do so when he learns that the patient has none?

One of the things that I really love about Ealing comedies, which this film demonstrates perfectly, is the way that they pit a small group of like-minded individuals against intransigent bureaucratic obstacles and see them come out on top. The film generates a real sense of them and us with Captain Waggett as the pompous, blustering stuffed-shirt who follows a legally right, morally wrong path that leads him into conflict with the islanders with genuinely hilarious results.

And there's that word- hilarious. This film is at times laugh out loud funny- most famously in the narrated introduction where a description of the Island of Todday (where the film is set) recounts how there is no cinema and no music hall but describes the islanders as "A happy people, with few and simple pleasures" just as a family of about thirteen small children come running out of the house.

Charming, funny and genuinely heartwarming with interesting characters and great comic performances. In many ways this is a perfect comedy movie, I absolutely adore it- 10/10.

Our Man Flint (1966)

I love Bond and I do take Bond far more seriously than it deserves. But that doesn't mean I can't enjoy the genre being spoofed- if it is done well. The original Casino Royale (Niven, Sellers, Allen, Welles, Belmondo et al) was a huge disappointment given the talent involved, but this- from the year before- is far more impressive.

Following 1965's Thunderball, this clever spoof doesn't stretch the joke too far. Super-suave spy Derek Flint (James Coburn) is assigned the task of stopping a shadowy group who are holding the world to ransom from their secret hideaway inside a volcano- by the way, the inside of the volcano may as well have been the inside of a shed in comparison to Ken Adam's Thunderball set. There is none of the clumsiness of Austin Powers or the Get Smart series, Flint is an extension of the Bond persona and his sole gadget- a lighter with 82 functions (83 if you include lighting a cigar)- is far less outlandish than the Bond gadgets that were to follow.

This is fun and disposable- Lee J. Cobb was wheeled in front of the camera and given lines to yell as a senior US Official and Devon Miles from Knight Rider appears as a nutty villain. It's well worth enjoying and better than all but a couple of Roger Moore's Bond films 6/10.

Vicky Cristina Barcelona (2008)

There is something a little uncomfortable about watching Woody Allen films. You are essentially watching an old man vicariously living his lothario fantasies- in this case through Javier Bardem. Of course, in recent years, it has also been uncomfortable watching the slow and seemingly irreversible decline of an important figure in modern cinema. And this film shows that there is life in the old dog yet. This isn't a comeback of Mickey Rourke proportions- his lows were never as low as Mickey got and this isn't a career-best as Mickey's Randy 'The Ram' Robinson is- but if Mickey wasn't about, this would be the comeback of the year.

Vicky Cristina Barcelona develops an intriguing story at its own pace, it is confidently crafted and the use of a narrator to tie together the various scenes allowing the scenes themselves to develop characters with no necessity to move the story along necessarily is inspired.

In addition to this, Allen has a high-powered cast and elicits first-rate performances all-round- with Bardem being the pick ahead, slightly, of Cruz. All too often with a number of name players the movie is unbalanced by their demands for more screen time, better lines and the hostility that results is clear for all to see on screen. Credit to Woody Allen for what shines through the screen as a genuine ensemble piece. A word too for the soundtrack, which breathes life into the whole piece and is as good as I've heard since Jonny Greenwood's minimal masterpiece for 'There Will Be Blood'. The repeated use of the longing 'Barcelona' by Giulia y los Tellarini is beautifully judged.

What stops this being absolutely vintage Allen is that it is less affecting at the finale than the likes of 'Annie Hall' and 'Manhattan'. Nonetheless, it is wonderful in its own right- 7/10.

The Final Conflict (1981)

I feel cheated. I wanted to watch this on Inauguration Night because I thought Damien became President and he doesn't! Also, the film is rubbish, but I fully expected that and so I don't feel cheated about that.

I've watched Damien: Omen II recently (4/10) and it felt like one of the Hammer Dracula series but in reverse. Hammer were always left with the difficulty of resurrecting Chris Lee after he had been destroyed at the end of the last one (blood spilt on his ashes etc), here the difficulty was in how anyone could ever get Damien- everyone who had ever suspected him, every shred of evidence that he was the Anti-Christ and the only daggers that could kill him were all destroyed in a fire at the climax of the second movie.

Well, they dealt with the daggers early on. The movie opens with some rubble being cleared and the daggers (apparently dug out of cement, though I've no idea how they got there) are stolen by a man who pawns them. The pawnbroker puts them up for auction where they are bought by a Priest (rich feller, these are antique artifacts) who gives them to a particular Italian Monastery.

A little while on, we see a gang of Priests in said Monastery discussing the knives. The head Monk (Rossano Brazzi- Beckerman from The Italian Job- who is the only actor to emerge from this with any credit) explains that he received a letter from another now-deceased Monk saying that Damien Thorn is the Devil. Right so that's sorted. I'm so stupid, I at least expected them to have a go at credibly explaining it. Pah! He later explains that he is certain about Damien being the Anti-Christ thus: "there is a commandment 'thou shalt not bear false witness'... if there was even a shred of doubt in my mind, my faith would not allow me to say these things". Of course there's no doubt, he received a letter after all!

I've spent too long on this already, it doesn't deserve it! Sam Neill is horrific veering from anodyne to hammy and back, completely skipping believable on the way. His jaw-clenched eye-rolling throaty address to his disciples- a nurse! a priest! two boy-scouts! the horror!- is painful. His support actors are Steve McQueen's best mate Don Gordon (The Towering Inferno, Papillon, Bullitt) who is sleepwalking and an out-of-her-depth Lisa Harrow. Oh and Bob Cryer from The Bill. In a moustache.

The shocking deaths that you expect from Omen films include the US Ambassador fixing up a pistol to shoot himself in the head when a door opens tripping a Mousetrap-type contraption and a couple of boring deaths off-screen. I'm not fussed about that, gore bores me, but when you think where the film's target audience tends to set its expectations, it's an odd decision.

Let's be positive- it's a day for hope and positivity after all- the Jerry Goldsmith soundtrack is classy and Rossano Brazzi deserves credit for keeping going when everyone around him has given up. So, 2/10.

Brewster McCloud (1970)

I love films (and not just films) that work on a number of levels and this is one. You can take it as an interesting curio that neatly spoofs contemporaneous cop movies Bullitt and Dirty Harry with an outlandish murder hunt tale, but it also works on an allegorical level speaking about restriction, existentialism, dreams, reality and surreality and the desire for liberty.

It isn't especially successful. In many ways it is deeply flawed- the SFPD cop Frank Shaft, for example, is a nice idea poorly executed- but when it hits home, then it hits the jackpot. The comic swipes at Agnew and Nixon have added poignancy these days and the Wizard of Oz reference is sublime but my favourite gag was the invented Wright brother Abraham (played with relish by Stacy Keach) as the acquisitive owner of a string of retirement homes. No, it was the titles stopping and restarting from the beginning in unison with the action on screen. No, it's the scars on Sally Kellerman's back.

There is an interesting narrative role with Rene Auberjonois as a lecturer who is occasionally shown giving a straightforward lecture on ornithology with each section shown being pertinent to the action that precedes or follows it. There is also a lovely debut performance from Shelley Duvall and Bud Cort (looking like Wally from 'Where's Wally?') is smashing in the title role.

Next time I want to see a movie that I can laugh along with and then think more profoundly about later, this might be it. Terrible story, great movie. 6/10.

Slumdog Millionaire (2008)

I hated this. Hate, hate, hate. I hated it so much that I feel like quoting Melvyn Udall to emphasise the point. Hate, hate, hate, hate, hate.

First off, the trivial reasons to hate the movie: it is horrible and contrived, it is effective but only inasmuch as the audience can see the predictable ending so far in advance that they feel chuffed with themselves when it eventually transpires. Every scene of every film I love is designed to provoke a certain reaction in the audience and so, to that extent, they are all contrived- but this is just so blatant. It tries every cheap trick in the book, it ladles on the syrup and relies upon the perpetually tearful star to tug at the heartstrings enough. The plot has more holes than a tennis racket, the visual style is flashy for the sake of it and I can only think of one performance that was credible (Anil Kapoor's). Oh, the movie as a piece of work is just terrible.

For all of that, it would have been looking at a one or two out of ten rating. But that would've merely been dislike and I don't just dislike this movie. This movie made me want to commit gross acts of unspeakable, inexcusable, hateful violence upon the makers. Yes, I am using the word hate here (cheers Melvyn).

Slumdog Millionaire capitalises on the squalour and poverty in parts of India for comedic effect. It is amoral, wretched and unprincipled. It was like that programme where Fergie went round council estates teaching people to eat fresh fruit. Just as there was no altruistic rationale behind her actions, there is nothing positive behind this film. None of the issues it inadvertently raises are tackled in any other way than demonstrating what a shit life some people have but it's okay because they can dream of winning a gameshow. The only ones who are shown improving themselves are the murderer, the gold-digger and the bloke who wins the gameshow. I don't think it reflects the reality that you can work your way out of the slum at all. The only job the kid from the slum can get is making the tea. Danny Boyle got a lot of unnecessary stick for glamorising drugs in the gritty, death-ridden anti-heroin advert that was 'Trainspotting', and here he's getting lauded for trivialising child poverty, abuse, murder, organised crime, police brutality and corruption to make this year's Juno'. Funny how things change.

All that Slumdog Millionaire does to elicit a laugh is to poke fun at the poor, the destitute, the unfortunate and the victimised. Hahaha, look at them- they sht in a big hole and pretend to be English in a call centre to make a living, aren't they funny? Listen to their accents as they pretend to know about Eastenders. Look at them scavenging food to eat and sleeping in rusted, abandoned vehicles in the rain. Isn't it funny- oh, I hope he wins the money and gets the girl who shagged his brother and will only leave her gangster pimp for him if he's rich, it'd be a lovely ending.

It is patronising and vile- like City of God remade as a Lionel Bart musical or a mobile phone advert. Just as I wouldn't ever go to a Freak Show, I wish I hadn't watched that. 0/10 and a very, very bitter aftertaste.

Gonzo: The Life and Work of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson (2008)

The problem with making a documentary on a journalist is that the thing he's famous for doesn't make a great visual spectacle, hence you spend large parts of the documentary with someone reading out selected chunks of his/her writings. With Hunter Thompson, though, that problem is alleviated somewhat by the colourful nature of his personal life. Get Johnny Depp in to read out extracts from 'Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail', show some footage of Nixon and some Hells Angels, add in some clips of the Terry Gilliam film and use interview footage of the man himself- bang. Job done.

It doesn't quite work out that well, though. The film appears to be made by someone who wanted Thompson to have been the wild, young Dr Gonzo in perpetuity and so we see footage of a broken-down alcoholic absent father surrounded by hangers-on presented as a glorification. When you're writing about a man who is tormented as he approaches the grave by the waste of his wasted talent, a little more circumspection and a little less back-projected imagery and cutting is in order. On top of this, the similarities between Nixon-era America and today (particularly in light of the futile overseas incursions) speak for themselves- you don't need footage from Saigon and Basra playing side-by-side to make that point. Or, if you must hammer it home, at least refer to way that the world would've benefitted from a peak-era Dr Gonzo taking double-barrelled blasts at the misbegotten 'war on terror' when showing the contrasted footage- rather than twenty-odd minutes later. Stylistically, then, the film was a shambles- derivative and dated. But thematically it is a treat. You really can't make a bad documentary about such a compelling figure no matter what you do, and this isn't a bad documentary- but it's a wasted opportunity.

There's still room in the world for a great documentary ('Hunter S. Thompson: Genius Writer and Twat of a Man' would be a great title) and I'll keep hoping for it. 6/10

The 39 Steps (1935)

This is what used to be called- and probably still is- an adventure yarn. I think it's fair to say they don't make them like this any more. Hitchcock's gift for suspense allied to his much underrated comic direction are both utilised to the full in this film.

Robert Donat plays a holidaying Canadian in London who stumbles across a spy plot and is engaged in a race against time to save the entire Western world. I'll be honest, it requires a pretty healthy suspension of disbelief. The whole thing moves at great pace, the dialogue is snappy and memorable, the performances are- and I don't think it's a criticism necessarily- very typical of the period (especially Lucie Mannheim's death), and the drama is intensified skilfully with occasional and timely comic relief by Hitch.

The whole thing exemplifies pre-Hollywood Hitchcock at his most confident- the maid's squeal which is replaced by a screaming steam train, the suspicious and oppressive crofter who is by turns comical and villainous, the conversation in which Donat persuades the milkman to aid his escape and lurches from sinister to comedic to dramatic in mere seconds, the dramatic chase across the Scottish moors and finally the mise-en-scene which switches from the death of Mr Memory to the chorus girls to the happy coming together of the film's stars. Marvellous utilisation of the raw ingredients.

Most importantly of all, the film's female lead Madeleine Carroll was born in my home town West Bromwich. If this was awful I'd still give it a decent mark on the basis of that alone. But it isn't, it's delicious and dramatic and funny and exciting and a worthy 9/10.

Woyzeck (1979)

Herzog showed great courage in composing a film almost entirely of lingering static shots where the main players and action frequently moves off camera or into the camera. I have spoken before about Herzog's manipulation of the viewer, how he uses the camera to assimilate the viewer into the crowd in Aguirre: Wrath of God for example, and here he is foregoing the possibility of doing this. Herzog is reliant upon the abilities of the players to provide sustained and forceful performances (most of the scenes are single-shot takes of four minutes or more) which compensate for the lack of movement or cutting to which the 1979 film audience would have become accustomed. And the performances he required were provided for him in reciprocation for his trust- Eva Mattes as the sultry, conflicted wife and Josef Bierbichler as the unfeeling, solipsistic drum major especially provide solid support for Klaus Kinski (in the title role) to show again the extraordinary depths of torment and emotional angst he is able to convey on-screen.

Friedrich Woyzeck is a simple, well-intentioned soldier of the lowest rank who is bullied, insulted, threatened and pressurised in every aspect of his life. He is weak and preyed upon. In the title sequence, we see him subjected to brutal punishment by a superior officer and- in the context of what follows- this is clearly both unwarranted and habitual. That Herzog chooses to accelerate the footage gives the action a comic edge, we are not to pity Woyzeck too deeply or too soon. Throughout what follows Kinski portrays Woyzeck as a restless bundle of nervous energy, the inner turmoil he suffers from is reflected in his outward uneasiness and lack of control- his inarticulate utterances are empty and profound in equal measure and the sometimes tortuous delivery of them speaks loudly of a man struggling manfully to retain his sanity. There is a proud stoicism played off against a pathetic submissiveness and the contradiction therein echoes the conflict between a man and his nature or is destiny. Watching this is an exhausting and challenging experience as we Kinski draws from within himself a pain which strains every sinew and seems to risk implosion. In the film's undoubted high-point, the slow-motion murder scene, I genuinely began to fear that the bulging veins in his forehead would fail him, such is the choking intensity with which Kinski responds to the act.

But for all of that, the film still fails to satisfy. I have praised the decision to restrict the action to a single view, but as well as brave it was a self-defeating decision. The film fails to arrest the viewer in a way that Herzog would never have allowed in his more tightly directed pieces. The drab but authentic settings drain the life from the scene with the amount of unbroken screen exposure they receive- to a lesser degree in the outdoor shots and most specifically in the field scene where Woyzeck's sanity is finally broken.

The other reason may be the script itself. Woyzeck is a famous and traditional German play which addresses many things culturally which do not cross borders easily. Indeed Herzog himself said, I believe, that the film was almost impossible to translate into English. What I read as clunky, unsatisfactory and unrealistic dialogue is, I hope and believe, more intensely profound and poetic in the original form.

And so, for me, this is a bold, but doomed experiment. Herzog has handicapped himself unnecessarily and the result is a sometimes dull and surprisingly unaffecting movie featuring some heavily emotional performances and an excellent score. 6/10

Let The Right One In / Låt den rätte komma in (2009)

It is pretty rare for me to watch a horror film, so watching two vampire films in succession is almost unheard of (almost because I once watched the Hammer Dracula movies on consecutive nights). But the two films are special cases, haunting works of art. As I said last night, I'm a bit reticent to bang on about yet another great movie I've seen- in my head I sound like one of those tabloid reviewers who call every other film 'the best action/comedy/drama/love/war/horror film of the year' just to get their name on the billboards' (don't get me wrong, I don't want any fucker quoting me, but I'm wary of sounding trite). But this is one of the great film experiences of the decade- I'm convinced of that after a single viewing. Seriously, this is a film which is so good that I'm terrified of giving anything away and causing even the slightest hint of spoiling the film. I'm very reverent about this film.

What I can say is that Kåre Hedebrant as Oskar (looking like a twelve-year old Danny Torrance from 'The Shining' in a great haircut) and Lina Leandersson as Eli perform wonderfully at the centre of the movie and they are surrounded by magnificent support actors who bring life and individuality to small parts which would be nondescript in a lesser movie. The film looks wonderful, the soundtrack is superb (even the song by the bloke from Roxette is impressive) and the script never fails to intrigue or engage. Tomas Alfredson as Director must take the plaudits for a film which says more in under two hours about the human condition, love, responsibility, pain, confusion, expectation, devotion and death than you have any right to expect from a horror film. And this truly is so much more than that- it is a coming of age film, a genuinely life-affirming romance, a dark commentary on childhood and an exploration of the morality of revenge. Shit, it has everything except belly-laughs.

I'm not saying any more, I can't. As soon as you get the chance, see it. If this film isn't the best of the year, then I may not live through the one that beats it. 10/10- easily.

Che: Part One (2009)

I was looking forward to this a lot. I have a lot of time for Del Toro and I respect a lot of what Soderbergh tries to do, even if his films usually leave me cold (not just the popcorn-sellers like Ocean's Thirteen either, I can't get on with Sex, Lies and Videotape or Erin Brockovich at all). Most importantly of all, though, the subject matter is compelling. But the film left me flat.

It's well made, it looks great, Del Toro does a great job, the grainy black and white post-revolution interviews contrasted with the vivid jungle warfare were excellent- but it's just dull. Other than the first half-hour which drags, the film isn't flabby- just a bit repetitive. It's not that nothing happens, it is simply that the film didn't engage me when things did happen. Certainly not when they appeared to repeat themselves (it must be hard to differentiate between repeated ambushes in the same type of jungle, I'm sure). If the second part is like this too, then I'd say we're looking at a three-hour movie experience extended into a four-hour-get-the-punters-in-twice cash cow. I call that the Grindhouse effect.

Perhaps I'm being harsh because I've been treated to such genuinely magnificent film-making recently, but I don't think so. I just think Soderbergh got a bit carried away with himself and needed someone making him step back and be objective about what really enhanced the film and what didn't. 5/10. Imagine if there's an extended Director's cut- fuck me!

Nosferatu: Phantom der Nacht (1979)

I am on such a run of great films that it's in danger of getting a little tiresome to record my thoughts on here. Another wonderful film, how predictable!

But this IS a wonderful film. Being a retelling of F.W. Murnau's 1922 classic, this film has to be special simply to avoid being a failure and is. Herzog brings to the film a visual intelligence and a mastery of atmosphere which never wavers. From the bright and airy opening in the Harkers' home to the run down, austere isolation of Dracula's castle, Herzog controls the viewer experience down to the nearest detail. These are not images which are obvious or border upon self-parody, they are real and ground the viewing experience. For stretches of the film, there is an almost dreamy mysticism about what we are seeing (at one point Harker states that he feels as though he was in a nightmare from which he cannot awake) but this is never achieved through simplistic, surreal imagery. The film is built upon the atmosphere which Herzog creates through simple visual storytelling, with minimal but timely support from the soundtrack. The meeting between Renfield and Harker is unsettling visually and disturbs all the more as a result, the scenes within the castle are claustrophobic and oppressive, the handheld footage of Harker's journey takes us with him through breathtaking but ominous scenery and when finally we arrive at the castle the introduction of the vampire is sudden when film-watching conditioning prepares us for a tension-building, drawn-out wait.

When Harker (Bruno Ganz, a fine actor) first encounters Dracula (Klaus Kinski) the viewer is thus taken aback. Suddenly, from trepidation we are confronted with the stark, cold presence of Count Dracula. There is a chilliness which emanates from the screen and- though he looks very similar to Max Schreck in the original- Kinski's appearance at the door retains the power to shock.

A word about Kinski at this point. Having recently seen his seething, unhinged portrayal Aguirre it would not have been a stretch to imagine his Dracula being equally malevolent in tone. It is not. Neither does he settle for Christopher Lee and Bela Lugosi's more urbane and charming depiction of the vampire. Kinski's Dracula is racked with remorse at his condition, he is soft-voiced and almost effeminate but racked with self-loathing- his stealthy movements and bat-like countenance are at odds with his awkward stance and almost pitiful reluctance to act like the monster that he is. His inner torment is present in every anguished movement, every syllable is tormented- when he is rejected by Lucy Harker (an impressive, and almost vampiric-looking Isabelle Adjani) he responds not with fury or force but with the anguished whimper of a whipped cur and a sorrowful retreat into the night. To portray a grotesque fantasy figure of such widespread fame as real and believable, is both courageous and unexpected. Kinski, again, proves himself to be a preconception-shattering actor of depth and resourcefulness.

Every scene here is shot through with a thorough attention to detail, the work that has been done to achieve this has been painstaking, there are scenes which would today be achieved through CGI and would look impotent but here are authentic and hard-hitting (most notably the rat-infested feast of the plagued). Every aspect of the film has been tightly controlled, it is shot through with a purposefulness and an intent of supporting the whole which is monumental. Herzog intended every second of footage to have precisely the effect that it does. This is masterful scrupulous direction.

And it is in this way that Herzog is able to frame his film as a faithful but nevertheless non-derivative retelling of Murnau's tale. Kinski's almost feral movements allow the key scenes featuring him to work in near-silence, his ghostly pallor allows the footage to become almost monochrome. A tremendous achievement - 9/10.

Black Narcissus (1947)

An amazing film. This is a true horror film. It is a haunted house story, with the place of the ghosts taken by human fallibility.

Sister Clodagh (Deborah Kerr) is placed in charge of a newly-opened convent high in the Himalayas and the repsonsibility is clearly too great to bear from the outset. Her responses are confused and well-meaning but desperate. Once we begin to learn of her life before taking up her vows, it becomes clear that her faith is not as strong as might have been presumed. Indeed of all of the Nuns, only Sister Briony (Judith Furse) appears to have the same faith and devotion at the end of the film that she did at the start.

The stand-out acting performance, though, is given by Kathleen Byron as Sister Ruth- cracking under the pressure of her orders, the isolation and suppressed lust. She is magnificent and, in a flash of her eyes at Sister Clodagh, registers so much hatred and jealousy that it speaks more than mere words could.

I specified that hers was the stand-out acting performance, as the stand-out performance here must surely go to cinematographer Jack Cardiff. Using (well-designed) sets, he frames an epic film beautifully.

Powell and Pressburger have created here a dramatic, engrossing and thoroughly believable psychological thriller that is years ahead of contemporary standards of daring and innovation. As the film progresses, each layer of intrigue builds relentlessly. This is an absolute masterclass in film-making.

Like many great films, I've little doubt that this would improve with repeated viewings (even if some of the casually racist sentiments expressed by the characters are distasteful). 10/10.

Defiance (2009)

I didn't expect much of this. I went along to see it because my wife fancied a trip to the cinema and because I'm a big James Bond fan (I know, I know). But it's a good movie.

There are some good performances in this. Craig is believable as the stoic, reluctant leader as is Liev Schreiber as his combustible brother, but the best turn is by Jamie Bell as a younger brother who comes of age over the course of the film. The location work is excellent and there is an atmosphere of believable fear throughout. I also liked the lack of stereotyping which usually acts as shorthand in war-based films, this film is more intelligent than to do that.

That said, the film is a little overlong and drags in patches. I'd recommend watching it, I wouldn't necessarily buy it. 6/10.

The Wrestler (2009)

Darren Aronofsky's 'Requiem for a Dream' is one of the hardest-hitting films I've ever seen. With 'The Wrestler' he doesn't quite hit those heights but he has still fashioned a magnificent film. All of the hype that this film has received has been for Mickey Rourke's performance and it is all justified, this is the Mickey Rourke who blasted a great De Niro performance off screen in 'Angel Heart' with beautiful emotional balance and this role sees him equalling that career-height. The pain, confusion and frustration are all too authentic and, given what we know about Rourke outside of the film, come from his very core. The redemption within the film is all Rourke's- this is the role of a lifetime for the most talented actor of his generation. In every way this is the film that 'Rocky Balboa' was supposed to be.

The three distinct plotlines- the washed-up professional wrestler, the too-old lap-dancer and the daughter who reconciles herself to the fact that her father will never be there for her- dovetail beautifully and genuinely provoke questions rather than offering answers. It is far easier to preach a message or promote a particular belief than to allow me (as the viewer) to take away the questions to consider for myself.

The themes evoked are around existentialism, redemption, forgiveness, rejection, being and doing, nihilism and identity. Aronofsky tones down the visual stylistics that he is capable of, stripping bare the movie of unnecessary flourishes and relying upon the power of the storytelling. It is a confident move from a first-class Director. Aside from the ring entrance sounds that accompany Rourke on his walk to the deli counter and the whistling noise each time he removes his hearing aid, I can't off-hand think of anything that Aronofsky does in addition to pure story-rendering.

The downsides of 'The Wrestler' are a sadly-predictable (though beautifully drawn) ending and Tomei's lack of chemistry with Rourke. She can't hold her own with the film's star and I'm not impressed with her Golden Globe nomination at all. That restricts 'The Wrestler' to 8/10 for me. It was almost so much more.

Black God, White Devil / Deus e o Diabo na Terra do Sol (1964)

The literal translation of this film's title is 'God and the Devil in the Land of the Sun'. I think that is a more suitable title. Black God, White Devil is too restrictive and singular. The film is packed with Gods and Devils and the distinction is often obscure.

There are times when I have to accept that I don't have the knowledge to fully appreciate what I am watching. This is one of them. Having no knowledge of the socio-political context of the making of the film and only a limited theological knowledge, I know that the film contains allusions and references which completely escape me. 'Black God, White Devil' requires background reading and repeated viewing to be fully appreciated. It is easily good enough to justify the effort.

What I can fully appreciate, is the technical excellence of the film-making. Filmed in a stark monochrome which lends the outdoor shots a bleached-out quality (the kind of thing I've seen ripped off throughout the last two decades by expensive videos for the likes of U2, Texas and REM) and heightens the drama of the extreme close-ups employed. There are excellent performances by Geraldo Del Rey and especially Othon Bastos as Corsico and the use of a musical narration is innovative and works well. Some of the lines of dialogue are elusive and mysterious (though this could, perhaps, be attributed to bad translation!) heightening the almost dream-like atmosphere that Glauber Rocha builds. Some of the scenes are works of expressionistic beauty- the Odessa steps homage during the village massacre, the sacrifice of the baby and murder of Sebastian, the opening footage of cattle skulls, the shadows of the dagger and rifle and the wedding party desecration.

This is a work which deserves the attention it demands. A beautiful, harrowing but slow and challenging film. 7/10- that it doesn't score more highly probably owes more to my ignorance than the film's shortcomings.

Sherlock Jr (1924)

Holy fuck! Whoever said that ignorance is bliss is a fool. Before tonight I'd seen none of Keaton's films and now I've seen two. THIS is bliss. Where 'Our Hospitality' was amazing and hilarious, 'Sherlock Jr' is hilarious and amazing. This is sublime and surrealistic, it is by turns dazzling and cripplingly funny. This film is a riot. I can't believe what I've just seen, for the second time tonight I've been blown away - 10/10.

Our Hospitality (1923)

'Our Hospitality' took my breath away. A simple plotline based upon true events allowed Keaton to develop an at-times hilarious and consistently breathtaking film of great wit, invention, drama, pathos and charm.

The humour in this movie is subtly crafted (the open-eyed saying of grace, the moving of the train rails and the donkey walking away straight after, Buster's dream-house inheritance going up in smoke, the laying down of arms, the dress and umbrella on the horse, Keaton standing on the riverbed looking around in confusion) and doesn't rely on slapstick or Old Stoneface's deadpan delivery.

Equally impressive are the visuals- there is a tracking shot of Keaton doing the splits between gradually separating portions of a train which is years ahead of its time.

But perhaps the most important aspect is the dramatic chase sequence as the film builds to a wonderful climax. I'm loathe to spoil the surprise of what is to come should anyone read this before seeing- it's a long shot, but the rescue is such an amazing thing to see that it would be a real shame to risk it.

There were moments in 'Our Hospitality' when I literally couldn't believe what I had seen. It isn't the funniest comedy I've ever seen, but it is one of the most impressive pieces of cinema. The only negative is the ropey pacing that allows the viewer's interest to flag in parts. 9/10.