As is the tradition, a superhero film must have mass destruction in its finale when good battles evil. However, James Gunn never fails to deliver subversion (see Guardians Vol. 1 as no one is calling it); instead of a morose chunk of man-meat morosely contemplating collateral damage, Gunn underpins the 15th Marvel Cinematic Universe outing with the banter that made the cast of the first film so endearing.
Peter Quill, Gamora, Rocket, Drax and Baby Groot (Chris Pratt, Zoe Saldana, Bradley Cooper, Dave Bautista and Vin Diesel respectively) are back, only this time its personal, to quote the tagline to Jaws: The Revenge. If you're not already familar with the light-hearted, eclectic group of space mercenaries, get on it and come back later. The story sees them pursued by "conceited douche bags" the Sovereign, led by Elizabeth Debicki, after Rocket casually steals from them. They are saved by the mysterious Ego (Kurt Russell), who claims to be Quill's long lost father. Look out for the best use yet of CGI de-aging in the flashback scenes.
The bulk of the film deals with relationships, be they familial, paternal, romantic or friendly. The benefit of this isn't just that it resolves character arcs that began in the first film in a neat, cathartic fashion, it gives the entire cast meaty roles to delve into. Pratt in particular because of his conflicted feelings of abandonment, showing vulnerability and anger that his career has not let him explore. Fortunately, the reduced comedic role for Quill allows Bautista's boisterous, belly-quaking Drax to take the wheel, ignorantly causing offence in delightful interactions with newcomer Mantis (Pom Klementieff).
A notable issue in Marvel films is tackled by Gunn's tonally merry film: an explosively bright colour pallet is far more visually pleasing than the washed-out Avengers, and at times manages to be almost poetically beautiful (namely at a key scene in the denouement). The humor definitely helps too. Few films can deliver such pure joy with ease, mixing comedy, visual panache and action. The most enjoyable is either the 'Mr Blue Sky' intro of adorable dancing, slapstick and sweet callbacks or the arresting 'Come a Little Bit Closer' breakout. Spot the irony in the phrasing.
The soundtrack (Volume 2) is essentially like Jackie Brown in comparison to Pulp Fiction (Volume 1); an inferior, less inspired follow-up, but still vastly superior to other competition. Hang your cynical head in shame Suicide Squad. Fortunately, Gunn's jukebox hides the cracks in the score that threaten to force sentiment occasionally. Nothing creates genuine feelings like selecting a fine pairing of vintage Cat Stevens and moving thematic developments.
The banter is still there - as are the dramatic undertones - and although neither is quite as effective this time around, the addition of a strong villain, new team members (take a bow Sean Gunn, nepotism disregarded) and enough recurring quality ingredients make it crowd pleasing, top band Marvel entertainment.
FOUR STARS. Play the comic Easter egg hunt drinking game.
Fans of The Might Boosh, Horrible Histories or most British comedy from the last fifteen years rejoice. Julian Barratt and Simon Farnaby are about to unload an independent that is not quite as madcap as Boosh, but features Farnaby doing silly voices a la Horrible Histories. So there's some familiar aspects.
As pure comedy, Mindhorn probably far more accessible and conventional than the cult series Barratt co-wrote and starred in with Noel Fiedling, but fans will still enjoy it. Barratt plays has-been actor Richard Thorncroft, star of the cheesy 80s detective show 'Mindhorn', where he has an eye-patch that can "see the truth" (the era is nailed down to the poor video quality). Richard refuses to age naturally and face the facts that his career is non-existent and Simon Callow thinks little of him, so the path his character arc takes is fairly predictable as he is needed to reprise his character to face down a screeching bird-themed serial killer who believes 'Mindhorn' is real.
Richard has Alan Partridge levels of ignorant arrogance (Alpha Papa's plot is a tad similar), putting his foot in it with police constables, his ex, the serial killer and former colleagues. A standout scene is a failed attempt to keep the murderous 'Kestrel' on the line so the police can track him, waxing lyrical about how we all have to die at some point in an attempt to sound profound. While it is Barratt's show and he confidently mans the ship, the supporting cast are given plenty of great moments, including Russell Tovey's Kestrel and Simon Farnaby's dutch stuntman. A series of cameos are also welcome, although Andrea Riseborough is given surprisingly few lines as a police officer.
It's a comedy. We need laughs. It certainly tickled the audience consistently - no doubt it will be a quotable cult classic in a few years - and a huge belly laugh is earned by a simple yet effective would-be-dramatic moment between Kestrel and Richard late on in the film. With a tiny look, Tovey makes that joke soar. Like a Kestrel I guess. As the film goes to increasingly absurd areas, the script never fails to at least offer smile-inducing gags and one-liners. Sadly, the ending feels incomplete; an animated credits roll appears in lieu of a poper coda.
Still pretty damn funny. FOUR STARS.
(Below: We meet the writer/stars. Lovely chaps.)
Films about film-making rarely disappoint because the process is always interesting. So when you examine the 1940s propaganda film-making to inspire the war effort and mix in commentary about wage gaps and the work of women, you're guaranteed an engaging story.
Catrin Cole (Gemma Arteton) is drafted into working for the Ministry of Information's production of a crowd-pleasing morale booster based on the evacuation of Dunkirk based on an unfortunately fraudulent story about two sisters saving soldiers. Nevertheless, the ministry sanatise and film it. Catrin works on the script with Sam Claflin's sardonic screenwriter. Despite her marriage, a love triangle ensues.
Although that is the main focus of the film, the haphazard film shoot overshadows the couple, largely due to Bill Nighy's outstanding turn as an egotistical actor who refuses to accept his age. The part allows him to give a multifaceted performance; he acts out dramatic acting (some of the best meta-acting), gives comedic support with quizzical eye-brows and even tender moments. A less actor wouldn't give so much genuine heart to such a role.
Arteton is delightfully spunky in the lead as well, and there's something beautifully noble about her attempts to the often neglected target female audiences make sure the sisters don't have their roles diminished in the film within a film. Director Lone Scherfig deals with feminist issues and the propaganda elements with the exact volume needed without jumping on a soapbox. The only issue is that there's a disappointingly contrived piece of tension in the third act. It's a bitter pill that most won't want to swallow, but when you do digest it, it does somewhat cure the headache of predictable "oh-I-have-two-men-I-could-be-with" narratives in a subversive manner. Just remember all the charming characters and extended cameos from great British actors.
FOUR STARS. More focused than Hail Caeser.
Defying physics, OTT stunts and "family". F8 easily slips into the Fast and Furious drinking game set, thankfully with fewer shots for gratuitous arse shots (the contrived street races are still present though so drink up). After a respectable swansong for Paul Walker, this follow-up in a franchise which by all rights has exceeded its life expectancy sees Dominic Toretto (Vin Diesel) enjoying his honeymoon in Cuba with Letty (Michelle Rodriguez) when he's blackmailed into crime.
Cyber-crime no less! Under the thumb of Charlize Theron's Cypher, a villain with such an uninspired name and vague motivations of dominance that Theron barely scrapes through her dull monologues to give the character the slightest presence. Naturally, Dom's old team is forced to confront him and stop nukes etc etc.
With such a bloated cast of mediocre actors (as per), Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson butting heads with a delightful Jason Statham due to their prior history is the definite stand-out. Their prison breakout is possibly the most gripping action sequence, whereas the car scenes are mildly underwhelming by this point. F. Gary Gray's direction of these scenes is adequate; he doesn't set himself aside from Justin Lin or James Wan in terms of style or execution - right down to the camera tilts as people get thrown around - but a lack of over-editing is welcome.
Let's see. We've covered acting, direction, action. What's left? Oh yes. The script. Chris bloody Morgan, writer of classics including 47 Ronin, Tokyo Drift and Wanted. It feels like he's picked up a rejected James Bond script, thrown in some vacuous dialogue that states the obvious (example: they're being attacked and Letty says "That's not good") and finished it off with some head-scratching plot holes. Despite being under Cypher's heavy scrutiny, Dom manages to set up a meeting with a powerful new ally. How did he do this when he's been trapped on her super plane? Surely they didn't give him access to Facebook messenger. Let's go the whole hog and through in some cheap plot twists. Sorted.
However, analysing the script of a F&F film is as redundant as writing a critical culinary review of a Pot Noodle. You come for fun action, and it kind of delivers in that department.
TWO STARS. How has this secured the highest opening ever? I hate the general public. Except you dear readers, all ten of you.
Let's break this unconvincing attempt at a blockbuster down act by act. The first is a surprisingly strong mixture of Chronicle and Breakfast Club, with three teens in detention befriending each other and a further two they meet at a quarry. From there, they gain powers and become rangers. Hence the title. The second act sees hackneyed character development, while the final act tries spectacle, but the result is an immensely underwhelming battle filled with tawdry special effects.
The young actors are generally a mixed bag; Me and Earl and the Dying Girl's RJ Syler is pleasantly affable as autistic Billy, but Ludi Lin's Zach is an irritating prat who fails as the comic relief. The autism aspect isn't exactly as sensitively done as Rain Man, but it's a step in the right direction. Collectively, the mostly bland batch have a reasonable amount of chemistry, which is enough to distract from the contrived plot (the villain conveniently shows up within eleven days of the heroes discovering the source of their powers).
Elizabeth Banks gives the gammon fillet acting you'd expect from an character called Rita Repulsa, who is talked about being evil more than she is shown doing so. When she is on screen, she spews vacuous lines about killing everyone and resurrecting Goldar, a massive gold creature. Ugh. Bryan Cranston and Bill Hader are also present as the mentor to the Rangers, but are under-used.
To top it all off, there is an un-ironic use of the original theme song that will illicit grimaces. On the one hand, Powers Rangers is inappropriate for children with its coarse jokes about tossing off cows and swearing, but doesn't hit the self-aware sweet spot it needs to appeal to older audiences. Not much works.
TWO STARS. There's a line in it about being the person you want to be. I want to be someone who hasn't seen this film.
Pablo Neruda was a Chilean politician/poet/communist/fugitive who went underground after the Second World War. This sounds like material for some nice Oscar bait, but here Pablo Larrain decides to say "sod it" and make an unusual caper that plays like a serious Grand Budapest Hotel which toys with ideas about narrative theory. The result: something potentially alienating but definitely interesting.
Luis Gnecco plays the titular flawed poet, pursued by police inspector Gael Garcia Bernal. The line between fact and reality is more blurred than a partially sighted person's eyes filled with sand. Gnecco delivers some delightful witticisms ("I like reading police novels. It takes my mind off the police pursuing me.") and Bernal's reflective performance and immaculate movements retain attention. However, the way of editing conversations between different rooms smacks of the weird way Rory Kinnear follows Daniel Craig around in Skyfall, saying a single line for each exercise Craig does in each room.
The ideas about supporting characters and protagonists have confusing implications, but Larrain examines Neruda's communist alliances, relationship with his wife and desire to have a "fabulous" chase to spite the government with gusto.
FOUR STARS. I think.
