LFF review: Grandma

2015 is shaping up to be one of the biggest years in Lily Tomlin's career.The 76-year-old earned an Emmy-nomination for her starring role alongside Jane Fonda in the Netflix series Grace and Frankie. She is also back on the big screen with Grandma, in which Paul Weitz (American Pie, About A Boy) gives her a role perfectly suited to her comedic talents. This is the crowdpleaser that last year's flop Tammy could have been. Tomlin plays Elle, a sassy feminist and poet. She is going through a breakup with her girlfriend Olivia (Judy Greer in yet another thankless "Judy Greer supporting role"), when her granddaughter Saige (Julia Garner) unexpectedly shows up on her doorstep. She needs 600 dollars for an abortion and his afraid to ask her mother.

This plot device has a double function. From a comedy standpoint, it allows the film to turn into a traditional road movie. Elle is broke and, in an attempt to free herself from capitalist pressure, has shredded her credit cards and turned them into a wind chime. So she and Saige drive around in a rusty Dodge Royal (Tomlin's actual car) in search of money. Along the way, they encounter a number of colourful characters and old friends. This is the kind of film the Americans are really good at sometimes: a semi-serious feel-good movie where the characters learn from each other. At 79 minutes, the film is also not a minute too long.

The two lead actors make for a great pairing. Garner does well at playing the straight woman, which allows Tomlin to cut loose at will. Like an older version of Susan Sarandon in Thelma & Louise, she refuses to take shit from anyone. Elle is the cool grandmother we all want - the kind that beats up your loser boyfriend with a hockey stick and steals his weed. Tomlin's comedic timing is impeccable and her performance is a joy to watch.

The supporting cast, most of whom only have one scene to leave their mark, is impressive too. Laverne Cox (from OITNB) and Marcia Gay Harden deliver memorable cameos, but one actor stands out: Sam Elliott and his lovely, lovely, lovely voice. He shows up for ten minutes and manages to be funny, creepy, warm and moving. In an odd awards race, his performance might even receive some attention this winter.

Grandma also delivers a sensitive take on the controversial subject matter of abortion. The film is firmly pro-choice (at one point, there is a clear dig at Juno), but doesn't preach or trivialise the issue (within the confines of mainstream cinema). Weitz makes sure that the audience understands the emotional and physical consequences of Saige's decision. Access and price may be problems, but it is still better than the alternative at the end of the day.

Grandma is a sweet, sensitive and short dramedy with a modern spirit, and Lily Tomlin is a true star. 

LFF diary day two: Cronies, Virgin Mountain and Madame Courage

Executive producer Spike Lee presents a Michael J. Larnell joint. Cronies (a slang term for a close friend or companion) plays like a bromance-version of Lee's 1986 debut She's Gotta Have It from the very first scene. The slick black & white cinematography, the talking to the camera, the nerdy protagonist are all there. Louis (George Sample III) and his white colleague Andrew (Brian Kowalski) want to hang out. They are joined by Louis' childhood friend Jack (Zurich Buchner) for an afternoon of chilling and casual drugs. The result feels like an old-fashioned graduate film (mainly because it is), but it has a lot of charm. Buchner owns the film with his complex portrayal of Jack as a poser with a soft interior. Larnell also manages to find his own voice in his hometown of St. Louis and provides an interesting take on contemporary race relations and integration.

Virgin Mountain is not an innovative or radical film, but it shows emotional complexity and a great deal of heart. It tells the coming-of-age story of a cripplingly shy middle-aged man named Fúsi. He lives with his mother, is bullied at work, plays with WWII-models and spends his Friday nights alone at the local Chinese restaurant. Gunnar Jónsson is the heart and soul of the film as the central character with a terrific non-performance. Acting is often about big speeches and emotional breakdowns, but sometimes it's simply the art of doing very little. Fúsi is never pathetic (although his life clearly is) thanks to Jónsson's warmth and humanity. He looks and moves like he was born to play this part. Even during the rare moments of activity, he appears vulnerable and passive. Inevitably, Fúsi meets a girl. Sjöfn (Ilmur Kristjánsdóttir) could have been developed a bit further, but at least she is not your typical Manic Pixie Dream Girl. She arrives with her own set of problems and anxieties, which don't discourage the admirable Fúsi. Virgin Mountain is a sweet character study that is worth a look if you are in need of a good cry.

Finally, Madame Courage was a film I didn't really warm to. The experienced Algerian director Merzak Allouache tells the story of an unstable teenager from the slums around the city of Mostaganem. One day, pickpocket Omar (Adlane Djemil) becomes infatuated with one of his victims. He follows her home, returns the necklace he stole and starts to linger outside her apartment building for no apparent reasons. Madame Courage is a film that is fine on many levels (well made, social commentary, performances), but fails to excel in any category. The frequently irritating protagonist is not very relatable, which inhibits an emotional connection from the audience. Ideas, such as Omar's drug consumption, are introduced but never developed further. I found it difficult to care.

Review: Listen Up Philip

Philip (Jason Schwartzman) is one of those people who simply cannot, or refuses to, be happy. We meet the young novelist in the run-up to the publication of his second novel. Praise makes him nauseous, yet he has no qualms to express the sky-high opinion he holds of himself. A decision to be uniformly honest is brutally respected. Upon hearing about the suicide of a rival wordsmith, whom he was supposed to interview, he sighs: "Oh no! I'm glad he's dead and all, but final interviews are hard to get." 

His misery is contagious, as he offends and alienates everyone around him. The primary sufferer is his girlfriend Ashley (Mad Men's Elisabeth Moss). Philip shows little interest in her successful career as a fashion photographer and soon abandons her in order to retrieve his creative mojo. Ike Zimmerman (a gloriously bearded Jonathan Pryce), a legendary author, has adopted Philip as a mentee and invited him to his countryside retreat away from the distractions of the big city..    

Listen Up Philip's biggest strength is its depiction of the "writer's condition." Writer-director Alex Ross Perry does really well to capture how Philip simultaneously feels superior and inferior to everyone else. Relative success has given him cruelty and arrogance, but his insecurities and anxieties shine through as he is unable to access or express any form of emotion. His situation doesn't really improve either. In Ike, we see Philip's future: an older, equally bitter, version of the same character. Creative accomplishment has taken its toll on the two men. The film, unlike its protagonist, meanwhile has not forgotten about Ashley. In the most positive section of the story, she cleanses herself of the negativity left behind by the departing boyfriend.

Perry shot Philip on Super 16 film stock, which gives the movie a timeless, old-school look. The rough, grainy aesthetic really pays off. The cinematography does however scream indie-cinema a bit too loudly at times. He frequently uses handheld cameras and gets distractingly close to his actors' faces. The lack of character development furthermore tested my patience slightly, as Philip and Ike are not exactly pleasant company. This does not take away from the film's considerable successes. The script is witty and the performances are excellent. It is particularly pleasant to see Jonathan Pryce enjoy himself in a role that matches his talent once again. Listen Up Philip will not make you fall in love with its characters, but you will love to hate them.

Review: Noah Baumbach returns with While We're Young

When the stereotypical man reaches a certain age, he acquires an expensive motorbike or sportscar, has an affair and starts to wear a leather jacket. In While We're Young, 44-year-old documentarian Josh (Ben Stiller) goes for a hip hat and a friendship with a younger couple instead. Writer-director-auteur Noah Baumbach manages to sidestep most off the clichés about the midlife crisis and tell a poignant tale about growing old(er). It's Greenberg meets Frances Ha. 

Crucially, his film is not about a man, but about a couple. Josh and Cornelia (Naomi Watts) are in their forties, childless and free. In theory at least. The reality is slightly different, as the couple spend their evenings watching netflix on their expensive flat-screen whilst fumbling with their smartphones. Josh has been working on the same project for ten years with no end in sight. Things begin to change when he meets Jamie (Adam Driver) and his wife Darby (Amanda Seyfried). They are the quintessential vinyl-collecting, hat-wearing, desk-making hipster couple; pet-chicken included. He has ambitions as a documentary-maker and she makes avocado-flavoured ice-cream. For Josh and Cornelia, it's love at first sight. The friendship reinvigorates them with unforeseen energy and joie de vivre, as they indulge street beaches and strange cleansing rituals involving hallucinogenics and vomiting. Soon, Josh and Jamie start collaborating on a new documentary. Everything seems perfect. Too perfect. Soon, the honeymoon phase begins to wear of and jealousy takes over.

While We're Young places itself comfortably between the neurotic/sarcastic social satire of Woody Allen and Wes Anderson's shameless quirkiness. Baumbach's greatest strength is his writing. He has an admirable ear for dialogue and is continuously able to come up with lines that are both funny and meaningful.The foursome of leading performers all manage to put their own stamp on the script and breathe life into the characters. Ben Stiller deserves a particular mention here as he holds everything together with his best work since Greenberg. 

The surprisingly conservative, but perhaps inevitable, conclusion  to the slightly haphazard third act provides some nutritious food for thought for middle-aged as well as young viewers. A crucial storyline about Jamie's first documentary project furthermore injects the film with a fascinating examination of the meaning of truth and the responsibility that comes with it. Baumbach is happy to let the audience find their own answers to the questions he asks himself, which means that While We're Young will stay in your mind for a while after leaving the cinema.

Review: Fifty Shades of Consumer Porn

Originally published in The Badger

Fifty Shades of Grey is absolutely ubiquitous at the moment. Wherever you turn or click, Mr. Grey seems to be ready to receive you now. The adaptation of E.L. James’ bestseller (which I haven’t read) has somehow managed to become the most talked about movie of 2015. Since its world-premiere at the Berlin Film Festival, Fifty Shades has been an unrestrained (no pun intended) success. In less than two weeks, the film has crossed the $400 million-mark worldwide and become the most successful 18-rated film of all time at the UK box-office. 

The film itself is a bit of a non-event really. It’s a solid, well-made piece of entertainment in which Dakota Johnson delivers a star-making performance as the initially wide-eyed Anastasia Steele. The notorious sex scenes meanwhile are surprisingly tame and conventional. The only reason they stand out is their frequency and duration. Mainstream cinema’s anxiety about full frontal nudity (particularly of the male variety) remains intact as Christian Grey (Jamie Dornan) initiates Anastasia into the world of BDSM in his “playroom” for adults.

The sex may nevertheless be amusing and titillating, but one of the film’s more interesting aspects is its attitude towards consumerism. Christian, not the most complex character in the history of film and literature, can be summed up with three adjectives: handsome, confident and rich. His wealth is crucial to his seduction technique, as it allows him to impress Anastasia with a cornucopia of privilege. It begins with a new outfit and a new laptop, before quickly graduating to rare first-editions of her favourite novels and a brand new sports car. Her initial reservations about accepting these valuable presents (or bribes) are quickly overcome. Some of the most exhilarating moments are a lift in his private helicopter as well as a gliding-trip. 

These semi-successful attempts to buy her and her body are quite problematic, as they turn Anastasia into an object of consumption of sorts. Yet the film tends to romanticise them. The cinematic language displays a complete materialistic fetish for Christian’s possessions. Critic Mark Kermode fittingly labelled it “consumer porn.” As soon as we enter the billionaire’s luxurious penthouse, the camera is in complete awe of the gorgeous architecture and design. The modern furniture and the panoramic view of Seattle’s skyline become sexier than Jamie Dornan’s abs. In one of the film’s most beautiful and memorable shots, the couple consummate their relationship on a piano bench in front of a massive window, but all the action occurs in the corner of the frame. The lighting and the view dominate over the naughty activities at the edge of the screen. This emphasis on the inanimate object is even reflected in the “playroom.” The camera glides across the expensive-looking leather whips and handcuffs with relish and zooms in on the ornate bedposts she is tied to. Fifty Shades of Grey is a film about the appeal of the material. Would Anastasia engage with Christian’s unusual sexual preferences if he was merely a handsome accountant or artist? This film certainly doesn't seem to think so. 

Review: Appropriate Behaviour-preview with Q&A

Appropriate Behaviour begins and ends with a twenty-something woman on a subway train. The woman’s name is Shirin, a bisexual Brooklynite with Iranian origins. Throughout the comedy, we come to know how she arrived on these two completely contrasting journeys on New York’s most popular means of public transportation. The result is reminiscent of Frances Ha and the recent works of Ira Sachs (Keep the Lights On; Love is Strange). It is the kind of film in which the protagonist walks through the streets of New York holding a strap-on. 

The Duke of York’s recently hosted Desiree Akhavan, the writer, director and star of this debut feature, and I was fortunate enough to receive an invitation to the (almost) sold-out event. Akhavan, known for a webseries called The Slope and a guest appearance on the current season of Girls, was a funny and engaging presence for a lengthy Q&A session after the screening. The only let-down of the evening was that I didn't win one of the ten fashionable t-shirts promoting the film.

Let’s discuss the film first though. The story is told in a non-linear fashion on two parallel timelines. On the one hand, we see an unhappy, frustrated Shirin (Akhavan) drifting through life in search of a sense of direction. After a rough break-up, she is in desperate need of a new start. She begins to teach a film class to a group of fart-obsessed five year-olds and engages in a series of casual sexual encounters. These scenes are funny (in a typical, deadpan New York-way), sexy and usually painfully awkward. In the film’s most memorable sequence she hooks up with a random couple she meets at a bar. This will make you laugh and physically cringe at the same time. 

Shirin’s semi-successful attempts to deal with her break-up are interspersed with flashbacks of her once happy relationship with Maxine (Rebecca Henderson). This half of the story is clearly weaker and lacks emotional impact. There are occasional laughs, but an increasingly serious, nostalgic mood permeates these scenes as they play like a generic romance. These flaws fortunately don’t take away from the entertainment value of the film. 

Its biggest virtue is honesty. Appropriate Behaviour is clearly an extremely personal project for Akhvan, but the film never becomes self-indulgent. She draws upon her own experience and opens up. She invites the audience into this strange, hip world of present-day Brooklyn in order to tell a universal story. Even the most ridiculous situations hold a core of emotional truth. We may not know what it feels like to be a bisexual Iranian in New York, but we understand her existential anxieties about identity, love and loneliness. 

During the Q&A, Desiree Akhavan asked a very poignant question: “Why do films about bisexuals or Persians always have to be like taking medicine?” With Appropriate Behaviour, she has managed to add a spoon full of sugar to help the medicine go down in a most delightful way. It’s a flawed, consistently funny (self-)portrait of a fascinating young woman. 

Review: Kumiko, the Treasure Hunter

THIS IS A TRUE STORY

The events depicted in this film took place in Minnesota in 1987.

At the request of the survivors, the names have been changed.

Out of respect for the dead, the rest has been told exactly as it occurred.

These words preceded the Coen Brothers' 1996 snowy masterpiece Fargo. Famously, they were a lie. The directors added it to their original script in order to make audiences believe their crazy story about blackmail, murder and a professional bird-painter called Norm. In the case of Kumiko, the Treasure Hunter, the first two lines of this disclaimer hold up. In Fargo, Steve Buscemi buries a suitcase filled with money and marks the spot with a red window scraper. In 2001, a Japanese woman unable to distinguish between fiction and reality travelled the United States in search of the treasure. This is her story.

Kumiko was executive-produced by Alexander Payne (Sideways, The Descendants) and it's easy to see what attracted him to the project. In Payne's last directorial effort Nebraska, we know from the start that Bruce Dern's mission to claim a million dollars is doomed to fail. Kumiko is in the same situation. Writer-director David Zellner treats this delusional character nevertheless with the utmost respect. The film takes time to investigate Kumiko's life. She strolls through the streets of Tokyo with the demeanour of a sulking teenager and she is unable to cope in social situations. Meanwhile, everyone is making her feel inadequate. Her sole purpose lies in an old VHS copy of Fargo, which she studies over and over again. These early scenes give us a strong sense of the character and her loneliness. Zellner plays around with music and sound in a clever way in order to channel Kumiko's inner disposition.

The director also makes the smart decision to avoid Coen-esque elements until the second half of the film, when Kumiko meets a string of eccentric strangers on her travels across Minnesota. Unfortunately, the film mirrors its protagonist's trajectory and loses its way slightly. Zellner indirectly and directly invokes a Werner Herzog-classic called Stroszek, but he lacks the German's strength of conviction. Where Herzog kills the American dream with a dancing chicken, Zellner lets it get off with a slap on the wrist. His conclusion doesn't necessarily need to be as bleak and cynical as Herzog's, but the ending didn't manage to have an impact on me. Kumiko, the Treasure Hunter is nevertheless an interesting character study about loneliness and the power of dreams. And it's a true story.

Review: CGI-porn and fuming air-vents in Jupiter Ascending

I wanted to enjoy Jupiter Ascending. It had the potential to be a camp romp of a space opera. The actual film is however more frustrating than a Sam Allardyce-team, falling short on nearly every level. Not even my main man Channing Tatum was able to save it. The film was written and directed by the Wachowskis who are still clinging onto the enormous success of The Matrix. I have a lot of respect (but little love) for the siblings' audacious, semi-successful attempt to bring Cloud Atlas to the screen a couple of years ago and I was hoping they could carry over some of this momentum to a simpler project.

The only real ambition of Jupiter Ascending lies in the special effects. The release date had to be delayed by six months so that the movie’s complex visual effects could be polished to a shine, which is hardly surprising because the film seems to use all of them. The Wachowskis are great when it comes to building new worlds and Jupiter Ascending verges on CGI-porn. There are foreign planets, spaceships and giant talking lizard-creatures. Then there are more foreign planets, more spaceships and a pair of flying trainers. Everything looks so extra-ordinary and spectacular that we begin to lose interest and soon feel trapped in uncanny valley.

The plot and the characters don't do the film any particular favours. They are constantly undermined by elaborate and tedious action sequences during which a lot of stuff blows up. It's essentially a classical fairytale with added space-travel. Our "hero" Jupiter lives a normal life as a cleaner in Chicago until she discovers that she shares her DNA-sequence with a recently deceased royal which makes her the rightful owner of the Earth. I use the word "hero" in inverted commas because the term "damsel in distress" is unfortunately more accurate. Mila Kunis spends the entire film being repeatedly rescued at the last moment by Channing Tatum's mercenary Caine (Channing ex machina?) and awkwardly running away from fuming air-vents.

Jupiter's inheritance becomes the target of two brothers (who are, genetically speaking, her sons). They want to use our planet's population for the production of a remedy that indefinitely prolongs their lives. There are some interesting ideas about hierarchy and the value of human life in this idea, but it is quickly abandoned in favour of more explosions. The strongest moments come when the film is at its most bonkers. Sean Bean turns up a delivers a gloriously silly monologue about bees: "Bees are genetically programmed to recognise royalty." The romance between Kunis and Tatum is amusingly and probably unintentionally awkward. I did like the fact that for once, it is the girl who gets the guy/wolf.

Then there is Eddie Redmayne. Oscar-frontrunner Eddie Redmayne. His performance as one of the two villains transcends the simple notions of "good" and "bad." He has transformed himself into a soft-spoken, extra-terrestrial version of Blackadder sitting on a floating throne. His wheezy, raspy voice turns into a roaring scream at seemingly random moments. Redmayne fully commits to this ridiculous character and delivers his lines without a hint of irony. His performance will divide people, but at least its not yet another CGI-explosion. I can respect that and he almost manages to make the film worthwhile.

Review: Intelligent science-fiction with Ex Machina

Ex Machina is a three hander between man-of-the-moment Oscar Isaac (also in A Most Violent Year), woman-of-the-month Alicia Vikander (currently portraying Vera Brittain in Testament of  Youth, before completing her hattrick with next week's Son of a Gun) and ginger-of-the-year Domhnall Gleeson. As you can see in the picture above, at least one member of the trio is not of the human variety. Ava (Vikander) is a cyborg created by the eccentric genius and billionaire Nathan (Isaac) in his isolated mansion. We arrive at the ultra-modern residence in the company of Caleb (Gleeson), a young, wide-eyed computer nerd. He gets to spend a week in the company of his boss after winning a competition, during which he is to fulfill a very important task: perform the Turing-test on Ava in order to determine whether she truly possesses artificial intelligence.

One of Ex Machina's strong points is the air of uncertainty. The relationships between the three central characters keep shifting and there is constant doubt about their motives. Soon, we feel like we can't trust anybody. Nathan is a cross between Frankenstein, Colonel Kurtz and Mark Zuckerberg with lovely beard and a fondness for alcoholic beverages while Ava's mind is not as transparent as her body. Then there is the possibility that she has no control over her actions. Was she simply programmed that way? We never know who is manipulating whom in this unconventional triangle.

The true manipulator is Alex Garland. After making his name as a novelist (The Beach) and a screenwriter (28 Days Later, Never Let Me Go), the Brit took place in the director's chair for the first time. His work is, like all good science-fiction, full of fascinating ideas. Ex Machina feels in some ways like a continuation of two 2014 films starring Scarlett Johansson. On the one hand you have the idea of looking at human behaviour from an outside point of view like in Under the Skin. How does a form of artificial intelligence perceive humans? This ties in with the themes of Spike Jonze's Her, in which Joaquin Phoenix falls in love with the voice of an operating system. Garland takes this a step further by giving his machine a visibly mechanical body, combined with a human face and a gender. This is clearly enough for Caleb to feel some sort of attraction towards Ava. Garland plays around with these concepts, defies our expectations and asks intriguing questions.

Ex Machina primarily appeals to the brain. It is a simple affair playing out in a single location without elaborate action sequences. The film nevertheless doesn't become becomes static. The camera keeps moving through the windowless interrogation room on the prowl for new angles and Garland keeps our attention with regular visual treats (exhilarating landscapes, nudity, unique dance moves). Ex Machina delivers for all fans of intelligent sci-fi and the comparison with Moon are justified.

Review: Whiplash lives up to the hype

When I first saw Whiplash back in Spetember at the Deauville American Film Festival, more than a thousand people leapt to their feet in rapturous applause as the end credits were rolling. As I was pushing through the rapturous crowd on the way to see writer-director Damien Chazelle and star Miles Teller talk about their work during a press conference, the adrenaline was still pumping through my veins. Whiplash is the kind of film that grabs the audience from the opening scene, builds up to a relentless crescendo and doesn't let go until the very end. I didn't even have the time to remember that I don't even really like jazz that much.

How do you get the best out of a young talent? For Terence Fletcher (J.K. Simmons), an experienced instructor at the prestigious music school Shaffer, the answer is clear: you push their musical and mental abilities to the absolute limit. Failure is not an option and mercy a mere sign of weakness. He is constantly playing mind games and launches personal insults with the precision of a sniper at his terrified students. One of these pupils is an ambitious young drummer called Andrew (Teller) who is quickly rising through the ranks. The ascension to the top is anything but smooth though. His wild ambition and considerable ego lead to perpetual clashes between student and mentor. Fletcher and Andrew engage in a psychological battle of epic proportions while essentially pursuing the same goal: turning the latter into one of the best jazz drummers in the business. Andrew literally batters his drum-set until he bleeds; everything else falls by the wayside. Family, friends and girlfriend are mere distractions; speed-bumps on the road to greatness.

We ask ourselves two philosophical questions as we are watching those two strong personalities land one mental blow after another: 1. Are Fletcher's cruel methods the right (and/or the only) way to the top in a creative field like music? 2. Is it worth the sacrifice? - Whiplash doesn't really provide answers, but gives us the chance to make up our own minds. Some people are only able to perform and learn to the best of their abilities in situations of extreme pressure, but others crumble under the weight of emotional bullying. It's a situation that is familiar to most of us, be it from music, the classroom or a football pitch.

Darren Aronofsky's brilliant 2010 film Black Swan would meanwhile make for a fascinating companion piece to Whiplash. Both films are about complete dedication to creativity and art at any price, but there are fundamental differences in their philosophies. In Black Swan, Natalie Portman's ballerina struggles to let go. In order to master the dual role of the black and the white swan, she needs to completely surrender to the music. The art controls the artist. Whiplash inverses this relationship. It's all about being in command of the rhythm and the tempo. Technique is the crucial term: Are you rushing or are you dragging? As a consequence, Whiplash is a more disciplined, rigid piece of cinema. Aronofsky let his imagination run wild in fantastical dream sequences and moments of pure horror. Chazelle on the other hand is at his best when he keeps his feet on the ground. The tension comes out of the simplicity of the situation. Some scenes feel a bit artificial and contrived (particularly those involving Andrew's girlfriend), but the level-headedness of his direction is mostly maintained.

Everyone is rightly talking about the performances (Simmons and Teller are both at their very best), but it is the editing that truly makes Whiplash. At the press conference, Damien Chazelle, only 29 (!), talked in fluent French about his own background as a jazz drummer. He may not have been good enough to become a professional, but the experience clearly gave him a sense for this music and its rhythm, which he cleverly translates to cinema. After trimming the film from nearly three hours to 107 minutes, there is very little superfluous material. It is a bit rough around the edges at times, but Chazelle find his tempo and hits most of the right notes (the others are drowned out by sheer tension and intensity). Whiplash doesn't quite match the artful near-perfection of Black Swan, but it is a gripping cinematic experience. The standing ovation at Deauville wasn't the first or the last this film will deservedly receive and I wouldn't bet against J.K. Simmons winning a small, shiny bald man come March.   

Review: American Sniper is more than patriotic flag-waving

It would be easy to dismiss American Sniper as a patriotic, flag-waving celebration of war based on its premise. It tells the story of Chris Kyle who, after four tours and over 160 confirmed kills in Iraq, became the deadliest sniper in US military history. A true American hero. Aside from the misjudged closing credits, this film looks beyond the star-spangled banner at a complex man and his motivations. 

After the frustratingly dull Jersey Boys, American Sniper marks a welcome return to form for director Clint Eastwood. Even at the age of 84, he is able to portray human drama on the screen like few others. After an incredibly tense opening scene (as seen in the trailer), he looks back and chart's Kyle's transformation from a wannabe Texas cowboy into a cold blooded killer. He is driven by an idealistic desire to protect his country to begin with, but this gradually dissolves into a bitter, relentless thirst for revenge and loyalty to his friends. You may not always agree with his ideas (and as a wannabe pacifist, I certainly didn't), but you can always comprehend the decisions he takes. Bradley Cooper (who originated and produced the project) deserves a lot of credit for his understated, complex central performance.

The war itself is incoherent, tense and brutal. There is no place for politics on the battlefields in Iraq. The frequent action scenes are solid, but the film truly shines in the quieter moments. Kyle's relationship with his wife (a terrific, unrecognizable Sienna Miller) is very well played. It doesn't reach the adrenaline rush of Kathryn Bigelow's The Hurt Locker and it could lose a few scenes and clichés, but American Sniper is Clint's best since Gran Torino. 

Review: Keanu rampages through John Wick

In little Russia, a man walks into a church in broad daylight. As he approaches the altar, he pulls a gun, shoots the priest in the leg and kills everyone in the building with the exception of an elderly lady in the blink of an eye. "Do you even know what you're getting yourself into?" asks the pain-stricken priest. The man replies in fluent Russian: "Of course I do!" He is of course a bruised Keanu Reeves in the middle of his quest for vengeance. His latest film is John Wick, a surprisingly fun revenge thriller with an abundance of style. Who would have thought?

The film abandons a half-hearted attempt to tell a generic story after about ten minutes and turns into ninety minutes pure action with Keanu in rampage mode. The retired (and recently widowed) assassin John Wick is compelled to confront his violent past after some Russian mobsters do the worst thing you can conceivably do to a man: they steal his sports car and kill his puppy. So John returns to a world in which making "a dinner reservation for twelve" means that you have a dozen of corpses in your house. He lives up to his old nickname Baba Yaga (The Bogeyman) by single-handedly taking down the mob headed by Michael Nyqvist. No morals, no second thoughts, no forced romance, just shooting, stabbing and punching.

The film reminded me of Steven Soderbergh's excellent Haywire in its stripped down, unpretentious approach to violence and action. John Wick is a prettier, more polished movie. It was directed by Chad Stahelski, David Leitch - two former stuntmen (Stahelski was Keanu's double on The Matrix) who clearly know how to choreograph a fight sequence. The slick, clear cinematography and the stylish lightning are complemented by a brilliant, pacey soundtrack. Tyler Bates and Joel Richard create the best electronic music for an action film since the Chemical Brothers did Hanna. All these elements come together in the film's best sequence set in a busy nightclub which works like an elaborately choreographed dance number, with blood. The quieter scenes also ooze with style. Wick sets up base in hotel for assassins (and other suspect folk) where you pay with mysterious gold coins and Ian McShane sips a Martini in the secret basement-nightclub.

Keanu's acting meanwhile hasn't improved (he bottles both dramatic moments), but the part doesn't require much of it anyway. One person's wooden is another's ice-cold determination. John Wick isn't much more than an exercise in style, albeit a very successful one. It equalises Denzel's The Equaliser and then some.

Review: Scott and Bale go full Old Testament with Exodus: Gods and Kings

The biblical epic is officially back (for now). After Daren Aronofsky gave us his version of Noah featuring rock giants, berries and Ray Winstone wielding a magical rocket launcher, Ridley Scott takes on the Book of Exodus on an even bigger scale. Exodus: Gods and Kings is, in contrast to the delightfully unusual and frankly a bit bonkers Noah, for the most part a more classical, old school movie. The result is high on spectacle, but low on character, coherence and fun.

Most people in this part of the world should be more or less familiar with the story. Christian Bale steps into the sandals of Charlton Heston, who immortalised the role of Moses in the classic Cecil B. de Mille 1956-version of the story The Ten Commandments. He starts off as a member of the Egyptian royal family and a general of their overpowering military, before discovering that, not unlike the Blues Brothers, he is on a mission from God. He then adopts his true heritage and proceeds to lead the escape of the enslaved Hebrew people from Egypt. During this process, he constantly transforms his physicality and facial hair (I counted at least 10 different beards hiding Christian Bale's gorgeous features). 

The film occasionally engages with the source text in interesting ways, but largely sticks to the Old Testament and its values. God appears to Moses in the form of a young boy and there are hints of a logical explanations for the devastating plagues and the famous partition of the Red Sea (meteor!), but it really is a heroic tale about a man on a mission, about faith and about revenge.

The women are completely marginalised. Some heavy editing appears to have reduced the roles of Sigourney Weaver and the wonderful Hiam Abbass to a couple of scenes and as many lines. The vast amount of plot and action covered in two and a half hours leaves little time to develop many of the minor characters beyond their elaborate costumes. Even Moses himself isn't particularly interesting. There are brief moments of doubt, but he simply shrugs it off after seeing the next miracle. His  love-hate relationship with the Pharaoh Ramses (Joel Edgerton) also lacks chemistry and impact.

What we are left with is a sense of epicness. Very few directors can convey the grandeur and the scale of things like Sir Ridley. The camera constantly leaves the ground to show us big, sweeping shots of cities, deserts and monuments in construction. The landscape and the CGI-effects look equally spectacular on the big screen. On a technological level, the film is brilliant aside from the pointless 3D and a brief moment of embarrassingly bad ADR. The Egyptians are hit by the ten plagues in a montage of truly biblical proportions. Ben Mendelsohn furthermore steals all of his scenes as a slimy, deliciously camp slavedriver.

I wish the film had taken a bit more time to develop its characters and update the story for modern audiences. As it is, Exodus lacks emotional impact. If you think Christopher Nolan takes himself too seriously, you might want to skip this one. With the exception of some glorious Mendelsohn-innuendo, there are no laughs at all. That said, the shot of the horse running away from the ocean is almost worth the price of admission alone. It's not as forgettable as Kingdom of Heaven, but nowhere near as good as Gladiator. 

Review: The curious case of Birdman

Originally published in The Badger

Alejandro G. (formerly González) Iñárritu (Amores Perros, 21 Grams, Babel, Biutiful) had the honour of opening this year's edition of the Venice film festival with his highly anticipated fifth feature Birdman. Since I am what Michael Keaton's character would call a "lazy critic," I will start my review by putting a label on it: it's essentially (postmodern) Sirkian melodrama meets the meta-humour of 22 Jump Street meets the ambitious artist narrative from Black Swan. The film is a convoluted but enjoyable stew of ideas, subplots and one-liners. 

In the middle of all this is the former Batman Keaton as Riggan Thomson, essentially a fictionalized version of himself. Twenty years after making his name with a successful superhero franchise, Thomson's career on the way down. As he admits himself, he is not much more than "the answer to a fucking trivial pursuit question." When we meet him, he is about to direct and star in the Raymond Carver adaptation "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love" on Broadway, but preparations are anything but smooth.

First of all, Birdman is very funny and all the performances are excellent. It's great to see Michael Keaton, one of Hollywood's most underused actors, back in the mainframe and able to make fun of his own image. Zach Galifianakis is also very good playing against type as Thomson's squeamish manager and Edward Norton is having a lot of fun antagonising everyone in the role of a pompous method actor looking for truth. The humour is quick, witty and often rings true, especially when targeting show business, celebrity and the modern media with satirical bite. Norton declares that "popularity is the slutty little cousin of prestige" and Keaton complains about budding actors whose "only ambition is to go viral."

It's an enjoyable, weird romp, but I'm not sure it adds up to much more than that. The visual style is simultaneously incredibly ambitious, technically brilliant, fascinating and a bit tedious. Shot by Gravity-cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki, there are no obvious cuts in the entire film. The individual scenes play out in a single take and are joined together seamlessly. Antonio Sanchez's drum-heavy score similarly walks a fine line between brilliance and obnoxiousness. 

The story meanwhile is overburdened with half-baked ideas and subplots that don't really go anywhere. Iñárritu can't really decide between a character study and an ensemble piece, so he tries to do both. The film is consequently nowhere near as deep or profound as it thinks it is, which leaves certain emptiness in the middle. Every character is given their own set of issues, but Iñárritu doesn't have the time to explore any of them thoroughly enough. Emma Stone for instance plays Keaton's damaged daughter (fresh out of rehab), who develops some sort of relationship with the Ed Norton character and that's pretty much all she gets to do. In the end, Birdman is an original, fun ride, but not the seminal masterpiece some people make it out to be. I am however looking forward to the inevitable Wingman starring Val Kilmer in a couple of years' time. 

Review: Inherent Vice - Welcome to a world of inconvenience

As the wonderful Prince Charles Cinema in the heart of London's Leicester Square was beginning to fill up, a sense of excitement and dread was creeping through the crowd. The audience's wittering was quieter than usual, for this was no ordinary screening. It was a special preview of the highly anticipated Inherent Vice on a glorious 35mm print. Just before the projection was due to start, a man with a gorgeous beard was ushered into the room and addressed the audience. The man's name was Paul Thomas Anderson. The director had dropped in for a brief introduction to his latest work: "We made this film for cinemas like the Prince Charles; kinda old, kinda broken, but still groovy!" These words are equally adequate to describe Inherent Vice. Roll a joint (actually don't do that; drugs are bad for you) and get really ridiculously excited, because this film is something special. 

If you are familiar with Anderson's nearly flawless filmography, you have come to expect the extraordinary from him and once again, he delivers. After There Will Be Blood, the director ventures down the path of adaptation for the second time and becomes the first filmmaker to bring a novel by the American writer Thomas Pynchon to the big screen. At this point I should probably admit to ignorance. I haven't read Inherent Vice (yet), nor do I know anything about the author's literary output. The following discussion therefore only concerns the film as a brilliant, hilarious piece of cinema. 

The year is 1970, the place is the fictional Gordita Beach, California and the genre is neo-noir. This is the home of Larry "Doc" Sportello (Joaquin Phoenix), a private investigator who goes about his business in a marijuana-filled haze. In a dreamlike opening scene, he receives an unexpected visit from his ex-girlfriend Shasta (Katherine Waterston). She warns him of a possible plot against herself and her boyfriend, a shady businessman named Wolfmann. Shortly thereafter, they both disappear and Doc is accused of murder. 

The ensuing story is incredibly complex and we never quite know where we are at. As The Dude (Doc's cinematic brother from another mother) would put it: "This is a very complicated case. Lotta ins, lotta outs, lotta what have yous and a lot of strands to keep in my head man." Characters drift in and out of the film without acknowledgement, die off screen or appear out of nowhere. There is little logic in Doc's investigation; he just has a tendency to turn up at the right spot at the right time. Making sense of it all is even more difficult due to the fact that we see this world through the protagonist's unreliable, pot-induced eyes. 

Who cares about the plot anyway. All you need to is sit back, go with the flow and immerse yourself into this mad world. In reality, the film is about Joaquin Phoenix's hair, his hat and his round sunglasses. After he is told to "change your hair, change your life" in an early scene, his shoulder-length mane and his impressive sideburns look slightly different in nearly every scene. In 1970, he is a man out of time. After the Manson murders (referenced several times throughout the film), his hippie lifestyle is beginning to grow out of fashion and everyone looks down on him. That doesn't seem to bother him too much though. He'll just roll up another joint.

The name of another famous detective who had a considerable impact on film history springs to mind: Philip Marlowe. Raymond Chandler's creation was famously played by Humphrey Bogart in 1946's The Big Sleep and Elliott Gould in 1973's The Long Goodbye. In fact, Inherent Vice shares a considerable amount of DNA with the latter. Robert Altman's masterpiece updated the forties-set source novel to the seventies and depicted Marlowe as wisecracking detective who stumbles from one inconvenience into the next. Phoenix doesn't utter the famous catchphrase "It's okay with me," but he is in many ways the groovy to Gould's cool.

The closest thing to a second lead is Josh Brolin as the butch policeman Christian F. 'Bigfoot' Bjornsen (the character names throughout the film are hilarious; personal favourite: a neo-nazi named Puck Beaverton). The wannabe actor reminded me of a cartoon dog that walked out of the TV set. He has more bark than bite, insulting everybody around him and boasting with the label "Renaissance detective" issued by the LA times. His interactions with Phoenix, who shows impeccable comedic timing, are the film's primary source of humour and there are plenty of laughs. Inherent Vice is Anderson's funniest since Punch-Drunk Love, pitching it somewhere between Coen-esque absurdity, slapstick and the variety of Doc's hairstyles. 

The moment I knew the film was special comes about halfway through the film, when Anderson shows us a flashback to a blissful moment Doc's relationship with Shasta (off-screen since the opening). Neil Young's Journey through the Past provides the soundtrack to this sequence, which stands out because of its unabashed sentimentality. The scene has no direct impact on the plot, but it has a huge impact on the rest of the film and our understanding of the characters. The entire film is put into perspective in this brief moment. Here PTA's skills as a director (and a as a screenwriter) come to full effect. Music, image and performances come together and turn a moment that could easily have been cheesy or corny into a one of the best scenes in recent memory. 

Inherent Vice has all the ingredients to become a future cult classic in the vein of The Long Goodbye and The Big Lebowski. It's a hilarious, affectionate pastiche of the neo-noir genre which keeps you on the edge of the seat for two and a half hours. You will never look at baby pictures, chocolate-covered bananas or swastika tattoos in the same way. And I haven't even mentioned the fantastic photography, the trademark long takes and Jonny Greenwood's inventive score. I could point out that Owen Wilson, whom I quite like in general, doesn't really fit in and that I'm not sure about the sex scene towards the end, but that would be nitpicking. Inherent Vice is a groovy film and you have to go see it as soon as possible. 

Review: Imperfect spectacle with Interstellar

Note: I saw Interstellar on a DCP on a non-IMAX screen.

First of all, since many opinions seem to boil down to this basic question, let me say this: I really like Christopher Nolan. He makes hugely ambitious, expensive films, that don't assume that the audience is dumb. He delivers the proof that spectacle and brains can go together, shoots on film and doesn't like 3D. No other director could currently get a 200 million dollar film off the ground without significant creative interference from the studio. With his latest joint, Interstellar, he takes on the sci-fi genre. The director sends us through a wormhole into a foreign galaxy and the brain-frying realms of quantum physics, showing off his strengths and weaknesses in the process.

I won't elaborate much on the plot, aware of potential spoilers. The McConaissance reaches the next level as Matthew McConaughey stars as Cooper. The pilot-turned-farmer is recruited for an ambitious mission by Michael Caine and NASA. As human life on earth reaches his final stages, they look towards space and launch an exploration of planets suitable for colonisation. In order to reach for the sky, Cooper has to leave his beloved children in the care of their grandfather (John Lithgow).

These Spielbergian daddy-issues are the emotional core of a film that spans millions of miles and transcends time. A strong sense of sentimentality defines Interstellar, which is the films biggest shortcoming. In the past, Nolan's films have frequently been criticised for being cold and failing to engage on an emotional level. I never had a problem with this previously, but unlike his earlier work, Interstellar relies heavily on sentiment. Unable to make you feel his emotion, Nolan opts to tell us over and over how he feels. Simply having your characters burst into tears every ten minutes is not enough to move an audience. The ending in particular falls flat as a consequence.

That said, Interstellar is still a must see. On a technical level, the film is predictably superb. Both the cornfields on earth and the vastness of space look and sound absolutely incredible. The switch from Wally Pfister to Hoyte Van Hoytema (Let the Right One In; Her) in the position of cinematographer is hardly noticeable and the camerawork is slick, confident and smart. The film's strongest moments are full of excitment when Matthew McConaughey performs impossible aerobatic manoeuvres while Hans Zimmer's bombastic score is straining our eardrums.

I was also a fan of the film's treatment of science, which is smart, mostly accurate and appropriately complex. A basic knowledge of astrophysics and Einstein's theory of relativity should be enough to follow it however. After the film, you will want to know more about centrifuges, wormholes and space travel, which can only be a good thing. The importance of preserving childhood curiosity and the ability to dream big is essential to Interstellar. In an early scene, Cooper's daughter is suspended from school for getting in a fight over the authenticity of the moon landings.

Like in all good science-fiction movies, it's not all about excitement and spectacle. The film also raises interesting ideas and questions. Atypically, the machines are humanity's allies against the nature of earth in this vision. The frequent duststorms that afflict the cornfields surrounding Cooper-farm threaten the family's existence. Powerful and dirty, the can only be stopped by technology, space ships and sympathetic robots reminiscent of Bruce Dern's bionic friends in Silent Running. The central philosophy of the film meanwhile will cause problems for many. Despite the complexity of the storytelling, the ideas are quite simplistic, naive, romantic and have previously been done by the Harry Potter-franchise. You need to keep in mind that this is a mainstream Hollywood blockbuster, whose primary concern is entertainment. Interstellar aims to be Star Wars and 2001: A Space Odyssey (which I am desperate to rewatch now) at the same time. Nolan doesn't quite succeed, but you have to admire his ambition and the sheer scale of his attempt. I can't wait to see what he does next.

Nolan ranked:

1. The Prestige 

2. The Dark Knight 

3. Inception 

4. Memento 

5. Insomnia 

6. Batman Begins 

7. Interstellar 

8. Following 

9. The Dark Knight Rises

Rewiew: Rom and com with Laggies aka Say When...

Sometimes you have to take a step backwards before you can move forwards. This is the situation Keira Knightley finds herself in at the beginning of Say When (or originally Laggies for our friends across the pond). She hasn't really moved on since high school. She works for her dad and hangs out with the same group of friends, who have transformed into pretentious middle-class caricatures. When her prom-night sweetheart (Mark Webber) finally takes a knee after over a decade, she has to get away and find herself.

In order to get rid of her teenage baggage, she paradoxically has to return to high school. The fugitive from matrimony finds asylum at the house of Chloë Grace Moretz, whom she befriends in the parking lot of a convenience store. In that same house lives Moretz's handsome, funny, extremely single father, who is also a successful lawyer and looks like Sam Rockwell. What could possibly happen next?

There are some really interesting ideas about growing up and the need to try new things, but after about 20 minutes, Say When finds a warm spot in the comfort of the rom-com formula and stays there. There even is a dramatic scene at an airport. If you are looking for new ideas or surprises, this is not the film for you. In lieu thereof, director Lynn Shelton goes for charm and laughter with mixed results. Knightley deserves some praise for her visible efforts to keep up an American accent. Rockwell, brilliant as usual, bursts into the film with a couple of hilarious, witty scenes before reverting into a "lonely single dad" stereotype. He doesn't even get to dance in this one.

Overall, there aren't quite enough laughs to compensate for the weak plot and one-dimensional characters. Some gags fall completely flat. I will never be a fan of Keira Knighltey, but her and her co-stars do a fine job with the material they are given. It's never boring and, despite their platitude, you enjoy the company of the characters. You will not regret watching Say When, but you won't regret missing it either.

Review: Jake Gyllenhall is a brilliantly slimy Nightcrawler

Nightcrawler, written and directed by Dan (brother of Tony) Gilroy, is a dark, moody film that tries to make you feel as uncomfortable as possible, trying to emulate American Psycho and David Cronenberg's masterpiece Crash. Jake Gyllenhaal continues his run of strong performances with this excellent turn as the sociopath Louis Bloom, easily one of the year's most despicable protagonists. He starts off as a small-time criminal, but quickly discovers his talent for nighttime "journalism." This business entails driving through the neon-lit suburbs of L.A. on the lookout for accidents, fire, break-ins and, most lucratively, murder. This borderline legal world functions, as Rene Russo's TV-news producer explains, according to two principles: 1. The wealthier the victim, the better. 2. Blood sells.

On one level, the film works as a bleak satire of the immoral, inherently capitalist sensationalism that is increasingly taking over television (actually it's about ethics in games journalism); the irony being that we "enjoy" the film's own somewhat sensationalist, but fictional, depiction of violence. The meat of the film is however a character study of this deranged man. He is the (extreme) embodiment of the internet generation: he spends most of his time alone on his computer, losing any social skills, compassion or sense of reality in the process. When talking about business, journalism or relationships, his words sound like quotes from a textbook or an online tutorial (which they probably are).

Liking this character is obviously impossible, so Gyllenhaal makes us love to hate him instead. His lean physicality (he lost 20 pounds for the role), his slick hair and his creepy, weirdly punchable grin give him an eerie aura of menace and send shivers down your spine. His performance is by some distance the film's greatest strength and he manages to turn Louis Bloom into a truly memorable, unique antihero.

That said, Nightcrawler doesn't quite reach the heights of its role models. The satire is at times too simplistic, while it feels too exaggerated to work as a human drama. I wasn't as shocked by the foulness of L.A. after sunset as the film wanted me to be either. Perhaps the fact that the copious blood on the streets left me slightly nonplussed, is actually the shocking thing about Nightcrawler. 

Five furious flaws with Fury

There is a lot to admire about David Ayer's WW2-flick Fury. As with his best film End of Watch, the chemistry between his protagonists and the fast, informal dialogue work extremely well. Another big plus is the violence, which is realistic, brutal and unflinching. The film also boasts one of the most memorable opening scenes of the year during which Brad Pitt stabs a Nazi on a horse. Yet as the film goes on, it reveals some considerable flaws. I have listed the five biggest ones below.

1. War crimes as part of the learning process

The killing of a surrendering enemy is a war crime. Yet, in Fury, this is depicted as a necessary part of a soldier's initiation when Brad Pitt physically forces Logan Lerman to shoot a German soldier in the back. He was stretching his arms into the air while begging for mercy. Incidents like this were without a doubt a common occurrence towards the end of the war, but its cinematic portrayal in Fury is deeply problematic. While the cruelty isn't sugar-coated, the film is on Pitt's side in this scene. Maybe I'm just being too idealistic here, but I'm not sure about executing surrendering soldiers.

2. Depiction of female characters

About half an hour into the film, there is a prolonged sequence in which the crew share a meal with two women after liberating their city. This moment is completely misjudged on a number of levels. It is supposed to reflect on Brad Pitt's desperate wish for normality (all he wants is to sit around a table and eat off a plate), but the characterization of the women is laughably inconsistent. A teenage girl transforms from hiding under the bed in terror to practically jumping Logan Lerman for no other reason that he can play the piano within less than five minutes. The entire sequence just felt creepy and wrong to me.

3. Stupid Brad

I can't go into much detail on this point without revealing a major plot point, but Brad Pitt makes an atrociously dumb decision in the lead up to the film's (therefore unnecessary) climax after the tank breaks down. He even manages to convince his fellow soldiers to join him in his fallacious quest, presumably because they are blinded by his amazing hair. 

4. Stupid Nazis are even more stupid than Brad

Now I am not an expect on tactical warfare, but I'm pretty sure that attacking an immobile tank by running straight at it is not the best idea. Apparently it takes thousands of gunshots and dozens of dead Nazis until 'ze Germans grasp the flaws in this approach and finally decide to deploy their anti-tank weapons. The clue is in the name lads. No wonder they lost the war.   

5. Not enough Jason Isaacs

Because all films need more Jason Isaacs.

LFF short review: Reese Witherspoon goes into the Wild

After Into the Wild and last year's Tracks, here comes the next movie about a white person turning their back on society, return into the arms of mother nature and learn valuable life lessons in the process. Reese Witherspoon embarks on the Pacific Crest Trail, a 1,100-mile solo hike along the west coast of the United States. It's based on the true story of Cheryl Strayed, who wrote a memoir about her experiences; adapted by Nick Hornby.

I approached Wild with low expectations, but I was quickly won over by the film's interesting character study. Like most of these films, Wild doesn't manage to convey a sense for the duration of Cheryl Stayed's suffering. Putting three months of walking into two hours is simply impossible, but the film isn't really interested in this anyway. Instead it looks back and turns its attention to ideas about grief and addiction (sex and heroin). Flashbacks are used generously and in an interesting way. They are presented in a non-chronological order, like fragments of memories. We get various glimpses of Cheryl's relationship with her mother (Laura Dern) and the difficult time after her death. Witherspoon does really well in creating this conflicted character and delivers her best performances in years.

It may be quite conventional and sentimental, but the director Jean-Marc Vallée (Dallas Buyers Club) and Nick Hornby infuse Wild with enough edge and warmth to keep the drama interesting. As usual for Hornby, the soundtrack is first-rate as well (Cohen! Simon! & Garfunkel!) and the use of song to convey emotion is one of the film's biggest strengths.