Captain Phillips

I have a hatred of Hanks which I find difficult to justify. Perhaps it his slightly nasal, whiny voice. Maybe that irritating eye-narrowing thing he does. Possibly his annoying everyman shtick. More likely it’s that batch of woeful romantic comedies he made with Meg Ryan in the mid-nineties. After all, I’ve occasionally chosen to overlook my Hanks hate – Forrest Gump, the first twenty minutes of Saving Private Ryan, childhood favourite Big. And so it was with Captain Phillips: a film which, despite its abysmal title, has received rave reviews and in which Tom Hanks gives possibly the best performance of his career.

The plot is a simple one: the eponymous Captain (Hanks) is piloting his cargo ship through international waters off the Horn of Africa when it is hijacked by a group of four Somali pirates. Phillips appeals for help from the authorities, but assistance fails to arrive in time to stop the armed raiders boarding the ship – leaving the noble captain to protect his unarmed crew and his boat.

Such a simple synopsis reveals nothing of the film, however. 

Tom Hanks is superb as a man out of his depth, forced to confront difficult decisions in the most difficult of circumstances. Initially he seems the archetypal company man, following protocol and playing it by the book. But as his captors become increasingly unpredictable, so Phillips’ actions become more inspired, courageous and innovative. He takes huge risks in the most prosaic ways – it’s only after leaving the cinema and reflecting on the movie that it becomes clear how just how risky some of his plays were.

At the other end of behavioural the spectrum is the pirates’ own captain. Muse (Barkhad Abdi) is desperate, bitter and emotional – a trembling, wide-eyed, wounded animal whose erratic nature is the antithesis of Phillips’ cool exterior. It’s a mesmerising performance from a first-timer who didn’t even meet Tom Hanks until their first on-screen confrontation. 

And what a confrontation it is. Sparks fly as the characters face off, with the threat of violence constantly simmering beneath the surface. There is mutual respect too, with moments of genuine compassion and humanity passing between the two – not least as Muse attempts to protect Phillips from some of the less sanguine pirates in his crew. 

As the film lurches towards a conclusion, the action becomes increasingly claustrophobic and the tension is almost unbearable. Barry Ackroyd’s photography is superb, placing the camera amidst the action as blood and sweat are spilled and violence threatens to erupt in the closest possible confines. Even knowing the true story which inspired the film doesn’t lessen the knuckle-whitening tension.

The final scenes are an acting tour-de-force: a visceral, powerfully emotional outpouring which offer an increasingly tense audience some kind of catharsis after one of the most gripping, tautly made movies of recent years.

The Prestige

Christopher Nolan is one of the most feted filmmakers in the world and for good reason. He blends the cerebral with the spectacular in fine fashion, creating blockbusters with brains and creating compelling characters – a rarity in a world where tent-pole summer releases rely on relentless action rather than any sense of plot of character development. Yet somehow, The Prestige has become Nolan’s forgotten film. An amazing cast and intricate plot proved spectacularly successful for Inception, but here the presence of Bale, Jackman, Caine (and even David Bowie) did not have nearly the same impact.

Perhaps this can be attributed to the Victorian setting: in all regards this is an old fashioned film. There is little CGI, with the film relying on traditional mechanical effects where possible (an approach Nolan continues to employ) and the art of storytelling to create its impact. Even the performances (particularly Hugh Jackman’s vaudevillian) are pleasingly old school.

Based on the novel by Christopher Priest, The Prestige tells the tale of two stage magicians: American showman Angier (Jackman) and his working class rival Borden (Christian Bale). Their enmity is born of a tragic stage accident which sees Angier’s wife perish on stage and is fuelled by a dangerous sense of one-upmanship. The desperate desire to outdo one another becomes centred on a stunningly simplistic trick: The Transported Man.

Michael Caine’s charming explanation of the three part magic trick - the pledge (the set-up), the turn (the twist) and the prestige (the unbelievable finale) – opens the film, playing over the thrilling denouement of The Transported Man and the conclusion of the film itself. What follows is an explanation of how we came to this point in a multi-layered narrative which moves backwards and forwards in time and across countries.

Of course, the real intrigue in the film is in the magic. The mechanics of the craft are discussed and revealed, the science explored and debated. But above all else the audience is reminded that this is all a trick. From the outset Nolan asks his audience, “Are you watching closely?” – suggesting that there is a deception lurking beneath the surface sheen of his film. And as an observer you know you are about to be fooled – but how?

It’s a daringly devious trick from Nolan which, if discovered partway through the tale might ruin its telling. But having failed to spot it the first time, a second viewing serves only to confirm just how audacious the sleight of hand really is. Subtle it ain’t, but like all the best magic tricks the art is not in the trick itself, but in the misdirection which disguises it.

Perhaps the film’s (relative) lack of success can be attributed to the unsympathetic characters – neither Angier nor Borden are particularly likeable. Perhaps the twist which sees magic become science (courtesy of Bowie’s Nikola Tesla) was too hard to swallow. But for sheer showmanship, The Prestige is a film which deserves to be seen. And then seen again – so you can work out what you’ve just seen!

Man of Steel

The involvement of Chris Nolan (as screenwriter and producer) ought to guarantee a successful re-imagining of a superhero franchise. After his sterling work on Batman, his wonderful manipulation of narrative in films like Memento and proving his big-budget blockbuster credentials in Inception, who better than to steer director Zak Snyder and his all star cast through another attempt at rebooting Superman.

Since Christopher Reeve’s early incarnation as the Man of Steel, the franchise has suffered by the law of diminishing returns. The sequels grew worse, and a recent attempt to resurrect Clark Kent’s alter-ego was so unmemorable that nobody can even remember who played him. 

Small screen success was easier to find, with Dean Cain and Teri Hatcher enjoying considerable chemistry in the nineties, and the popular Smallville exploring Superman’s early years on TV. It’s here, in fact, where the inspiration for much of Man of Steel’s most successful scenes seems to have been gleaned.

While the film focuses on the relationship between the young Clark and his father on earth (a fabulously weathered Kevin Costner), it really works: a superb combination of youthful angst and worldly wisdom debating the pros and cons of revealing Clark’s true identity. One scene particularly, as a huge tornado rages around them, is beautifully written and played. Sadly, this material is in short supply.

The problems with this film are huge. And there are lots of them.

Although Henry Cavill has the chiselled face and physique required for the role, he doesn’t seem to have the personality. Whether this is lack of acting ability on Cavill’s behalf is uncertain – it seems the part is badly underwritten. Here, Superman is little more than a cipher, a symbol or a plot device. He certainly lacks of the depth of Christian Bale’s Batman or Hugh Jackman’s Wolverine. Perhaps this is because the end product was intended to be a little lighter fare than those previous movies, but the humour required for this is conspicuous by its absence.

The storyline initially appears adventurous, with interesting twists adding to the back-story of Krypton’s destruction and how Clark comes to be so powerful on Earth, but the plot rapidly runs out of steam and becomes reliant on preposterous exposition and absurd alien invasions. Russell Crowe is Clark’s father on Krypton and dies early – only to constantly reappear throughout, engaging in detailed conversation with his son despite his demise 33 years earlier. It’s a contrivance which makes absolutely no sense – but it’s not the only one.

Following an unsuccessful coup on Krypton, the evil General Zod (Michael Shannon) and his minions are frozen in stasis and set adrift in space. Conveniently, however, the destruction of their home planet results in their release. There’s no explicable reason for this – other than a desire to have them turn up later in the film as the main villains. There are other such examples – insults to an audience’s intelligence.

Perhaps, though, the expectation was that the audience would demand little cerebral stimulation? It certainly seems that way as the film barrels towards its conclusion via a series of ‘epic’ battles which are so spirit crushingly repetitive that I committed the cardinal sin of falling asleep in the cinema. These sequences are extremely and execrably dull, employing so much CGI that you may as well be watching your little brother playing a video game. At least then you could join in.

Lawless

A stellar line up featuring John Hillcoat conducting, Nick Cave orchestrating and Tom Hardy, Gary Oldman and Guy Pearce in the chorus, Lawless really ought to be an epic symphony. Instead, it’s a film with a wonderful soundtrack, lush cinematography and a hole were its heart ought to be.

Based on the true story of the Bondurant brothers, the film is a Prohibition-era drama about a family of bootlegging moonshine merchants in Franklin County, Virginia. Their profits are threatened by villainous Chicago cop Charlie Rakes (a slimily effete Pearce) putting the squeeze on them. Standing up to corrupt officials is a dangerous game in such a ‘lawless’ state, however, and soon violence erupts in the Virginian hills.

Visually, it’s quite a spectacle. Hillcoat photographs the landscapes beautifully, the violence is jarringly visceral and the characters look amazing. Sadly, though, they are little more than caricatures. Jessica Chastain is the archetypal tart with a heart, there’s a crippled but loveable kid, amiable cops-on-the-take and two of the three brothers are extremely crudely drawn. Jason Clarke has little to do with violent giant Howard and Shia LeBoeuf tries his best with Jack, a kid who needs to grow up fast to cement his place in the family business. Luckily Tom Hardy’s Forrest is at least slightly nuanced – despite his tendency to grunt rather than talk.

Ultimately, it’s a solid enough film which suffers hugely in comparison to The Proposition – the last film in which Hillcoat and Cave collaborated on directorial and scriptwriting duties. That was a production full of subtly written characters to flesh out its fairly predictable storyline. Here, there is little more than some token love interests and a flashy cameo from Gary Oldman.

The movie’s middle act is far and away its most successful, with Guy Pearce’s evil Rakes spilling his bile all over proceedings whilst Forrest’s passive aggression bubbles under the surface, but sadly when the film looks set to ignite in its final scenes it turns out to be something of a damp squib, trickling to a conclusion which is wholly unsatisfying.

A film which is not nearly as good as the sum of its parts.