REVIEW: The Last Station (dir. Michael Hoffman)

Cast: Helen Mirren, James McAvoy, Christopher Plummer, Paul Giamatti

The film seemed to be concerned with whether or not thoughtless romantic love is the reality and truth of life, and should be allowed to triumph over intellectual ideology. Unfortunately the film had already made it’s mind up before we sat in our seats, and we were treated to a drawn-out, unrequited love story that gave no insight into the life or works of Leo Tolstoy.

That said, I heard sniffling all around me as the film came to its aching climax (although I was surrounded by “luvvies” who remembered ‘Helen’ from her ‘Royal Court’ days) and as I walked out of the screening there were plenty of young women wiping tears from their eyes. I began to think that maybe I was dead inside… but I think really I just believe too much in what Tolstoy wrote to imagine him agreeing with the message of this film: that some volatile and selfish love is more important than the selfless and rational love for one’s fellow man. Maybe I was just too affected by Thoreau’s thoughts on the subject… “a bucket of water soon becomes putrid, but frozen remains sweet forever.”

Helen Mirren and Christopher Plummer are superb as the haggard, warring couple; and Paul Giamatti somehow manages to pull off being an embittered, shallow weasel of a man (how does he do it?!) James McAvoy is still a fairly unknown quantity in feature films; and that doesn’t seem set to change here. His performance in The Last King of Scotland was flawless, but not overly memorable when compared to Forest Whitacre’s spellbinding Idi Amin. Here again, McAvoy’s quiet talent is all but washed away by the panting and groaning of two of the finest actors ever to grace the screen (that’s Plummer and Mirren by the way… Giamatti isn’t there yet.) But as his character becomes more and more impassioned and disgusted, McAvoy’s undeniable screen presence twisted his face into a snarling mask.

REVIEW: The Wolfman (dir. Joe Johnston)

Cast: Benicio Del Toro, Emily Blunt, Anthony Hopkins, Hugo Weaving

Universal’s spate of horror films in the 1930s are some of the most iconic and memorable films in Hollywood history. But while Hammer recreated Dracula and Frankenstein with more colour and gore in the 1960s; Lon Chaney Jr’s Wolf Man was left to languish in black and white… until now.

Universal’s remake of their 1941 classic The Wolf Man is not an attempt to ‘redefine’ horror films; but in the same way that Hammer revamped old films with colour and gore, so Joe Johnston has injected this old story with frenetic editing and gut-churning special effects.

The film follows Lawrence (Del Toro), the estranged son of Sir John Talbot, as he returns to his family’s country seat to mourn his murdered brother. The local villagers blame the gypsies; but when the villagers approach the gypsy camp, a horrific creature attacks them all. Lawrence chases the creature escapes and is bitten.

By the next full moon his wounds have completely healed, and Lawrence accepts that he has become a monster himself. He sends his brother’s wife, Gwen (Blunt), to London to spare her a gruesome death; and goes on a murderous rampage that results in his arrest and internment in a well-guarded mental asylum. But the story does not end here… as Lawrence notices inconsistencies in his memories of his childhood and the nature of his mother’s death, he begins to suspect that he is not the only ‘Wolfman’ in his bloodline.

This is a fairly straight ‘Creature Feature’, and all the real positives are to be found in its homages to early horror films. Hugo Weaving is superb as the moustache-twiddling, Peter Cushing-inspired Scotland Yard detective, who relishes his power in this backwards country village. And the Wolfman himself, once the transformation has occurred, is delightfully camp: he is gangly and awkward, like Lon Chaney Jr. in a hairy suit, and barely scary at all except for the fact that he is ripping people’s limbs off.

But unfortunately there is no way to truly recreate the eeriness of the grainy footage, cheap sets, and camp acting that defined those old horror films. This is a well-manicured hollywood film with a gigantic budget, and there is something far too comforting about that. Even after all the shocks and loud noises, you will feel cheapened by this experience and eager to watch Christopher Lee lurking in his colourful mansion drinking luminous blood out of a ditzy blonde.

The transformations themselves are far too smooth and weightless in that yet-to-be-truly-believable CGI way; but the bone-crunching sound effects and agonising roars really do get you wincing. Joe Johnston clearly has Clive Barker’s respect for the abject horror of the ‘transformation’.

Del Toro should have been perfect for the Wolfman, and it is his involvement in the project that attracted most critics to it, but his performance is mostly disappointing. He is mundane as the grieving, troubled prodigal son, and barely even acting as the Wolfman; and it is only in the brief section between being bitten and first transforming that he is at his magnificent, terrifying and brooding best.

REVIEW: A Single Man (dir. Tom Ford)

Cast: Colin Firth, Julianne Moore, Matthew Goode

Los Angeles, 1962. George (Firth)– a gay English university professor living in Santa Monica – has just been informed that his lover of 16 years, Jim (Goode), has been killed in a car accident. George is not allowed to attend the funeral because Jim’s family disapproves of their “abominable” relationship. What follows is a fascinating and melancholy character study of a man who has lost the only thing he loved, but is not allowed to grieve openly.

The man is a gay professor and the thing he loved, his partner; but stripping away the macrocosm of the film, this is a universal story about the modern tendency to avoid grief wherever possible. We are told that grief, sadness, and despair are unattractive qualities that should be repressed; but this film is a testament to the importance of acknowledging grief, both within ourselves and in those close to us.

The film follows George on the day he has decided to kill himself. He meticulously arranges everything from his bed sheets to his tax returns before exploring the intricacies of shooting himself inside a sleeping bag to avoid unnecessary mess. There is something darkly comedic about this early sequence, aided by Firth’s plodding despondency, but it points towards a much grittier reality: he has spent so long grieving silently, not wanting to get in anybody’s way, that even in death he is trying to remain considerate.

George’s efforts are interrupted by a phone call from his best friend – the ageing but gorgeous spinster hipster, Charley (Moore) – begging him to have dinner with her that evening. George agrees, and so the timeframe is set; we will have our intriguing protagonist for one day. This day sees George interacting with a number of beautiful young men – from a flirtatious student to a smouldering rent boy at a convenience store. He sees Jim in all these men, and his attraction to them seems to be based less on sexuality and more on a desperate need to confront his hidden grief and tear at the suture of his broken heart.

George’s dinner with Charley is a beautifully conceived scene, largely because the characters are so perfectly moulded. Charley has been in love with George for many years, and her own troubled life and sense of exclusion from society have left her just as broken as him. The fact that they are English people living in a foreign land is a simple conceit, but it helps to reiterate the fact that this unusual couple are stranded in a strange world that doesn’t want to acknowledge them.

This ‘dinner’ sequence is certainly beautifully plotted and performed, with all the emotions simmering just below the surface; but one can’t help but feel that this was the film’s one chance at an explosive and cathartic argument of Albee-esque proportions. That this is never achieved certainly doesn’t hurt the film, but it could have elevated the visceral and emotional impact on the viewer to a new height of drama.

George heads to the beach bar where he first met Jim, and runs into his university student (who has actually been tailing him all evening). This naïve and confident young man provides the burst of uncontrollable energy that has been so desperately lacking in George’s life since Jim’s death. They swim naked in the ocean and kiss passionately. There is no romance here – it is just a broken professor kissing his simple and awe-filled student – but there is a sense that George has found a way to go on living. He hasn’t found love, he hasn’t overcome his grief, it is not as insincere as all that; but he has discovered away to confront his grief alone.

‘A Single Man’ is the debut feature from fashion designer Tom Ford (the former creative head of Gucci). The visual style of the film is therefore predictably stunning and precise. Anybody with a passion for 1960s aesthetics (from fashion and interior design to cars and kitchen appliances) will be mesmerised by the meticulous attention to detail, and the beauty that Ford instils in every frame. What could never have been predicted, however, was the effortless talent that Ford has for storytelling. As well as directing, Ford also adapted the original novel himself (with the help of David Scearce). The pace of the film, and the way the emotions and themes are so densely inter-woven and undulate so rhythmically, is virtually perfect; and it is almost unfathomable that this was achieved by a first-time director.

Colin Firth is extraordinary in the leading role. His natural melancholy and slow-plodding rhythm bring an intense and tangible sadness to the character; but there is always something warm and comforting in Firth’s demeanour, and this helps to bring empathy to this withdrawn and lonely man. Julianne Moore is naturally perfect as Charley: she is a whirlwind of curse words, ashtrays, and empty gin bottles, crashing around her lavish apartment with a frenetic and misdirected purpose.