Whiplash (2014)

There is a school of thought around the concept of talent. Matthew Syed writes in his book ‘Bounce’ that talent is but a myth, and that the real power is in practice. Malcolm Gladwell writes that a minimum of 10,000 hours of focused practice is necessary to become great. But how do people stay motivated past the first 5,000 hours? 

Broken down to the bare bones, Whiplash is a film about Andrew Neyman (Miles Teller), a young jazz drummer at the most prestigious music school in America who sincerely wants to be “one of the greats”. He sees his route to the top through Fletcher (J.K Simmons), a jazz conductor with a fearsome reputation. Fletcher wants to inspire the next Charlie Parker. That is the simple description, although the film contains many more complex themes, motivation is just one.

Merry Clayton was interviewed for the Oscar winning documentary 20 Feet from Stardom and remembered a night when singing with Ray Charles’ backing singers, The Raelettes, at Madison Square Gardens when she forgot her note. Ray Charles, she said, banged out her note on the piano in front of five thousand people. She was so humiliated that she promised herself that she would never forget a note again. There’s a very similar, and more romanticised story at the heart of Whiplash. Fletcher tells Neyman the story that clearly inspires his teaching style: 

In 1937, after queuing and waiting his turn, a 16 year old Charlie Parker got up on stage to jam at the Reno Club in Kansas City. It was a chance to jam with a guest, a star, Jo Jones.  Despite a strong start, Parker lost himself and froze. Jones let his feelings about the young man playing sax on stage known and threw a cymbal at his feet. Humiliated, Parker ran out of the club, but he practiced his heart out, returned later and silenced any critics. Fletcher sees himself as Jo Jones in his allegorical telling of this story, hoping that one of his students will go on to become the next Charlie Parker. He is the motivator helping Darwin’s theory of evolution succeed in Jazz, weeding out the weak and inspiring those with the will to succeed. He doesn’t care how many people he forces out of the music industry, as long as he reveals the true genius of the next ‘Yardbird’. This is his how he sees himself, not as a teacher, not as a conductor, not as a musician - but as an inspiration to the next generation. 

Simmons brings this role to life, providing fear and tension to his chair-throwing, tyrannical music sessions. He is an intimidating dictator while conducting the band. But he also shows genuine care and passion in one on one conversations with students. While Simmons shines throughout the film, there is an individual scene in which we see the full arc of caring passion, tension building, and full destructive rage, and that is Andrew’s first day in the studio band, a scene so powerful that it was almost the entire trailer seems to be made from it. After proving to his students that he has complete power over them by kicking out a trombonist for seemingly nothing, Fletcher does a complete 360 flip, putting the young Andrew Neyman at ease before his first attempt to play with the rest of the band. As Neyman continually fails to meet the right tempo though, Fletcher goes into a rage, hurling chairs across the room and demanding to know if Neyman is a “rusher” or a “dragger”. Fletcher finally starts slapping Neyman off tempo to prove his point and when physically abusing him fails to work, he continues to verbally abuse him. 

This scene brought another musical anecdote to mind. While recording for Nirvana, Dave Grohl was asked by Butch Vig, the record producer, to play with a click-track (metronome) to help him slow his rhythm. Dave Grohl has said that as a drummer, being asked to use a click-track is like “being stabbed in the heart by a rusty fork.”

In spite of how painful it may have been to a young drummer, Vig was right and Grohl knew it and adapted his rhythm. If you’re unaware, Dave Grohl has since gone from strength to strength and is one of the best respected drummers (and musicians) in rock and roll today. How would a young Dave Grohl have reacted to being abused by Fletcher? Would the fictional Andrew Neyman have responded to the milder Butch Vig’s suggestion? Since these questions concern fictional characters, they are obviously unanswerable, but simply by being posed, they point out the flaws in Fletcher’s ‘my way or the highway’ model of teaching.

Another key theme is success. Andrew Neyman believes that there is nothing he won’t sacrifice in order to achieve his idea of success and he looks down on anybody who doesn’t share his all out belief, be that his girlfriend, or his family. Neyman is a complicated character, he is driven, motivated, angry and to people outside his singular focus, he is vocal of it. But he is also very meek, shy and submissive when in the presence of his role-model, Fletcher. He takes incredible levels of abuse before cracking. He is, in many ways, Fletcher’s ideal student, taking every bit of abuse and humiliation to heart and practicing in the fruitless hope that the abuse will one day stop. Miles Teller plays this dual character well, matching and complimenting J.K Simmons incredibly.

These two characters’ ideas of success meld perfectly, but they are both so close-minded that they don’t see what it is costing them. Fletcher’s failed experiment to create the next great jazz musician causes open hatred and mis-trust between his band-members, he is molding the future of the musical genre, he just refuses to see it from any angle but his own. Neyman’s idea of success almost guarantees loneliness. His relationship with his father and his attempt at a romantic relationship prove that being alone isn’t what he wants, but he’s willing to deal with it.

In an incredible scene with family, his achievements are dismissed and overlooked by his uncle, while his cousin’s feats on the American Football field, despite being Division 3 and therefore unlikely to precede a career, are applauded. Everyone at that table seems too close-minded and self-focused to realise that each individual has their own idea of success. This scene has comedic moments in which Neyman channels his inner Fletcher while insulting his cousin’s achievements, but below the comedy is a deeper resentment of people unlike himself. The self-belief that motivates him to play drums, also makes him a selfish and single-minded person that is incredibly hard to like.

These character performances, joined by an incredible soundtrack, beautifully atmospheric and moody cinematography and fast montage editing, create a film that is both aggressive and caring. It plays out in its own tempo, switching seamlessly between the slow building of tension and break-neck fast action. Whiplash is surely a contender for this year’s awards season.

Written by Edward L. Corrigan on 18/01/2015

Room 237 - Being an inquiry into The Shining in 9 parts (2012)

"There ain't nothin' in Room 237. But you ain't got no business goin' in there anyway. So stay out. You understand? Stay out." - Dick Halloran, The Shining (1980).

Whether Halloran was warning young Danny Torrence or the audience; whether he was talking of the literal room, number 237, or the disturbed mind of Jack Torrence, or perhaps more likely, the ever complex mind of auteur Stanley Kubrick, his warnings went unheeded. 

Stanley Kubrick’s work has been analysed, deconstructed and scrutinised by every would-be film academic and movie buff. The amount of different, and often contradicting, theories out there are probably beyond counting. But it doesn’t stop new books and journal entries claiming to know the meaning behind each individual frame and shot from being published. This is what makes Kubrick’s work so great, almost all of these journals, books, conversations over coffee and unspoken thoughts are right. Kubrick deliberately held off from explaining the meanings so that people could debate them and draw their own conclusions. Rodney Ascher’s documentary Room 237 (2012) doesn’t claim to have the answers, but it allows five people to argue that they do.

It’s hard to tell if Ascher believes any of the theories he is relaying, or if he is pointing out the madness of the people who are providing these theories. What cannot be doubted is these people have done their research. They have followed shots and mapped and blueprinted the Outlook Hotel in order to confirm their suspicions of a rogue window or a metaphorical upper level. They have watched the film frame-by-frame in order to find dissolves that they believe confirm their theories. There are times when you’re left questioning if The Shining dragged these interviewees inside Room 237 and removed any notion of sanity from them - but there are also moments of pure genius when you can’t help but agree. Many of these academics and experts in their own fields will call upon the same scenes, upon the same shots. But they will draw completely different conclusions. Are any of them right? Are they all right?

Often the mis-en-scene (what is in the frame we’re seeing) is called upon to provide evidence of a theory, but even more often it seems, a continuity error is provided as evidence. Sometimes these continuity errors are so obvious that they must have been filmed deliberately. But other times we’re left questioning: Why when Kubrick makes these errors, are they evidence of genius, but when a journeyman makes the same errors, they are evidence of failure?

The reality of the documentary, is that the theories speak for themselves. This blog-post could spend thousands of words deconstructing, agreeing or disagreeing with the speculations, providing new approaches, and could fall quickly into another internet analysis of The Shining. In a world of internet blogging, these ideas  are widely available, and can be researched, torn apart or added to by other interested parties. If you googled “The Shining” along with the key words “Holocaust” or “Indian Genocide” you can find a wealth of information about these arguments. You could lose days of your life at a time just reading what people you agree or disagree with wrote. But there’s more to Room 237 than just the documentary set piece of ‘talking heads’. In fact, there are no talking heads featured in the film at all.

The interviewees are not filmed, but recorded. Ascher uses a whole host of archive footage, primarily from Kubrick’s films, to represent those talking, and those they’re talking about. A single narrater could be represented by both Jack Nicholson and Tom Cruise at different moments of the film. A scene from 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) represented a feeling felt from a scene in The Shining. Ascher really explores the method of collage and makes the most of the striking images Kubrick created.

This collage style, despite using professional shots, creates a feeling of an isolated fan film. The internet is full of fan-made homages to their favourite films and shows. As digital editing has constantly become easier, fans have re-edited famous films, or laid new soundtracks on top, to draw new meanings. These fan films aren’t generally done to make money, or find fame for the makers, but simply as something fun, a way of maybe shedding a new light on an old object. This fan film collage, despite using Kubrick’s own work, deliberately removes Kubrick, or anyone involved in the original making of The Shining from the documentary. We’re left feeling that this is a group of fans discussing their favourite film. These interviewees may be experts in their own fields, but their passion for The Shining and their theories removes any objectivity they may have once had and they are reduced from experts to fans. We’re left with the feeling that without the drive and direction the film took, it could easily have been made into an internet fan homage video, only to be found by the rogue Kubrick fan trawling the internet late at night. This isn’t a criticism at all, but the complete opposite. Whether you agree with the theorists or not, their passion is obvious. Ascher doesn’t say any of the theories are right or wrong, but his passion is proved to equal, if not surpass, that of the interviewees, by the painstakingly precise editing of the archive footage. 

Ascher doesn’t unlock the secrets to Room 237 and that was probably not his intention. That’s not to say that his interviewees were wrong, the beauty of most of Kubrick’s work is that no theory can ever really be wrong (apart from maybe that it was Kubrick’s confession of faking the Apollo 11 moon landing...). There are times when Ascher’s editing really seems to support the words the audience hears, and other times when it seems to back away from them, almost laughing at the ludicrosity of the theories. But at the same time, the documentary definitely upholds the idea that audiences have the power to read The Shining, and probably any film, any way they want to. Audiences can create their own theories on Kubrick’s work, and what this documentary seems to say, as Kubrick seemed to imply, is that they should.

Written by Edward L. Corrigan on the 27/10/2012

When the Lights Went Out (2012)

“Based on the true story of the most terrifying poltergeist haunting in British history”

The horror genre will always walk a very fine line. If it draws a laugh, or even a titter without intending to, anything the audience invests in the premise is gone and is almost impossible to regain. If the audience’s attention is averted for too long, the same issue applies. Essentially, a horror film has to hook the audience from the start and (not too unlike the antagonists of many horrors) not let go. Pat Holden’s When the Lights Went Out  (2012) definitely hooks the audience with the opening scene, but quickly lets go and never really reaches out again.

Set during the nationwide blackouts of 1974 in Yorkshire, When the Lights Went Out tells a familiar tale. A young family move into a new house only to discover that it’s haunted. The teenage daughter, Sally, is apparently a bit of a problem child as her parents refuse to believe her at first, soon however, Len and Jenny, her parents are faced with the poltergeist first hand and have no choice but to accept it. The issue is how harmful the spirit is and how to find the solution. 

The film opens and makes use of as many horror conventions as possible, and edited cleverly, it manages to stop them from appearing clichéd. Questions are asked, but far from answered. An interest is sparked and there is real potential for audience fear. As soon as that scene ends though, so does any hope When the Lights Went Out continuing as a successful horror film. The wooden script is the first thing to remove any audience investment and despite some impressive efforts by some cast members, the conversations just seem forced. Other distractions quickly follow and despite a couple of moments that draw out audience jumps, the genre aimed for is quickly lost.

Despite this, the film is not an unmitigated disaster. Based on the haunting of the Black Monk of Pontefract, religion and history are key themes. Believers of this haunting attribute the spirit to a monk, who during the Tudor reign, was hanged for rape. The film claims that the monk tortured and killed many young teenage girls, which explains why the character of Sally is catalyst. The film also explains that in order to save the church any embarrassment, the monk was killed by fellow monks and buried in secret. The hypocrisy and corruption of the church is the most interesting key theme of the film as it has been a recurring theme throughout history. (For a more contemporary, and far more horrifying, case study on this, see Amy Berg’s documentary Deliver us From Evil (2006). Berg investigates the church’s cover up of a priest’s abuse of children in Northern California). There are a couple of instances of religious secrets, with the second being the catholic priest (comedically played by Gary Lewis) having an affair, but that is primarily used for unnecessary comic relief. Unfortunately, the most interesting theme is brushed over in order to return the focus to characters that have no real exposition and are ultimately unlikeable. The disappointing truth of the film is that the story of the haunter is ultimately more interesting than the story of the haunted, or even the haunting itself. The film attempts to jump through history once, but, almost as if it’s worried it’ll lose audience attention, quickly returns to 1974. The moments without the key cast were the most interesting sections of filmmaking, and the most scary, but were made destitute by their length.

Being a period film, the production design and wardrobe department have to do incredible work to transport the film to a specific time period. This is the part of the film that the filmmakers did achieve their aims. Unfortunately the filmmakers know this and waste no opportunity to showcase their achievements. Throughout the film there are unnecessary shots thrown into scenes that seem to be self-congratulatory of the production design. The audience are no longer transported to 1974, but are having 1974 thrust upon them and are drawn out of the diegesis.

When the Lights Went Out showed a couple of sparks but ultimately fizzled. There were chances to reproduce the promise made by the opening scene, but these chances weren’t taken. The story is only really remembered by the minority who believe in the supernatural. In the same way, the film may gain a cult status in local community of Pontefract, but will elsewhere be forgotten along with the countless other films that failed in their attempts to walk the fine line of the horror genre.

Written by Edward L. Corrigan on 08/09/2012

The Imposter (2012)

The real world is full of stories that are better than anyone could make up. The Olympics have shown the world copious stories of hope, struggle and sacrifice. The Paralympics are currently showing us stories of inspiration, and there are more than enough stories of horror, action and comedy out there. A good raconteur can make even the most mundane series of events a thrilling ride, so what could he do with a real story full of mystery, lies and intrigue? British director Bart Layton answers this question with his documentary The Imposter (2012). Using talking heads, archive footage and well placed reconstruction footage, Layton unravels the facts of this film as if it were a traditional narrative creating suspense from start to finish.

In 1994, a 13 year old boy went missing from San Antonio, Texas. In 1997 he turned up in Madrid, but he’s now a 23 year old Frenchman. The Imposter tells the story of how Frederic Bourdin convinced the Spanish and American authorities that he was the missing Nicholas Barclay, and how he even convinced the emotional American family of the missing child.

The key theme of the film is identity. Bourdin the fraudster is open with the film crew from the beginning. This brings the first thought of identity, is he the film’s protagonist? The answer is not clear as Nicholas Barclay’s family get equal screen time and as victims of Bourdin’s deceit, they clearly deserve the audience’s sympathy. But the sympathy doesn’t have to be given to one group alone. As a half Algerian child born into a racist family, Bourdin explains that his childhood was a loveless one. Without love, there can’t really be a childhood and without a past, you can’t build a future. His crimes seemed victimless. He would pretend to be someone else, a lost child, and in doing so would find himself put into a children’s home, where people really cared for him. The only victim in these situations was Bourdin; he had been a victim of his environment. But one home, in 1997 necessitated proof of identity. At this point, a line was crossed; Bourdin found Nicholas Barclay on a missing person’s list and claimed to be him. Barclay’s sister came immediately to pick him up. Was he still a victim of his environment, or was he now a criminal taking advantage of an emotional family? 

Despite being primarily stone-faced, Barclay’s family, especially his mother and sister, recall the emotions and events involving Nicholas’ disappearance and apparent resurfacing on another continent. When Carey Gibson, Nicholas’ sister recalls her flight to Spain to pick her brother up, she tells about pure unadulterated joy. Even when she comes face to face with the 23 year old Bourdin who looked nothing like her brother, she explains that she was un-phased. 

The family had dealt with a gaping hole for three years; Bourdin filled this hole and was shown the love he never received as a child. It could be argued that the family subconsciously knew Bourdin was not Barclay, the similarities were too narrow and the differences were too broad. However they suspended their disbelief and welcomed him into their family, if this is the case is there a problem? Is there even a story? Again the audience are faced with a crime that doesn’t seem criminal; there seem to be no victims and no antagonist. Yet Layton keeps the suspense building. New characters are introduced to counter-balance the faster paced happy music. Even if this new family are happy, the happiness is built on a lie. Bourdin builds on the lie until the point that cracks start to show and from those cracks a whole new story seems to seep out.

If it’s not the ordering of the documentary (the slow revealing of plot points) that builds the tension, it’s the incredible reconstruction footage. Bourdin stars as himself in the cinematic shots of prior events. Bart Layton has constructed a film that borders between documentary and narrative, thriller and gothic horror, reassuring and unsettling only to settle for all of them.

Is Frederic Bourdin a victim of his environment; or a fraudster taking advantage of an emotional family? Are Nicholas Barclay’s family victims of Bourdin’s lies; or just disillusioned enough to welcome a stranger into their family? The answers to these questions can only be found in the opinions of the audience, but there is certainly one victim at the heart of The Imposter; where is Nicholas Barclay?

Written by Edward L. Corrigan on 29/08/2012

The Dark Knight Trilogy

For those unaware, the 20^th of July 2012 marks the end of a four year wait since The Dark Knight (2008); the end of the trilogy. 

When the journey began in 2005 with Batman Begins there were many concerns floating around. The first had to do with the franchise. Batman had been buried and dug up before, was it worth bringing him back? He first hit the cinematic screens in 1966 in possibly the campest incarnation we have seen. Strange dances, shark-repellent bat-spray and days when you just can’t lose a bomb filled the screen time. Adam West’s Batman was a children’s film, which is fine, but as comics have developed and graphic novels have taken over, Batman’s dark surroundings and sub-plots made him the best suited to marketing at a mainstream adult audience. Tim Burton took the mantle, and despite not being a fan of comics, he made two dark and violent Batman films in 1989 and 1992. They weren’t by any means perfect, but they were good films heralding the new dawn of comic book film adaptations entering the mainstream. This new dawn had many teething problems and many adaptations failed, remained in the cult sidelines for years or simply tried to detract from the adult themes of graphic novels. Joel Schumacher made two films that fit in that third group. To mention the Bat-suit would be too obvious, but his films Batman Forever (1995) and Batman & Robin (1997) were too camp and basic and essentially buried Batman from cinema for the foreseeable future.

This brief history of Batman’s history was one concern; it had been less than a decade since the film we’d tried to forget (although you may be willing to forgive the entire film once you’ve seen the youtube video of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s lines from Batman & Robin collated), why remind us? The other concern was the new director, Christopher Nolan. To some, he was a fairly unknown but brilliant director. To those fans, was he selling out? To everyone else, who was he? Could you trust the rebirth of the Batman in his hands? 

These concerns were immediately proved to be unfounded with Batman Begins’ release. There was nothing childish or camp about it; it didn’t have Burton’s deliberately dark sheen all over it; it was new, fresh, and stood alone amongst the unfathomable amount of comic book adaptations. 

The biggest and most important change was the setting. Nolan’s Chicago-esque Gotham, reinvented, was explained and became instantly relatable and understood. Gotham was no longer just another fictional city. Gotham was, arguably, every city. We saw how Gotham was, how it wanted to be, and how it ultimately, became what it was. 

Batman was given the same treatment. Previously we had been given snippets, like the murder of Bruce Wayne’s parents and left to come up with the rest of the story ourselves. Nolan understood that if he were to reinvent Batman, he couldn’t let prior portrayals cloud the judgement of the audience. So Batman Begins opens, with how Batman began. Nolan has complete control over this story, the origin, and thankfully, the future. 

If a film does well these days, the studio will push for an immediate sequel. The studio fears that if too much time passes interest will subside and the sequel, whether a good film or not, will not make as much money. This is the studio’s number one concern. We have seen the perfect example of this earlier this year. The Hunger Games (2012) hit the screens and surprised everyone with how much it was able to take at the box office, making more than any film of the Twilight saga. Surely the makers of this critically acclaimed adaptation and clear money maker would be trusted to continue, but the studio saw the financial potential and put a deadline on the second film; a deadline that director Gary Ross felt that keeping to would ultimately mean a lesser product. His opinion wouldn’t sway the decision of the studio and he left.

Thankfully, Nolan was trusted, this trilogy has taken the better part of a decade from development to conclusion, and absence has only made the heart grow fonder.

Three years after Batman Begins thrilled audiences, Christian Bale’s Batman returned to the screens, but Nolan took a new approach with it. He had already rebuilt Gotham; the setting didn’t need as much explanation. Batman’s creation had been explained; he didn’t need as much explanation. So where could he go? The duality of man becomes a new focus. We see more about Bruce Wayne than we do Batman and we see how even the most idealistic of men can be swayed. This duality, although key, had never really been explored before; we’d seen it briefly in Begins, but not thoroughly. This is how franchises should be used. Iron Man 2 (2010) essentially follows the same formula as Iron Man (2008). The Dark Knight finds new avenues to explore; more depth to investigate. One of these avenues is villainy. Rather than retread the same path and focus on Batman/Wayne, the focus sways towards the Joker, brilliantly played by Heath Ledger, and Harvey Dent. 

(I’m going to take this opportunity to note, that if you want more depth on the Joker and how he has developed on our cinema screens, drop Jamie Reid a note on twitter @JamieReid52 and ask kindly for a copy of his brilliantly written dissertation on the topic. It’s well worth reading.)

By the end of The Dark Knight Batman has reached new depths of sacrifice and despair and we as an audience have had to wait 4 years to find out if both he, and Gotham, are going to be able to rise from it.

At the date of writing, Batman Begins is the best Batman film to have been made. This is always open for debate, and many would argue vehemently for The Dark Knight to hold this title. So an outline of why Batman Begins is better than The Dark Knight is needed. The first point has already been stated; it resuscitated Batman from his Schumacher induced coma. The second is because while The Dark Knight was brilliant, it would not have been able to have reached the depths or the sub-plots without its predecessor. The third point has little to do with either film, and more to do with Heath Ledger. His performance was undeniably brilliant, but his death surrounded his performance and the film with a cloud of respect that was given rather than earned. Both the film and the performance deserve all the critical acclaim and awards granted, but people’s respect will now forever cloud their judgement, which is not fair to the first film of the trilogy and not fair to Ledger, who deserves this respect regardless of how he died.

The four year wait since The Dark Knight has reached an end. Nolan’s proven track record has allowed him a certain aspect of control and he has decided to end the series as a trilogy. Depending on how The Dark Knight Rises (2012) does, he will either kill his series while it remains a hero, or it will have lived long enough to see itself become the villain.

Written by Edward L. Corrigan on 11/07/2012

Killer Joe (2011)

         Since 1975, when Jaws helped coin the term ‘blockbuster’, the summer has been the season for expensive event movies. These films will often have a marketing budget equal to the already mind-numbingly high production budgets. Competing financially with these summer blockbusters is, in a word, futile. To illustrate this point, even the James Bond movies, which have a mass fan-base spanning entire generations, will no longer compete; since the almost franchise sinking Timothy Dalton era, 007 has always reached the screens in the autumn season. Over the years, even being an event movie is often not enough, and generally (there are many notably obvious exceptions, this is a sweeping generalisation) these blockbusters have pre-existing fan-bases along with their excessive budgets. 

2012 is a shining example of this point with the key summer smashes being The Avengers (the final culmination of years of build up); The Amazing Spiderman (a reboot of a still young franchise); Total Recall (a remake); Prometheus (a linked, possible prequel to the Alien franchise) and The Dark Knight Rises (the third installment of a trilogy).

These are not necessarily bad films, some of them are enjoyable, many of them have not been released at the time of writing, and one of them has been directed by Chris Nolan, who can seemingly do no wrong. The opening paragraph has not been set out to denigrate sequels, remakes or reboots, simply to expose the rarity of originality in cinema’s summer season. With this originality in mind, Killer Joe (original in comparison) emerges quietly into the market. With it’s NC-17 rating (or financial death-sentence) it was never going to compete with the other releases. But this also means it doesn’t have the same expectations. Killer Joe won’t be judged a success on it’s box-office takings the way that every other film in this season will, but on its achievements as a film.

Killer Joe tells the story of a dysfunctionally twisted family in small town Texas. Chris (Emile Hirsch) thinks his mother has stolen drugs from him, putting him in a debt with some local mobsters that he can’t pay back. With the help of his Dad, Ansel, his step-mother Sharla and his younger sister Dottie, he plans to kill his mother and use the insurance money to pay back his debts. In order to carry out the murder, he hires Killer Joe Cooper, a Dallas police detective who kills people in his spare time. Chris’ family is dysfunctional, confused, and possibly abusive, so when Joe, a law man with his own questionable moral code, enters their lives, he makes a big impact.

Directed by William Friedkin, the director of The Exorcist (1973), arguably the greatest horror movie of all time, there might be an expectations of dark psychological horror themes. If these are your expectations, you’ll be surprised. Killer Joe is certainly dark and psychological, but it’s not a horror. It’s a tough film to put into a genre, is it a thriller with some funny moments, or is a comedy with dark undertones? It’s certainly dark and violent, but there are no shortage of laugh out loud comedy moments. Horror movies skate a fine line with comedy, as soon as the audience laughs instead of gasps, the suspension dissipates and the film has to work even harder to regain the audience’s attention. Killer Joe doesn’t have this problem. It jumps between funny and intense without losing the atmosphere. 

It was mentioned earlier that Killer Joe is only comparatively original, this is because it is an adaptation, just from a more cult piece of source material. Adapted by it’s original writer, Tracey Letts, from a stage play by the same name, it has a clear foundation in theatre. Theatrical adaptations often rely on their actors and deep performance as opposed to big cinematic set-pieces, simply because there aren’t those set-pieces in the story’s origins. While the violence, intensity and the confusing family dynamic are the stand-out points from the film, the performances make these points worth watching. Of all the performances, it is Matthew McConaughey who stands out. The man has made his career on bad performances in bad films. What made his performance so incredible was the slow build up. His character didn’t seem too imposing, he didn’t seem to justify the reputation garnered, but as the film builds towards the climax, so does his character until any prior reputation McConaughey brings is completely wiped. Joe’s power over the family is fixating and comes from so many different levels, his attention to details, his role as detective and authority figure, and his physical strength. All of these characteristics contradict the Smith family.

“Families are screwed up. They always have been, and I suppose they always will be. But it’s all we’ve got.” - Tracey Letts

Letts writes a family that need each other, but one that would ultimately be better apart. Ansel’s wife is unfaithful, but his comic ignorance to everything around him leaves him unaware, emasculating him and stopping him from being the figurehead of the family. This puts that role on the shoulders of Chris, who’s incompetence put the family in the unfortunate situation in the first place. Chris seems to move from his mother’s to his father’s residence, unable to support himself, and so continues to live his life as if he has no responsibilities, causing problems for all around him and never accepting blame. Ansel’s wife, Sharla, is conniving, but isn’t smart enough to cover her back properly. The final piece of the jigsaw is Dottie, brilliantly played by Juno Temple. Dottie is the only character who doesn’t seem guilty, while she willingly knows about and condones the plan to kill her mother, she doesn’t seem to actually participate. It isn’t clear whether she has learning difficulties that the family have remained ignorant to, or if she’s just not particularly clever. But this naivety and innocence keep her distant from the family. It’s clear that she loves both Ansel and Chris, and that they love her, but they seem to stunt her and stop her from growing up. It is this reason that Joe’s presence in her life seems like a good thing.

The concept of Dottie’s reliance on either her family or Joe begs the question of the where the audience’s loyalties should lie. Is Chris the Protagonist? But his incompetence got the family into the trouble they’re in. If his plan works out, what will stop him from screwing up and falling back into trouble almost immediately? So is Joe more likable? Is Joe the protagonist? He provides security, a set of morals and rules and the semblance of a normal life. On the other hand, he’s a corrupt cop, how good can these morals be? Is he switched on, or just a little less messed up than the Smiths? This ambiguity of who to side with adds another level of enjoyment for the audience, why side with one over the other? Is it possible to dislike both equally? Should I be siding with this one? 

Killer Joe is an enigmatic film, both darkly funny and terrifyingly visceral. It’s filled with both brilliant performances and gratuitous nudity, sex and violence. Despite its brilliance, however, it will be smothered by the copious amounts of expensive studio films that will flood our multiplexes for the next few months.

Written by Edward L. Corrigan - 08/07/2012

Once Upon a Time in Anatolia (2011)

Once upon a time, out in the sticks outside of Istanbul, a man with a wife and child waiting for him at home, was murdered. The killer has confessed and all that is left to do in order to clear up the legal case is the find the body over the course of a night. This is, essentially, the premise for Once Upon a Time in Anatolia (2011), Turkey’s official submission to the Best Foreign Language Film award category for the 2012 Academy Awards.

Although the premise sounds straight forward, the execution is far less than simple. The audience are thrown into the fray without any explanation of what the fray actually is. What are they looking for? Is it a body? Who’s the victim? How were the criminals found? If the killers are unsure of where the body is, how can we be sure they did it? The story consistently adds more questions as others are answered. This is because the film is not a traditional story. It doesn’t attempt to fit to the normal formulas of ‘Beginning, middle and end’ or ‘Equilibrium, disequilibrium, re equilibrium’. There is room for debate as to whether it does, or doesn’t conform to these recognised formulas, but it is clear that the film is part of a bigger picture. There is definitely an exposition, even if it isn’t spelled out and there are enough questions left unanswered at the end to make it clear that the story will continue after the credits. It is more of an event that is being filmed than a narrative, which not only sets it apart from other murder investigation films, but also makes it seem more real - like life. It is also worth noting that a reason that the ambiguity of exposition and details feels real is because it is. The story is based on real events that one of the co-writers went through while training to be a doctor. He was unable to remember all the facts from the long night, but he remembered the atmosphere well, and this was translated to the screen very clearly.

Anatolia (or just outside as most of the film takes place a fair distance from the municipal limits) is a small rural area. The characters aren’t like the investigators we may be used to from other police investigation dramas where people have been desensitised to the idea of death. They all seem like people who lead simpler lives. It is unclear if there is a single leading character, or if they are all a collectively important ensemble. Three vehicles full of people on both side of the law trawl through the hillside with the same objective. However, as the prosecutor notes: the butcher’s only concern is the meat, the lamb’s only concern is the knife. Each character, although having the same collective objective of looking for the dead body has their own personal objectives and concerns and their own assigned roles within the group. The prosecutor notes this of the Army Sergeant accompanying the search party without realising that each member fits into this thought, especially himself. He is so wrapped up in his own life and pretensions, that he gives little regard for those around him, or doing his job properly. The pretensions of the prosecutor are communicated beautifully through conversations dotted throughout the film with the doctor. The script consistently provides deep and interesting conversations, but it is also the master of the opposite: banal and sometimes idiotic discussions. There are constantly conversations that don’t drive the plot anywhere, but help round out the characters and make the audience realise, that for most of the characters, they are just killing time. While the deeper aspects of the script are well written, well performed and definitely thought provoking, it is these lesser important, mundane, every day thoughts, quips and jokes that bring the film to life.

As night turns to day, the cold grey dawn sheds light on more than just the beautiful Turkish countryside that has been shrouded by the pitch-black night; it sheds light on the narrative and questions surrounding it. It becomes apparent that the protagonist is the doctor, and it is no longer about the ensemble. The daylight also allows the plot to drive forward once more after exhaustion and quick tempers had necessitated a break.

Once Upon a Time in Anatolia is not an easy film to summarise. It’s not quite an investigation, as the audience aren’t supplied with enough facts. It’s not quite a murder-mystery because we know who did it from the start. It’s not quite an insight into rural Turkish life, as it’s only a single, isolated event. It’s not quite a road-movie, because despite most of the film being on the road, they’re not going anywhere.

Despite the struggle to label the film, it is a great success. The slow pace allows the thoughts provoked to simmer and remain with the audience allowing them to debate it for longer, this is important as the film, in fact, seems to get better the more the audience think about it. Nuri Bilge Ceylan, the film’s director stated in an interview with timeout:

“The films that bored me the most in the past became my favourite movies later on, so I don’t care about boring the audience. Sometimes, I really want to bore them because out of boredom might come a miracle, maybe days later, maybe years, when they see the film again.”

- Nuri Bilge Ceylan

It hasn’t taken years, but mere days for the lengthy, drawn out Turkish film, which admittedly, didn’t bore, to increase in reputation in my mind. The realism, it is also worth noting, doesn’t rule out the chance for dreams or epiphanies which appear a few times and give the audience more to dwell on outside of the search. The film combines an interesting story with a great script and beautiful landscape. It combines true events with a style of realism and is a masterpiece well worth the 158 minutes it takes to watch this film.

Written by Edward L. Corrigan on 19/03/2012