The First Purge (15)
Despite having effectively shut down any likely future sequels with the last film, the cash cow continues to graze with this prequel explaining how it all began in the first place under the newly elected NRA—endorsed New Founding Fathers of America facist administration. Conceived as a sort of Stanford Prison-like experiment by psychologist Dr. May Updale (Marisa Tomei) and over seen by NFFA chief of staff, Arlo Sabian (Patch Darragh), the idea is use the self-contained borough of Staten Island, a predominantly poor Black community, as a human rat lab to see how people respond to a 12-hour period in which, motivated by getting paid to break the law (the more the mayhem, the more the payment), they are free to vent their anger and frustrations with no legal comebacks, so, from looting to murder, anything goes. If enough people participate, then the plan is to roll out The Purge on a national level.
A rather inevitable and decidedly perfunctory sidebar is that one drug lord sees it as an opportunity to remove another, while it will come as no surprise, especially for those who’ve seen the other films, to learn that it’s all part of a government plot to reduce overpopulation by culling the poor – and predominantly Black – working class. As such, the film wears it political intent with a distinct lack of subtlety as, when the residents, save for a scarred psychopath called Skeletor (Rotimi Paul) who makes the first kill, would rather party than pillage, Sabian sends in a bunch of mercenaries, racist cops, rabid neo-Nazis and the Klan among them, to give things a nudge and, in the end, embark on a block by block massacre.
Fighting back, there’s righteous dreadlocked African-American anti-Purge activist Nya (Lex Scott Davis) and her younger brother, Isaiah (Joivian Wade), the latter briefly signing up (and getting to wear those luminous contact lens cameras to record footage), partly as some misguided rites of passage and partly to revenge him on Skeletor for cutting him. Meanwhile on the other side of the Projects, there’s Nya’s ex, self-possessed calm under pressure drugs kingpin Dmitri (Y’lan Noel) and his crew get tooled up to fight to protect their neighbourhood. Only in a film where the authorities are the bad guys would a ruthless, cold blooded drug kingpin and murderer be the Ramboesque hero, spouting nonsense like “killing comes from our damaged hearts.”
Clearly looking to zone in on the Black Lives Matter movement as well as anti-Trump sentiments, this would like to think itself in the same socio-political playing field as Get Out, but it has none of the finesse or depth and just winds up a dystopian blaxploitation gangbanger B-movie. Once things kick in, there’s plenty of violence to paper over the thin political satire about modern America, but you can’t help but think that the financial incentive to participate in the Purge has rather more irony than intended. (Cineworld 5 Ways, NEC, Solihull; Empire Great Park, Sutton Coldfield; Odeon Birmingham, Broadway Plaza, West Brom; Showcase Walsall; Vue Star City)
Leave No Trace (PG)
The first feature by director Debra Granik since Winter Bone, the film that launched Jennifer Lawrence, adapted from My Abandonment, a novel by Peter Rock inspired by the true story of a man and his 12-year-old daughter discovered living illegally in a tent in Portland’s Forest Park, this stars another unknown, New Zealander Thomasin Harcourt McKenzie, as Tom, a bright, determined and skilled survivalist who lives in a nature reserve forest with her fiercely protective but psychologically damaged Iraq War veteran widowed father , Will (Ben Foster), rejecting society and foraging off the land or buying what they need by dad selling the meds he gets for his PTSD. One day, she’s accidentally spotted by a hiker, bringing in the authorities and the intervention of well-meaning social workers splitting them up and having her interact with other people too . They have a point and she’s not against the prospect of joining the world.
Their sympathetic social worker (Dana Millican) finds them a place to live with Will working on a Christmas tree farms and Tom set up for school. She learns to ride a bike and becomes friends with a local boy who raises rabbits; however, while he tries to fit in, Will finds it impossible to settle and, after having had to attend a church service to keep his boss happy, he packs his bag and has the loyal Tom join him as the head back into the woods. Here, following an accident, they’re taken in by a rural cooperative of fellow drifters (among them Dale Dickey from Winter’s Bone as a kindly woman who offers them a trailer to live in) and , finding a hitherto unknown sense of being rooted (there’s a poignant moment when she tells her father that’s she’s rented the trailer to give them a home), Tom starts to develop an awareness that, as she tells her father, ‘what’s wrong with you is not wrong with me” and that, while his search for peace will always leave him restless, she has found hers and, despite the bond between them, their paths are inexorably growing apart as his raising her to be an independent thinker means she starts to questions the fight or flight instincts he’s also instilled in her.
A slow burn coming-of-age story about the need of children to become independent of their parents and find their own lives, there’s no detailed backstory to Will and Tom, we just know her mother died when she was young and he hasn’t been able to shake off the demons of war that haunt him. There’s no bad guys here either, everyone they meet being genuinely concerned about doing the best for the pair, welcome notes of community, stability and positivity in an increasingly divided America . The end is both heartbreaking and affirming, a poignant reminder that sometimes love means letting go. (Electric; Empire Great Park)
Swimming With Men (12A)
Oliver Parker has built a career out of directing such innocuous and predictable but amiable British comedies as St. Trinian’s and Dad’s Army, and this, a sort of Full Monty in swimming trunks, adds another to the tally. Rob Brydon is Eric Scott, an account having a mid-life crisis, bored with the mind-numbing nine to five, taken for granted by and living in the shadow of wife Heather (Jane Horrocks in a somewhat unsympathetic role) who’s just been elected o the local council and something of an embarrassment to his moody teenage son.
Persuaded his wife’s having an affair with her smarmy boss (Nathaniel Parker), he walks out in a strop and moves into a hotel. Around much the same time, he also pops in to his local swimming pool where he’s surprised to encounter an all-male amateur synchronised swimming team, among them widower Ted (Jim Carter), insecure builder Colin (Daniel Mays), teenage petty thief likely lad Tom (Thomas Turgoose), the enigmatic Kurt (Adeel Akhtar), divorcee Luke (Rupert Graves), the team backbone, and someone simply known as Silent Bob.
Observing that they’re floundering in the water because the numbers are uneven, he’s invited to join them, having to observe such rules as what happens in the pool stays in the pool and that no one talks about their life outside the club, though clearly all have flaws and vulnerabilities and something in their background that’s led them to form this unlikely bond.
In the time-honoured tradition of underdog sporting movies, they’re persuaded to enter the unofficial make synchronised swimming world championships in Milan, with fellow swimmer Susan (Charlotte Riley) as the coach – and Luke’s potential love interest – who has to knock them into shape in just six weeks. You can pretty much write the rest of the plot from there yourself, the film ending with an overextended men in speedos variation on John Cusak’s classic apology scene in Say Anything .
The metaphor about male friendships helping you to stay afloat when you’re sinking is obvious, but never hammered home and the screenplay’s sprinkled with some amusing one-liners, confessional moments and physical comedy. With very different and much gentler and very British strokes to its brash, vulgar and shallower American counterparts, it’s unlikely to make much of a box office splash, but its easy going chemistry and good natured spirit ensure it never treads water. (Cineworld NEC; Empire Great Park; Showcase Walsall)
Uncle Drew (12A)
Featuring a character originally created for Pepsi Max commercials in 2012 , following a predicable underdog sports movie arc and featuring NBA All-Stars swathed in unconvincing old man latex prosthetics, this African-American centric basketball comedy won’t mean much to anyone not a hoops devotee. Kyrie Irving stars as Uncle Drew, a septuagenarian legend who dropped out of the game instead of turning pro, who’s persuaded to come out of retirement by Dax (Lil Rel Howery) who’s desperate to win Harlem’s Rucker Classic street ball tournament and its $1000k prize (and hang on to his high maintenance girlfriend, Tiffany Haddish) after sinking all his life savings to enter a team only to have his star player stolen away by his arch rival coach, Mookie (Nick Kroll).
As such, the pair head off on a road trip round up Drew’s old neighbourhood-league squad, Big Fella, (Shaquille O’Neal), Preacher (Chris Webber), Lights (Reggie Miller) and Boots (Nate Robinson), now respectively a martial arts teacher, a hellfire sermon minister, legally blind and near catatonic and wheelchair-bound, to take on the cocky young upstarts. Boots’ granddaughter (Erica Ash) is along to provide Dax’s love interest salvation.
Predictable and formulaic, right down to an obligatory barbershop scene, it plays out all the expected moves as the old-timers teach the hotheads a thing or two about basketball and, hey yes, life itself as they themselves get to deal with old grudges, it’s not exactly a slamdunk but it dances around the moves enjoyably enough. (Cineworld 5 Ways, NEC, Solihull; Empire Great Park; Odeon Birmingham, Broadway Plaza; Showcase Walsall; Vue Star City)
A year on from Nick Broomfield’s documentary, Kevin Macdonald offers up his take on the rise and tragic fall of Whitney Houston, indisputably one of the finest female singers of the 20th century. Unlike Broomfield, however, Macdonald had official access to her inner circle and family, though former husband Bobby Brown is less than forthcoming when he refuses to talk about her drugs problems and the link to her death, declaring it had nothing to do with her life.
Significantly, it begins with a voiceover extract from an interview in which she talks about a recurring dream of being chased by, according to her mother, Cissy Houston, a devil seeking her soul. It’s an apt metaphor what her life would become: her mother pushing her to the limits to vicariously achieve the success that always eluded her; her father taking over her management, siphoning off her money and eventually suing her for $10million,; her two brothers (who are incredibly candid about their drug use and how they introduced Whitney to cocaine) and other relatives forming her drugs-addicted entourage; Brown becoming abusive in his jealousy over her fame; and, ultimately, the media feeding frenzy when her drug problems became public knowledge, even being parodied on the cartoon series Family Guy. Add to that the infidelity of both her parents and their subsequent divorce, and it’s difficult to see how she could have ever turned out well-adjusted.
As with the Amy Winehouse documentary, the arc is from dazzling potential to massive success and an adoring public to a slide into addiction and self-destructive behaviour that would ultimately cost her life, aged just 40, drowned in a hotel bathtub.
The years on her way to international fame are, for the most, upbeat, at least in terms of her then innocent enthusiasm and thrill of singing, whether in church or being tipped for greatness on her first television appearance, aged 10, singing and Whitney mastered all three, which gave her tremendous range. Just watching her first TV appearance at 19, singing Home from The Wiz.
But the figure seen in the footage of I Wanna Dance With Somebody, How Will I Know and Greatest Love of All and the vocals for her unforgettable career-salvaging rendition of the Star Spangled Banner at the 1991 Super Bowl, is s dramatically different from the one seen in the later years when drugs and domestic abuse were taking their toll, Houston looking a gaunt shadow of her former self on an ABC television interview when she’s confronted with the change in her physical appearance and grilled over her cocaine habit. Memories are still strong of her failed comeback tour when audiences walked out of a show in Australia, slamming her vocal performance, or when she was booed during the 1989 Soul Train Awards.
But Macdonald’s insightful documentary makes it clear the drugs were a symptom rather than a cause, probing the psychological issues that trace back to childhood, when she earned her family nickname of Nippy, and, it’s shockingly revealed, sexual abuse by her aunt, Dee Dee Warwick, something that also raises the issue of her own sexual identity problems and how they connected to her long time creative director and some-time lover Robyn Crawford Crawford and her decision to marry Brown and raise a family.
That too proved a disaster as, aside from the problems with Brown, the film also reveals the devastating impact on their daughter Bobbi Kristina, who, embraced in the spotlight and privately neglected, never had a chance, following her mother down the road of addiction to death. The intercutting of socio-political footage distracts somewhat and never really makes the contextual points Macdonald clearly intends, but this is a depressingly riveting piece of work that leaves you wanting to point the angry finger of blame, but with too many targets to count. (Cineworld 5 Ways, Solihull; Electric; Empire Great Park; Everyman; Odeon Broadway Plaza; Vue Star City)
The More You Ignore Me (15)
Adapted by Jo Brand from her own novel based on her experiences as a former psychiatric nurse and unevenly directed by first timer Keith English, set in 80s Blackpool this follows Smiths-obsessed teenager Alice (Ella Hunt) as, with the help of her supportive father Keith (Mark Addy), her grubby granny (Sheila Hancock) and a GP (Sally Phillips) with a thing for her dad, she tries to deal with her mentally ill mother Gina (Sheridan Smith in distracting padding and wig ).
Although as sharp, snarky, sardonic and bittersweet as you’d expect from Brand, it’s not exactly big on subtle shadings as it observes how the dugs Gina takes to control her schizophrenia, brought on by postpartum psychosis, also rob her of her personality and vivacity, rendering her almost an automaton. That it’s only showing on a single screen across the region should tell you something. (Cineworld 5 Ways)
Having directed Everest, Baltasar Kormakur returns for another true survival tale, albeit a rather more intimate affair that is, almost exclusively, a two-hander about free-spirited 23-year-old American Tami Oldham (Shailene Woodley) and 30sish British yachtsman Richard Sharp (Sam Claflin), based on Red Sky in Mourning, the former’s 1983 memoir of how they met in Tahiti, fell in love and, while sailing a couple’s luxury boat to California, fell victims to one of the worst hurricane ever seen in the Pacific.
Intercut with flashbacks to their romance , it details how, after the storm, Tami finds a barely conscious Richard clinging to a dinghy, gets him back on board and, with his internal injuries and badly broken leg, nurses him while single-handedly making repairs and tring to navigate the disabled craft to Hawaii, the only chance of survival.
It’s a compelling story, but not one that, in Kormakur and the three screenwriters’ handling, translates successfully to the screen. The flashbacks defuse rather than accentuate the tension and claustrophobia, the dialogue is often stilted and, while the storm effects are persuasive, the fact that this is based on Tami’s book rather renders any anticipation of making it redundant. Nor is there very much by way of personal backgrounds to either of them; Tami wanted to get away from home and is no hurry to return, the somewhat blandly depicted Richard built his own boat and set out to sail the world. That said, for those that aren’t familiar with the book or the story, there is a twist that, while a touch cheesy, does underscore how she found the strength to carry on, even abandoning her vegetarian principles to spear some fish for food.
It never attains the power of Robert Redford’s All is Lost or the psychological ideals of Colin Firth misfire The Mercy, there’s no obvious spark between Woodley and Claflin to make the romance convincing, a major problem as this is the core of the survival and self-confidence narrative, which never finds a satisfying shape leaving the film and its characters, like its title, very much adrift. (Cineworld 5 Ways, NEC, Solihull; Empire Great Park; Everyman; Odeon Birmingham, Broadway Plaza; Showcase Walsall; Vue Star City)
Avengers: Infinity War (12A)
The movie equivalent of going to an all you can eat buffet and still wanting more, this brings together pretty much every major superhero in the Marvel Universe (or at least the Disney manifestation thereof), and even those not on screen still get a mention, for the ultimate slugfest mashup as they take on the towering, ridged-chin world destroyer Thanos (a surprisingly soulful Josh Brolin) who is out to gather all six of the infinity stones (gems of indescribable power governing Mind, Soul, Time, Power, Space and Reality), so that he can bring balance to the universe by wiping out half of its inhabitants (as a flashback reveals he did to Gamora’s world before adopting her as his daughter), so that the remaining half have a chance to survive. It’s galaxy-wide genocide, but he means well.
Given the showdowns between Thanos and the various ad hoc team ups take place in various parts of the planet and the universe, the massive cast of characters don’t actually all occupy the same scene at any one time. Rather we have different pockets of resistance. After an initial confrontation in New York with Thanos’s icily effete and sadistic factotum and a couple of his enforcers, Iron Man (Robert Downey Jr), Doctor Strange (Benedict Cumberbatch) and Spider-Man (Tom Holland with fetching new bio-suit) are paired up on both Thanos’s flying wheel and his home planet Titan; Captain America (Chris Evans), Black Widow (Scarlett Johannson), Falcon (Anthony Mackie), War Machine (Don Cheadle), Bucky Barnes (Sebastian Stan) and, with a traumatised Hulk reluctant to emerge, Bruce Banner (Mark Ruffalo) face off in Wakanda with the Black Panther (Chadwick Bosemen), ultimately joined by Wanda (Elizabeth Olson) and Vision (Paul Bettany), who, lest you forget, has one of the stones in his forehead. As it turns out, Doctor Strange also has one nestling in his amulet.
After rescuing him from space following the opening massacre of Asgardians, The Guardians of the Galaxy, Star Lord (Chris Pratt), Drax (Dave Bautista), Gamora (Zoe Saldana), Mantis (Pom Klementieff), stick-teen Groot (Vin Diesel) and Rocket (Bradley Cooper) join forces with Thor (Chris Hemsworth), described by Drax “like a pirate had a baby with an angel!”. The bruised and battered but still up for it God of Thunder and the ‘rabbit’, as he refers to him, taking off to forge a new hammer (leading to a wryly amusing scene in which Peter Dinklage dwarfs them both), while the others head for Knowhere, home of the Collector (Benicio Del Toro), who’s supposedly got one of the stones. Also in the mix is Thanos’s other ‘daughter, Nebula (Karen Gillan) and pretty much all of the other core characters from Black Panther, along with a Gwyneth Paltrow cameo as Tony Stark’s new fiancée, Pepper Potts and a surprise post-credits appearance of a long absent figure.
If you can get your head round that line-up, then you might just make it through the near three hours of cataclysmic jawdropping, eye-popping action that comes liberally laced with intense emotional beats, pop culture references and the sort of dry and droll humour you’ve come to expect, here primarily in the alpha male arrogance stand-offs between egotistical Stark and supercilious Strange, the testosterone tag match between Thor and an intimidated Peter Quinn (who deepens his voice to assert himself) and the former’s ever hilarious unintended casual put downs. Indeed, Hemsworth pretty much owns every scene he’s in, and his dramatic lightning flashing appearance armed with his new axe, Stormbringer, and a new eye, is one of the film’s major cheer out loud moments
All this directors Anthony and Joe Russo orchestrate with dazzling skill and confidence, never for a moment letting the pace sag, but knowing just when to ease back on the mayhem and introduce Marvel’s trademark tragic notes. Two shocking deaths occur in the opening moments and there’s both sacrifice and sef-sacrifice, while the film concludes in wiping out half of the main cast, though, given that includes the stars of recent new franchises, these don’t have quite the same impact and it’s a safe bet that, as the all knowing Strange implies, they’ll reassemble in a year’s time for the eagerly anticipated sequel. (Empire Great Park; Odeon Broadway Plaza; Vue Star City)
Book Club (12A)
Just when you thought you’d seen the last of Fifty Shades of Grey on the big screen, along comes this senior citizens self-discovery romcom in which E.L. James’ trashy trilogy provides the product placement narrative engine.
Diane Keaton, Candice Bergen, Mary Steenburgen and Jane Fonda are, respectively, recently widowed (though the marriage died much earlier) Diane, Sharon, a divorced federal judge whose ex (Ed Begley Jr.) is marrying a much younger bimbo (Mircea Monroe), chef Carol, whose newly retired husband, Bruce (Craig T Nelson), has lost his sexual drive, and hotelier Vivian, a sexually active never married singleton with commitment issues. It’s the latter who introduces James’ novels to their wine-fuelled monthly Los Angeles book club (which began in the 70s with another sexual revolution handbook, Erica Jong’s Fear of Flying) in an attempt to inject a little spice into everyone’s lives, if only vicariously. She’s also thrown a curve when high-flyer Arthur (Don Johnson, a movie in-joke since his daughter Dakota played Anastasia Steele), an old boyfriend she’s not seen in 40 years after walking away from his proposal, turns up the hotel, clearly keen to resume the relationship.
Having set this up the film flits between the four upscale suburban friends as, inspired by the reading matter, they each look to embrace a new life or fix the one they have. Diane, whose two bossy, overprotective adult daughters (Alicia Silverstone, Katie Aselton) want her to relocate and live with one of them in Arizona, meets cute with charming airline pilot Mitchell (Andy Garcia), Sharon embarks on on-line dating (hooking up with Wallace Shawn and Richard Dreyfuss), Vivian finds herself wondering if maybe she could settle with Arthur and Carol slips Bruce Viagra, with amusingly unfortunate consequences and a confessional catharsis that puts the kybosh on the dance routine they’re supposed to be performing at a charity talent show.
Directed with a workmanlike hand by co-writer Bill Holderman, although there is a smattering of funny one-liners wrapped up in its celebration of older women and that romance and sex shouldn’t end with the menopause, it succeeds solely on account of the sparkling performance by the four leads who, although the dryly amusing Bergen, who delivers a wistfully affective final monologue, arguably, comes out best, all effortlessly balance comedy and poignancy, even if Keaton’s character does channel a fair degree of Annie Hall, right down to the beret. It’s superficial fluff that largely sidesteps any connection with reality, but it’s still hugely enjoyable fun. (Empire Great Park; Vue Star City)
The Bookshop (PG)
A tale of small town vindictiveness adapted from a Booker-shortlisted novel by Penelope Fitzgerald by Spanish writer-director Isabel Coixet with a voice-over by Julie Christie this simmers but, save for one memorable but underplayed scene, never really comes to the boil.
In 1959 Suffolk, widowed for some years, middle-aged Florence Green (Emily Mortimer) decides to convert the drafty, damp, rat-infested Old House in the seaside town of Hardborough into a bookshop. This doesn’t sit well with the town’s imperious socialite queen bee, Mrs Violet Gamart (Patricia Clarkson), who wants to turn the building into an arts centre. Outraged that Florence doesn’t agree to find somewhere else, she sets about bringing every effort and political connection to bear to force her out.
Meanwhile, Florence takes on Christine (Honor Kneafsey), a self-assured schoolgirl to help out as her assistant after school , even though she’s too young and professes to not like reading and, after sending him a copy of Farenheit 451 in response to a note requesting suitable books, strikes up a friendship with Edmund Brundish (Bill Nighy being very Bill Nighy), a reclusive eccentric widow whose wife, gossip says, drowned in mysterious circumstances. He has little time for the townsfolk, but forms a bond with Florence that, he confesses, might have been something more had he been much younger. After being sent a copy for his advice, he also encourages Florence to stock Nabokov’s controversial novel, Lolita, which, of course, gets some people’s backs up even more. Also in her orbit is preeningly self-satisfied and self-serving BBC radio personality Milo North (James Lance, who looks as if he’s to be privy to some joke no one else is in on). One will fatally attempt to come to her rescue, one will betray her friendship.
A modest and old-fashioned allegory about personal courage, it touches on the serpents that often hide behind polite surfaces, the post-war resistance of the old school to the change represented in the world of feelings embodied in Florence’s rebellious spirit and the pioneering books she stocks as well as the tyranny of British social class and privilege, but the film is too genteel to have much bite even if, in a socio-political moment, it raises the iniquity of compulsory purchase (although the timescale here seems a little skewed) by which Florence is undone. Cosy and watchable, but one you’d probably put back on the shelf after skimming through. (Cineworld Solihull)
Breaking In (15)
A home invasion movie that places a strong woman fighting to protect her kids front and centre, director James McTeigue may not offer any major twists on the well-worn set-up, but, anchored by a powerful turn from Gabrielle Union, this short and sharp thriller delivers solid tension and bursts of bloody action.
Returning to her estranged criminal father’s remote and fortress-like high-tech security mansion after he’s killed in a deliberate hit and run, Shaun (Union), who has had nothing to do with him for years, is just there for the weekend with her two kids, teen daughter Jasmine (Ajiona Alexus) and younger son Glover (Seth Carr), to arrange the sale. However, she’s not the only one. Tipped off that there’s a safe packed with millions of dollars, four thieves, Eddie (Billy Burke) and his associates, tattooed psycho Duncan (Richard Cabral), nervy Sam (Levi Meaden) and former military man Peter (Mark Furze), are determined to get their hands on it. However, they didn’t reckon on anyone else being there.
While Shaun’s outside, they take the kids hostage, setting in motion a taut game of cat and mouse as her maternal instincts take on a Liam Neeson hue (tellingly, it’s written by Ryan Engle who also penned Non Stop and The Commuter), using whatever’s at hand, broken wine glass, toy drone, to turn the tables and take the fight to the assailants who, in time-honoured tradition, prove to be conveniently inept.
Naturally, there’s plenty of sneaking round darkened corridors and lurking in shadows, punctuated by some bloodshedding via Duncan slitting the throat of the unfortunate estate agent and a remarkably resourceful Shaun doing a number on Peter before engineering her way back inside the house.
It’s thinly written and fairly one-dimensional in terms of character, but, for disposable female empowerment action that serves up the payback without troubling the brain cells, this does its job in efficiently effective style. (Odeon Broadway Plaza)
Deadpool 2 (15)
The original movie made a fortune from taking the mocking piss out of itself and the whole superhero franchise genre, a self-referential orgy of meta-fiction that demolished the fourth wall, winked to the camera and the audiences and bundled together onscreen and offscreen personas (at one point Deadpool signs an autograph as Ryan Reynolds) in a gloriously violent and hilarious WTF of gargantuan proportions. This one tops it. Indeed, directed by Atomic Blonde’s David Leitch (or, as the opening credits have it, One of the Two Guys Who Killed John Wick’s Dog), it starts with scarred cancer victim wade Wilson aka Deadpool (Reynolds) turning on a dead Wolverine musical box before posing on a bunch of gasoline drums, tossing a lit cigarette and blowing himself to pieces. And then backtracking six weeks to explain why as, having gone into the scum-killing business fulltime (cue gallons of blood), the one that got away ends up killing girlfriend Vanessa (Morena Baccarin) just as she and Wade have decided to make a baby, sending him into a guilt-ridden, suicidal funk. Of course, the body parts gathered together by Colossus (voiced by Stefan Kapicic) and hauled back to the X-Men’s mansion, he regenerates and the plot kicks in.
It’s fairly simple, joining Colossus, Negasonic Teenage Warhead (Brianna Hildebrand) and her new girlfriend (Shioli Kutsuna), he gets to become an X-Men trainee, his first call to action being an attempt to cool down, fireball-hurling teenage mutant Randall (New Zealand’s Hunt for the Wilderpeople breakout star Julian Dennison) who’s threatening to incinerate the mutant hating headmaster (Eddie Marsan) of his orphanage. Suffice to say, things don’t quite work out as planned and both he and the kid end up in the high-tech mutants prison, the Ice-Box. At which point, enter uber-intense Cable (Josh Brolin), a bionic-enhanced super-soldier who’s beamed in from the future intent on killing Randall in revenge for turning his family to cinders. Cue Deadpool resignedly opting to play the surrogate dad (thereby earning his redemption stripes to reunite with Vanessa) and protect Randall, ultimately attempting to change the course of events that will lead to the present scenario.
Along the way there’s the formation of his own mutants spin-off, X-Force (“tough, morally flexible and young enough to carry this franchise another 10 to 12 years”, Bedlam (Terry Crews), Shatterstar (Lewis Tan), Vanisher (a blink of Brad Pitt), Zeigeist (Bill Skarsgård), Domino (a spin-off friendly Zazie Beetz), whose superpower is being lucky, and Peter (Rob Delaney), an ordinary schmuck who just saw the ad. Not that they get to stick around long, only one (and you can guess who from the powers) surviving to take the fight to Cable in one of the many spectacular action sequences, as it gathers to a vaguely Terminator salvational climax.
Bloodier, more visceral and far more foul-mouthed than the original, it sprays pop culture references and in-jokes like nail-bomb confetti, cameos including Alan Tudyk, a glimpse of three X-Men and a very surprising mid-credits appearance of a fourth, alongside returning characters Blind Al (Leslie Uggams), Weasel (T.J.Miller) and taxi driver Dopinder (Karan Soni) who wants in on the mercenary lark, not to mention Wade’s favourite unstoppable villain from the X-Men comics. There’s also deluge of references to and quips about the DC Universe, the Avengers (at one point Deadpool calls Cable Thanos), Robocop, Canada, James Bond , Frozen (how come no one else drew the Yentl comparison!), Annie, Say Anything and a hysterical Green Lantern gag set to Cher’s If I Could Turn Back Time, plus dozens more you’ll have to catch on subsequent viewings as well as its brazen acknowledgement of the plot holes. And the four post-credit scenes that change everything. Basically, it’s everything you loved about Deadpool – on Viagra. (Cineworld 5 Ways, NEC, Solihull; Empire Great Park; Odeon Birmingham, Broadway Plaza; Showcase Walsall; Vue Star City)
The Happy Prince (15)
Writer, director and star, this has been a long -gestating personal project for Rupert Everett and his tenacity in bringing it to the screen pays ample dividends. Oscar Wilde has been the subject of feature films before, but these have focused on events leading up to and including his trial for ‘gross indecency’ after his disastrous libel action against the Marquess of Queensberry, the father of his homosexual lover, Lord Alfred ‘Bosie’ Douglas.
Everett sets events after Wilde’s release from Reading Goal, where he served two years as prisoner C33 and wrote a 50,000 word self-examining letter to Douglas that would be eventually published as De Profundis, and his disgraced exile in Naples and Paris, virtually penniless, under the name of Sebastian Melmoth. Once out of prison, he’s befriended by old allies Robbie Ross (Edwin Thomas), his literary executor and another former lover who crusaded to restore Wilde’s reputation, and Reggie Turner (Colin Firth), both of whom he inevitably treats with ingratitude and disregard, and to everyone’s horror and despite being aware it will cost him the small allowances granted by his estranged wife Constance (Emily Watson), he resumes his destructive toxic relationship with the self-serving Bosie (a mesmerisingly contemptible Colin Morgan). As history records, it all ended miserably, a destitute Wilde eventually dying of meningitis, possibly brought on by a surgical procedure, in November 1900, administered to here by Tom Wilkinson’s Catholic priest, a surely intentional touch of irony given he played Queensbury opposite Stephen Fry in the 1997 Wilde.
The time in exile interspersed with flashbacks to both happier days and his incarceration (a particularly powerful scene had him being jeered and spat at by a homophobic mob at a railway station en route to Reading), it’s also punctuated by scenes of Wilde telling his titular ironically personally prophetic children’s fairytale of human suffering to a Paris rent boy (Benjamin Voisin) and his younger brother, which, in turn, gives rise to Wilde’s memories and hallucinations of his two sons.
His screenplay subtly touching on themes of hypocrisy and class, shunning any vanity, Everett, who previously undertook the role in David Hare’s 1998 stage play The Judas Kiss, delivers a career-best performance, playing Wilde as dark and dissolute, living in squalor and coming physically and mentally undone in the aftershock his time in prison, but also with the sort of defiant if reckless courage Dylan Thomas spoke of in raging against the dying of the light. The direction bears the influence of Visconti, especially his film of Thomas Mann’s Death In Venice, and the script, which has some moments of black humour, is, of course, liberally peppered with such Wilde epithets as “Each man kills the things he loves” as well as a terrific and poignant set piece of a drunken Wilde regaling a low life Paris saloon with a rendition of The Boy I Love Is Up In The Gallery. Wilde famously said, “We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars”; Everett’s film casts its gaze to the sky. (Electric)
Don’t believe the hype that this is the scariest horror movie since The Exorcist (that would be the original Ring); yes, first-timer writer-director Ari Aster gradually builds from unease to a sense of stark terror, but the film also sports well worn clichés of unsettling noises, glimpsed figures, enigmatic symbols, dark rooms and even a bird flying into a window. And something in the attic.
It opens with the funeral for Ellen Taper Leigh, the highly secretive and not entirely much missed mother of Annie (a monumentally good Toni Collette), a miniaturist artist currently working on a series of highly detailed small rooms encapsulating her family and its experiences. Indeed, the only member of the family truly upset by the old dear’s passing is her brooding 13-year-old niece, Charlie (Milly Shapiro looking creepily unsettling), a strange autistic child with an intense gaze and given to making tongue clucking noises whose sketchpad of angry drawings suggests a decidedly troubled psyche, and whom Granma took it upon herself to raise, pretty much shutting Annie out of her daughter’s life. Charlie has her own workshop in her treehouse where she crafts bizarre effigies, at one point decapitating (a portent of much to follow) the aforementioned bird to add to her collection. The rest of the family comprises Annie’s voice of reason husband, Steve (Gabriel Byrne), who has no backstory at all, and their teenage affable stoner son Peter (Alex Wolff) whose role intensifies as the narrative unfolds.
The first inkling of chills comes when Annie thinks she sees her mother’s shade in her workshop and the film spends a considerable time hinting that the spookiness might all be down to Annie’s mental state (she sleepwalks and recounts one finding herself at the foot of her children’s bed with paint stripper and matches). But when, after a horrific accident (of which Annie crafts a model, much to Steve’s understandable revulsion), Peter, consumed with guilt, has his own ‘hallucination’, then it seems external forces are at work. Steve also gets a call to say his mother-in-law’s grave has been desecrated. And then there’s those shimmers of light dancing around Charlie.
All this is made more manifest when, in seeking to deal with her grief when Charlie is killed, Annie (who earlier found one of her mom’s books on spiritualism) is persuaded to take part in a séance with Joanie (Anne Dowd), a friendly soul who approaches her outside the counselling session where, following her mother’s funeral, she’d previously revealed her depressed father’s suicide by starvation and how her schizophrenic older brother hung himself, leaving behind a note accusing his mother of “putting people inside him.” Well, we all know what séances portend in horror movies.
At which point, the film becomes somewhat less successful as its heads into overfamiliar Rosemary’s Baby and The Shining territory involving cults (with both living and dead members), possession and malevolent demon lords looking for host bodies, at time resorting to dream sequences for exposition (though the one where Annie spills out a shocking highly unmaternal confession to Peter is effective). With the help of his cinematographer, Aster keeps the sense of dread, but can’t prevent the film from touching on the slightly silly even as its themes of dysfunctional family secrets, maternal guilt and mounting hysteria collide with the supernatural. Well-crafted, well-designed and well-acted, yes it is scary in parts (and has its sudden jolt moments too), but not so much that you won’t sleep at night. (Cineworld 5 Ways, NEC, Solihull; Empire Great Park, Sutton Coldfield; Odeon Birmingham, Broadway Plaza; Showcase Walsall; Vue Star City)
Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom (12A)
The Jurassic World theme park abandoned and decayed after events in the previous movie, the surviving dinosaurs are now facing an endangered species extinction level event with the volcano on Isla Nubar threatening to blow its top. Advised by dino expert Ian Malcom (an unusually subdued Jeff Goldblum who bookends the film with his life finds a way message) to let nature takes its course, the American government declines to spend money on saving them. Which is when Claire Dearing (Bryce Dallas Howard, complete with in-joke about her absurd high heels in the last film), the park’s former manager turned pro-dino activist gets summoned to the palatial Lockwood estate where Eli Mills (Rafe Spall), right hand man to Benjamin Lockwood (James Cromwell), John Hammond’s former partner in InGen and co-creator of the original genetically cloned dinos (though this is actually the first film the character’s ever mentioned), who explains they intend to rescue 11 of the species and relocate them to a new sanctuary. However, they need her help and that of her now ex-lover, raptor-wrangler Owen Grady (Chris Pratt), because of his special bond with Blue, the intelligent raptor he reared and trained. So, accompanied by dino vet Zia Rodriguez (Daniella Pineda) and nerdy T.Rex phobic systems analyst Franklin Webb (Justice Smith), off they go to, never for a moment thinking that all the military type guys with big guns might be a bad sign.
However, as the opening sequence involving an underwater mercenary team recovering a DNA sample from the now dead hybrid dino Indominus rex has already indicated, there’s another nefarious agenda in play. Yup, unbeknownst to Lockwood, Mills is planning to stage a lucrative animal trafficking auction (managed by Toby Jones) of the rescued species for others to clone, the main attraction being an Indoraptor, reengineered and weaponised (it can even open doors) by series returning geneticist Dr. Wu (B.D.Wong).
Left to die by the mercenaries’ leader, managing to escape the erupting volcano in one of the rolling glass spheres, Claire and Owen, and to a lesser extent Webb and Rodriguez, with, of course, a timely assist from Blue, now have to try and put a stop to this. All of which, after long stretches with no dinosaur action at all, the creatures mostly locked in cages and tranquilised, climaxes with assorted giant lizards running amok around the mansion, bodies being duly thrown through the air, stomped on or eaten. Introduced into the mix is also Lockwood’s dinosaur-loving young granddaughter Maisie (Isabella Sermon), a startling reveal about whom is simply tossed away.
Directed by J.A. Bayona (who made A Monster Calls which gets a sly reference here), visually, what with volcanic eruptions, stampeding dinosaurs, a reworking of the first film’s hunter-prey stalking kitchen scene, this time amid a hall of Jurassic tableaux, it delivers the goods, the murky prologue even offering a Jaws homage to Spielberg. But, since you know none of the good guys are going to get killed off, there’s not a huge amount of tension or, indeed, awe to what is essentially staple disaster movie fodder with some box ticking social messages, while the only notable emotional note is poignant sight of a brachiosaurus, left behind at the jetty, roaring as its swaying neck is swallowed up by smoke and lava. Clearly confident there’s still a huge audience for its narratively preposterous and logically flawed paleothrills, it ends with the auctioned creatures being shipped off to their new owners and Blue surveying a sprawling urban landscape in what seems to be setting up a sort of Planet of the Dinosaurs third act. It might not offer much that’s new, but given its entertaining Rampage in a big house with dinosaurs popcorn fun, the series’ extinction at the box office is likely to be some way off yet. (Cineworld 5 Ways, NEC, Solihull; Empire Great Park, Sutton Coldfield; Everyman; Odeon Birmingham, Broadway Plaza, West Brom; Reel; Showcase Walsall; Vue Star City)
Colourful and controversial in equal measure, Lee Alexander McQueen was constantly shocking the fashion world, but no more so than when, age 40, he hung himself on 11 February 2010, a week after the death of the mother he adored. Directed by Ian Bonhote and Peter Ettedgui, this documentary makes extensive use of talking heads from the fashion world, both new and archive, among them Isabella Blow (who’s generally credited with discovering him), Jodie Kidd, Alice Smith, designer nephew Gary James McQueen, as well as family members and interview footage of McQueen himself, tracing his career chronologically, from his startling debut show Jack The Ripper Stalks His Victims to his gradual slide into drugs, mental deterioration and suicide.
A workaholic, gay East End working class lad with no formal training other than a brief stint working for a Savile Row tailor and a spell at Central St. Martin’s art college, driven by both resolute determination and huge insecurity, McQueen’s unique, often dark visions and radical styles, using materials such as plastics and feathers, transformed the industry as he became both artistic director of Givenchy and launched his own successful label, a skull the signature motif of his McQueen design house.
The footage of collections such as 1995’s Highland Rape, vilified in the media for its supposed misogyny, 2001’s Voss, and 2007’s elegy to Blow, La Dame Bleue, all underscore his declaration that he wanted audiences to be either exhilarated or repulsed, while the interviews afford an insight into both his creative genius and the demons that stalked it. There’s omissions, no mention, for example, of his unofficial husband George Forsyth, but, powered by a score from Michael Nyman, himself a McQueen collaborator, this is a fascinating and illuminating portrait of one of the most important and influential figures in fashion in the last two decades. (Fri-Tue: MAC)
Oceans 8 (12A)
As with the recent Ghostbusters, this is another gender reversal attempt to reboot a franchise, thankfully with rather more successful results. The kid sister of Danny Ocean (apparently deceased), after spending just over five years inside for fraud, Debbie Ocean (Sandra Bullock) smooth talks herself into getting parole. However, no sooner is she back on the New York streets than she’s back into her felonious ways, conning herself a bagful of beauty products and a swanky hotel room. However, she has her sights set on rather bigger game, having spent her time in jail devising a foolproof plan to heist the world’s most valuable diamond necklace, the Toussaint, valued at $150million during the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s annual Met Gala.
For this she needs a crew, starting off with her old partner-in-crime, Lou (Cate Blanchett) and gradually recruiting fading fashion designer Rose Weil (Helena Bonham-Carter), a streetwise hacker and surveillance expert known as Nine Ball (Rhianna), Indian jewellery maker Amita (Mindy Kaling), suburban mom thief Tammy (Sarah Poulson) and slick sleight of hand street hustler Constance (Awkwafina). The plan, by initially seeming as though she’s going to be working with a hot celebrity (Dakota Fanning), is is to get Weil appointed to dress snobby socialite Daphne Kruger (Anne Hathaway) for the Gala, insisting that she wear the Toussaint. With Kruger as the unwitting mule, the necklace will then, via series of ingenuous meticulously planned moves, be switched from under the noses of the security team and replaced by a copy, broken up and smuggled out with each of them getting $16mill.
However, Debbie also has a second agenda, intending to set up her art gallery owner ex-boyfriend Claude Becker (Richard Armitage), engineering it so that he’s Daphne’s date for the Gala, as the fall-guy in revenge for him ratting her out to save his own skin over a scam that got her set down.
As with the previous instalments, the fun is primarily in the interplay between the cast and the ingenuity and split-second timing of the robbery, as well as a couple of unexpected twists and, of course, the flashbacks revealing how things were done. A bosoms buddy screwball comedy, it’s slick, stylish and smart with some sharp and snarky dialogue and perfect comic timing. Bullock who at one point declares she’s not doing this for the money but as inspiration to any budding criminal eight-year-old girls, is every bit as good here as she was in Miss Congeniality, but the whole gang, and that includes Hathaway (who even gets an in-joke about herself), all of whom get their individual turn to shine as well as working as a perfectly synchronised team, are a charismatic delight to watch. On top of that James Corden turns up in a scene-stealing turn as an impish insurance-fraud investigator who has history with the Oceans while, in a nod to the franchise legacy, there’s cameos by both Elliot Gould as Reuben Tishkoff and Shaobo Qin as the acrobatic Yen as well as the likes of Kim Kardashian, Heidi Klum, Common, Serena Williams and Katie Holmes all appearing as themselves for the lavish Gala. Here’s to sequels 9 and 10. (Cineworld 5 Ways, NEC, Solihull; Empire Great Park, Sutton Coldfield; Everyman; Mockingbird; Odeon Birmingham, Broadway Plaza; Reel; Showcase Walsall; Vue Star City)
The daughter of Jennifer Saunders and Ade Edmondson, Beattie Edmondson first attracted attention in flatshare sitcom Josh and now graduates to a leading big screen role in this affable but undernourished and sentimental Disney-produced affair that feels as though its escaped from some second division 70s BritCom timewarp.
She’s Sarah Francis, a confidence-lacking, underachieving singleton who, dumped by her latest boyfriend just after they started living together in to her Richmond flat, also gets to inherit her late gran’s spoiled pug, Patrick. Unfortunately, her live-in landlord has a strictly no pets policy and she’s just about to start work as a teacher in the local Grange Hill-like secondary, leading her to try and offload her unwanted dog on, first, a neighbour who also has a secret canine and then the school caretaker (Roy Hudd), both ending in disaster.
Patrick is, naturally, a total handful, chasing deer in the local park (presumably having seen the YouTube clip of several years back), eating everything except what he’s fed and chewing up anything resembling a cat. On the plus side, taking Patrick for walks brings her into contact with a hunky if narcissistically self-absorbed vet (Ed Skrein) and sensitive fellow dog-owner Matt (Tom Bennett).
There’s not much of a plot. She has a disastrous dinner date with the vet, starts a tentative relationship with Matt, enters the school’s 5k fun run to raise money for a pensioner’s mobility scooter and prove a point to a snidey fellow teacher (Adrian Scarborough) despite being patently physically unsuited to jogging more than a few yards, surprisingly gets her rowdy class into Jane Eyre, befriending a girl whose stuck in the middle of her parent’s divorce, and, of course, gets to bond with Patrick.
Coming over as low grade Richard Curtis (there’s even a nod to Notting Hill), it’s inoffensive whimsical and utterly predictable fluff that makes things like Nativity seem cutting edge, peppered with support turns and cameo appearances by the likes of Peter Davidson, Gemma Jones, Emily Atack, Bernard Cribbins, Cherie Lunghi, Meera Syal and, inevitably, Jennifer Saunders in what, one assumes, is a fat suit as the school’s quirky cookery teacher . Lazily written with blissful ignorance of education protocol, child protection rules and GCSE exam procedures and wallowing in eager to please cliches, it has a couple of touching moments, Edmondson is a genuine comic talent and Patrick, who gets several squashed face close-ups, is infinitely more adorable than was the late Pudsey. It’s also wall to wall with Amy MacDonald songs. Even so, this is really should never have been let off the development lead. (Cineworld 5 Ways, NEC, Solihull; Empire Great Park, Sutton Coldfield; Odeon Birmingham, Broadway Plaza, West Brom; Reel; Showcase Walsall; Vue Star City)
Sicario 2:Soldado (15)
Emily Blunt may not be back (but her story was confined to the first film in any event) and Stefano Sollima has replaced Denis Villeneuve in the director’s chair, but Taylor Sheridan remains the screenwriter and both Josh Brolin and Benicio Del Toro return for what proves to be an incredibly tense and dramatic sequel, even if the testosterone level is bouncing in the red and it takes a while to figure out the what, who and why.
Opening with a night vision filmed scene of American authorities apprehending migrants in the desert as they seek to cross the U.S.-Mexican border, one of them blows himself up. Cut to Kansas City and chillingly matter-of-factly staged and hard to watch suicide bombing of a supermarket, followed by CIA op Matt Graver (Brolin) interrogating a captured terrorist in Somalia to obtain information as to how, it is assumed, the bombers arrived from Mexico. It’s a scene that, in Graver’s by any means necessary approach, foreshadows the comment by the Secretary of Defense (Matthew Modine) that, with Mexican drug gangs now officially added to the terrorist list, “dirty is exactly why you’re here” when Braver’s brought in by his steely boss, Cynthia Foard (Catherine Keener), to clean things up.
To which end, he, in turn, reactivates lawyer turned hitman Alejandro (Benicio Del Toro) in a plot to spark a cartels war by abducting Isabela (Isabela Moner), the daughter of Carlos Reyes, the drug lord who was responsible for the murder of Alejandro’s family, and then posing as her liberators.
Running parallel to this, and inevitably crossing paths at a crucial moment, is the story of Miguel (Elijah Rodriguez), an adolescent Mexican-American citizen who, bored with school and looking for excitement and money, is recruited by his cousin to assist in people trafficking.
The core plot takes any number of twists and turns, a shoot-out with corrupt Mexican police leading to Braver being told to shut down the mission and clean the scene of any loose ends. These include Alejandro who in the foul up during with the girl escaped, has been left in the Mexican desert looking after Isabela and responsible for getting her across the border. Shades of John Ford’s The Searchers are obvious.
Revealing more would spoil the tension and surprise twists, although it is not too hard to see where the narrative strands are leading as they build to the film’s central climax. It’s a grim, politically cynical affair, though not as morally bankrupt as it might first appear as mutually protective captor/captive bonds develop and friendship and duty lock heads. It’s often incredibly violent, but also not without some gritty humour, while both Brolin and Del Toro are magnetic masculine screen presences with both Moner and Rodriguez delivering finely shaded performance as both victims of and collaborators in the social tragedies and political webs in which they are ensnared. A compelling, often narratively ruthless thriller with a strong topical intelligence in which there are no clear cut good guys, all of which ends in an unexpected but fascinating set up for the next chapter. (Cineworld 5 Ways, NEC, Solihull; Electric; Empire Great Park, Sutton Coldfield; Everyman; Odeon Birmingham, Broadway Plaza, West Brom; Reel; Showcase Walsall; Vue Star City)
Solo: A Star Wars Story (12A)
A case of Star Wars fatigue perhaps, the box office response to this Han Solo prequel has been decidedly lacklustre, certainly nowhere near the fervour there was for Rogue One. Nor, playing it on a lighter note more along the lines of the Young Indiana Jones than its predecessor’s drama, is it as good a film.
Essentially an origin tale, we first meet Han (Alden Ehrenreich), not yet named Solo, as, having stolen a vial of coaxium, an indescribably valuable spaceship fuel, he and fellow thief romantic interest Qi’ra (Emilia Clarke) seek to escape the oppression of Corellia to follow his dream of becoming a pilot. He makes it past the gate, she doesn’t, and, to avoid capture, he impulsively enlists with the Empire, earning his surname in the process, vowing to return for her when he has his own ship.
Some years later, thrown out of the Imperial Fleet for insubordination, he’s a grunt caught up in one of the Empire’s planet conquering wars when he encounters Tobias Beckett (Woody Harrelson) and his fellow smugglers, Val (Thandie Newton) and chimp-like multiple-armed pilot Rio Durant (Jon Favreau) with whom, after a brief interlude in a mud pit prison where he teams up with imprisoned Wookiee, Chewbacca (Joonas Suotamo), he joins forces in a plan to steal a consignment of coaxium from a transport train. This too doesn’t quite work out, both thinning down the gang and leaving them in debt to Beckett’s ruthless gangster employer Dryden Vos (Paul Bettany), who fronts the sinister crime cabal the Crimson Dawn, and facing the likely fatal consequences of failing. They do, however, talk him into giving them another opportunity, this time to steal coaxium directly from the mines and then processing it before it has the chance to explode. For this, however, they need a ship. So, enter dandy-ish hustler Lando Calrissian (scene stealer Duncan Glover) who owns, as fans will be aware, the Millennium Falcon (we also learn Hans’ unnamed father used to build Corellian YT-1300 freighters before being laid off) and, along with his sassy droid, L3-37 (Phoebe Waller-Bridge), agrees to come aboard for a take of the payout. It should also be mentioned that, along the way, Han finds himself unexpectedly reunited with Q’ira who now reluctantly works for Dryden as his top lieutenant. There’s also the slight problem that there’s another gang of thieves, headed up by Beckett’s arch-enemy, who also want the coaxium.
So, there you have it, surname, ship, Wookie, blaster, trademark clothes, all character’s trademark details ticked off as the core narrative finally kicks in leading to assorted fights, narrow escapes, double crosses, a Warwick Davis cameo, betrayals and surprise twists, including a last act entry by the Alliance rebels and the appearance of a figure from the franchise that doesn’t really actually fit with the timeline.
Although the early chase sequences are suitably kinetic, the narrative’s slow to gather momentum until the gang set off to steal the raw coaxium, involving a tense escape aboard the Falcon through the Maw and Maelstrom as Solo gets to show off his flying skills and L3 turning into a robot Spartacus to liberate her fellow droids from slavery, but even then the who can you really trust plotting gets a bit repetitive. There’s no Force or lightsabres, though Dryden’s weapon does make a slight nod to the latter, but replacement director Ron Howard and father-son screenwriters Jonathan and Lawrence Kasdan ensure the Star Wars sensibilities remain well polished. Dropping in plenty of franchise references along with the poetry in-joke character names. And it rarely looks less than amazing.
Ehrenreich is hugely enjoyable channelling the young Han with his rogueish smile, body language, gait, recklessness and charm, so it’s a bit unfortunate that he looks as though he’s more likely to grow up into Dennis Quaid than Harrison Ford. It’s also unfortunate that the chemistry between him and Clarke never fizzles, indeed there’s more spark between Llando and L3 (who reckons her boss has the hots for her). Everyone else is serviceable enough, though sadly Newton’s not round long enough to make good on her first impression, and, at the end of the day, it serves up a fun slice of big screen adventure in the tradition of those Saturday morning matinees that inspired Star Wars in the first place. However, its disastrous box office means that not only will there not be a sequel but all Star War spins-offs have been put on the back burner. (Cineworld 5 Ways, NEC; Empire Great Park; Vue Star City)
Loosely inspired by a 2013 Wall Street Journal article about a bunch of grown men, Americans obviously, who spent 23 years playing the game of tag they started in high school, here, every May, the friends embark on another round of attempting to ‘tag’ one of the others. This year, Hoagie (Ed Helms) persuades egotistical CEO Callahan (Jon Hamm), stoner divorcee Chilli (Jake Johnson) and paranoid Sable (Hannibal Buress) that this is the year they are finally going to tag alpha fitness start Jerry (Jeremy Renner), who, he tells them, has announced that he’s retiring from the game as he’s getting married. So, joined by Hoagie’s aggressive wife (Isla Fisher) and journalist Rebecca Crosby (Annabelle Wallis), they decide to crash the wedding to which they’ve not been invited, Jerry persuading them to accept a series of amendments to the game so as not to disrupt proceedings and annoy his hard-headed bride to be (Leslie Bibb). Shenanigans ensue, Jerry looking to distract them by inviting along Cheryl (Rashida Jones), the girl Chilli and Callahan were love rivals over back in school, as a honeytrap and Renner switching into Bourne Legacy mode when cornered.
Functionally directed and ploddingly scripted, it flirts with notions of male friendships and arrested development (which it seems to regard as a good thing), forever trotting out the George Bernard Show quote (misattributed to Benjamin Franklin) “we don’t stop playing because we grow old, we grow old because we stop playing.” As such it’s pretty much indistinguishable from similar homophobic humour male buddy hanging out and learning about but not acting on responsibility movies like The Hangover, the guys’ game causing supposed hilarity as they disrupt a mall, an AA meeting and wedding rehearsal dinner, sending things flying and trampling over bystanders.
Sporadically amusing but ultimately dullingly repetitive, some scenes, such as Hoagie impersonating a grannie and been tagged at his father’s funeral, are, as seen in the end credits, recreated from the antics of the real life taggers. It’s hard to know whether to laugh or despair. (Cineworld 5 Ways, NEC, Solihull; Empire Great Park; Odeon Birmingham, Broadway Plaza, West Brom; Reel; Showcase Walsall; Vue Star City)
Screenings courtesy of Odeon and Cineworld
Cineworld 5 Ways – 181 Broad St, 0871 200 2000
Cineworld NEC – NEC 0871 200 2000
Cineworld Solihull – Mill Ln, Solihull 0871 200 2000
The Electric Cinema – 47–49 Station Street, 0121 643 7879
Empire – Great Park, Rubery, 0871 471 4714
Empire Sutton Coldfield – Maney Corner, Sutton Coldfield
0871 471 4714
The Everyman – The Mailbox 0871 906 9060
MAC – Cannon Hill Park 0121 446 3232
Mockingbird, Custard Factory 0121 224 7456.
Odeon Birmingham -Birmingham, 0871 224 4007
Odeon Broadway Plaza – Ladywood Middleway, 0333 006 7777
Odeon West Bromwich – Cronehills Linkway, West Bromwich 0333 006 7777
Reel – Hagley Rd, Quinton Halesowen 0121 421 5316
Showcase Walsall – Bentley Mill Way, Walsall 0871 220 1000
Vue Star City – Watson Road, 08712 240 240