Justice League (12A)
Anticipated with equal excitement and concern following the disappointment of the last DC team-up with Batman v Superman, directed by both Zack Synder and Joss Whedon after the former had to quit following a family tragedy, this picks up from that as, with Superman gone, things are getting pretty dark, the opening sequences finding Batman (Ben Affleck) taking on some winged demon while, back in London, Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot, unquestionably the film’s true star) foils a terrorists strike on a bank.
Aware that there are dark forces gathering, Bruce Wayne looks to put together a team of gifted individuals to combat the alien threat to the planet. This comes in the form of Steppenwolf (voiced by Ciaran Hinds) an ancient horned helmet evil entity who, with the help of his Parademons, is bent on plunging Earth back into the dark ages and reshaping it in his image; however, to do this he needs to recover the three ‘Mother Boxes’, sources of immense power (which fans will know are linked to Darkseid), that were fought over and hidden eons ago by a coming together of the Amazons, the Atlanteans and man as they finally managed to defeat him and sent him into exile. However, the death of Superman has disrupted the fabric of things and allowed Steppenwolf to return to pick up on his mission where he left off.
So, in addition to Wonder Woman, Wayne also turns to Arthur Curry aqa the mysterious and heavy-drinking Aquaman (Jason Momoa), the Atlantean protector of the seas, Victor (Ray Fisher), a former athlete rebuilt by his father as the man-machine Cyborg after an accident, and Barry Allen (Ezra Miller), a wide-eyed kid who’s developed super speed after being struck by lightning, known to comic book devotees as The Flash, although he’s never called that here. Initially, he’s the only one eager to join up, but he’s also the least experienced.
Matters hit crisis point when Steppenwolf manages to get his hands on two of the Mother Boxes, at which point Wayne decides to use the third, to which Cyborg is linked to bring Superman (Henry Cavill) back to life. Although, at least, initially, he’s understandably a tad disoriented about it all. This isn’t in anyway spoiling the plot, since his resurrection’s been an open secret and the character even appears on all the merchandising! All of which comes to a fast –paced fierce climax in Russia as Steppenwolf, now with all three boxes, looks to be poised on the edge of victory.
Steering clear of the bombast of the previous film and carrying clear message about working together for a common good, it’s somewhat bitty to start as all the new characters are introduced, but, once the central plot gets under way, it juggles the amusing banter and insult repartee (mostly between Batman and Aquaman) and action to hugely entertaining effect, reprising Alfred (Jeremy Irons), Lois Lane (Amy Adams), Martha Kent (Diane Lane) and Jim Gordon (JK Simmons) as well as offering a pleasing, if brief reference to Green Lantern, and, if you stay until the end of the credits, the return of a certain bald-headed character with plans for a group of his own.
It’s not on a par with the Avengers series in terms of character depth and chemistry and it doesn’t thrill in the way Wonder Woman did, but, if not quite premier League, all concerned can breathe a sigh of relief that it’s a long way from the disaster many feared. (Cineworld 5 Ways, NEC, Solihull; Electric; Empire Great Park, Sutton Coldfield; Everyman; Odeon Birmingham, Broadway Plaza, West Brom; Reel; Showcase Walsall; Vue Star City)
Filmstars Don’t Die in Liverpool (15)
She was Gloria Grahame, a four-time divorcee faded movie star from the black and white era and Oscar winner for the Bad and the Beautiful whose fortunes had declined after she refused to play the Hollywood game, he was Peter Turner, an aspiring Liverpudlian actor. Meeting in London in 1978 where she was living in the same digs while appearing in a stage production, she asked him to help practise her dance move sand they subsequently became friends and then, despite a 29-year age gap, lovers, Turner moving first to California and her beach front home and then into her Manhattan apartment.
The affair ended badly in 1980 when Grahame threw him out and he returned to Liverpool to start work on a new play. Then, one day in 1981 he received a call saying she had been taken hill in Lancaster just as she was about to on stage. Peter collected her and brought her back to his parents’ home, she refusing to see a doctor and insisting that she would recover here. He subsequently learned that she had advanced stomach cancer.
All of this is recalled in Turner’s memoir of the same title, a reference to something said by his Uncle Jack (though it’s never actually spoken in the film) and now brought to the screen by director Paul McGuigan and writer Matt Greenhalgh with Annette Bening and Jamie Bell giving sensational performances in the lead roles with solid support from Julie Walters (reuniting with her Billy Elliott co-star) and Kenneth Cranham as his parents, Bellla and Jo, Stephen Graham as brother Joe and, in a notably striking scene, Vanessa Redgrave as Gloria’s British former stage-actress mother and Frances Barber as her acid-tongued jealous sister Joy.
Set in 1981 but flashing back (in a theatrical style) two years to their earlier relationship, it’s a tender, warm and often very sensual and funny May-December love story, a particularly amusing moment being when Peter takes her to see Alien and her reactions to the legendary chest scene are rather different to his and the rest of the audience.
Inevitably likely to be compared with My Week With Marilyn, this may not have quite the same relationship complexity and it never fully explains Grahame’s clearly deep connections with Peter’s parents and his confession of a bisexual past adds nothing to the narrative other than to underscore how, while he told her person al truths, she kept her cancer from him. With Elton John’s Funereal For A Friend providing the musical motif and You Shouldn’t Look at Me That Way, a new Elvis Costello number playing over the end credits, it arguably hits its poignantly emotional peak in a scene where Peter takes her to the deserted Liverpool Playhouse to give her a special gift, but its humanity, compassion and the deep vein of love and friendship that permeates the entire film make this an unmissable experience. (Cineworld 5 Ways; Electric; Empire Great Park; Vue Star City)
Ingrid Goes West (12A)
A cautionary melodrama for the social media age, we first meet Ingrid Thornburn (a terrific Aubrey Plaza) in Pennsylvania when she crashes the wedding of one of her Instagram ‘friends’,a virtual reality star, and assaults her, subsequently winding up in a mental hospital. On her release, she then becomes obsessed with another social-media celebrity, photographer Taylor Sloane (Elizabeth Olson), and, using the money left her by her late mother, stuffs the $60,000 in bills into a bag and heads for Los Angeles to contrive a meeting, which she does by first kidnapping Sloane’s dog and then pretending to find it. Through a mix of research and improvisation, she manipulates her way into a friendship with Sloane and her aspiring (but unsuccessful and frankly, untalented) found object artist husband, Ezra (Wyatt Russell), calling on her Batman-obsessed would be screenwriter landlord Dan Pinto (O’Shea Jackson Jr) to pass as her boyfriend(though, by this time, they have actually slept together, despite her seriously damaging his truck). Inevitably, this isn’t going to end well, especially when Taylor’s loose cannon junkie and equally manipulative brother, Nicky (Billy Magnusson) arrives on the scene.
With Ingrid clearly delusional and dangerous, it would have been easy to take this down the bunny boiler route of other female stalker movies such as Single White Female (which is consciously mentioned here), but, while never underplaying that element, director and co-writer Matt Spicer gives it a satirical black-comedy sheen that may perhaps recall Catfish. In addition to which, while Ingrid is clearly the focal character, the screenplay also affords time to show the false nature of the equally reinvented Taylor’s marriage and the damaging fantasy nature of social media ‘celebrity’ and how the desire to be popular and amass ever more followers can make frauds of us all.
Impressively, Spicer’s screenplay and Plaza’s performance makes us care for and understand the clearly psychologically disturbed Ingrid and her motivations while, at the same time, being appalled by her actions, and, as such, the film this most brings to mind is Scorsese’s King of Comedy.
The ending may lose its nerve somewhat in providing audiences with a redemptive, upbeat coda that also gives off a mixed message, but having spent time with Ingrid ending in darkness may have been too much to take. (Cineworld 5 Ways; Empire Great Park, Sutton Coldfield; Odeon Broadway Plaza, Showcase Walsall; Vue Star City)
The Marker (15)
A decided change of pace for Birmingham writer-director Justin Edgar, set in his home city this is a punchy British crime thriller with a psychological edge. In a bungled job with his crime boss mentor/surrogate father Brendan Doyle (John Hannah), introverted small time criminal plays Marley Dean Jacobs (Frederick Schmidt) lashes out at an accidentally kills Ana (Ana Ularu), a junkie mother, witnessed by her young child who’s hiding under the bed.
Banged up, Marley’s guilt is quite literally manifested in being haunted by the women he killed, who appears as a real accusatory physical presence in his cell. On his release, Marley resolves to atone for what happened by tracking down the now grown daughter, Jess (Skye Lourie) who’s since been fostered, Ana’s ghost tagging along with him. All of which pulls him deep into a sordid underworld of drugs, prostitution, corruption, child abuse and murder involving both Doyle and his ostensibly do-gooder invalid older brother, Jimmy (Struan Rodger). It’s dark and violent, but, the screenplay doesn’t always hold up, Schmidt’s internalised performance makes for a suitably brooding figure with his own history of abuse while, in a virtually wordless turn, the black-clad Ularu is, well, haunting. The screening will be followed by a Q&A with Edgar. (Sun: MAC)
A Bad Moms Christmas (15)
The first of the year’s seasonal offerings reunites the main cast of the original movie, a sharp satire on peer pressure and social snobbery among middle class school moms, for a sometimes funny but generally lazy and conventional rehash of the well-worn theme of daughters and their overbearing, domineering mothers.
Opening amid the debris of a domestic festive apocalypse, Amy (Mila Kunis) proceeds to relate events leading up to this, all beginning with her and her best friends, mousy Kiki (Kristen Bell) and the highly sexualised Carla (Kathryn Hahn) all being confronted with their overbearing mothers, respectively control freak Ruth (Christine Baranski), clingy, needy guilt tripping Sandy (Cheryl Hines) and the long absent, unreliable and feckless Isis (Susan Sarandon) all turning up for Christmas. Ruth immediately takes over, dismissing Amy’s wish for a mellow Christmas with her single father boyfriend Jessie (Jay Hernandez), Sandy, who has had a jumper made with her daughter’s face on it, announces she’s moving in next door so they can be closer, and Isis, who drives a huge truck and sports cowboy gear, wants to tap up Carla for money.
Over a drinks-fuelled trip to the Mall, the girls decide to take back Christmas, with chaos and confrontations inevitably ensuing. Somewhere among all this, Carla also strikes up a flirtation with hugely well-endowed male stripper Ty (Justin Hartley) who, in town for a Sexy Santa contest, comes to her spa to have his balls waxed. Which is pretty much the level on which this operates throughout with its erection and vagina jokes and mining laughs with Jessie’s young daughter saying “oh my fucking God” several times.
There’s nothing wrong with any of the six actresses performances, Sarandon lighting up the screen with her sass and Baranski delivering caustic one-liners with relish, and there are some genuinely laugh out loud moments and sharp observations, but there’s also a contrived feeling to the outrageousness here, a sense of going through the motions rather than the liberation of the original, while the sentimental finale as Amy and Ruth resolve their problems and bond is touching but unearned. Fun but disappointing. (Cineworld 5 Ways, NEC, Solihull; Empire Great Park, Sutton Coldfield; Odeon Birmingham, Broadway Plaza, West Brom; Showcase Walsall; Vue Star City)
Blade Runner 2049 (15)
Thirty-five years after Ridley Scott’s iconic adaptation of Philip K. Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, director Denis Villeneuve, DoP Roger Deakin and screenwriters Michael Green and Hampton Fancher (the latter co-wrote the original), deliver a haunting sequel which, set thirty years on in an forbidding LA some years after the Black Out that wiped all digital records and where it’s always snowing or raining, both honours Scott’s vision and deepens its meditation on the nature of the soul.
Following the collapse of the Tyrell Corporation as a result of replicant rebellions, Niander Wallace (Jared Leto) rose to power after his synthetic agriculture saved the world from famine, acquiring the remnants of Tyrell and producing a new model of replicants, with a shorter life span.
However, there are still some extended life Nexus 8 models out there and it’s the task of LAPD replicants such as K (Ryan Gosling) to track down these ;skin jobs’ and ‘retire’ them. His latest mission brings him to one of Wallace’s old farming facilities and Sapper Morton (Dave Bautista) who, after a bone crunching fight, he eventually shoots. However, in scouting the area a box is discovered buried beneath a tree, in it a box of bones and, carved nearby, a date. The bones turn out to be that of a woman, a replicant, but the staggering revelation is that she died giving birth, apparently to twins and that, while the girl died, the boy, who would now be thirty, is still out there. As such, Lieutenant Joshi (an imposingly severe Robin Wright), K’s boss, orders him to find and eliminate the last remaining evidence so as to prevent the revolution that would surely ensue should such knowledge about the ability to reproduce become known and the fragile balance between the controlling humans and the ‘submissive’ replicants be overthrown.
As to the date, this resonates with a childhood memory K has about being chased by some other kids and hiding his wooden carving of a horse in an abandoned furnace, the date being carved on the base of the toy. Thoughts of Pinocchio are not without foundation.
Meanwhile, he’s not the only one with an interest in the case, Wallace having despatched his cold and lethal replicant assistant Luv (Sylvia Hoeks, mesmerising) to acquire the evidence and to find the child. All of which leads K, first to Dr. Ana Stelline (Carla Juni) who, forever trapped inside an hermetically sealed environment on account of her weak immune system, crafts memories for Wallace’s replicants and assures K that his is real not an implant. And from there, accompanied by his hologram girlfriend Joi (a terrific Ana de Armas), essentially a souped up and sexy version of Siri, in search of Rick Deckard (a pleasingly gruff Harrison Ford), the long missing former Blade Runner, whom, it would seem, may have the connections and answers K is seeking.
It would be unfair to reveal much more of the plot, but suffice to say there’s a clever narrative sleight of hand designed to have audiences jumping to conclusions while, through cues such as Joi’s boot up melody, a snatch from Peter and the Wolf, the film cleverly weaves in notions of simulation and questions of what is real or just seems to be.
Visually it is an astonishing piece of work with inspired use of light and outstanding set design and CGI that include an abandoned, post-apocalyptic Las Vegas with a casino and holograms of Elvis and Sinatra, Wallace’s impressive but soulless headquarters, the sometimes transparent Joi’s transformations of appearance (in a remarkable ménage a trois she merges with a replicant sex worker to make love to K) and the few but riveting action sequences.
The performances are suitably dialled down and reined in, giving rise to many a moody inscrutable Gosling stare and the film often uses silence for effect, building both the emotional intensity and the suspense. On the other hand, the soundtrack can also be brutally extreme, Not all of it is clear, and intentionally so, though Wallace’s motives and plans are, perhaps, a little too obscure, but that is part and parcel of its allure – and the reason you’ll need to see it more and, while you don’t necessarily have to have seen Scott’s film, those who have will relish a startling final act nod to one of that film’s pivotal moments. At 164 minutes, it’s a touch overlong and it’s certainly not some popcorn sci fi, but, as with Villeneuve’s Arrival, it assumes an intelligence in its audience that Hollywood far too often assumes to be absent. (Cineworld 5 Ways; Vue Star City)
Call Me By Your Name (15)
Arriving in the wake of God’s Own Country, this is another critically acclaimed story of homosexual awakening and first love, adapted from André Aciman’s novel and directed by Luca Guadagnino. Previews were’nt available, but, set in the north of Italy in the summer of 1983, it stars Timothée Chalamet as Elio Perlman a precocious 17- year-old American-Italian who whilea away his time in the family’s lavish villa transcribing and playing classical music. He flirts with his friend Marzia (Esther Garre) and has a close bond with his father and mother, (Michael Stuhlbarg. Amira Casar), respectively a classics and a translator. Then, one day, Oliver (Armie Hammer), an American academic working on his PhD, arrives to intern with Elio’s father, stirring the awakening of desire over the course of a summer romance. (Electric; MAC)
The Death of Stalin (15)
As the writer of The Thick of It and its film spin-off, In The Loop, as well as the American version, Veep, Armando Iannucci is unquestionably the sharpest and funniest political satirist of the 21st century, added to which he also wrote and directed numerous episodes of I’m Alan Partridge and the subsequent feature Alpha Papa. So, you should know that his latest, a comedy set around the power struggle to fill the shoes of Russian dictator Joseph Stalin following his death, an adaptation of the French graphic novels, is going to be caustically hilarious.
It opens in 1953 with Paddy Considine as Andreyev, a radio producer who’s just broadcast a live piano concerto, featuring soloist Maria Yudina (Olga Kurylenko), when he gets a call from Stalin (Adrian McLoughlin) demanding to a copy of the recording. Unfortunately, it wasn’t recorded. So, he has to prevent the audience from leaving, round up some people from the streets to fill the empty seats, bring in a replacement conductor and tell the musicians to do it again, assuring them that no one’s going to get killed.
The disc is duly collected and taken to Stalin (along with a hidden note from Yudina), who’s just finished a tense dinner and a screening of a John Ford Western with the inner circle, among them preposterous, pompous and somewhat oblivious deputy leader Malenkov (Jeffrey Tambor) in his bad wig, Nikita Kruschev (Steve Buscemi), secret police chief Beria (Simon Russell Beale) and foreign affairs minister Molotov (Michael Palin) whose just been added to Beria’s new list of ‘traitors’ to be eliminated, as was his wife, he himself, an avowed Stalinist, condemning her supposed treachery.
But then, returning to his office, Stalin reads Yudina’s note, promptly has a seizure. When his not quite yet dead body is discovered the next day everyone vacillates over calling whatever doctors haven’t been exiled from Moscow and, when he finally pops his clogs, sparking a power struggle to take over with everyone scurrying around like headless chickens. Malenkov becomes the de facto new leader, closely manipulated by the Machiavellian Beria who, for his own duplicitous reasons, immediately sets about ‘pausing’ the executions and freeing prisoners, pre-empting an increasingly frustrated Khrushchev who sees this as a chance for reform and ends up being assigned the thankless job of arranging the funeral.
They also have to deal with Stalin’s daughter, Svetlana (Andrea Riseborough) who’s been driven to distraction by the death and his embarrassing deadbeat drunkard son Vasily (Rupert Friend) who insists on speaking at the funeral. And, as the plotting grows more intense between the rivals to the throne, enter Jason Isaacs giving a scene-stealing Yorkshire-accented turn as the truculent bully boy war hero Zhukov, enlisted by Khrushchev to scupper Beria’s plans.
You might want to brush up on your Soviet Who’s Who first, but, although Iannucci does play fast and loose with the facts and chronology, this is comedy not a history lesson (though it clearly has contemporary resonances), and, as with his past work, power and incompetence go hand in hand with political stupidity, mining laughs from one of the most brutal periods in Soviet history and playing it out as a farce peppered with lines like “Shoot her before him, but make sure he sees it.” Malcolm Tucker would have been right at home. (Cineworld 5 Ways; Empire Great Park; Mockingbird;Vue Star City)
The Florida Project (15)
Working with a bigger budget and more sophisticated equipment than his previous offering, Tangerine, shot on an iPhone, director and co-writer Sean Baker offers a bleak and bittersweet portrait of dysfunctional life below the poverty line on Orlando’s fringes, events set around The Magic Castle, a cheap motel in a run-down suburb within almost spitting distance of Disney’s Magic Kingdom Florida resort, the helicopters ferrying guests landing and taking off within view of the motel, some, as in the amusing opening sequence with a couple of honeymooners, accidentally booking in here by mistake.
A last resort doss house for any number of life’s losers, it’s managed by Bobby (a superbly understated Willem Dafoe, one of the few professional actors in the cast), a gruff but good-hearted reluctant father figure to its motley residents, among them heavily tattooed, combative young single mother Halley (Bria Vinaite) who, a former stripper and now currently unemployed, is struggling to raise the weekly rent, reselling knock off perfumes to the tourists and relying on waffle hand outs from a friend down the local diner to feed her feisty six-year-old daughter, Moonee (Brooklynn Prince). We first encounter her with her friend from upstairs, Scooty (Christopher Rivera), spitting from the balcony on to one of the cars below. The confrontation with its naturally irate owner leads to Moonee striking up a friendship with new resident Jancey (Valeria Cotto), and the film then follows the mischievous but essentially innocent escapades of these street urchins, interspersed with Halley’s increasingly desperate attempts to raise the cash she needs, eventually resorting to advertising sexual favours. Inevitably, at some point social services arrive on the scene.
There’s no plot as such, rather a series of anecdotal incidents variously involving Halley scamming a tourist with stolen Disneyland wristbands, the burning down of a building on an abandoned housing development.
In many ways echoing Mark Twain and the Our Gang movies of the 30s, with its improvisational, documentary-like feel and abrupt unresolved ending, it’s not going to be for anyone, but for those prepared to let it wash through them, it presents a sobering and depressing vision of the scrap heap of the American Dream as well as an emotionally challenging observation on parenting in a world where hope has long packed its bags and left. Halley is at once incredibly selfishly irresponsible and yet passionately committed in her relationship with Moonee who, for all her rudeness and impertinence carries no malice, merely mirrored behaviour and the scenes of childhood friendship between her and Jancey (the two young stars giving terrific, scene-stealing but natural performances) are bursting with both joy and heartbreak. As is the film. (Cineworld 5 Ways; Electric; MAC)
The writer of both Independence Day movies, Dean Devlin now gets to direct his own disaster blockbuster, one firmly in the tradition of such things as Armageddon, Volcano, Deep Impact, The Core and The Day After Tomorrow. Like the latter, this has a weather centred plot as well as trotting out a familiar message about man playing God.
Set just a few years hence, Jake Lawson (Gerard Butler) is the engineer who designed and led the international team that, in response to disasters triggered by climate change, built a space station and a network of satellites dubbed Dutch Boy, able to control Earth’s weather. Now, three years later, his now estranged younger brother Max (Jim Sturgess), who has some sort of senior position in DC and was forced to fire him for insubordination following a senate hearing into his management of the project, has been ordered by the Secretary of State (Ed Harris) to get him to go back into space and investigate what caused a malfunction that turned an Afghan village into popsicles,
While up at the station, another disaster occurs as Hong Kong is ripped apart by what is officially reported as a gas mains explosion. However, it soon becomes clear that these, along with the death of one of the station crew, were no accidents or glitches in the system, but were deliberately designed. With just a couple of weeks before American officially cedes control of Dutch Boy to the international community, it seems as though some is sabotaging things and has weaponised the satellites, Jake recovering data that suggests that this might go all the way to the top of the White House and President Palma (Andy Garcia), who also just happens to be the only one who possesses the kill codes to shut the station down.
Given that both NASA and the station crew have been locked out of the system, that Dutch Boy’s auto-destruct has been triggered and the world’s experiencing a series of natural disasters that range from heatwaves in Moscow and typhoons in Mumbai to a tidal wave in Dubai (curiously, Great Britain seems to escape catastrophe this time around) and the clock’s ticking to a geostorm that will wipe out most of the planet’s population, there’s only one thing Max and his Secret Service girlfriend Sarah (Abbie Cornish) can do, and that’s kidnap Potus and get the codes to Jake who, along with station commander Ute Fassbinder (Alexandra Maria Lara) is still up there in space as the seconds tick away.
It’s all pretty generic stuff with its mix of mass city destruction, conspiracy theories, resolute action man sacrifices, the murders of those who get too close, and even the young daughter Jake (who’s divorced) has promised he’ll return safely. Naturally, only a small fraction of the budget went on the dialogue, the rest being lavished on an array of impressive special effects. Likewise, discovering just who’s behind it all won’t come as any surprise at all.
The performances are adequate to requirements, though Cornish is especially impressive with a character that deserves her own spin-off, and while Butler never really convinces as a genius scientist, he does the action man stuff well enough and it all zips along entertainingly enough, punctuating the multiple set-pieces with its writ-large environmental messages and the need for global cooperation. And at least, this President does seem to take the matter seriously. (Showcase Walsall; Vue Star City
Seven years on from the so-called Final Chapter and eleven years after John Kramer (Tobin Bell) – aka Jigsaw, the sadistic serial killer with a warped sense of morality, met his end in Saw III, he’s apparently back as a new writing and directing team look to resuscitate the franchise and give it some new, ahem, blood.
The action cuts between two sets of events, as we first meet five unrelated captives with buckets over their heads and chains that draw them towards a series of buzzsaws. They’re quickly whittled down to four, the dead body turning up hanging from a tree in the local park. Investigating the murder, the body having half its head sliced off, the coroner team, Logan Nelson (Matt Passmore) and Eleanor Bonnerville (Hannah Emily Anderson), quickly conclude from the forensic evidence, and a memory stick with an audio recording hidden on the body, that, impossible though it seems, this is the work of Jigsaw.
Detective Halloran (Callum Keith Rennie), who worked the original cases, doesn’t buy this and reckons it’s the work of a copycat. Meanwhile, back in Jigsaw’s lair, the survivors, Anna (Laura Vandervoort), Mitch (Mandela Van Peebles, Ryan (Paul Braunstein) and Carly (Brittany Allen) are told that, if they want to live, they have to play his games and confess their sins. One by one their numbers are bloodily reduced to two, meanwhile Bonnerville’s revealed to have a Jigsaw obsession while Logan convinces surplus to plot Detective Keith Hunt (Clé Bennet) that it’s the clearly shady Halloran who’s actually the killer.
As you’ll have assumed, there’s a shoal of red herrings swimming around not to mention a well-worn sleight of hand to explain how Kramer can still be carrying out his gruesome and graphically detailed Punisher-like killings when he should be rotting in the grave. However, once the curtain’s pulled back to reveal what you’ve been watching, it quickly becomes apparent that the pieces don’t fit and the contrived set-up and motivations lack both logic and plausibility. However, the fact that you don’t care about any of the characters, that it’s not remotely scary or as clever as it thinks it is, is unlikely to prevent this from cranking up another sequel. (Cineworld 5 Ways, NEC, Solihull; Odeon Birmingham, Broadway Plaza; Showcase Walsall; Vue Star City)
Murder on the Orient Express (12A)
Unquestionably Agatha Christie’s finest murder mystery, Murder on the Orient Express is also atypical of the genre in that it concerns not legal but moral justice, delivering what is, by any stretch of the imagination, a remarkably complex narrative in which it is all but impossible to identify the killer, unless, of course, you happen to be the self-proclaimed ‘world’s greatest detective’, Hercule Poirot.
Marking a foray into new territory for Kenneth Branagh as both director and actor, its expansive widescreen 65mm visuals and glittering cast of acting talent cannot but help recall the classic work of David Lean, but, (as in the book) with its unrelated prologue as Poirot solves the theft of a religious artefact in Jerusalem, as well as this Poirot showing some physical as well as intellectual chops, there’s also a hint of the action hero about it.
Branagh, of course, is Poirot, although his scene stealing performance is frequently threatened to be upstaged by his moustache, a luxuriant set of immaculately groomed salt-and-pepper whiskers that take almost as much getting used to as his Belgian accent which, initially at least, calls to mind Peter Sellers’ French-mangling Clouseau. Indeed, while they might not get their own credit, they do come with a protective cover for when he sleeps.
Branagh also brings complex depth to Christie’s creation, who may be fastidious to the point of being anal (in the opening and closing scenes he tells a soldier to straighten his tie and refuses to eat his boiled eggs unless they are both exactly the same height in the egg cups) as well as lacking in any false modesty, but who, in an invention by screenwriter Michael Green, is seen to an emotionally wounded soul on account of losing the love of his life rather than the cold fish he’s so often portrayed as being. He’s also remarkably physically imposing figure, a stark contrast to David Suchet’s version.
There have been four other adaptations, one for the cinema, Sidney Lumet’s equally star-studded 1974 version with Albert Finney, and three for television, the most recent being a Japanese version in 2015, and yet it still feels fresh and, even if you know the whodunit, consistently intrigues and holds the attention.
For those coming to it new, the plot entails Poirot, breaking his holiday after being summoned to London, boarding the famous luxury train in 30’s Istanbul alongside a diverse set of apparently unrelated characters, among them, dodgy antiques dealer cum mobster Ratchett (Johnny Depp) who tries to hire Poirot to watch his back after receiving a series of anonymous threats.
While crossing a mountain pass, the train is derailed by an avalanche and Ratchett is found to have been viciously stabbed to death. To which end, Bouc (Tom Bateman) the train director and a friend, enlists Poirot’s help to find the killer before they continue their journey and the police get involved.
The only clues a broken watch, an open window, a pipe cleaner, a handkerchief with the initial H, there are 13 suspects: Ratchett’s secretary MacQueen (Josh Gad) and valet Masterman (Derek Jacobi), Arbuthnot (Leslie Odum Jr.), a Black English doctor, maneater Caroline Hubbard (Michelle Pfeifer) on the hunt for another husband, vinegary Russian Princess Dragomiroff (Judi Dench) and her assistant Hildegarde (Olivia Colman), volatile Russian ballet star Andrenyi (Sergei Polunin) and his Countess wife (Lucy Boynton), intense Spanish missionary Estravados (Penelope Cruz), racist Austrian professor Hardman (Willem Dafoe), Italian car dealer Marquez (Manuel Garcia-Rulfo) and former governess Mary Debenham (Daisy Ridley). Like Mary, who denies any connection to Arbuthnot, they’re all hiding something, a terminal illness here, a cooking of the books there. More to the point, as Poirot digs deeper, it also emerges that there’s a connection to the infamous kidnapping and murder of three-year-old American heiress Daisy Armstrong, and the subsequent death of her movie star mother and her army Colonel father’s suicide, and the conviction and suicide of an innocent woman. Inevitably, as Poirot tries to put the pieces together, not everyone is who or what they claim to be, and, with the evidence pointing in a myriad directions, all might have motive, while he is forced to question is belief that “there is right, there is wrong, and nothing in between.”
Affording each of the cast the chance to chew some scenery before assembling them all for a Last Supper –styled line-up as in a tunnel rather than a dining room, Poirot announces exactly who the killer is, there’s a fair few deviations from the novel in terms of both plot and characters’ names, not to mention an added second twist that could have done with a touch more explanation. However, delivered with both affection for Christie, but also a knowing sense of pastiche, as old-fashioned entertainment the film succeeds admirably on its own terms, and you don’t have to be a super sleuth to pick up the clue that a Death on the Nile sequel is in the offing. (Cineworld 5 Ways, NEC, Solihull; Empire Great Park, Sutton Coldfield; Everyman; MAC; Odeon Birmingham, Broadway Plaza, West Brom; Reel; Showcase Walsall; Vue Star City)
Only The Brave (12A)
Given we in the UK have no experience of the sort of devastating forest fires that sweep other continents, this true story of the Granite Mountain Hotshots, a group of Arizona forest firefighters who perished during a valiant effort to save their town during the Yarnell Hill Fire of 2013, the largest loss of firefighters’ lives since 9/11, is unlikely to resonate quite as strongly. That said, it’s still a solid tale of heroism with a side order of redemption.
Headed up by Eric Marsh (Josh Brolin), the chief of the Prescott Wildland Fire team, the crew work on mitigation, basically cleaning up after the frontline elite ’hotshots’ have done their job, but he’s ambitious to gain certification to take on the task of containing the inferno by establishing a control line that the flames cannot cross. As such, he calls in a favour from his Arizona emergency services supervisor friend Dough Steinbrink (Jeff Bridges) to persuade the mayor to give them the chance to prove themselves and they duly become the first municipal crew to become hotshots. They quickly earn fame by saving the destruction of an ancient tree near their hometown, but when the Yarnell blaze breaks out they find themselves surrounded by the raging flames.
Given this is a historic record, it’s no spoiler to reveal all bar one lose their lives, the survivor, who had been away from the crew on spotter duty, is Brendan McDonough (Teller), who, nicknamed Donut, provides the film’s redemptive narrative as, given a chance by Marsh (who sees a lot of himself in him) transforms from screw-up junkie to hero.
The film’s problem is that, with so many characters, the storyline can only focus on a few, specifically Marsh, McDonough and Steinbrink along with Marsh’s horse rearing/rescuing wife Amanda (Jennifer Connelly), so that, even with scenes involving in crew banter with the likes of Taylor Kitsch’s hot-headed MacKenzie, the other’s are all rather interchangeable and and have no backstories as such. Not that this makes the post-fire sequence as the wives and families gather in the local hall to await news any the less emotionally powerful, but it’s hard to feel any investment in their fates, to the extent that, ultimately, it’s the fires that dominate the film rather than the men fighting them. (Cineworld 5 Ways, NEC, Solihull; Odeon Birmingham; Vue Star City)
Paddington 2 (PG)
This delightful sequel to the 2014 movie reunites the original cast and finds Paddington Brown (voiced by Ben Wishaw) banged up in her Majesty’s for theft. He’s been found guilty of stealing a valuable 19th century book, a pop-up guide to London’s landmarks, from Mr, Gruber’s (Jim Broadbent) antique shop. He’s innocent, of course, and the book, which Paddington wanted to buy for Aunt Lucy’s (Imelda Staunton) birthday, has actually been stolen by the Brown’s Windsor Crescent Notting Hill neighbour, Phoenix Buchanan (Grant), a vain, faded stage star now reduced to fronting dog food commercials (a scenee that will cause much laughter among those who remember the Clement Freud ads), who believes it actually contains clues to the location of a vast treasure hidden by the book’s originator, the Victorian steam fair owner and trapeze artiste who was murdered by one of her fellow performers.
All of which makes for a hugely enjoyable romp as the Browns, Henry (Hugh Bonneville), Mary (Sally Hawkins), their children, Jonathan (Samuel Joslin) and Judy (Madeleine Harris) and their Scottish housekeeper, Mrs Bird (Julie Walters) set about trying to track down the real thief, while, in prison, Paddington strikes up a friendship with feared hardman chef Knuckles McGinty (Brendan Gleeson) by introducing him to the delights of marmalade. All of which culminates in an high speed chase involving two steam trains that surely owes a debt to the likes of Harold Lloyd, the Keystone Cops and Mel Brooks.
The animation is outstanding, not least the water dripping from Aunt Lucy’s fur when, in the prologue, we see how she and Uncle Pastuzo (Michael Gambon) came to adopt their cub and the tear rolling down Paddington’s cheek when he thinks he’s been abandoned, while the film’s bright primary colours design reflects the happiness it seeks to spread.
Along with some inspired slapstick (including a riff in the classic rope and bucket routine), screenwriters Simon Farnaby, Jon Croker and Paul King, who also directs, pepper the narrative with a succession of very funny jokes, including some at the expense of Brexit, and effortlessly appeals to children and adults alike, it’s message about kindness and looking for the goodness in people of particular resonance in today’s world. Wishaw again perfectly captures exactly the right tone while Grant is on top form as the preening thespian.
Ben Miller’s grumpy Colonel gets to find love, pompous xenophobic Mr. Curry (Peter Capaldi), the street’s self appointed regulator, gets his comeuppance and there’s a clutch of cameos too, including Joanna Lumley as Buchanan’s agent, Tom Conti as the customer on the receiving end of a barber shop disaster who subsequently turns out to be the trial judge, and Richard Ayoade as a forensic scientist. All this plus a post credits tap dancing musical number featuring the pink striped prison uniforms that resulted from a Paddington mishap in the laundry. What more could anyone reasonably ask. (Cineworld 5 Ways, NEC, Solihull; Empire Great Park, Sutton Coldfield; Everyman; Odeon Birmingham, Broadway Plaza, West Brom; Reel; Showcase Walsall; Vue Star City)
Thor: Ragnarok (12A)
Almost as much self-aware fun as the Guardians of the Galaxy movies, this third outing for the God of Thunder scores high for not taking itself seriously, even if the narrative itself has some decidedly dark turns. Set in the aftermath of Age of Ultron, when both Thor and the Hulk took off, the opening sequence finds Thor (Chris Hemsworth) explaining how he’s allowed himself to be captured so as to destroy the demon Surtur (Clancy Brown) in order to prevent Ragnarok –Asgard’s apocalypse.
That done, he returns home to expose Loki (Tom Hiddleston) who, masquerading as Odin, has persuaded Asgard that he died a hero, with statues and plays commemorating his sacrifice (Hemsworth’s older brother Luke playing the stage Thor to Sam Neill’s Odin). Forcing his brother to join him in locating the real Odin (Anthony Hopkins), they learn he’s dying and that his death will allow the return of Hela (Cate Blanchett archly chewing scenery like a demented Joan Crawford), the Goddess of Death and Thor’s older sister.
Briefly put, she’s not happy that, having helped dad in his conquest phase, when he turned peacenik, he had her imprisoned, and now she’s determines to take control of Asgard and, with the help of pet giant wolf Fenris, a reanimated army of the dead and her new sidekick Skurge (Karl Urban) who’s replaced an absent Heimdall (Idris Elba) as the self-appointed gatekeeper of Bifrost, remake it in her own image, eliminating anyone who tries to stop her. Volstagg, Fandral and Hogun’s run in the franchise coming to an abrupt end.
Hela having destroyed his hammer, Thor and Loki wind up separately on Sakaar, a sort of intergalactic rubbish tip where the latter quickly settles in and, captured by a surly bounty hunter (Tessa Thompson), the former’s made to become one of the gladiators in the battles held by the planet’s megalomaniac camp ruler, the Grandmaster (Jeff Goldblum giving it the full Goldblum ham), against his champion – who, it turns out, is Bruce Banner (Mark Ruffalo) in his Hulk form. All of which you’ll have got from the trailer and which is just a lengthy set-up as a now short-haired Thor enlists the help of Banner, the last of the Valykyries and even Loki, dubbing them the Revengers, so they can escape (through a cosmic wormhole called the Devil’s Anus) and return and save Asgard.
With Hemsworth in self-mocking form and Hiddleston again stealing scenes as the untrustworthy allegiance-shifting Loki, the pair sparking off each other in classic double-act style, unlikely but inspired choice of director after his previous small scale but suversively funny offerings What We Do In The Shadows and Hunt For The Wilderpeople, New Zealander Taika Waititi ensures there’s Wagnerian doses of action (one set to Led Zep’s Immigrant Song) and serious themes (genocide for starters) to go with the plentiful jokes (the screenplay even squeezes in sly wank gag ). He even gets to voice Korg, a rock creature gladiator and putative revolutionary who gets some of the best dry one-liners, as well as finding room for an amusing cameo by Benedict Cumberbatch as Doctor Strange, a brief glimpse of another Avenger, the obligatory Stan Lee appearance (giving a scream-like-a baby Thor a short back and sides) and even the revelation that Tony Stark’s a Duran Duran fan. Oh yeh, and there’s also a naked Hulk in a hot tub. At times operatic, at others, gloriously silly, this might just be the best and most enjoyable Marvel movie yet. (Cineworld 5 Ways, NEC, Solihull; Empire Great Park, Sutton Coldfield; Odeon Birmingham, Broadway Plaza, West Brom; Reel; Showcase Walsall; Vue Star City)
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