Movie Muser

When even a film’s own cast start mumbling about how they haven’t seen it, that it’s probably a bit rubbish, and that it’s not a critics’ film, you know you’re in trouble. Sure enough, this latest version of a story which had a perfectly decent outing all of 10 years ago turns out to be a dud. It’s the usual reasons to blame too – a dog of a script, wooden half-hearted acting and a boring story about saving the world. To be fair, the special effects are actually pretty good, and some minor characters put in a shift, but in the preview screening people started walking out after 10 minutes.

Do we really have to go through the whole set-up of how they become the Four? Apparently we do, so we get a full hour of Teller’s Reed Richards inventing a teleportal machine which sends sand, chimps and then humans to an undiscovered planet that turns out to have an inexhaustible supply of power. He teams up with Johnny Storm (Jordan, ok), Sue Storm (Mara, half-asleep), Victor von Doom (Kebbell, chewing scenery) and his old pal Ben Grimm (Jamie Bell, adequate) to complete the work, but an accident sees Doom stranded on the planet alone while the other four return to Earth with strange powers.

Richard’s elastic body is a marvel of special effects, as he stretches and contorts his limbs, and Johnny’s Flame is equally impressive, especially in the sound department. Sue Storm’s powers are visually striking, only The Thing looks a little odd. What is so depressing though is how hackneyed the story and script are, with the usual ‘let’s use these powers to aid mankind’ thrown in with ‘let’s get some rest’ style clichés.

As usual in these franchises the most interesting character is the bad seed, here Kebbell’s Doom, relishing his lonely planet and intent of wreaking havoc on Earth when he gets his chance. His costume is a marvel of green moving slime, but as his mouth doesn’t move when he speaks it does cause some confusion in one scene. He throws in some eco-friendly waffle about mankind having blown its chance on Earth, and greed bringing about everyone’s downfall, but it’s all terribly half-hearted. Kebbell’s acting also highlights the shortcomings of the others, especially Teller’s Richards and Mara’s Sue Storm, who makes looking moody an art form.

Having gone down the road of telling us how they become the Fit leaves little room for any actual story – the film is virtually plotless – or action, with the final showdown actually a bit dull. You could say that about the whole thing actually, no pun intended.

Overall verdict: Box-ticking exercise in updating a franchise for no particular reason and bringing nothing new to the table. The special effects are state of the art but is that a good enough reason to sit through yet another franchise product. Cheerless.

Reviewer: Mike Martin

The great paranoia films of the 1970s – All the President’s Men, Parallax View, The Conversation – and the gentle game of cricket would appear to have very little in common, but here we have an hour of film where they seem to merge. The irony is the makers had little intention to make such a look at insider trading and major corruption when they set out to create it, and that in a way is its weakness, as it takes a while to find its focus and target. But when it does, oh boy, it’s powerful, angry stuff.

Kimber and Collins, two cricket writers and fans, set out to make a film about how cricket is losing its soul, and how Test cricket is becoming an anachronism, losing out to the garish, tacky quick fix of Twenty20. Everyone seems to agree it is wrong, so why is it happening? The answer is really the answer to everything, money. It is here the film really finds its feet, as the pair investigate where the money in cricket is going and, more pertinently, who is deciding where it goes?

In short three of the Test playing nations, India, Australia and England, have their hands in the coffers, and are making all the decisions and bullying the other countries into following them. Here the film actually uncovers a coup, they hatch a plot to play each other all the time, pocketing the cash, and as for the rest, well they can scrap over the crumbs. Even more amazing, an independent report clearly claims it’s wrong, possibly even illegal, and the answer from England’s representative Giles Clarke is a mere shrug of the shoulder. It’s safe to say if the film has a pantomime villain it’s Clarke, especially as he was the man who was invited into the cricket establishment Allan Stanford – who of course turned out to be a crook of staggering proportions. Clarke’s judgement was clearly swayed by the dollars that arrived on a helicopter, and he does not emerge from this well.

A film like this needs a hero, and the closest we get is in the form of David Becker, a senior member of the ICC who actually resigned because he was so appalled at what he was witnessing behind closed doors every day. We also get the heroic Gideon Haigh, an Australian journalist with a deep understanding of the game who gives perhaps the saddest speech, about how the game is now for TV broadcasts, sponsors, corporate boxes, money men and, bottom of the list, fans, who are treated as monetary units.

Collins and Kimber are genial hosts for this journey, slowly uncovering the story almost despite themselves, but they transmit a genuine sense of anger when the key meeting on the future of cricket is going on in a hotel in Dubai with no press presence. They are the key reminder of what is behind this film, the idea of who does the game belong to. It should be the people, but rarely does it seem like that, and in some ways that’s the film’s appeal, this could apply to anything, the NHS, the railways, they should belong to us, but it seems men in suits with money always have the final say.

Not having a clear idea from the beginning of the film does betray its weaknesses, especially when the hosts fly to Australia to follow their pal Ed Cowan’s debut for Australia. It’s a sideshow, and ends up being a cul de sac as Cowan gets dropped by Australia against England, but at least it is a reminder of why people play this great game, to do their best and try to represent their country.

Overall verdict: Slightly wayward and rambling documentary but which has at its heart a story with a real emotional punch and a righteous sense of anger. Not just for cricket fans either.

Reviewer: Mike Martin

Joel Edgerton is one of the most interesting actors to have emerged in the last few years – his roles always seem edgy, raw and different. His directorial debut then is a huge disappointment, not because it’s terrible – it isn’t – but because it is so generic. Frankly this thriller could have been written and directed by anyone, such is its reliance on clichés. Edgerton also wrote it, so presumably it’s his vision, unless there was a bit of studio interference.

Jason Bateman and Rebecca Hall play a couple who have just moved from Chicago to Los Angeles for his job – he is a high-flying exec in a modern computer giant. They seem to have everything – plenty of cash for their open-plan home high in the hills, a nice car, a lovely dog, and Hall, a talented interior designer, makes friends with the neighbours. But there is one blip, she is trying to get pregnant, and hints that she had a particularly bad miscarriage the year before.

While out shopping for expensive design stuff for their house, Bateman feels a tap on his shoulder, and turns round to find Edgerton, apparently an old school chum. Bateman faintly remembers him, they shake hands and go on their way. Crucially however Hall has given the shop her address, which Edgerton overhears, and suddenly gifts start turning up at the front door, from an expensive bottle of wine to some carp for their pond.

When Bateman fails to ring him up to thank him, Edgerton then turns up at the front door, bringing more gifts, fixing the TV and generally hanging around, much to Hall’s discomfort. Eventually he asks the golden couple round to dinner which, surprise surprise, turns out to be the most painful dinner party ever given. Something is clearly going on, Hall is worried but Bateman is merely baffled – not letting on that an event from their past has led to this borderline stalking.

It’s a hoary old set-up, but it’s the predictability here which is so disappointing. Edgerton practically puts signposts on the screen – scary bit coming up – with his clumsy use of strings and visual clichés. That old chestnut, the steamy bathroom mirror being wiped clean and a face appearing gets an airing, as does a silent scene followed by a loud dog bark. You’ve seen it in Fatal Attraction, now see it again!

What is as bad is Edgerton’s use of character. Nice guy Bateman is clearly a complete tool from the moment we see him swigging posh wine and slapping his work colleagues on the back – there’s a tedious sub-plot about his push for promotion – and the usually reliable Hall is reduced to a series of frowns and ticks – she’s nervous! See how nervous she is! Edgerton himself meanwhile is a cipher, the bullied kid at school who has forgotten to grow a personality and merely slopes about with a pained expression on his face. There are some nice shots of LA in the mist, but that’s about it.

Overall verdict: Hugely disappointing, generic thriller which ticks a few boxes but never rises above the mediocre. From a talentless person that would be acceptable, from Edgerton, surely he can do better.

Reviewer: Mike Martin