Tag: 2019

Guns Akimbo

  By

★★★★
“Don’t bring a spork to a gunfight!”

Harry Potter, this is not. If it’s difficult to separate Radcliffe from the hero of the movie franchise, this is the kind of film which should help considerably. He plays Miles, a computer programmer and online troll, who trolls the wrong people. Specifically, the ones who run Skizm, an increasingly popular and hyper-violent online streaming service, which broadcasts death-matches between contestants. For his sins, Miles is knocked out, and wakes to find himself with guns bolted to both hands. He is now Skizm’s latest contestant, going up against their reigning champion, Nix (Weaving). And to encourage him, the man who runs the game, Riktor (Dennehy), has kidnapped Miles’s intermittent girlfriend, Nova (Bordizzo). To survive, he’s going to need help from a most unusual source: Nix.

This is the kind of incessantly kinetic, brutal action film that you’ll probably either love or hate. I was pushed firmly into the latter company by Samara Weaving, who is a coke-snorting, chain-gun wielding, spiky package of undiluted and venomous awesome. While Miles is the nominal lead character, Nix was considerably more fun to watch, and also has the better character arc. For example, her actions have considerably better motivations, considering Miles is basically trolling for the LOLs. There’s plenty of her in action to appreciate too, pushing this out of the “supporting girl with gun” category into qualification. I haven’t yet seen Birds of Prey, but suspect Weaving would have been an admirable alternate to Margot Robbie.

I’m interested, if somewhat confused, about the moral message being sent here – or whether there is one at all. It’s both condemning the audience for violent entertainment… while, very clearly, feeding that same appetite. Any sense of intellectual superiority over the masses is similarly undercut by the extremely low-brow humour. Have you ever considered how hard it would be to go to the bathroom with your hands locked around firearms? Me neither. But with his writer’s cap on, Howden clearly has. Yet this does help insulate the film from suggestions of hypocrisy, its broken spiritual compass and disjointed one-liners a fitting match for the ADHD and morally bankrupt world it is depicting. Though the most implausible thing here, might be the way Miles’s fuzzy slippers stay on. I can’t even go down the stairs without mine making a bid for independence from my feet.

The action is almost non-stop, and the blood flows in rivers, to the point that it becomes almost a caricature of the more extreme end of video-gaming. It’s staged fairly well, though does occasionally topple over into the manic style of editing which is the bane of modern cinema. Things build towards the expected climax, in which Miles and Nix mount an all-out assault on Riktor’s headquarters, delivering one final shot of adrenaline-powered hyper-mayhem to your lizard brain. If not all the characters receive quite the fate you want, there’s enough here to make me believe Weaving has action heroine superstar potential.

Dir: Jason Lei Howden
Star: Daniel Radcliffe, Samara Weaving, Natasha Liu Bordizzo, Ned Dennehy

Charlie’s Angels (2019)

  By

★★
“Go woke, go broke”

Back in 2000, Charlie’s Angels came out of more or less nowhere to become an unexpected popular hit. Sure, the TV series was well-known, but by that point it had been off the air for close to two decades. Its stars, Drew Barrymore, Cameron Diaz and Lucy Liu, were to that point known, if at all, for playing the love interest in romantic comedies like The Wedding Singer or There’s Something About Mary. But driven by a heady mix of self-awareness and top-quality kung-fu (choreographed by Yuen Wo-Ping, who has had a hand in many of the best genre films, from The Matrix to Crouching Tiger), it became the year’s 12th biggest hit at the US box-office.

But even then, it gave the sense of having caught lightning in a bottle: I wrote “It works beautifully, despite its flaws, but it wouldn’t bear frequent repetition.” And so it proved in 2003. The lacklustre sequel, Full Throttle, came out, and we concluded, “There’s little point bothering with the new movie.” Few did. It lost 63% of its box-office in its second weekend, compared to 39% for its predecessor, and grossed less than Daddy Day Care, barely squeaking into the top thirty for the year. An attempt to return the franchise to its roots fared worse still in 2011. A televisual reboot was canceled after only four episodes had aired. 

But still, the lure of recapturing the popular and critical success of the 2000 movie remained. Sony began working on a new version as long ago as September 2015, with Elizabeth Banks coming on board as writer-director. To her credit, she didn’t seem to be attempting to recapture the vibe of its successful predecessor, opting to go in a different direction. Unfortunately, the main difference is that the original film is one of the few action heroine films which I, my wife, plus our (then-teenage) son and daughter all unironically like. The path Banks instead chose managed to appeal to very few. Turns out, almost nobody wanted to sit through an action film which she proudly announced, was “loaded with sneaky feminist ideas.” This is my unsurprised face.

If you were paying attention, there were multiple other examples of the screwed-up priorities to be found in this production. “One of the statements this movie makes is that you should probably believe women,” said Banks in a pre-release interview. “We’re taking on the patriarchy”, proclaimed star Kristen Stewart at the premiere. And she demanded her character be gay, because “It was important for Kristen to present herself as queer in the movie and I was all for it,” according to Banks. It apparently comes as a shock to the makers, that most people don’t go to the movies for this kind of thing. I know I certainly don’t. This is especially true in today’s fractured society, where social media has become a battleground between extremes, leaving the rest of us tired and seeking to escape from all-pervasive dogmatic yelling. If a film has a message, that’s one thing. If a film is a message, it’s quite another. 

And the very first line here is “I think women can do anything,” making it painfully obvious into which camp this version falls (and hardly counts as “sneaky”). Can you imagine Ellen Ripley, Imperator Furiosa or Alice coming out with that kind of fortune cookie/teen Disney nonsense? No. Because they are too busy being freakin’ awesome. They are action heroines after all, leading by example, not banal sloganeering. This is how effective messaging works in movies. Brave characters don’t win over the audience by just going around saying, “Anyone can be courageous.” Instead, they put their words into deeds, by doing brave things.

This concept is something which Banks’s Angels fail to understand. Instead, they set out their ‘woke’ stall inside five minutes with lines like, “Did you know that it takes men an additional seven seconds to perceive a woman as a threat compared to a man?” No, I did not. And nor do I care about this highly-dubious statement. Demonstrate you are a threat, then I’ll start paying attention. Otherwise, please make use of those seven seconds to go back in the kitchen and make me a damn sammich, babe. Not that Stewart, who delivers these lines, qualifies for the B-word, bearing a closer resemblance here to Justin Bieber after a three-day bender. The original film proved it was entirely possible for women to kick serious ass, while looking good doing it. Stewart manages to do neither, at one point apparently needing wire-work assistance to hop over a low fence. Very popular in the lesbian community though, I believe.

After an opening sequence featuring girls doing random stuff while grinning like they were on meth, because… [checks notes] Ah, yes: “sneaky feminist ideas,” it seemed there was no way back for this mess. Yet, I will say, that was likely the low-point. The rest recovered somewhat, albeit only to reach the low bar of mediocre Hollywood pap, applying a sheen of competent gloss to its poorly-conceived ideas. I guess that counts as a win, of sorts. If Stewart was thoroughly unimpressive, I did quite like Ella Balinska as co-Angel Jane Kano. She fares considerably better in the action area, particularly in her final fight against enemy assassin, Hodak. But that’s probably the only sequence which sticks at all in my mind, and even there, I’m writing this just 12 hours after finishing the film. I’m not sure I’ll be able to tell you much about it by this time next week. There’s nothing to match, say, the four-way brawl between the Angels and Crispin Glover, while Smack My Bitch Up blasted on the soundtrack. Heck, even the music here firmly puts the rap in crap.

As the pic above shows, Jane does at least get to wield guns here, something Drew Barrymore almost entirely excised from her version (though I’d be hard pushed to say I missed them). It’s another small victory, in a film of generally staggering blandness. The plot, for instance, concerns some technological Macguffin, which can be used as a biological EMP weapon, and must be stopped – I’m dozing off as I type this – from falling into the hands of the bad guys. Emphasis on “guys” since, almost without exception, you can identify the villains by whether they stand up when they pee. I guess “men = treacherous perverts” is another one of those ‘sneaky feminist ideas’ on which the director was so woefully keen.

There’s no sense of escalation either, with pacing that’s poor. The film effectively ends a good thirty minutes before the credits roll, with a battle between the Angels and the villains in a rock quarry. It then limps on into a plot about a mole inside the organization, which feels entirely tacked on, because it doesn’t seem to have been any kind of real issue for the first hour and a half of the movie. It finishes with a lengthy training montage of Elena Houghlin (Scott), the computer wiz responsible for the Macguffin. We know she’s a wiz, because she says things like “All I need is root access.” She ends up getting recruited as an Angel, a good ninety minutes too late to provide any meaningful point for the character. The training sequence clearly just lets Banks get some of her pals into the film, to make cameo appearances.

It’s not often I want a film to flop, sight unseen. Even more rarely for an action heroine film. Still, I must confess, I was thoroughly gratified to hear the box-office speak, with a vengeance. In its entire nine week domestic run, Angels took just $17.8 million. That’s almost $10 million less than Full Throttle did… on its opening Friday and Saturday… at a time when the average ticket cost a third less than now. Ouch. So much for Banks’ statement: “If this movie doesn’t make money it reinforces a stereotype in Hollywood that men don’t go see women do action movies.” No, Lizzie. Men don’t go see women do bad action movies. And nor do women. For simply to shriek “Male chauvinism!” as a defense of the film doesn’t work, when it was named “Sequel or Remake That Shouldn’t Have Been Made” by the Alliance of Women Film Journalists, in their awards for 2019.

Coming on the heels of similarly “woke” flops like Terminator: Dark Fate, you wonder whether Hollywood might learn from their mistakes, and realize that they are employed by us for entertainment purposes, and not moral guidance. Unfortunately, I suspect that might require rather more self-awareness and humility than is usually to be found in Tinseltown.

Dir: Elizabeth Banks
Star: Kristen Stewart, Ella Balinska, Naomi Scott, Kristen Banks

Body at Brighton Rock

  By

★★
“Incompetence necessary to the plot.”

Proving not quite able to sustain its running time, this ends up collapsing under its own weight. The lead actress tries her best, and her character is likeable enough, but in her debut leading a feature, isn’t able to carry a film in which she is in virtually every scene. Fontes plays park ranger Wendy, whose duties are typically limited to handing out leaflets and lecturing small children about the dangers of forest fires. To help out a colleague, she takes on a more strenuous task, only to find herself lost in the great outdoors, as darkness approaches. She then stumbles across a body at the foot of a cliff: was it death by misadventure, or something more malicious?

It’s a nice performance from Fontes, who makes Wendy someone you want to see pull through. I enjoyed seeing the heroine have to dig into untapped reserves of self-reliance and bravery, and was rooting for her to make it through the long, dark night. However… sheesh, there are times where it seems the biggest threat to Wendy, is Wendy. She loses her map. She loses her way. She loses her radio. She almost falls off a cliff, taking a selfie. She actually does fall off a cliff. She even manages to pepper spray herself, after mis-judging what way the wind is blowing. I know she’s a novice in the park ranger world, but really… I’m impressed she even managed to get to work without sustaining a life-threatening injury, such is the low level of her everyday competence. There are plenty of natural threats in this environment too; fabricating them as this does, seems needlessly excessive.

After night falls, Wendy more or less loses her way, and unfortunately, so does the film too. I think it’s supposed to be depicting Wendy’s imagination being as much a threat to her, as anything tangible. All we get, is a lot of largely uninteresting thrashing around in the dark, in lieu of meaningful plot development. It’s only when dawn breaks that things move forward once more, though there just isn’t enough meat on the storyline to provide a satisfying meal. In an effort to generate tension which has been largely lacking, the makers drop in an arktos ex machina at the end, though the bear attack which follows would trigger nothing more than derisive snorts from Leonardo Di Caprio.

It’s not the lead actress’s fault, but she is left to bear [pun not intended] the burden of almost the entire film by herself. Relatable she may be – that’s not enough. Though many more experienced thespians would likely struggle with the amount of screen-time here – especially given no-one to act against save some trees, in the vast majority of their scenes. By the time the final twist shows up, it’s not going to trigger more than a shrug, and perhaps a roll of the eyes. Fontes deserves better, and hopefully will find it further into her career.

Dir: Roxanne Benjamin
Star: Karina Fontes, Casey Adams, Emily Althaus, Miranda Bailey

A Good Woman is Hard to Find

  By

★★★★
“Hammer time!”

2020’s first seal of approval goes to this uber-gritty Irish film, starring Sarah Bolger, whose most familiar to us from Into the Badlands. While her GWG creds there are overshadowed by the likes oE Emily Beecham, safe to say Bolger makes up for lost time here. She plays single mother Sarah Collins, who is struggling to come to terms with the recent, unsolved murder of her husband. Barely managing to make ends meet, her life is upended when entry-level criminal Tito (Simpson) breaks in, seeking sanctuary. He has stolen some drugs belonging to top boss Leo (Hogg), and offers Sarah a cut of the proceeds if she’ll act as his safe-house. Very reluctantly, she agrees. Needless to say, it doesn’t go as they plan.

And that’s putting it very mildly. I won’t spoiler it, but there’s a reason she ends up visiting a hardware store, and weighing up whether an axe or a hack-saw is better suited for her “project” [the correct answer, it appears, is both…]. Yet, the character arc from mild-mannered mother who basically won’t say “Boo!” to a goose, into someone capable of going about with a bowling-bag of highly unpleasant content, is remarkably plausible. Because it’s almost all driven by fierce maternal love for her two children, one of whom has been traumatized into muteness by witnessing his father’s murder. Sarah will do anything to protect and provide for them, and as motivation for taking up a criminal lifestyle, it’s a far sight better than we got in the similarly themed Widows or The Kitchen.

It also does not soft-pedal its violence. The extended sequence where Sarah goes over the edge and becomes a killer for the first time, at one point almost teeters into farce with her first choice of weapon. But the further it goes on – to the point of death and beyond, the grimmer it gets. I was reminded of the line spoken by Macbeth: “I am in blood stepped in so far that should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o’er.” This is made clear from the opening scene, which sees a gore-drenched heroine taking to the shower, setting the scene for its subsequent savage tone. We only find out the source of the blood later, and it won’t be the last time it gets spilled.

It’s a spectacular performance from Bolger, portraying a woman who is ground down to almost nothing, before finding fate presenting her with an opportunity – albeit one which comes with a frightening cost in terms of her humanity. Yet her portrayal manages to take the audience along with the character on that journey. The rest of the cast pales in comparison, though it probably doesn’t help that non-British audiences may need subtitles for some of the dialogue; even I was going “What?” at some points, particularly for Tito’s lines. Still, neither that nor some suspiciously convenient skill with a firearm (likely a necessary contrivance) are sufficient to derail a thoroughly successful slab of Irish noir.

Dir: Abner Pastoll
Star: Sarah Bolger, Edward Hogg, Andrew Simpson, Jane Brennan

The Aeronauts

  By

★★★
“Full of hot air.”

I was genuinely stoked when I got to the end of this one, which details the derring-do of 19th-century pioneers James Glaisher (Redmayne) and Amelia Wren (Jones). The former is a scientist in the fledgling field of meteorology, who wants to obtain data from the upper atmosphere. The latter is a balloon pilot, carrying on despite the death of her husband on a previous flight. Together, they team up, to fly higher than any person had ever gone before. Indeed, further than even they wanted to go, as a frozen valve prevents them from descending when they need to do so. With Glaisher out of commission through oxygen deprivation, it’s up to Wren to climb, by herself, up the outside of the balloon, in order to reach the top and clear the valve.

The in-flight entertainment is excellent, right from the take-off, in front of a sizable crowd of onlookers, to whom Wren is delighted to play. But as they rise up, you do get a real sense of the appeal of flight, in a way which feels almost like a Hayao Miyazaki film. That matters, having gone into this wondering why someone would willingly dangle from a wicker basket, below what is effectively a large bomb (here, lifted by inflammable coal gas). But the beauty of the air is well-captured, as well as its immense scale, with any number of shots depicting the giant balloon reduced to little more than a speck, beside the massive clouds. And Wren’s solo ascent is the stuff of heroic legend.

But that’s also the problem. For she never existed. Oh, Glaisher did. And so did his flight, in 1862. It set an altitude record for any craft of 36,000 feet, which would endure for more than sixty years. And after Glaisher lost consciousness, his companion did end up needing to pull the release valve by mouth, having lost all feeling in his limbs. Yeah: his. Because it was professional balloonist Henry Coxwell who was the hero in fact. Now, I get that cinema will play fast and loose with facts. But swapping out a real person for a fictional one of the opposite gender? Really? There weren’t any actual aeronautical heroines about whom a film could be made? Oh, hang on: there were. Most obviously, Sophie Blanchard, a Frenchwoman on whom the character of Wren was partially-based, and who was Napoleon’s head of aeronautics. A future feature on her may beckon.

The more grounded stuff in the film also doesn’t work as well. There’s a narrative conceit which holds back information about the circumstances surrounding Mr. Wren’s death. And background stuff on Glaisher’s struggles to raise funds for his expedition into the sky, as well as his relationship with his father (Courtenay), don’t add much to proceedings. I’d have been happier with a real-time recounting, purely focused on the flight up and down. The contrast between the staid Glaisher and show-womanship of Wren, offers enough fuel to keep things going, until the latter’s perilous ascent is needed. Just don’t ask why neither of them thought to pack a pair of gloves.

Dir: Tom Harper
Star: Felicity Jones, Eddie Redmayne, Himesh Patel, Tom Courtenay

Maleficent: Mistress of Evil

  By

★★★
“An industrial sized box of eye-candy.”

Dear god, the scenery in this is almost unutterably lovely to look at. It’s the kind of film which left me wishing I’d seen it at the cinema, even if I fear my head would have exploded at the beauty of it all. Right from the opening sequence, featuring an insane swooping shot which seems to last forever, it is just gorgeous. The final battle is so lush, a war occurring in a castle the approximate size of Bavaria, against a back-drop of exploding red-clouds made from fae genocide dust, it should be bottled and sold in the skin-care aisle.

The other big positive comes from leading ladies Jolie and Pfeiffer. As we mentioned in our original review, Angelina was born to play Maleficent, and that hasn’t changed. Here, Michelle gives her an excellent foil to go up against. I couldn’t help feeling Pfeiffer’s performance was influenced by Glenn Close in Dangerous Liaisons – a film in which she also appeared, apparently taking notes. Their scenes opposite each other, such as the Most Uncomfortable Dinner Party Ever, are a delight to watch.

The problem? Uh, basically everything else, beginning with Fanning and Dickinson as the world’s blandest couple, who manage to suck the life from every scene they inhabit. The former is Aurora, now monarch of the magical kingdom, the Moors. She falls for Prince Philip (Dickinson), heir to the throne of Ulstead, and everyone is delighted that their impending marriage will seal peace forever between the two realms. Everyone bar Philip’s mom, Queen Ingrith (Pfeiffer), who has other plans. Basically, starting a war and blaming it on Maleficent, whose PR person must have been asleep since the first film, since Mal is now back to being generally despised. Ingrith then intends to use the fae genocide dust mentioned above to emerge victorious, allowing her to sweep in and annex the Moors.

Meanwhile in a sub-plot which is both superfluous and ham-handed, Maleficent is reconnecting with the family she never knew she had. Their leader is played by Chiwetel Ejiofor, a fine actor. However, remember what I said about Jolie being born for the role? Ejiofor isn’t, and looks more embarrassed than anything else, to be stomping around in those oversized horns. It’s all filled with Obvious Commentary on bigotry, diversity, racism and so forth. Poor Maleficent is largely relegated to a supporting role in her own franchise, before returning to hurl green lightning at the end, and engage in some behaviour which can only be described as Christ-like. Have you a moment to talk about your lord and saviour, Angelina Jolie?

You can’t argue the $185 million budget was ill-spent though. Rønning was previously co-director on Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales, the [pauses to check notes] fifth installment in that franchise, and clearly knows his way around a nine-figure price-tag. It’s not enough to match its predecessor: more the kind of film I’ll dip into if I see it on cable, rather than rush to embrace on Blu-Ray.

Dir: Joachim Rønning
Star: Angelina Jolie, Michelle Pfeiffer. Elle Fanning, Harris Dickinson

Captain Marvel

  By

★★½
“Hardly marvel-lous”

I had a couple of potential concerns going into this. Firstly, my general unfamiliarity with the Marvel Cinematic Universe. This was film #21 in their Infinity Saga. I had seen seven. Would this be like trying to follow Game of Thrones‘s penultimate episode, after having missed two-thirds of what preceded it? Secondly, Brie Larson’s press complaints about movie critics being “overwhelmingly white male.” Yep, guilty as charged, m’lord. Would this questionable attitude – that your skin colour and genital configuration matter more than what you do or say – carry over into the movie?

Fortunately, neither turned out to be a significant issue. On the other hand, it’s still not a very good movie.

Oh, it’s occasionally amusing and sometimes reaches the level of moderately impressive spectacle. But the longer it went on, the less involved I was in it. By the time Vers (Larson), a.k.a. Air Force pilot Carol Danvers enters goddess mode and becomes Captain Marvel, all I could think of was, “That’s a silly-looking helmet.” To reach that point, we follow her as alien Vers gets captured by the enemies of her Kree species, the Skrulls. Their brainwashing attempts succeed in partially re-awakening repressed memories of life on Earth as Danvers. The Krulls are after a light-speed engine being developed there by Danvers’s mentor, Dr. Wendy Lawson (Bening). It’s up to Vers to stop them. Except, almost nothing is quite what it seems at first.

My biggest complaint is how the film relies entirely on dramatically convenient amnesia. I found it painfully obvious, the way Vers’s memories repeatedly dribble back in exactly the manner most appropriate for the plot. The most important elements left are until last, because story-line. The period setting of 1995 turns out to be largely pointless, beyond an excuse to throw a Nine Inch Nails T-shirt onto Larson. [I’ll admit, we did pause the Blockbuster Video scene, to try and recognize some of the VHS sleeves, such as Hook and Jumping Jack Flash] It could just as easily have been set now, considering Marvel vanishes at the end, not returning until Avengers: Endgame, as a mid-credits sequence makes clear.

The above would have been okay if the action had been top-drawer, and it isn’t. This is probably the area in which Battle Angel kicks Captain Marvel’s ass the hardest: almost nothing here has any impact, physically or emotionally. Overall, it just feels lazy: look no further than the most obvious choice of  No Doubt’s Just a Girl as the backing track for the final fight. That was about as cringey as the empowerment got; rather more annoying was the political subtext, of “What if we were the real terrorists?” I watched this literally immediately after seeing Ricky Gervais’s beautifully savage assault on Hollywood at the Golden Globes: “You’re in no position to lecture the public about anything. You know nothing about the real world.” This film would seem to prove his point.

Dir: Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck
Star: Brie Larson, Samuel L. Jackson, Ben Mendelsohn, Annette Bening

Chokehold

  By

★★
“Gasping for air.”

I wanted to like this more than I did: director Skiba is a veteran of the Arizona film scene, though his other film previously covered here, .357: Six Bullets for Revenge, left a bit to be desired. This is slightly better; but only slightly. The heroine is Zoe (Croden), a mixed martial artist who is trying to make it big in Las Vegas. Her dad (Van Dien) is back in Arkansas, and crosses paths with Russian mobsters, led by Natalia (McCrea). It doesn’t end well. Let’s just say, if you’re watching this for Van Dien, you’ll quickly be underwhelmed. Zoe leaves Las Vegas, seeking justice for her father – naturally, the only way to get to Natalia is through her convenient underground fighting circuit…

It’s as if the writers were determined to check off every cliche of the genre in 95 minutes. If that was indeed their aim: well done. Outside of having a female protagonist, there is almost nothing new or of interest here, the story unfolding exactly as you’d expect after Van Dien collects his cheque. I think peak eye-rolling was unlocked when Zoe “discovers” a video letter left by her father. Fortunately, this narrative conceit was too much even for Skiba, and is quickly discarded. Even the depiction of the underground arena was painful, with blaring music from a DJ, and people doing that “waving their fists in the air during fights” thing, that you only see anyone do in movies.

All of the above would likely be fine, if the fights were any good, as Lady Bloodfight proved, overcoming its basic plot with a plethora of kick-ass action scenes. Certainly, there’s no shortage of action here. However, MMA style is not the same thing as kung-fu movie style: one isn’t necessarily better than the other, they’re just different. Here, instead of going for one or the other, they occupy an unfortunate middle-ground between realistic and non-realistic, and don’t work as either. The exception is a battle between Zoe and Natalia in a bar. Released from the constraints of being a “proper” fight, the makers get to have a bit more fun, e.g. kicking a bottle at your opponent – and as a result, so do the audience.

The producers of the film include two sports legends. However, they’re baseball players, Kenny Lofton and Torii Hunter, which makes mixed martial-arts seem like an off choice of topic. Probably wisely, they stay off-camera, and some credibility is lent by the presence of retired MMA star Chael Sonnen, playing a fight promoter. It isn’t enough to save this, as it limps through the motions towards the expected ending. The surprises end with the unexpectedly early departure of Van Dien. And even that’s more the result of his name being misleadingly front and centre on most of the advertising, rather than any conscious effort by the film itself. Despite the female focus, this is just another entry in the bargain bin of UFC-lite fight flicks.

Dir: Brian Skiba
Star: Melissa Croden, Ilona McCrea, Corinne Van Ryck de Groot, Casper Van Dien

Daughter of the Wolf

  By

★★
“Bit of a bad dog.”

The cinematic goodwill Carano accumulated as the result of her electric debut in Haywire, is rapidly evaporating. I understand that you can’t expect to work with Steven Soderbergh every time, but the returns have been diminishing with a relentless steadiness since for her. This is certainly the worst one yet, though in her defense, the problem are less to do with her performance. They are more the results of a script which takes several, widely disparate ideas, and doesn’t just fail to connect them into a coherent whole, it also manages to screw them up on an individual level, to the point where most of them become little more than silly garbage.

We join a kidnapping already in progress, as Charlie (Gillis-Adelman), the son of Clair Hamilton (Carano), having been abducted by “Father” (Dreyfuss), a cult-like leader who has long held a grudge against Clair’s dad. Quite why he bothered waiting until after the target was dead to take his vengeance, is one of the many things this film fails to explain adequately. At the supposed handover of cash for Charlie, a fire-fight breaks out, which is right in the wheel-house of Clair, a former soldier. Two of the three kidnappers end up dead, the third, Larsen (Fehr), is not such a bad guy, and ends up saving her life after she falls through the ice. Still, she makes him take her to Father, and matters are complicated by the presence of a pack of wolves, who appear to have their own agenda.

About the only thing which saves this are the amazing Canadian landscapes, lushly photographed by Mark Dobrescu. There’s one location in particular, an ice waterfall, which is jaw-droppingly beautiful to an almost implausible degree, forming the backdrop to one of the movie’s less than impressive action sequences. Of course, someone goes over the edge, plummeting to their doom. Oh, wait. My mistake: they subsequently show up again later, with little evidence of damage beyond a somewhat annoyed expression on their face, as if mildly inconvenienced by an out of service elevator. This implausible approach reaches its nadir in Father three-ironing a canine off a precipice with his rifle butt, a moment which genuinely made me laugh out loud. And not with the movie.

Indeed, the wolves are set up as if they’re going to be important, only to vanish from the film, before inexplicably returning for  a tacked-on coda which had me rolling my eyes. While I did like the concept of leaping right into the action, the resulting attempts to fill in the backstory are painfully clunky and add little if anything. It’s definitely a case where less would have been more: simply making it Clair vs. the kidnappers should have been sufficient. We certainly don’t need a distaff cross between two Liam Neeson films, Taken and The Grey. Carano still does have a physical presence that possesses potential. But she really needs to be making better choices.

Dir: David Hackl
Star: Gina Carano, Brendan Fehr, Richard Dreyfuss, Anton Gillis-Adelman

I am Mother

  By

★★★½
“Lies, damned lies and motherhood.”

After an extinction-event has turned Earth uninhabitable, an underground “ark” holds thousands of human embryos, overseen by a robotic Mother (voiced by Byrne, performed by Hawker). One embryo is brought to fruition, becoming Daughter (Rugaard, resembling a young Jennifer Garner), who grows up into a young woman, educated by Mother to believe she’s alone on the planet. But she begins to doubt what Mother tells her, and these doubts are confirmed when another, older woman (Swank) shows up. Let in by Daughter, she tells tales of humanity outside struggling for survival against robot killers. Everything Daughter has been told is a lie. Or is the new arrival telling the whole truth either?

The film’s main strength is the way it manages expertly the shifting sands of audience perception. Initially, we’re led to believe that Mother is potentially the saviour of humanity. However, it soon becomes clear that the robot is not being entirely honest with her charge, and our sympathies move towards the Woman, who wants to rescue Daughter from her enforced isolation. Yet, in the end, there’s another agenda there as well, and right until the credits roll, you’re kept watching to see beyond the next bend in the story-line. While there are clues dropped, almost from the beginning, you may not notice them until everything comes together. Or perhaps even past that point; I’ll confess, I did have to do some light post-viewing Googling in order to grasp all the consequences.

It’s rare, especially in the SF genre, to see a film without a male speaking part [bar some archive footage from The Tonight Show, anyway!]. Though one senses any money saved on the small cast was simply diverted to an impressive set of production values, depicting not just the facility, but also the devastated outside world after… well, whatever the extinction event was, since it’s never described. That’s not really the focus of the film, yet I felt it was a bit of a shame, The story of the Woman’s survival, up until she came banging on the door, would have been equally interesting as the Daughter’s. I do have… let’s just say, some questions about the coincidence of them arriving at the air-lock at the same time, and also the Woman’s plot-convenient amnesia.

At 113 minutes, it does run somewhat long, and is a little light on action for my tastes. The film is definitely on the more cerebral side of science fiction cinema, something not apparent from the trailer. Rather than explosions, the script prefers to pose awkward questions about the needs of the many outweighing the needs of the few, or the moral implications of ripping it all up to start again. However, it never sinks to boring, with decent performances which help guide the film through the occasional doldrums. Hat-tip to Rob for steering me in the direction of a film which I’d otherwise likely have skipped past, in the never-ending and ongoing stream of Netflix original movies.

Dir: Grant Sputore
Star: Clara Rugaard, Rose Byrne, Hilary Swank, Luke Hawker