Lara Croft: Tomb Raider (2001)
Directed by Simon West
Starring: Angelina Jolie (Lara Croft), Iain Glen (Manfred Powell), Jon Voight (Richard Croft), Daniel Craig (Alex Cross), Noah Taylor (Bryce), Leslie Phillips (Wilson), Chris Barrie (Hillary)
Lara Croft: Tomb RaiderOnce every 5000 years the planets align in a solar eclipse, enabling those with knowledge, a mysterious clock key and two pieces of the missing triangle to control time itself. One person unwittingly drawn into finding the two pieces of the triangle is Lady Lara Croft, our ubiquitous heroine. On the other side let me introduce the Illuminatus, long secret sect who wish to control time for their undoubtedly nefarious purposes. Lady Lara has the key but not for long, and she is forced to the end of the world to reclaim it and seek control of the triangle in order to be reunited with her deceased father. Naturally such a task will not prove easy; Powell, a member of the sect is almost insane in his desire for the artefact, even taking on board and old companion of Lara’s Adam as well as the seemingly endless stream of high-end natives and black clad machine-gun toting storm troopers to realise his aim. Still Lara is not unaided in her quest as she has the ever-reliable family butler on her side as well as Bryce, gadget man extraordinaire. Adding to the troubles of both the teams is time itself, for the conjunction of the planets is crucial in the reclamation of the broken artefact and, should they fail to unravel the mysteries of the ancients in time, it will be another 5000 years before they get another opportunity. A wait that no-one wishes to endure…
“Poor Simon, what has she done to you?”
What indeed? Given the recent press mauling of Lara Croft: Tomb Raider you would be forgiven for thinking that Simon West’s film is the worst one in memory since, let us say, Pearl Harbor. In some respects this is the case, although it is purely on the basis that barely a fortnight has passed since the (doubtlessly) lingering memory of four hours of jingoistic tedium has ingrained itself in our consciousness. Those expecting the videogame heroine’s first, perhaps last, big-screen treatment to be an intellectual treaty or a delicate romance are clearly missing the raison d’etre for its existence; Tomb Raider is first and foremost a popcorn munching action film of the sort expected by those who are familiar with the game or at least familiar with the concept of the game. To this end the film succeeds admirably as reflection of computer game design; first introduced the character via a training mission and then unleashed her into the world to survive a number of increasingly difficult levels. These levels start out with cut away plot setting and discovery, minor skirmishes and progress to set piece destruction of hordes of faceless enemies before facing the end of level the big boss. Repeat as necessary. The fact that Lara manages to take health restoring tea from a Buddhist monk between “levels” is entirely in keeping with the computer game ethos of restoring characters’ health in abnormally short amounts of time, as are the sequences where pixel perfect jumping is required if she is to stay alive (in the game you have to restart, here, of course, the aforementioned hordes face certain death by lack of co-ordination).
Key to the appeal of Lara Croft is character is always been a fine line between fantasy figure and female role model – something that the film generally manages to retain, although a number of sequences (notably at the beginning) are highly dubious. Early on we see Lady Croft taking shower after a near orgasmic (and unnecessarily life threatening) encounter with a training robot, unembarrassed by the entry of the family butler she responds to the shock by noting that “yes, a Lady should be modest.” Lara clearly isn’t. Unlike say Batman, with whom she shares the threads of deceased parents and unfeasibly large inheritance, Lara is anything but shy and withdrawn – no hiding behind masks for her, an attitude that makes the occasionally lecherous camera placements (bearing in mind the player spent most of the game staring at her butt) less offensive than they could have so easily become.
Visually the film is replete with mist and streaming light, its action punctuated by strobe effects and set design as anachronistic as you could want. The set pieces take place in the English mansion, with its bungee jumping fight and Hard Boiled inspired motorbike shootout, then over to Cambodia for an Indiana Jones and Jason and the Argonauts inspired grave robbing at Ankor Watt before heading off to Siberia for the snowy climax. West shows that he has lost none of the touch that made Con Air such a rivetting (and stupid!) film in the action department but sadly has also retained that films is inability to get anyone to act. Jolie is marginally better than in last year’s risible Gone In 60 Seconds, her father showing that Anaconda was no flash in the pan (or something else in the pan for that matter) but Noah Taylor’s gadget geek Bryce is close to unwatchable. Still it’s a take-it-or-leave-it no brainer which passes the time, has a fair few scenes of tension, plotting from the Mummy Returns school and plenty of John Woo inspired double pistol shooting. Only with a girl and with no squibs (this being a 12 rating after all).
One point that is worth noting is the oh-so-fashionable wirework sequence. Practicing bungee aerobics at her mansion (as you do) Lara’s house is invaded by the Illuminati’s SWAT team which she proceeds to take out while still bouncing. This enables her to do all the Crouching Tiger/Matrix fighting without the need for expensive post production wire removal. Inspired.
The Little Vampire (2000)
Dir: Ulrich Edel. Wr: Karey Kirkpatrick, based on the novel by Angela Sommer-Bodenburg
Starring: Jonathan Lipnicki (Tony Thompson), Richard E. Grant (Frederick), Jim Carter (Rookery), Alice Krige (Freda) Rollo Weeks (Rudolph), John Wood (Lord McAshton)
From the director who bought you such family unfriendly fare as Christiane F (young girl in Berlin declines into a spiral of hard drug abuse and prostitution, before she’s sixteen) and Last Exit to Brooklyn (bad, bad times had by society’s outcasts in New York) comes an all new feature picture, The Little Vampire. But wait! It’s based upon the well known series of children’s books by Angela Sommer-Bodenburg and stars the kid from Stuart Little (the human one not the mouse) so maybe it won’t be a case of grim times had by all. And indeed it proves to be. The Little Vampire is the story of how a young boy, Tony and his family set up a new home in Scotland. Tony is the brunt of schoolyard beatings and ridicule, partly because he’s American but also due to the fact that he is insistent about his dreams of vampires and their failed ritual three hundred years ago during a ceremony at the time of a comet’s passing. And wouldn’t you know, the self-same comet is coming round for a return visit real soon. If that were not enough Tony has found a new friend in the shape of Rudolph, a dead cool dude with the emphasis on dead. Rudolph is a vampire, but a nice one that snacks on the local cows and generally avoids human contact, as do his eccentric vampire family. All very idyllic but with the comet deadline fast approaching, the vampire clans need to find a magic amulet which will free them of their curse and make them human once more. It’s a laudable aim but one that’s not shared by Rookery, a professional vampire killer whose family has been slaying the undead for four hundred years. He’s got the weapons, the knowledge and the technology to send them straight to Hell. Caveat Vampiros.
The Little Vampire is an engaging fun-filled romp from start to finish with all the ups and downs of a well-crafted story. That elusive element of the finest family films is here – screen magic. So what if the effects don’t always reach the heights of, say, Stuart Little (although the vampire cows, hanging upside down from the beams in their barn are marvellous) they are all there for the purpose of creating a magical fantasy which should appeal to all but sour faced pedants. Edel effortlessly flows from adventure (think Moonfleet), to suspense (there’s even a nice The Shining reference but don’t point it out to the kids) and comedy, even managing time to pull off some jump-out-of-your-seat scares at appropriate moments. If you are concerned that this is a bit too much for younger children (perhaps the U rating is a little lenient) then don’t be, the scares are perfectly in tune with the Roald Dahl ethos of ‘gross is fun’ and never manages to be offensive or gratuitous. Indeed as can be guessed it is with the vampires (and Tony of course) that you side, rather than with the smelly, dirty, cigar-chewing vampire hunter and his aristocratic lackeys. The vampire family are great, half Interview With A Vampire, half Salem’s Lot with a particularly dominating performance from Richard E. Grant, they also manage to be quite seductive in a hypnotic, vampire way helped by some stunning costume design. With flapping bats, graveyard shenanigans, gothic tombs, sumptuous Scottish scenery, gadgets galore, ancient rituals, chases, scares and plenty of friendship this manages to be funny, exciting and charming all at the same time. Hopefully with the current popularity for all things vampiric (in the wake of Buffy) and the magical child’s eye view of the world portrayed in the Harry Potter books, The Little Vampire will be a commercial success as well as ideal for half-term or a dreary Saturday morning. Highly recommended for the under twelves and over twenties. And do visit the splendid website which has lots of things to do and read.
Maid In Manhatten (2003)
Dir: Wayne Wang
Maid In Manhatten (2003)Having had to endure the reprehensible Two Weeks Notice the prospect of another Rom-Com was not a welcome one. Punnily enough Maid In Manhatten comes complete with ludicrous characters and formulaic plotting. In terms of genre convention this one has all elements crossed and dotted with marksman like precision. It’s all the more surprising then to find that it’s not all bad…
Marisa is a maid in the Beresford hotel but has her mind set on management, even if she lacks the confidence to do anything about it. Tye, her son by an estranged and inconsiderate husband, is obsessed with the 1970’s and has an encyclopaedic knowledge of congressional voting habits. This later trait serves him in good stead when he chances upon paperclip clutching Republican Chris, out trying to walk his dog Rufus despite the protestations of attendant spin doctor Jerry. (J-)Lo and behold, Chris gets to meet Marisa who’s currently dressed to the max in posh gear from a room she’s meant to be cleaning and the two hit it off (with cajoling from Tye). Before you can say “Rom-Com cliché” an on-off romance blossoms with Marisa hiding behind her false “posh” personality. Much mistaken identity and tragic denouement ensues. Will true love finally triumph over the gulf of class and money? Oh come on, surely you can guess…
It would be churlish to deride a film for its generic stereotyping but Maid In Manhatten plunders every trick in the book – the “must break it off though neither wants to”, the “rich bloke and pauper girl”, the “dressing up scene”, hell they even throw in a quirky pet. That coupled with its preposterous characters – an environmentally sound Republican played by a Brit falls for management potential single mum Hispanic breadline case played by multi-millionaire J-Lo with her son having a photographic memory regarding the speeches of Nixon, Kissinger and Johnson – should ring a deafening death toll. Surprisingly it doesn’t. Wayne Wang films the whole piece with such a light touch and innocent acceptance of the material that, if you are in the right frame of mind, you can easily be swept along with the amiable frothiness of it all. This is no “laugh out loud” laffer but chuckles along steadily, the leads really interact and what’s more the kid is central to the whole piece, not a tagged-on irritant. One small fly in the ointment is the inclusion of two old French women thieves, clearly a cheap piece of contemporary xenophobia in these times of petty derision (“cheese eating coward mongers” – pur-lease) that sits completely out of spirit with the other bubbly goings on. Vacuous, clichéd and utterly absurd, Maid In Manhatten still manages to justify its running time. Oh and Bob Hoskins is in it too.
Moulin Rouge (2001)
Dir: Baz Luhrmann
St: Nicole Kidman, Ewan McGregor
Moulin Rouge (2001)Christian is a writer, a dreamer with a passion for love. Well it would be a passion if he’d actually experienced love, he’s pretty sure of that. And where better to experience love than in gay Paris? Where better than the Bohemian quarters of Montmartre and the decadent Moulin Rouge? For the struggling scribe there can be no other place; he has found a group of dissident artist revolutionaries led by Toulouse Lautrec from whom he can gain strength and, more than that, he has found his heart’s desire. Her name is Satine, sultry courtesan of the Moulin Rouge, a dancer, an actress, the object of men’s desires… for a price. Christian can’t afford the price but the moustached Duke can and is willing to pay handsomely for the privilege of possessing Satine, even if it means having to fund the Moulin Rouge itself…
Comment
Prolific is perhaps not a tag that one associates with Baz Luhrmann, his charming romantic fairy-tale comedy Strictly Ballroom launched him onto the world stage in 1993. Its follow up, Romeo And Juliet, was an audacious re-mix of Shakespeare that established him as a box-office talent to watch, not least because of perfect timed casting of Leonardo di Caprio at the pinnacle of his teen popularity combined with superb use of editing, cinematography and sound. It’s with some trepidation then that one approaches Moulin Rouge – the hype has been on full blast for ages, that wretched single has been polluting the airwaves and the buzz from Cannes has made it the film to see this autumn. And with good reason for Moulin Rouge is the film to have seen, even if you detest every gorgeous shot of it.
The first thing you need to know is that Moulin Rouge is a musical; the characters sing dialogue to each other, there are dance sequences that would be disruptive in any other genre and a total absence of any realism. The first half an hour alone is so breathtaking you may wish to leave the cinema for air. It’s faster than any action flick you care to mention and louder too – a sheer cacophony of picture and sound, impressionistic blurs of colourful skirts, explosions of dance, flesh, neon, blue-grey skies, impossible crane shots, grotesque faces, bleeding colours all vie for your attention. It’s one of the few examples of a film being more hectic than its trailer!
Early on in the proceedings, when Christian has joined Lautrec’s gang following his encounter with a narcoleptic Argentinean, our hero is given his first taste of absinthe. The effect of this most notorious (and very tasty!) of alcoholic beverages, is to have the lady of the bottle in all her seductive green glory emerge from the label and sprinkle the throng with fairy-dust while gyrating in dreamy abandon. For the film it is as though the whole two hours is steeped in this drink of madness; Day-Glo Fellini with the mad ringmaster Harold Zidler, Ken Russell films a turn of the century Velvet Goldmine or a Pierre et Gilles come to life from the imagination of George Cukor. To some (can’t you take your drink?) this will be too much, too mad, too bright and too loud. And, make no bones about it, this is a loud film with big emotions, big tragedies and big camerawork. The songs are mainly contemporary but are orchestrated and jumbled together to create a patchwork post-modern musical. The effect is strangely coherent despite the plethora of interlocking lyrics from some of the cheesiest, most saccharine pop songs known – it all somehow works.
Kitsch, dizzying, audacious, tragic, comic and just breathtaking Moulin Rouge is an unforgettable experience whether you love it or loathe it. But do we have to wait so long for the next one Baz?
The Parole Officer (2001)
“Why were you staring at that bank?” “I was thinking of robbing it.”
Dir: John Duigan
St: Steve Coogan, Lena Headey, Om Puri, Ben Miller, Steven Waddington, Jenny Agutter
The Parole Officer (2001)Life rehabilitating ex-convicts into the community can be tough but parole officer Simon Garden can at least count on his success, all three of them (the less said about the other 997 the better). The dilemma he faces though is getting these now reformed criminals to do the proverbial “one last job” on a city bank in Manchester. Oh, it’s not for the money though, it’s for a videotape locked in a safety deposit box that shows bent copper Burton wringing the life out of a human being, well an accountant at any rate, a crime for which our hapless hero has been framed. This disparate band of are joined by Simon’s new case, a ram-raiding juvenile delinquent named Kirsty who was unfortunate enough to be relived of a narc-stuffed koala by the soon-to-be award winning Inspector Burton. The job is on…
Simon Garden falls into the well meaning but painfully inept category that Coogan most famously realised as sports journalist and TV host Alan Partridge but is less crass, a trait that makes his bungling character more empathetic, Partridge having had many years to reveal his various foibles. Despite the story centring on the titular parole officer though this is very much an ensemble piece in the mould of The Lavender Hill Mob or The Ladykillers although this time the criminals are masterminding a crime to expose a murderer rather than to any personal financial gain. Like the aforementioned Ealing comedies The Parole Officer relies on characterisation for the bulk of its humour and, despite some sight gags, this is essentially a situation and relationship comedy rather than an outright slapstick one. The scripts twist on the heist movie is a good one as is the necessity for the main character to undo his only successes to date in order to save his skin and provide justice. Where it perhaps falls a bit thin is in its desire to appeal to as much of the audience as possible resulting in a case of Jack of all trades. Thus we see the film on the tail end of the gross-out comedy (Simon vomits into a child’s face not once but three, count ’em, times), reviving the peek-a-boo saucy seaside postcard aspects of the Carry On films, the absurd plan ideas, the Pink Panther style police force, the film pastiche, the “he’s behind you” pantomime approach and even the stunt work as characterised by the Michael Crawford school. Mixing this with a plot that’s half The Italian Job and half a Hitchcock man-on-the-run thriller and you have a film that, despite its lack of international appeal toffs, is as British as they come. Unfortunately this also extends to the look of the film for while the films is nice constructed and features a surprisingly strong (for a low budget comedy) surround mix the cinematography lacks definition, a pity as a lot of the film revolves around “action” sequences (such as the absail to the bank) which could really have benefited from more vivid photography.
By no means the funniest of British films The Parole Officer is at least a jolly good laugh that doesn’t play for a world audience but a local one and feels more honest for it. There’s enough plot (and a couple of great cameos) to mean that even when the jokes don’t connect you still have something to enjoy and frankly given the recent spate of mercilessly un-funny comedies to expect too much else would be churlish.
