Thor: Ragnarok (2017)

Thor: Ragnarok, 12A, 130 mins. Marvel.

Thor, the chiselled, hammer-welding God Of Thunder of Avengers fame, has now had three standalone films (I use the term ‘standalone’ loosely - it’s now  beyond expected that several ‘Easter Eggs’ - hidden clues occur, both throughout and after the end credits, including appearances by characters crossing-over both films and cinematic universes).

Thanks largely to another of these, namely the Guardians Of The Galaxy, not only do the characters venture into the stratosphere of the intergalactic, but the tone of this particular Thor film is as smartly cynical and quick-witted as anything in the Marvel canon.

This tongue-in-cheek direction starts immediately, and it’s clearly a deliberate change not just because of Guardians’ colossal commercial success, but also one which Chris Hemsworth clearly enjoys. Thor, as with Captain America alongside him, has previously been a rather intentionally stolid, monotone, straight-laced figure of patriarchal honour and order. Here, he exercises previously untapped comedic potential. He’s kidnapped and taken to a planet which transports him to a kaleidoscope-esque planet via an ode to the opening chimes of Pure Imagination.

That’s not the only unusual musical choice employed by antipodean director Taika Watiti, highly regarded for smaller, independent projects. The opening track, heard repeatedly during epic, slow-mo staged battles, is Robert Plant’s Immigrant Song.

However, it’s in the supporting performances that this one really shows its strengths. Cate Blanchett stars as the gleefully slinky Hela sister (yes, sister) to Thor and Tom Hiddleston’s Loki. ‘I’m not a queen, or a monster - I’m the Goddess Of Death! What were you the God of again?’. Next to Catwoman, she’s posited as one of the first principal female franchise villains - and has great fun. Mark Ruffalo is terrific as the green, not so mean Hulk, and Jeff Goldblum laconically plays The Grandmaster as only he can.

All these retro pop-references and back-and-forth banter is all well and good, but I wonder whether these lighter group of Marvel rag-tag high-jinks are simply becoming extremely entertaining, by now very well-worn parodies of themselves - so much so that Saturday Night Live may soon be saved the trouble.


Rating * * *

Blade Runner: 2049 (2017)

12A, 164 mins, Columbia Pictures.

Thirty-five years after the master of dazzling scale Ridley Scott genuinely redefined the sci-fi genre forever with the original Blade Runner in 1982, we’re still wondering if Harrison Ford’s despondent detective Deckard is one of the robots he hunts down.

Now, directorial control that couldn’t be more sacred to the devoted fandom, is handed to Denis Villeneuve. Villeneuve’s status as the master of constructing tense, sparse, simple, ominously-built atmosphere - is fast becoming unparalleled.

Whether it’s the desolate isolation of the mist in the landscape where Hugh Jackman’s child is abducted in Prisoners, the relentless shredding of Emily Blunt’s adrenaline powering through the war-on-drugs on the unforgiving Mexican boarder in Sicario, or the indeterminable drones of an alien species deciphered by Amy Adams’s linguist in Arrival. No immersive nerve is left untested - whatever kind of environment we’re inhabiting.

The visuals here couldn’t be any more sumptuously poetic: epic, panoramic cityscape vistas of monolithic proportion - and stunningly realised ambition. Instead of perpetual rainstorms and dry-ice, this one takes sleek, threat-laden futurism into the absorbing stratosphere.

Production designer Dennis Gassner’s (Into The Woods, Skyfall) sets are shot with pin-sharp, crisp skill by prolific cinematographer Roger Deakins (The Coen Bros. and Revolutionary Road). From the chill of clouds to the searingly vivid, orange burn of a white-hot wasteland.

It’s spoiling nothing to say that Ryan Gosling’s Agent K might also be a robot, but why is he, as always, so utterly, blankly vacuous? I found it impossible to connect emotionally. Harrison Ford’s much-awaited reprisal is reliable, in that crumpled, grumpy look of permanent incredulity he does so well.

Jared Leto’s illusive, if underused new villain, Niander Wallace, is very subtly ruthless, and Sylvia Hoeks completely steals the apocalyptic show, as his ruthlessly relentless, icily lethal assistant.

There’s also more of that revolutionary CGI resurrection - used so well in TRON and bringing Peter Cushing back to life in Rogue One. Hans Zimmer and one of his rising contempories, Benjamin Wallfisch, ramp up the now customarily propulsive score, which lacerates us even further, I just wanted more shock, surprise, underpinned by some much-needed emotive heart and substance, beneath the aesthetic awe. A punishingly audacious, at times exhaustingly overwhelming assault on the senses...


Rating: * * * *

Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017)

12A, 152 Mins, Disney/Lucasfilm.


Since 2015, the as-of-then Disney-owned reboot of Star Wars has become a Christmas tradition. This latest, eighth instalment, The Last Jedi, marks the fortieth anniversary since George Lucas made an entirely different sort of sci-fi movie, with the ground-breaking original, back in 1977. In 1999, the much derided politic-heavy prequels began - then after a decade-long gap, the franchise was brought back to box-office-busting, somewhat over-hyped life, two years ago, with lifelong fan J.J. Abrams, directing the decidedly middling The Force Awakens.

Now, after last year’s surprising, fantastically impressive standalone chapter Rogue One, the main series resumes, with new director Rian Johnson. A real rising-star in filmmaking, he’s best known for the brain-teasingly clever mould-breakers, such as the exceptional neo-noir Brick and mind-blowing time-traveller Looper, both starring his long-time collaborator Joseph Gordon-Levitt (who actually has a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it voice-over cameo here, as an alien in a fun casino-planet sequence. Why not have him as a fresh main live-action character?).

Johnson hits the ground running with a stunning aerial space battle (even more spectacular in 3D).

However, I just can’t get used to this new clutch of protagonists. Seemingly, both Daisy Ridley and John Boyega are a huge hit with the critics, but I just can’t connect with them emotionally. Ridley’s portrayal of Rey, the mysterious scavenger-turned-heroine, remains extremely stilted and frustratingly wooden, and Boyega similarly fails to either engage or convince as Finn.

The lack of substantial back-story doesn’t help, in an increasingly tonally uneven screenplay which often can’t decide if it’s a fairly broad comedy or deep existential drama. I understand that Rey’s supposed to be an enigmatic character whose origins are unknown, but she surely needs further explanation as to why she’s there in the first place?

Oscar Isaac remains the charismatic highlight as pilot Poe, and particularly impressive once again is Adam Driver as that most conflicted of villains, Kylo Ren. Driver brings out many layers of moral complexity.

There aren't nearly enough real shocks, genuine emotion or revelatory surprises - apart from the very underused, cameo return of one favourite character. I wish the twists and turns had been pushed far further...

The late Carrie Fisher has a fitting tribute as Leia. The tonal changes, poor attempts at occasional humour and, as before, often very wooden acting delivery does jar though, with this being even less impressive, less impactful and even less memorable, than the already dumbed-down Force Awakens. Even with the extravagant but very distracting induction of seat-shaking, dry-ice spurting 4DX.

Rating: * * *

Loving Vincent (2017)

PG, BreakThru Productions, 94 mins.



The first ever hand-painted film, this tells the largely uncharted story of the infamously reclusive painter Vincent Van Gogh - through using the medium he became synonymous with.

  Constructed entirely out of oil paint, a team of thousands of animators from all over the world painstakingly create a world of trains, sun-dappled landscapes and many - quite literally - colourful characters.

 Not a lot is known about this enigmatic figure, even less about the events which occurred directly after his death. How much is dramatised is an open question, but it makes for an interesting, if not always gripping, narrative device nonetheless.

 Boyish detective Armand (Douglas Booth) meets a varied array of individuals to try and deduce exactly how a troubled and often volatile Van Gogh, died under suspicious (or perhaps not so suspicious) circumstances.

  Booth has had a phenomenal slate of roles to his name over the last few years. From playing Boy George, to privileged party boys Harry (The Riot Club) and Anthony (Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None) and a flamboyant Vaudevillian impresario in this autumn’s criminally underrated serial-killer chiller The Limehouse Golem, he’s a versatile, polished and incredibly focused actor - and Armand is no exception. Relatable, subtle and unassuming, it’s another performance which absolutely anchors the film.

  There is also a Poldark reunion, with Aidan Turner and a particularly brilliant, very natural Eleanor Tomlinson as the daughter of the owner of a provincial café.

‘You want to know so much about his death, but what do know of his life?’ inquires an aloof maid.

  There may not always be a great deal of substance or new information about our deliberately elusive titular character.

However, it’s executed in such a genuinely state-of-the-art way, that the mechanisms of the plot somehow become incidental to the artistry. The dazzling images are always alive with movement too: faces change expression, looking temporarily perplexed with incredulity. The actors are filmed using revolutionary motion-capture technology: photographed as normal, with the computer matching their every mannerism. But, as this great achievement demonstrates, innovation coupled with traditional methods work the best…

Rating: * * *