Writing in the rain, it’s not hard to believe summer’s coming to a close. Manchester’s famous for this wet stuff – the atmosphere always makes the city. The cotton industry flourished here, the damp climate making fibres less likely to snap during spinning. They’ve also attributed the vibrant music scene to the rain, suggesting decades of Mancs forced indoors by the weather with only guitars to amuse themselves. A quick listen to The Smiths and you might well believe it.
What’s definite is that it is most certainly raining, an absolute torrent as I sift through submissions to The Mancunion’s New Writing section. And waddya know, it’s raining on the page too. And where it’s not, there’s the threat of rain. Then, occasionally, brief holidays from the rain. Enough time to relax the shaking bones a little to look out of the window – where it’s raining in Manchester, and again I remember summer’s coming to a close. There’s nothing to despair though: if the months of more downpour mean sitting indoors creating, writing, spinning, singing, then we can embrace it and set to. Write about people, places – and the weather. Here’s a small offering of works to kick us off, all poetry. Prose next week and, please, submit anything you like to [email protected]. The more the merrier. And don’t let the rain ruin your ink. Just write.
“It seems like everybody’s smiling tonight,” notes frontwoman Ninja after opening with the frenetic T.O.R.N.A.D.O., “is it a Northern thing?” You can’t really blame her for forgetting – after all, it has been a full three years since The Go! Team’s last UK tour and even longer since they last played in Manchester. Judging by the quality of their superb third album, Rolling Blackouts, and the way it translates live tonight, it certainly seems to have been time well spent.
The setlist leans heavily on the Brighton outfit’s newest release, with ‘Secretary Song’, ‘Apollo Throwdown’ and ‘Buy Nothing Day’ all featured, where guitarist Kaori Tsuchida fills in on lead vocals on the latter effort. The result is classic Go! Team – a band hell-bent on bringing together all the hallmarks of their favourite bands, no matter how unlikely the combination may be, and they do it to stirring effect. For the uninitiated, imagine if Sonic Youth employed two drummers, threw in double-dutch chants, shameless country-ish harmonica and a plethora of cartoon sound effects, and you’re about half way to understanding The Go! Team’s cathartic chaos. This is irresistibly danceable and, often, life-affirming music and with so many current bands so focused on image and audience perception, it makes a wonderful change to a see a band play live in the pursuit of nothing but sheer, unadulterated fun. The undeniable star of the show is Ninja – with charisma by the bucketload and some seriously impressive dance moves, she’s as endearing a performer as you’ll find anywhere on the live circuit. By the time they close their encore with ‘Keys to the City’ – “‘the one song where everyone has to jump”, says Ninja – the crowd might not have witnessed the slickest live performance, but they’ve certainly had a hell of a lot of fun.
White Lies Academy 1 18th February 2011 4 stars White Lies return to Academy 1 tonight after a near two year absence, suffering from a severe case of ‘second album syndrome’. Their sophomore effort, Ritual, has been in stores roughly a month and was met with decidedly mixed reviews – I certainly wouldn’t recommend picking up a copy if you’re hoping for a major departure from their 2009 debut.
Tonight’s performance, however, puts forward a very convincing case for the band’s continuing relevance, especially now that the appallingly fickle NME hype is but a distant memory. Ritual certainly seems to be an album that works far better live than on record. Kicking off the set with habitual set opener ‘A Place to Hide’, the three-piece, tonight augmented by a further two members on rhythm guitar and keyboards, swiftly and seamlessly segue into ‘Holy Ghost’, the uncharacteristically forceful bassline and swirling guitars not at all out of place, especially when followed by the nearest thing White Lies have to a hit single, ‘To Lose My Life’. The setlist involves continued alternation between old and new, each track from the first album followed by a fresh effort, and it’s here that the new tracks really come into their own. On record, Ritual is hampered by a lack of urgency and the often arbitrary length of its tracks, but live the songs are faster, edgier and infinitely more exciting. Tonight’s encore, especially, seems to demonstrate that White Lies’ considerable potential has by no means been diminished. Their debut single, ‘Unfinished Business’, proves that they’re fully capable of writing a punchy pop song whilst set closer ‘Bigger Than Us’ is unashamedly aimed at the stadiums that the band clearly still hope to reach. Their live show is already the finished article – they could just do with keeping their recorded output a little pithier and more direct. Catch White Lies in an intimate venue while you can.
Feeder have had a mixed career, from the low points of the unfortunate suicide of drummer Jon Lee and replacement drummer Mark Richardson leaving to rejoin Skunk Anansie to creating their own label, Big Teeth Music, and over 20 Top 40 singles.
Academy 1 is packed of fans of all ages tonight, showing how diverse a range of people Feeder’s music appeals to. The setlist tonight certainly caters for any aged Feeder fan by incorporating most of the well-known hits and a few of their personal favourites from their 20-year career.
Opening with ‘Home’, from their most recent album, Renegades, which goes down well but it’s not until ‘Feeling a Moment’ that the crowd really get going. This sparks a few hits from their back catalogue that really show how Feeder have progressed as a band over a period of 10 years, playing ‘Pushing the Senses’, ‘Just the Way that I’m Feeling’ and probably the most well known song, ‘Buck Rogers’, which ignites a mass of jumping bodies that no one could refuse to join in with.
A man of few words during tonight’s show, Grant Nicholas only really breaks this by asking the crowd if they want to hear a new song, ‘Borders’ which has the feel that Feeder are still going strong and not differing from the formula that gained them such success.
The crowd requested ‘Just A Day’ by chanting the opening beat, which Feeder oblige, with people of all age singing along to the words. Feeder end the night on a cover of Nirvana’s ‘Breed’ that closes a great gig, and certainly show that after 20 years they still have the spark to put on great shows.
This film was one from the Cornerhouse Spanish & Latin American Film Festival which I was actually highly anticipating. A documentary film telling for the first time, through the eyes of his son Sebastian, the notorious story of Pablo Escobar: leader of the Columbian Medellin drug cartel. The story itself was enough to confirm that the film had a lot of potential. In fact, we left the film feeling disappointed. Using a mix of archive news footage, home movies and Sebastian’s own narration, the film was meant to be a humble and personal portrayal of Columbia’s political history. Instead, the Cornerhouse must have been having some kind of technical issue throughout the film as there was no music and the archived documentary clips had no sound. As a result, the film went in and out of sound frequently, and the story often had to be endured through subtitles alone. Many people, at one point an entire row, left feeling frustrated. The rest of us sat and persisted with the rest of the documentary. At times when the film was at its most serious, all we could do was all laugh at the fact that we couldn’t hear important historical footage and, as a result, the film didn’t flow. If it was not for the subtitles underneath, I reckon that the cinema would have emptied pretty quickly. At the end of the film, all the audience felt that they could do was applaud. All of this shambles aside, the film carried an important political message for Columbia. In order for the violent history and drug cartels in Columbia to end, Sebastian and his mother broke over a decade of silence in exile. One of the most touching moments involved Sebastian meeting the sons of murdered political figures Lara Bonilla and Luis Carlos Galán in order to apologise for his father’s grave mistakes.
Verdict
Whether in the embrace of Sebastian and Rodrigo (Lara Bonilla’s son), or in the sympathies and disappointment of Sebastian himself for the person his father had become, this landmark film is definitely one to see, even if only with occasional sound. Although for the sake of all of you reading this, I really hope this is not the case.
‘La vida de los peces’ is the latest offering from Chile’s golden boy director Matias Bize. At just 31 he has directed 4 features to widespread critical acclaim, and many more shorts. The Life of Fish itself has been lauded with prizes – it won the prestigious Goya Award for Hispano-American film. But once it had started I kept waiting for the penny to drop, the action to start. Even now, I am thinking to myself: clearly I am too thick-skinned, too Hollywood-numb to get the subtlety of this film. And yet – lack of plot, introspection, subtitles – I should have loved it. But I was left listening to the popcorn-rustlers. What went wrong, Matías? Any film which sidelines plot in favour of ‘subterranean’ exploration will generally struggle with a mainstream audience. This film wants to be as deep as each and every character we encounter. It is ambitiously set in one location – an intimate house party. We view the party through the eyes of our protagonist, the prodigal Andres, who returns to Chile after a decade abroad. Slowly we uncover the central tragedy that both binds and alienates our characters from one another. It is a slow-paced dialogue-deliberate linger on the effect of loss, but lacks the usual vibrancy of Spanish cinema. Santiago Cabrera, (our too good-looking Andres), just doesn’t have the cinematic magnetism to pull it off. The real problem lies in the central relationship of Andres and Beatriz – the estranged childhood sweethearts. You don’t believe that the intelligent Bea would really go for this guy, and lacks the required emotional intensity.
This is the sort of film that eschews traditional titles in favour of insightful and obscure ones. It’s become a sub-genre in itself, and indeed a genre-signifier – films like the Squid and the Whale, or Fish Tank for that matter (what is it with aquatic life this kind of thing?). Once the meaning behind the title became clear in The Life of Fish it was slightly wince-inducing. Andres and Bea behold one another through a fish tank, all very Baz Luhrmann, and talk about the internet, and social networking. The point became laboured. Ah, of course, we are all just fish in the metaphorical sea (both world and worldwideweb), plenty more out there – or are there?
Verdict
It sort of works, and it’s sort of interesting – the house is their momentary tank, neither seem able to leave despite many attempted goodbyes. However, the moment the characters need to talk about, draw attention to a device it no longer functions as a device. The magic is gone.
Not your typical animated film, A Turtle’s Tale (dubbed ‘turtley awesome’ by whatever marketing genius Optimum hired) focuses on the life of Sammy (Dominic Cooper); a chipper little green back hatchling, with a percent for dangerous situations; and best friend Ray (Robert Sheenan). Of course there’s a love interest as well, and the film only really gets going when Sammy bumps into lost love Shelly (Gemma Arterton). Separated at hatching, the two star-crossed lovers reunite, and embark on a quest to find the secret passage to the ice sea. Sadly, after run-ins with alligators, hawks, and an environmental research lab, they become separated, and Sammy’s priorities shift from finding adventure, to finding his missing mate. I hate to give a film three stars (am I saying it’s good, bad or am I just indifferent?) but unfortunately this turtle’s tale falls smack-bang on mediocre. The use of 3D in the stunningly colourful underwater seascapes is unparalleled in animation; there’re a few good songs, and most importantly of all, I actually cared about Sammy (I know that doesn’t say much for my mental health, but it’s important in the film). However, a complete lack of direction almost ruins what otherwise could plausibly be described as an ‘emotional rollercoaster’; Sammy almost dies, meets the love of his life and a new best friend in the first ten minutes; but the rest of the film fails to live up to the initially rapid pace, as any excitement generated with the search for Shelly is ruined with Sammy’s frustrating reluctance to declare his feelings, and an annoyingly rushed ending. It soon becomes clear that what at first appears to be a light, adventurous romp, is in fact a vehicle for thinly-veiled environmental propaganda; as Sammy and his friends battle through oil spills, fishing nets, rubbish dumps; human involvement that is equal to (if not greater than) the dangers of the sea. Despite this serious edge, one thing that is made very clear is that Sammy’s tale was designed for children. Forget toilet humour, racy music and Shrek-esque euphemisms; in this film you won’t find a cross-dressing Ken doll, or wise-cracking, leery sidekick whose only purpose is to make accompanying adults chuckle. And it’s nice. All too often kid’s films are sauced-up in a desperate bid to snare the parental vote; and while I’m all for chucking long-suffering mum and dad a bone (or jokes about getting high on frankincense and myrrh; y’no, whatever floats your boat) it’s a welcome change.
Verdict
More ‘turtley ok’ than ‘turtley awesome’; with the best 3D since Avatar, and a decent (albeit at times vague) storyline, is you can stomach the irritatingly moral undertone then this Turtle’s Tale is worth a watch.
I saw Richard Ayoade pass me on the way to the front of Cornerhouse’s premiere of Submarine but I couldn’t see his face nor had anybody announced his arrival. He is easy to spot, though: the hair, the posture and the timid manner in which he approached the stage smacked of his IT Crowd alter ego. It would be difficult to believe that this man is being hailed as “Britain’s answer to Wes Anderson” had I not just seen his debut film, Submarine, which he was at Cornerhouse to promote. You’d have put money on Richard Ayoade being destined for big things when, at Cambridge, he became President of the prestigious Footlights: a drama club that has launched the careers of such talents as Stephen Fry, Hugh Laurie and the Inbetweeners’ Simon Bird. But, Ayoade is quick to quench the interest in his past as, according to him, the position was “completely uncontested”. However, in spite of his apparent low self esteem he certainly couldn’t hide his faith in his own humour. When asked what he had consciously left out of his screenplay when referring to Joe Dunthorne novel, Richard pondered for the briefest of moments only to come up with “hand jobs”. You see, apparently the book contains a lot more sex than Ayoade’s adaptation. It’s not intended to be “prudish”, he insisted, he just didn’t see the universal appeal in a high amount of adult content for a film following the lives of a pair of 9 year olds. The score for Submarine is brilliant and was something of much discussion after the film. Alongside the credits, Ayoade told us that Arctic Monkeys and The Last Shadow Puppets front man, Alex Turner was behind the soundtrack. Richard has previously directed music videos for both bands. When asked to distinguish between those roles Ayoade adds “You can disappoint more people with a film!” “I’m not mad on confident people. I can’t imagine myself ever making the Bon Jovi story.” But, that’s okay because when allowed to write and direct, Ayoade manages to spill his own persona, made famous by his “uber-geek” character Maurice Moss from the IT Crowd. Submarine lead Oliver Tate (Craig Roberts), apparently, lives in his own mind: scarce of the self-assurance his peers possess. It’s easy to see why Richard chose Submarine to be his first venture on to the big screen with such familiarities between himself and Tate. Nevertheless, when a member of the audience enquires about this similarity Ayoade lightly retorts “What are you trying to say?” Ayoade is already working on his next film: an adaptation of Dostoyevsky’s novella, The Double. He’s undertaken this with none other than Mister Lonely writer Avi Korine. When asked about the differences between making the two films, Ayoade replied “I’ll have a go at a draft for that but I’ll want Avi to be there throughout.” Even with his first movie set to be a dark horse for Bafta 2011 Richard Ayoade knows he’ll have a lot to prove with his second outing.
Craig Roberts as Oliver Tate and Yasmin Paige as Jordana in SUBMARINE
5 Stars
Quentin Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs, Frank Darabont’s The Shawshank Redemption and Richard Kelly’s Donnie Darko are all examples of directional debuts in cinema going right. Now, Richard Ayoade is making his own claim to this super-clique with his first venture, Submarine. And it’s a very strong claim indeed.
The screenplay, also courtesy of Ayoade (with insight from Michael Cera apparently), has been adapted from a Joe Dunthorne novel. Submarine tells the tale of Oliver Tate (Craig Roberts), a young boy looking to lose his virginity with class mate Jordana Bevan (Yasmin Paige) who aside from her “spontaneous bouts of eczema” is Oliver’s dream girl. This story isn’t to be confused with a Welsh re-mastering of American Pie. Ayoade ensures this by cutting down the sex by about 90%.
At its heart, Submarine is a realistic coming of age story. The romance between Oliver and Jordana is consistently charming and for anyone who can remember the awkwardness of early courtship, it’s also oddly nostalgic. Oliver tries to juggle a crumbling home life alongside a relationship with an unconventional girlfriend. But, he’s far from one of the overused superheroes we’ll be seeing over the coming Summer. This makes him all the more lovable and yet, all the more likely to fail and Richard Ayoade never lets you believe that the happy ending you’ll be rooting for will be easily attained.
Told from the fourth-wall-breaking-inner-voice of a 15 year old boy whose optimism and enthusiasm toward our simple world is contagious, Submarine will have you laughing from the opening. That’s not to say that your heart won’t ache and your eyes won’t well up. Ayoade is already very clever at playing with emotions and knows exactly how to get you to love an underdog, as is the British way.
Verdict: After seeing the likes of True Grit, The Fighter and The King’s Speech this year it’s refreshing to be wowed by a movie with a suspected £2 million budget. Submarine is a clever comedy that stands apart from any other predictable romance. Also, watch out for executive producer Ben Stiller’s cameo.
When we think of Paris now, we think of thin women, baguettes and the Eiffel Tower. Rewind several decades to the 1940s and we begin to see it wasn’t all that. From 1946 to 1958, the Fourth Republic of France was in its post-war operation (the Nazis had left and American films were once again allowed to be shown). However, not all was rosy, and many people disliked the similarities to the pre-war conditions in which everything was traditional, classical, and limited, including the films. There seemed to be no innovation or youth, this inevitably lead to the birth of the rebel cine-clubs, which prided themselves on non-commercial, individual cinema (think the Manchester Cornerhouse, but in France at a time of mainstream cinema fail). Henri Langlois was the Godfather of this whole situation, founding the Cinematheque Francais in 1936. It was one of the first art house cinemas in France. From this cine-house others had emerged, including the hyped Cine-club du Quartier Latin (specialising in new American films) and Objectif 49 (specialising in new, unreleased films). It was at these cine-clubs that the future film-makers of the Nouvelle Vague movement were to meet – and so we pay homage to them. The start of Nouvelle Vague itself was in the late 1950s and 1960s when films of free expression, communication and experiment were produced. At the beginning of the Fifth Republic of France, creativity was bouncing: and they pushed the boundaries. Literary tradition was out; stylistic visions were in. These visions were often based on classical Hollywood or Italian Neorealism; such predominant themes that often exposed truth, objective reality and personalisation. Nouvelle Vague dared to say what mainstream didn’t. This often meant showcasing the unspoken realities of everyday life. It could be anything from A and B in a silent film, or A having a flashback and B talking directly to the audience; thus breaking the fourth wall of cinema which often limited other films. The director was in charge of the film – it was their vision, their expression, their platform to use the camera as they saw fit. Sometimes cinema references were even included in these films; further proof that filmmaking ran in their very blood. Eminent names we should truly remember are; Bazin who created the infamous Cahiers film magazine most New-wavers wrote in; Godard, Rohmers, Trauffaut and Rivette. Nowadays Nouvelle Vague is still influential and relevant, showing its inspiring ability to sustain and reinvent. Its effect spread to America in the early 70s (creating New Hollywood), leading their film industry to truly benefit. Now when you watch Penn’s Bonnie and Clyde or Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs, please remember it’s not just a film, but the baby of an ex-Parisian’s vision.
Rag Week Film Festival kicked off on Monday and, in line with the international theme for day, the showpiece was La Haine; a French film directed by Mathieu Kassovitz. The event itself was perhaps a little underappreciated (with a less than massive turnout) however, the brilliant members of the film society were all on hand to provide a great cinematic experience for the select few, the elite you might say, who had ventured out away from work and even the allure of the pub. La Haine itself was excellent; it is very much a film rooted in its setting, the banlieues of Paris; suburban ghettos, frequently beset by violence, racial tension, economic despair and aggressive policing. After a night of serious riots the film depicts the day after for three youths; Vinz (Vincent Cassel), Hubert (Hubert Koundé), and Saïd (Saïd Taghmaoui). The plot mostly derives from the fact that Vinz has found a police handgun and vows to use it to kill a police officer if their mutual friend Abdel, in hospital following a police beating, dies. While the film is capable of touching moments and can be very comic at times, what really makes it special is the sense of threat that is carried throughout. Every conversation, every situation, seems to contain the possibility of violence. What it successfully depicts is a cycle of hatred and misunderstanding, which truly blazes into life in the film’s conclusion. It is an entertaining and touching watch that brings the problems of the projects to the screen. In this way it is perhaps gladly out of step with other more pretentious black and white French films and stands out as a true cult gem; starting the RAG week film festival in style.
Watching Finding Nemo as part of RAG’s Mental Health week fundraiser showed an entirely deeper current to the shallow ripples of this entertaining classic; suddenly I understood the real significance of this harrowing separation tale. The ocean surface acts as the mirror; held up to the face of the dry world, while the submerged becomes our reality. Marlin, our real hero, whilst struggling with paranoid schizophrenia and the inability to process his emotions (which of course leads him to project all his angst onto the great, dark ‘drop-off’) causes his oppressed son to break out of his anemone cocoon. This is a story of the blind helping the blind. Marlin goes after his son, and is aided by the mentally handicapped Dory, whose intellectual development has been stunted by an untold repressed memory, from which her powers of recollection have never recovered. These two troubled characters of course begin to help each other on an emotional level along a great journey of physical and spiritual proportions. The destination: self-acceptance. They encounter a series of haphazard characters, some friendlier than others, but each with a set of psychological issues that remind the audience of the real plight of our protagonists; the shark, Bruce, so full of self-loathing he has to lash out, the family of turtles which cling so fiercely to the E.A.C.; there is no place for the weak among them. This seascape is a cacophony of alter-egos, shouting for waiting-room acknowledgement, and of course they are all fighting against The Man. Finally, we have the Holy Grail; the elusive Nemo, the son and the only physically disabled character, which is ironically the most emotionally capable of all the characters. This is a classic case of the child having to assume responsibility for a mentally disabled parent. The frothy facade of this aquatic saga draws in an audience of all ages in order to spell out its message of awareness. Or maybe, just maybe, the mental (ill) health substratum is the net from which the audience can fully appreciate the entertainment value of this pelagic film.
Wednesday 23rd March saw Manchester RAG and Film Soc put on an interactive showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show to raise money for charity. Well the only thing to say is those of you who didn’t go really missed out on an outstanding evening’s entertainment. The night was a mix of the showing of the classic cult film, with a live cast playing it out in front of us at the same time. Arriving in what I thought was suitable attire for the evening (silver top hat and a tight leather waistcoat) it quickly became all too apparent that I was in fact overdressed. Almost everyone (including the men) were wearing corsets or fishnets of some description. Hanging my head in shame, I took my seat and was very pleased to hear that before the film began, all of those who hadn’t seen Rocky Horror before would be suitably introduced to it by some light hearted games. The first of which was “whose arse is it anyway?” where the blindfolded contestants had to figure out who a cast member was by touch only (and I think you can guess how). The other games had content that shouldn’t really be printed, and so you can just use your imagination, but rest assure they were very entertaining. The film itself was an even more rowdy affair. All of us had props to use at certain points; water pistols to squirt at people, and confetti to throw about. Heckling was greatly encouraged, I certainly did my fair share, and anytime Janet appeared on the screen, yells of “slut” and various other things accompanied her. The whole evening was well run and put together, I must commend both RAG and Film Soc for putting on what was an entertaining and incredibly fun showing. For all of those who weren’t there you had better hope that they decide to do it again, you missed out on the Time Warp.
After The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, true Narnia loyalists clung to vague hopes that the studio would follow the publication order of the books and attempt a film adaptation of The Silver Chair. Instead they have opted to take The Magician’s Nephew, the penultimate book to be published, (yet the first book chronologically), and bring this to the silver screen, no doubt in stomach churning 3D. The reason? What all audiences apparently want when sequels are no longer a viable option: an origin story. Walden Media (backed by Fox as of Treader, after Disney jumped the sinking ship), concluded that as the franchise is steadily losing money, the best way forwards is backwards. They intend to replicate the appeal (and box office takings) of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. In the panicked death throes from the herd of producers determined to squeeze the last drop of money out of C.S. Lewis’ magical series, what they fail to understand is that there is not a committed enough fan base to keep the franchise alive. Wardrobe attracted fans of the series that were curious to see how this version would compare to the timeless original (and, to a slightly lesser extent, the BBC adaptation). They were let down by the attempt to mimic The Lord of the Rings in the battle scenes, and the dumbing-down of the Christian messages central to the book. Those new to the franchise were attracted by the fact that Wardrobe is one of those books you are expected to have read before you die and that it kind of reads like a film anyway. However, most of the interest dies with Wardrobe. The book (and the film) could easily stand alone, and few are aware of later tales focused around a horse, a donkey, an ape, or a silver chair; let alone a set of magical rings that serve as transport between dimensions. At a push they’ll recall Prince Caspian, but this was turned into a sort of watered down ‘Prince of Persia meets Dr Doolitle’, with an unconvincing Spanish accent from Ben Barnes. So the films are floundering. Following in the footsteps of countless other franchises, with Puss in Boots threatening to fling fur-balls at us in 3D, the producers are hoping that if they show the events leading up to Wardrobe, people might pay attention again. But why should we? Prioritising profits over principles means that the latest instalment will continue to disappoint fans of the book by butchering key themes and alienate casual cinema-goers with confusing attempts to mimic more successful franchises. They may drag some in who are curious to see how the book will be translated on to the screen, or some who merely hope that it serves as a substitute for the soon to be finished Potter franchise, but I fear that this will not be enough to keep the studio happy financially. Still, what do I care? They lost me when they dropped Eddie Izzard as the talking mouse.
Frequently described as ‘Alice in Wonderland with machine guns’, director Zack Snyder’s latest offering to whatever heathen God they worship up at Warner Bros is a little more Crazy Town than Wonderland. Recently chosen to reboot the Superman franchise, Snyder follows hits 300, Watchmen and The Legend of The Guardians (that owl film) with this deliciously grungy, original, Sci-Fi fantasy. It begins with the institutionalization of Baby Doll (Aussie actor Emily Browning) following the death of her mother, and subsequent death of her younger sister as the result of a rape attempt at the hands of her stepfather. To stop Baby Doll from spilling the beans and halting his inheritance, she is taken to Lennox House; a dingy hospital for the ‘mentally insane’, where orderlies take cuts, and sexual abuse is high on the menu. To survive both the squalid conditions, and her imminent lobotomy, Baby Doll retreats down the rabbit hole, and into her imagination, as she and the rest of the female ensemble (Jamie Chung, Abbie Cornish, Jena Malone and Vanessa Hudgens) battle to escape the asylum before Baby Doll loses her mind (literally). Beginning with almost disturbing intensity (and a fantasy within a fantasy) the mental hospital is transformed for almost the entirety of the film, into a Moulin Rouge-style, Mob-run whorehouse, Dr. Gorski into a dance instructor-come-brothel Madam (Carla Gugino), and the patients into exotic dancers. It is a setting that works well; theatrically highlighting the overt sexuality of the abuse suffered by these young girls. However, they’re far from helpless. Like all good fantasy stories, there’s a quest; items to find, and baddies to defeat, and the characters are more than ready to do both. Snyder’s signature grimy, gothic aesthetic is ever present, as the girls bend time and space to encounter demon samurai, Steampunk-zombie-soldiers, Orcs, dragons, and futuristic alien-robots; all to gather fire, a map, a key and a knife (oh and the cryptic fifth item – a mystery). But will they find the items and escape their prison in time? And will any of them survive Baby Doll’s fantastical delusions? The all-star female cast show us the meaning of girl power, battling hoards of monsters in and out of Baby Doll’s mind to reach their goal, in kick-ass costumes to boot. However, somewhere in the layers of fantasy, the reality of their fate is lost; it’s easy to forget that if these fetish-clad girls don’t manage to kill the dragon, or shoot the zombie, then they die for real. With minimal urgency throughout, the storyline falters.
Verdict
Love it or hate it, as with many fantasy films, you have to take it as it is; don’t try to rationalize it, in fact don’t even think about it too much. Part anime, part superhero flick, the graphic novel-esque tone combined with a great cast and great music make this an easy one to enjoy, watch it if you can.
