FILM REVIEW: THE DICTATOR

Paramount Pictures
Now Showing




Regular readers of this blog will know that I have a list of so-called funny men who I simply do not find funny: Will Ferrell, Jack Black, Adam Sandler and Vince Vaughan to name but a few. Also on that list is British comic actor, Sacha Baron Cohen, whose alter egos, Ali G, Borat and Bruno, I simply don't get.

I had half expected to feel similarly out of the loop with Baron Cohen's latest creation, Admiral General Aladeen, the ruling despot of fictitious Middle Eastern nation, Wadiya. But much to my surprise, I found myself more amused than annoyed by this politically incorrect political pariah.

Admiral General Aladeen (Baron Cohen) is the eponymous dictator, who has ruled Wadiya since age 7, and is one of the world's last remaining tyrants (the film is dedicated to the loving memory of the late North Korean despot, Kim Jong-il); hording his nation's wealth and ordering the execution of anyone who dares question his intellect, or who simply beats him to the prize in the cereal box.

But when Aladeen travels to New York to address the United Nations' concerns over Wadiya's nuclear aspirations, his uncle, Tamir (Ben Kinglsey), the rightful heir to the Wadiyan throne, sets in motion his plan to rule; replacing Aladeen with a body double (also Baron Cohen, playing a slow-witted goat herder), and bringing democracy to Wadiya.

This last move will enable Tamir to sell-off the country's vast oil reserves to foreign interests, including a Chinese capitalist (Bobby Lee) with a penchant for Hollywood cock (one of the film's most brazen jokes is to call-out Hollywood's A-listers as whores; Megan Fox appears early on, as herself, collecting a pay cheque for bedding Aladeen; the latest in a line of many).

When Aladeen's assassin (John C. Reilly) fails in his assignment, the now beardless Aladeen finds himself down and out in downtown NYC. He "befriends" Zoey (Anna Faris), a boyish-looking lady protesting the dictator's visit to the UN, who operates the Free Earth Collective, a bleeding heart, left wing cliche-riddled co-operative.

It's Zoey, along with Nadal (Jason Mantzoukas), Wadiya's one-time head of nuclear operations -- who escaped to America after Aladeen ordered him executed (he wanted the missiles to have rounded rather than the leader's preferred pointy heads) -- who will help Aladeen regain his title and perhaps bring about a change of mind, and tiny black heart, in the process.

The plot of The Dictator parallels somewhat with the 2008 Adam Sandler "comedy", Don't Mess With The Zohan, where Sandler's Mossad agent, Zohan, moves to New York city, begins a new life as hairdresser, and brings peace to the Jewish and Middle Eastern communities of New York (Baron Cohen even blatantly borrows a sight gag from 'Zohan' involving a hirsute pubic region).

But where Zohan was typical Sandler nonsense (juvenilia topped with schmaltz), The Dictator is far more barbed, with something to offend every race, colour, gender, and sexual and political persuasion. It's also, thankfully, much shorter; The Dictator clocking in at a mere 83 minutes.

That's long enough for Baron Cohen's tyrant to undergo a transformation of sorts (Aladeen's still not completely sold on the idea of democracy or equality of the sexes by film's end), but not too long for the premise to run completely out of steam.

Granted, not all of those jokes hit their target perfectly, nor is Baron Cohen above the scatological, but there is a sting in the tail of The Dictator, directed by regular collaborator, Larry Charles (Borat (2006); Bruno (2009)), which makes for an ultimately satisfying satire.

FILM REVIEW: THE WOMAN IN BLACK

Roadshow Films
Now Showing




I'm a self confessed wuss when it comes to horror films: I can't stomach too much blood, and I have developed an appreciation for the floorings of several screening rooms thanks to my habit of averting my eyes downward when things start to get all slicey and dicey.

Thankfully, The Woman In Black is an old school horror flick, suggestive rather than gratuitous. But as grateful as I was for the absence of gore, even I failed to be startled by its bump-in-the-night theatrics.

Arthur Kipps (Daniel Radcliffe) is a single father in Edwardian England, haunted by the death of his wife who died giving birth to their only child some four years earlier. He's also a lawyer but his employers aren't too impressed with his work to date. They assign him to settle an out of town deceased estate which will either secure or end his career with the firm -- and quite possibly his life.

The Humfrey estate is located on the remote outskirts of the village of Crythin Gifford, where the locals don't take too kindly to strangers. They also keep their children as close to home as possible, the reason for which soon becomes apparent to Arthur once he enters the Humfrey household. Cue super freaky weird shit.

Almost immediately upon entering the dusty halls of the Humfrey manor, Arthur spies the eponymous Woman in Black, the spectral spinster who haunts both the estate and the nearby village -- and for very good reason.

Hell hath no fury like a woman wronged, and the Woman in Black has a darn good reason to be pissed. That may not be the townsfolks' fault, but their children bear the brunt of her fury. (The film's pre-credit sequence gives you a taste of her wicked ways, and immediately sets the tone.)

But as creepy as the atmospherics of James Watkins' sophomore effort are, The Woman In Black failed to sufficiently raise my pulse or heartbeat. There are moments which had me edging closer to the edge of my seat -- one almost dialogue-free, 10-minute sequence where Radcliffe's Arthur chases sounds and shadows, upstairs and down again -- but none which had me documenting carpet patterns.

As far as haunted house films go, The Woman In Black, adapted from the Susan Hill novel by Jane Goldman (Kick-Ass (2010), X-Men: First Class (2011)) is reminiscent of the recent Spanish supernatural thriller, El Orfanato (The Orphanage, 2006), but lacks that film's fright factor. Watkins chooses not to ratchet up the tension as events unfold, but rather he keeps things on a suspenseful simmer: it's more chills than thrills.

On the plus side, the film is handsomely mounted; the cinematography by Tim Maurice-Jones, and production design by Kave Quinn, lending the film an eerie elegance. And Janet McTeer's hammy turn as a grieving and eccentric mother provides some much needed levity. (Ciaran Hinds as her husband, Mr Daily, the only local to befriend Arthur, gives his usual solid, though constipated, performance.)

Radcliffe also acquits himself well in his first post-Potter production, breaking away from, if not entirely free of, his boy wizard persona (having him travel via train through the English countryside, however, doesn't help banish thoughts of Hogwarts). Minus his glasses, and sporting a five o'clock shadow, he's suitably mournful if not particularly animated.

And that's how I'd describe The Woman In Black. Not that the lack of blood has produced anaemic box office results. The first film produced by the recently revived Hammer Films is already the highest grossing, locally-made horror film in the U.K. And with an international gross topping $120 million, there would seem to be a healthy audience for old school scares.

FILM REVIEW: SILENT SOULS

Icon Film Distribution
Now Showing



Whilst appearing on the surface to be an arthouse road movie, Aleksei Fedorchenko's Silent Souls is an anthropological study of, and eulogy for the Merjan culture; the Merjans being a Finnish tribe which merged with the Western Russian people some four hundred years ago, and which (barely) survives today.

The film's elegiac tone is set from the beginning by the narration of Aist (Igor Sergeev, Kelsey Grammar's Russian cousin), a man who lives alone, works at the local paper mill and melancholically recalls the past of both his family and his people.

Aist is our guide into the Merjan culture at the same time that he accompanies his employer and friend, Miron (Yuri Tsurilo), on his drive cross-country. Miron's younger wife, Tanya (Yuliya Aug), has died (how is never explained), and Miron is determined to return her body to the small town where they honeymooned, and commit her body to the water as is the custom of the Merjan people (for the Merjans there is no god, just love and water).

As the duo drive, we are treated to flashbacks of both Miron's and Tanya's marriage -- the town liked to gossip about their eccentric passionate ways, such as Tanya bathing in vodka before making love -- and Aist's childhood, marred by the death of his mother, and coloured by his father, a poet-of-sorts whose writings celebrated the Merjan way of life.

Simultaneously we're informed of Merjan traditions, such as decorating the genitalia of brides on their wedding day, and talking fondly, and explicitly, of loved ones in the hours and days between their death and cremation (a tradition ironically termed "smoking").

Silent Souls, adapted by Denis Osokin from the novel by Aist Sergeyev titled Ovsankyi (which translates as The Buntings, canary-like birds which feature in the film) is a sombre affair though not without humour and heart. And as a study of a culture I had hitherto never heard of, it fascinates.

But as fiction, it tends to drag, even at a mere 75 minutes. As informative and poetic as Fedorchenko's film is, it is lacking in any narrative or dramatic urgency. Then again, Silent Souls is a eulogy, "smoking" a culture which has all but disappeared, and thus its tendency for slow-moving reflection and introspection can be forgiven.

FILM REVIEW: DARK SHADOWS

Warner Bros. Pictures
Now Showing




Dark Shadows was a late 1960s, supernaturally-themed daytime soap opera centred on the cursed Collins family. The show received an uptick in popularity -- and cult status -- when it introduced Barnabas Collins, a 200-year-old vampire with a penchant for hypnotism and snacking on young girls.

Tim Burton's film version, starring regular collaborator, Johnny Depp (both are professed fans of the original TV series) as the bloodsucker, isn't so much a soap opera as a fish out of water -- and time -- comedy (of sorts), whereby the 1770s vampire finds himself awakened in 1972, having been buried alive by angry villagers two centuries earlier.

But unlike the recent 21 Jump Street, which successfully took the late 1980s drama about youthful looking cops going undercover in high schools and turned it into a raucous comedy, Burton's experiment is less successful; the director unable to decide on a tone with Dark Shadows by turns comic, camp and even scary, but never convincingly or cohesively so.

The once great Collins family has been reduced to a mere handful -- matriarch Elizabeth (Michelle Pfeiffer), teenage daughter, Carolyn (Chloe Grace Moretz), Elizabeth's ne'er-do-well brother, Roger (Jonny Lee Miller), and his grief-stricken young son, David (Gulliver McGrath) -- and their standing in the seaside Maine community of Collinsport, is in name only.

Their downfall has a great deal to do with the Angel Bay fishing company, which has usurped the Collins cannery fishing contracts. It also happens to be owned and operated by Angelique (Eva Green), the same witch who cursed Barnabas to vampirism when he refused to return her love many moons ago.

That love-hate relationship is revived -- and spectacularly so in one scene -- when Barnabas returns, coincidentally at the same time new governess, Victoria Winters (Bella Heathcote), arrives at Collins Manor to tutor young David. Victoria bears an uncanny resemblance to Josette, the woman Barnabas did love back in 1772, and whom Angelique sent to a watery grave.

Barnabas's resurrection is a truly frightening scene (well, for this wuss, anyway), with the thirsty vampire going to town on the necks of the work crew who are unfortunate enough to unearth his coffin. But any horror and tension is immediately upended by a blatant piece of product placement.

Sadly, Burton and Depp only intermittently remember to utilise Barnabas's true, bloodthirsty nature -- another highlight has Barnabas munching on a bunch of munchie-suffering hippies -- mostly relying on Barnabas's kooky appearance, ye olde worlde speech, and bemused reactions to the wonders and mysteries of the 1970s.

The same goes for the rest of the cast -- which includes Jackie Earle Haley as Collins Manor groundskeeper, Willie Loomis, and Helena Bonham Carter as Dr. Julia Hoffman, the psychiatrist treating David -- who have storylines which are introduced, completely forgotten, and then returned to if only for some form of closure. Bonham Carter's story arc ends with the suggestion of a sequel which will surely -- hopefully -- never come.

Credit, or blame, where it's due: the screenplay was penned by Seth Graham Green, the novelist responsible for the book, Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter. Here's hoping his adaptation of his own book (due in Oz cinemas in August) is a far more confident, less schizophrenic affair.

At the very least you could say the film looks great. Burton's regular collaborator, Colleen Atwood, revels in the costume design of the period, and the production design by Rick Heinrichs is retro gothic, or vice versa.

And the cinematography by Bruno Delbonnel (Amelie, and The Half Blood Prince) is suitably dark but no where near as muddied as Alice In Wonderland (thankfully, Burton did not shoot Dark Shadows in 3D or post-convert it). But then, saying a film is better than Alice In Wonderland (one of 2010's worst films) is low (or no) praise, indeed.

Perhaps it's time Messrs Burton and Depp had a mutual parting of their creative ways? The vibrant collaborative process which spawned Edward Scissorhands (1990) and Ed Wood (1994) has progressively soured over the past decade and a half, slightly revived by Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2005) but irredeemably poisoned, cursed if you will, by Alice.

It's time you saw other people, guys. Don't make us bury you alive for 200 years!