They’ve split infinitives to boldly go where no man has gone before. They’ve battled aliens more plasticky than Michael Jackson. They’ve single-handedly kept the polyester industry in business. They’ve pranced about on worlds of paper mache and polystyrene. They’ve even saved the bloody whales.
But never before have the crew of USS Enterprise punched as hard, kicked as fast, warped as far, and blown up as much as they do now.
Don’t have the three hours to sit through an epic tale spanning eight decades, three continents, two world wars, and one enduring love? Here’s the gist: youth is wasted on the young.
Look beyond the larger-than-life presentation, get your head around the central premise – dude ages in reverse – and, yes, there’s not really much to ‘The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button’. But don’t let that put you off. This is compelling storytelling, plain and simple. Whimsical fantasy and genuine heartbreak collide in a delicate fairytale, lovingly and intimately told.
Computer hacker, coke-head supermodel, cyborg, collector of bones, sociopathic mental patient, the world’s hottest archaeologist (with pout), mail-order bride, humanitarian aid worker, Colin Farrell’s mom, and professional assassin (twice) — her roles have been diverse but today none could be more appropriate for Angelina Jolie than that of mother.
In ‘Changeling’, the serial collector of children plays single mom Christine Collins. She dotes on her son, Walter, but the demands of her job mean the nine-year-old has developed quite an independent streak. So when she’s unexpectedly called in to work on a weekend, she thinks little of leaving him home alone. It is quiet, suburban Los Angeles in 1929, after all.
Christian Bale lost 28kg in four months, dropping to 54kg by eating a can of tuna or an apple per day. Daniel Day Lewis studied Czech, broke two ribs by hunching over for weeks, learned to live off the land, and took lessons as an apprentice butcher. And Robert DeNiro worked as a New York taxi driver for three months, boxed competitively, and gained a third of his body weight.
Amateurs.
Tom Cruise has played dreamy barman, hotshot secret agent man, loveable fighter pilot, teen underwear model, money-showing sports agent, cop-of-the-future, multiple kind-hearted lawyers, saviour of the universe, p*ssy-obsessed motivational speaker, self-righteous hitman, wannabe Samurai warrior, lisping girly vampire, and a racing driver called Cole Trickle.
But (with the possible exception of that disgusting bald guy who shook his ass through ‘Tropic Thunder’), he’s really only ever played Tom Cruise. ‘Valkyrie’ is little different. No German accent. No Oscar-baiting attempt at genuine transformation into a real-life historical figure. Just Tom Cruise in an eye patch and Nazi uniform. This is clearly no biopic with the accompanying attention to detail, or even the truth.
We’ve been conned. In the real world, a car is a comfortable place to sit during rush hour. Or, while waiting behind minibus taxis on the main road, a support structure for a hooter.
But in Hollywood, people know what a car’s really for: spinning on its roof; driving (or flying) into trees; demolishing public property; performing barrel-rolls; transporting bodies; time travelling; or making out. Even when it’s stationary, there’s more going on inside than a guy picking his nose waiting for the lights to change.
Casting Robert Downey Jr as a superhero might make about as much sense as having Paris Hilton do brain surgery or Jack Nicholson model lingerie. And yet it works – spectacularly.
‘Iron Man’ goes through all the comic book movie motions – huge budget, elaborate special effects, giant explosions, dastardly villain, rampant product placement – yet, largely thanks to its star, takes the formula stratospheric. As the title character he creates a real flesh and blood character we can root for, rather than some plastic action figure type who looks good on a poster.
“I’m not a miracle worker, I’m a janitor.”
Michael Clayton is a “fixer” for a law firm. He helps Kenner, Bach & Ledeen’s most valued clients out of sticky situations – a hit and run here, a potentially damaging affair there – and he does it well, efficiently and inconspicuously skirting the law. But essentially the former prosecutor is cleaning up after people.
“Gimme a martini,” demands a flustered James Bond.
“Shaken or stirred?” asks the barman.
“Do I look like I care?” Bond snaps back.
It’s hardly what we’ve come to expect from the debonair super spy – but, then again, ‘Casino Royale’ is hardly what we’ve come to expect from the 007 franchise.
It’s back. After battling for more than a decade to make even a halfway decent film, Woody Allen has stumbled across his talent again. And for the New Yorker who has made his career, and slowly undone it over the past ten years, with New York films about New York people, it was lurking in the most unlikely of places – London.
Nils van der Linden