PINOCCHIO

Stars: Tom Hanks, Joseph Gordon-Leavitt, Benjamin Evan Ainsworth, Lorraine Bracco, Keegan-Michael Key, Giuseppe Battiston, Jaquita Ta'le and Luke Evans.
Writers: Robert Zemeckis, Chris Weitz. Based on "The Adventures of Pinocchio" by Carlo Collodi.
Director: Robert Zemeckis.

Rating: ★ ½

Pinocchio now represents two significantly symbolic lines in the sand for the Walt Disney company. In 1940, the cartoon (produced by Walt, but directed by a team of animators each assigned key sequences) landed in cinemas an instant classic; along with Snow White and The Seven Dwarfs, Dumbo, Fantasia, Cinderella, it represents the might of the Mouse House at the height of their creative commitment to wondrous, heartfelt movie magic.

In 2022, Pinocchio is not any of those things. Superficially, it is the latest live-action/CGI hybrid that the Disney boardroom have deemed an intellectual property up for a reboot; a legacy title that may be nearing its expiry date after 80 years stoking the commercial coffers of the studio, and that the money-men have decided needed a new coat of paint.

And the result, in line with most creative undertakings borne out of greed, is horrible. Directed by Robert Zemeckis (and more on him later), Pinocchio is a shockingly soulless, cynically constructed slab of modern streaming content. It is a monumental testament to bad creative decision-making and corporate shilling; from the moment the cuckoo clocks on the wall of Geppeto’s workshop chime, and a parade of Disney characters emerge, this travesty ironically abandons any pretence it will take on anything resembling human form.

Zemeckis draws on old mate Tom Hanks to play Gepetto, the latest character in his 2022 tour of weird accents (see also Baz Luhrmann’s Elvis). The pair are working together for the umpteenth time, hoping to recapture that Forrest Gump vibe but more often recalling The Polar Express in everything they do. Why Hanks bothers going full ‘old Italian’ is hard to fathom, as Joseph Gordon-Leavitt as an annoying Jiminy Cricket is all Louisiana drawl; Pinocchio himself, voiced by Benjamin Evan Ainsworth, sounds like Bobby Brady. Other casting is either focus-group driven (Cynthia Erivo as The Blue Fairy…is fine, I guess) or totally in line with memos from the boardroom (“Hey, Beauty and the Beast’s Luke Evans is still on the books, so find something for him…”).

And on Zemeckis? By my reckoning (and I’ve been a fan since his script for Spielberg’s 1941 and his 1980 directorial debut, Used Cars), there is no sadder figure amongst the top-tier Hollywood directing ranks. Having helmed four legit classics (Back to the Future; Forrest Gump; Who Framed Roger Rabbit?; Contact) and one black-comedy cult favourite (Death Becomes Her) that found the perfect balance between new Hollywood tech and storytelling, he has chased that dragon over and over. His unwavering fascination with the potential of filmmaking technology has resulted in an ambitious but irredeemably flawed series of films that favour gadgetry over humanity (Beowulf; The Polar Express; A Christmas Carol; The Walk). 

Pinocchio is his worst yet; the story of the boy who wants to be real becomes a contradictory, even cautionary tale about how bringing life to the lifeless can go terribly wrong.

THE BAD GUYS

Featuring the voices of: Sam Rockwell, Marc Maron, Awkwafina, Anthony Ramos, Craig Robinson, Zazie Beetz, Richard Ayoade, Alex Borstein and Lilly Singh.
Writers: Etan Coen, with Yoni Brenner; based on the books by Aaron Blabey.
Director: Pierre Perifel

Rating: ★ ★ ★ ★

Introducing his film at the Sydney premiere of The Bad Guys, the Australian actor-turned-author Aaron Blabey, upon whose 15-issue graphic novel series director Pierre Perifel’s animated romp is based, recounted the tale of his journey into the studio jungle of La-La Land pitching his animal-centric crime story. “Every studio said, ‘No’”, said Blabey, “until Dreamworks got it, and I couldn’t be happier.”

And ‘happy’ he has every right to be because, despite an occasionally patchy history in the field of animation (Shark Tale, anyone?), Dreamworks Animation has captured the anarchic glee, character chemistry and old-school narrative skill of Blabey’s bestselling books. Perifel brings a decidedly non-Hollywood animation style to the story of five friends leaning into the preconceptions of them as nature’s criminal element, but it is a style that allows for dazzling flourishes of colour and action, delivering an older-skewing family pic the likes of which we haven’t seen since Brad Bird’s 2004 classic, The Incredibles.

The film opens on that staple of the crime genre, ‘the diner scene’, maybe referencing the start of Pulp Fiction or Reservoir Dogs (but…in a kid’s movie?!?). Slick career crim Wolf (Sam Rockwell) and safe-cracker street hood Snake (Marc Maron, doing brilliant voice work) are riffing on the highs-and-lows of birthdays, before sauntering over the road to a bank and rolling the joint. A wild car chase ensues, during which we meet the gang - computer guru Tarantula, aka ‘Webs’ (Awkwafina); blubbery master-of-disguise, Shark (Craig Robinson, earning the film’s biggest laughs); and, twitchy tough-guy Pirahna (Anthony Ramos).

A Clooney-esque package of smug egotism, Wolf is triggered into action when the new governor, upwardly-mobile fox Diane (Zazie Beetz) insults him and his crew on local TV. Wolf sets his sights on the ultimate heist - the pilfering of a bejewelled trinket during a gala in honour of guinea pig philanthropist, Professor Marmalade (Richard Ayoade) - only to have it backfire. Soon, the whole ‘honour amongst thieves’ creed is being challenged and the friends are faced with the intellectual might of a true criminal mastermind.

Adults familiar with the high-stakes crime genre will draw more from The Bad Guys than their kids; the under-12s might have a bit of trouble registering the double-crosses and underworld machinations in Etan Cohen’s screenplay. But that certainly won’t detract from their overall enjoyment, so thrilling are the action set pieces and lovingly rendered are the characters. The film becomes increasingly loony (cue the army of mind-controlled hamsters with glowing eyes!) while losing none of its smarts. It’s the perfect franchise kickstarter and the best Dreamworks cartoon since forever.

CYRANO

Stars: Peter Dinklage, Haley Bennett, Kelvin Harrison Jr., Ben Mendelsohn, Bashir Salahuddin and Monica Dolan.
Writer: Erica Schmidt
Director: Joe Wright

Rating: ★ ★ ★ ★ ½

Director Joe Wright does ‘soaring lit-based romance’ like few others. He made Atonement - the last film to really make me gulpy-sob - as well as gorgeous-looking and emotion-filled reworkings of Pride & Prejudice and Anna Karenina. These are the stories that engage his artistry and passion for storytelling like none of his other films. He did Hanna, The Soloist, Darkest Hour - all fine films but works that felt like a hired gun was at the helm.

Cyrano may be the best Joe Wright film yet. It is, of course, a reworking of Edmond Rostand’s romantic classic Cyrano de Bergerac, a favourite amongst literary academics but probably best known to modern movie audiences as the inspiration for the beloved 1987 Steve Martin film, Roxanne. In 2022, Wright has worked with writer Erica Schmidt to create a 17th century Parisian spin on the story of the swordsman/poet who pines for the beautiful Roxanne but who doubts she would fall for someone as physically unappealing as he.

Instead, she falls for one of Cyrano’s new regiment, the guard Christian, a strapping specimen but not the shiniest sword in the battalion. So Cyrano agrees to be his voice - mostly in letters, but also literally on occasion - to help his beloved Roxanne find true love, even if it means his own longings must go unrequited.

In a year of big, brassy, lushly orchestral musicals, like West Side Story and In the Heights, the original music, composed by The National and the lyrics, written by Matt Berninger and Carin Besse, is often understated to the point of being almost lost in Wright’s lavish production. But the songbook works as a subtle add-on to the characters in Cyrano, not a grand flourish in a sing-for-singing’s sake kind of way. Some of the film’s deepest emotions are found in the repeated refrains of the central tune, ‘Madly’, or in Roxanne’s declaration of her depth and strength, ‘I Need More’.

The Cyrano of legend was cursed with a big honker, but in Wright’s version he is played by Peter Dinklage, the little person star of Game of Thrones (and that unforgettable cameo in Elf). Dinklage is married to Schmidt, and she crafted the script to suit not only her husband’s dwarfism but also his towering talent and on-screen charisma. His performance as the forlorn, faultlessly romantic Cyrano is arguably the greatest ever screen incarnation of the figure, putting him ahead of such actors as Gerard Depardieu, Jose Ferrer and Christopher Plummer.

Dinklage’s scenes with his Roxanne (the luminous, spirited Haley Bennett) are both lovely and heartbreaking; as Christian, Kelvin Harrison Jr brings depth to a role that is very often underserved in adaptations of the text. And in fourth billing is one Ben Mendehlson, doing that thing he’s been doing for the best part of a decade now, taking a small villainous role and making every frame of film unforgettable.

THE WILLOUGHBYS

Featuring the voices of: Will Forte, Maya Rudolph, Terry Crews, Martin Short, Jane Ktakowski, Seán Cullen, Alessia Cara and Ricky Gervais.
Writers: Chris Pearn and Mark Stanleigh; based on the book by Lois Lowry.
Director: Chris Pearn.

Available on:

Rating: ★ ★ ★

The plot to The Willoughbys sounds like a Netflix kind of pitch; four children, including two creepy twins, plan patricide and matricide to rid themselves of selfish, abusive parents and willingly render themselves orphans. But instead of the streaming platform’s umpteenth must-watch true-crime mini-series, director Chris Pearn delivers the network’s second animated family adventure, an adaptation of Lois Lowry’s darkly hued but sweet natured children’s book.

Having helmed the flavourful, frantic, if hollow sequel, Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs 2, Pearn offers a similarly colourful if slightly too contrived retelling of Lowry’s bestseller. The story’s protagonist is put-upon pre-teen Tim (Will Forte), the eldest of the four Willoughby children and the least likely to show any sign of inheriting the family’s distinctive feature, a deep red moustache. His sister Jane (Moana songstress Alessia Cara) is a dreamer, but one who curtails her longings to help care for the twins, both called Barnaby (Seán Cullen). The parents (Martin Short, Jane Krakowski) are despicable people, self-obsessed and petulant, who cast Tim to the basement coalpit each night and refuse to feed the children for days on end.

Inherently dark material (one winces at what a Tim Burton or Guillermo del Toro adaptation might have looked like), but Pearn’s animation style is richly textured and wildly imaginative, the visuals softening the jagged edges. Proceedings are lightened up further thanks to the droll narration of The Cat (Ricky Gervais); the introduction of the boisterous Nanny (a wonderful Maya Rudolph); and, shifting the location at crucial points to a candy factory run by the larger-than-life Commander Melanoff (Terry Crews).

Early on, Jane finds new purpose in her life and Pearn amps up the slapstick when a mischievous baby enters The Willoughby’s home (exhibiting agility not unlike Jack Jack Parr), but the character soon fades away. It is one of several spasms of undeveloped material that feel like the adaptation was unable to overcome leftover chapter-beats from its source material. One sequence, in which the four children ‘Home Alone’ prospective buyers, feels like an altogether different short film entirely. A third act that sends the kids to Sweezerlund spins the film into pure fantasy and appears to be setting up a predictably feel-good conclusion, but credit to the production for staying true to the narrative’s darker themes, up until the final frames.

The Willoughbys is too hit-miss to achieve the instant classic status bestowed upon Netflix’s debut cartoon feature, the Oscar-nominated Klaus (2019). But if the storytelling stumbles, Pearn and his animators certainly deliver colour and movement in a manner that is sure to enthrall the under 10s.

SONIC THE HEDGEHOG

Stars: James Marsden, Jim Carrey, Adam Pally, Tika Sumpter, Neal McDonough, Lee Majdoub and the voice of Ben Schwartz.
Writers: Patrick Casey and Josh Miller.
Director: Jeff Fowler.

Rating: ★ ★ ★ ½

SEGA are very late to the party, but the videogame behemoth’s first deep dive into the Hollywood blockbuster pool* has been worth the wait. After a bumpy detour down the rocky road of social media, Sonic the Hedgehog hits the ground running in Paramount’s crowdpleasing, funny, spirited comedy/adventure romp.

Since its debut for the SEGA Genesis system in 1991, the little blue hedgehog with a cracking turn of speed has been a console megastar and inevitable talk of a film adaptation has been around almost as long. In 1994, it was set to film at MGM, then Dreamworks circled a treatment before Hollywood put it in the ‘too hard’ basket (the shadow of rival Nintendo’s mega-bomb Super Mario Bros darkened the prospects of many vidgame adaptations at the time). Sony Pictures Animation acquired the moribund rights in 2014 but stuttered, allowing Paramount to snap it up (the ‘mountain studio’ come to party, substituting the game’s gold rings for their own ‘flying stars’ in the opening logo).

SEGA execs have treated the brand extension of their flagship property with kid gloves, and some may say that the eventual emergence of Sonic as a ‘Roger Rabbit’-type funny-guy in a safe, middle America-set live-action/animated hybrid lacks daring ambition. But with the motor-mouth funny-guy Ben Schwartz voicing the confident critter and a bare-bones but effective narrative that allows for comedy and action beats to breath, debutant feature director Jeff Fowler (working under the wing of his hitmaking production partner, Deadpool director Tim Miller) exhibits storytelling skill and commercial instincts.

The fantasy landscape of the videogame is the setting for the film’s prologue, and it looks beautiful. Under threat because of his special power, toddler Sonic is plunged through time and space to Green Hills, Montana, where he grows into a remarkably well-adjusted albeit very lonely teenage blue hedgehog. In a momentary fit of pique, his energy surge blacks out the town and is noticed by military types, who descend upon the burg. Escaping their prying technology, Sonic is thrust into the life of Sheriff Tom Wachowski (a typically game James Marsden, who worked a similar schtick in the 2011 Easter Bunny dud, Hop) and they hit the road to San Francisco to recover Sonic’s missing pouch of gold rings.

Hot on their heels is the villainous Dr Robotnik, played with the unique comic energy of another megastar from the 1990s, one Jim Carrey. In his first fully frantic comedic turn since the underwhelming Dumb and Dumber To in 2014, Carrey certainly looks more mature but proves no less hilariously elastic in the bad guy role. He is clearly having a lot of fun (often at the expense of his unlucky offsider Agent Stone, played with good grace by Lee Majdoub) and his masterful ability to deliver all-or-nothing physical hilarity and throwaway lines is the pic’s biggest asset.

The main question hanging over the delayed release of Sonic the Hedgehog is, was the delay worth it? That is, was it worth sending the film back to the effects team to counter the bleating of the fanboys who lost their collective cool when the Sonic trailer first appeared in April 2019? Well, it was worth it, as the character looks great, although had the film just pushed through the web white noise it probably would have stood on its own merits.

*To date, the only US feature-length live action adaptations of SEGA properties have been Uwe Boll’s House of The Dead (2003) and its sequel (2005), directed by Michael Hurst. In 2007, Takashi Miike directed the Japanese feature Like a Dragon/Ryū ga Gotoku Gekijōban, based upon the Playstation 2 game, Yakuza.

CATS

Stars: Francesca Hayward, Idris Elba, Judi Dench, Ian McKellen, Rebel Wilson, James Corden, Robbie Fairchild, Mette Towley, Ray Winstone, Laurie Davidson, Jennifer Hudson, Jason Derulo, Naoimh Morgan, Laurent and Larry Bourgeois and Taylor Swift.
Writers: Lee Hall and Tom Hooper; based upon Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musical adaptation of T.S. Eliot’s ‘Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats’.
Director: Tom Hooper.

Rating: ★ ★ ★ ★ ½

Director Tom Hooper set himself a much harder task shepherding Cats to the big-screen than his previous musical adaptation, Les Misérables (2012). Andrew Lloyd Webber’s wildly imaginative, unashamedly odd live theatre smash hit could not be afforded the same instant gravitas as the Oscar-winning reworking of Victor Hugo’s historical epic. The putrid squalor, brutal militarism and class struggles of post-revolution France made Les Misérables immediately relevant and easily analysed by critics and awards season marketeers.

As the early wave of “What the f**k?” reviews suggests, making Cats a relatable movie-going experience for any one not entirely enamoured with the source material has proven a tad tougher. A fantastical vision that requires the kind of suspended disbelief and unskeptical submissiveness for which mainstream audiences (and most critics) are not known, Hooper has undertaken a momentous task of cinematic world building that must at once be tied to its iconic stage roots while also establishing its own need for being. Few contemporary movie works carry that baggage at every stage of their development and execution.

As with the stage production, the narrative is both a relatively straightforward fantasy premise, yet wonderfully nutty. In a London alleyway, a white kitten called Victoria (Royal Ballet principal Francesca Hayward, a striking and angelic presence on-screen) is abandoned, yet immediately finds community with a collection of strays known as The Jellicle Cats. Led by Munkustrap (Robbie Fairchild), the Jellicles are preparing for the arrival of Old Deuteronomy (Judi Dench), who will oversee a song-and-dance contest from which one cat will receive passage to ‘The Heaviside Layer’ and return with renewed life.

The dramatic conflict comes in the form of Macavity (Idris Elba), a mean-spirited moggie with the ability to whisk away in a cloud of magical mist all those who threaten his quest for life-giving ascension. This includes railway yard ginger Skimbleshanks (Steven McRae), ageing theatrical cat Gus (Ian McKellen) and the film’s comic relief duo, tubby tabby Jennyanydots (Rebel Wilson) and ‘puss in spats’ fat cat Bustopher Jones (James Corden). Central to Victoria’s journey is the most magical of Jellicles, Mr. Mistoffelees (Laurie Davidson), and the once regal but now dishevelled outcast, Grizabella (Jennifer Hudson).    

Hooper and his daring troupe in front of and behind the camera have drawn inspiration from the stage-bound cats that have gone before; cast wear anthropomorphic make-up and full body fur-suits, with CGI tails and ears bolstering the effect. Despite family-friendly ratings in most territories, the lithe frames of the dance troupe in their ‘cat-tards’ enhances the inherent sexuality of the feline form. Unlike the vast sets and multiple locations at his disposal for Les Misérables, Hooper is very much studio-bound with Cats, but he utilises the space with remarkable skill; below-the-line contributors such as production designer Eve Stewart and art director Tom Weaving exhibit the best their craft has to offer. In this regard, the production has crafted the near-perfect stage-to-screen work.

In fact, Hooper and his team have nailed the transition in every other regard, too. Hudson finds all the emotion in the signature tune, ‘Memory’, belting out the classic with a combination of rage and hopelessness that tears at you like it should; when given full flight, Hayward is a vision of graceful physicality, embodying both doe-eyed innocence and strong-willed goodness; showstoppers from the stage show hit similar highs, notably Jason Derulo’s ‘Rum Tum Tugger’ and Davidson’s version of ‘Mr Mistoffelees’; and, superstar Taylor Swift vamps it up as Bombalurina, who croons the torch song intro for Elba’s bad guy, ‘Macavity’.

Granted, there are moments that invite bewilderment; the ‘Cockroach Chorus Line’ sequence may ask too much of even the most committed fan. And the familiar comic stylings of Wilson and Corben prove occasionally jarring in the midst of the otherwise all-encompassing Jellicle world.

Andrew Lloyd Webber began writing Cats from T.S. Eliot’s ‘Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats’ in 1977, and in the context of that decade’s more ‘out there’ musical endeavours, a play about alley cats being reincarnated seems totally rational. This was, after all, the decade of ‘The New Wave Musical’, which saw the rise of Webber (Evita; Jesus Christ Superstar) and his American contemporary, Stephen Sondheim (Sweeney Todd), while Hollywood tried to keep up by offering such cinematic sing-alongs as The Wiz, Lost Horizon and Sargeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.

In 2019, foisting such whimsy on a society poised with web-knives sharpened was perhaps the single miscalculation made by Tom Hopper and Universal Pictures; the studio pumped US$100million into the project, which has bounced around the LA and London film sectors for four decades (Amblin Entertainment came close to making an animated version, hence Steven Spielberg’s E.P. credit).

In the new era of ‘fan-service cinema’, Hooper and co-writer Lee Hall have set a new high-water mark. Cats is exactly the stage play experience, compensating for the loss of the live theatre element with its own rich cinematic energy. If issues arise for you such as ‘Where are their nipples?’ or ‘But the ears look weird…’, Cats is already not your saucer of cream, so move on. Hooper’s surrealistic song-and-dance spectacle, steeped in joyous musical theatre lore and rich with the emotions of acceptance and forgiveness, is exactly what we need right now.

ENTOURAGE

Stars: Adrian Grenier, Jeremy Piven, Kevin Connolly, Kevin Dillon, Jerry Ferrara, Billy Bo Thornton, Haley Joel Osmant, Perrey Reeves, Emmanuelle Chriqui, Rex Lee, Debi Mazar, Ronda Rousey and Emily Ratajkowski.
Writer/Director: Doug Ellin.

Watch the trailer here.

Rating: 3/5

The Y-chromosome fever dream that is the world of Entourage heats up from frame 1 in series creator Doug Ellin’s bigscreen adaptation of his hit property.

A barely-clad Nina Agdal, the most current incarnation of supermodel hotness on the planet, gives a sly grin as her binoculars focus in on Turtle (Jerrry Ferrara), Drama (Kevin Dillon) and E (Kevin Connolly) speeding towards the multi-million dollar party-cruiser moored in the azure playground off Ibiza. The boat belongs to Vinnie (Adrian Grenier), who has bounced back from a fleeting flirtation with marriage by bedding Agdal.

The supermodel knows that, like all of us who have followed the lads through their LA adventures over eight HBO seasons, Vinnie is really only a complete man when conjoined with his ‘bros’. When the lads are unified, this long-in-development, short-on-narrative feature is at its best, too; like much of the west coast movie scene, it is high on boisterous personality and lavish adherence to base instincts.

But Ellin’s more expansive take on Hollywood life has not transitioned to the 2.35:1 scope seamlessly intact. The punchy energy and ironic verve that was the trademark of the 30-minute episodes is gone, replaced by some meagre plotting that sees the boys seeking the sweetness of romance and ushering them into the responsibilities of growing old.

Vinnie’s $100million directing debut, a wannabe-tentpole called Hyde has been shepherded through production by ex-agent Ari Gold (Jeremy Piven), who has graduated to studio head and rolled the dice on his old client’s vision of a blockbuster. None of this rings very true, which is at odds with the insider smarts that was one of the most endearing traits of the series. Needing fresh funds to finalise the film, Gold heads for Texas to woo financier Billy Bob Thornton, who puts his scumbag son Haley Joel Osmant in charge of the decision-making. Contrived machinations (mostly to do with the allure of it-girl Emily Ratajkowski) threaten Vinnie’s film and Ari’s job, as is to be expected.

As Vinnie’s business manager and first-time producer, Connolly’s E does very little of either, instead lumbered with a ‘babies vs boobs’ subplot that introduces some down-home moral goodness into the seething immorality of everyday A-list excess (perhaps to appeal to a broader movie-going base than the basic-cable followers of the series). Detractors who have wanted to nail Entourage for some borderline misogyny over the years get plenty of ammo in the form of two sexy starlets, who connive to frighten E into thinking he has fathered an unwanted child and caught an STD in the process.

Turtle romances cage-fighter Ronda Rousey, playing herself; Drama gets a few laughs doing what Drama does, struggling to build a career in the wake of his hotter, younger brother (as good as Dillon is, this should be the last time he plays an idealistic acting hopeful). Other series regulars (Emmanuelle Chriqui, Rex Lee, Perrey Reeves, Constance Zimmer, Debi Mazar, Rhys Coiro) are all shoe-horned in; celebrity cameos abound.

Just as Time Warner resurrected its other HBO cash cow, Sex and The City, so to it does with Entourage. Given the general mediocrity of both, their bigscreen re-emergence hardly seemed warranted; only time will tell if Entourage earns its existence as Sex... did. Marketers will reaffirm that this “is one for the fans,” and it certainly is warmly familiar (and, yes, this three-star review is unashamedly seen through the rose-coloured glasses of a fanatic). The brand will gather a second wind, DVD box-set sales will get a jolt, and Vinnie’s crew can now fade into the pop-culture ether.

One hopes they don’t make the same sequel-mistake as Carrie and the ‘girls’ made. The next real-world step for these ‘boys’ will be settling into the comforts of their wealthy west-coast lifestyles, firming up career opportunities and foregoing their wild ways in favour of maturity. If they don’t, it would be sad. And I wouldn’t want to watch it.

FIFTY SHADES OF GREY

Stars: Dakota Johnson, Jamie Dornan, Jennifer Ehle, Eloise Mumford, Luke Grimes, Victor Rasuk, Max Martini, Rita Ora and Marcia Gay Harden.
Writer: Kelly Marcel; based upon the novel by E.L. James.
Director: Sam Taylor-Johnson.

Rating: 3/5

There is hardcore porn to be had in Sam Taylor-Johnson’s much-hyped adaptation of the E.L. James publishing behemoth, just not the kind that went down in the saucy pages of the authoress’ lit-phenomenon. What the bigscreen visualisation lacks in graphic sexual detail, it more than makes up for in lavishly shiny materialism; Fifty Shades of Grey is wealth-porn, of the most base and immoral kind.

We meet our heroine, Anastasia Steele (Dakota Johnson) as she nears the end of her English Literature course. The buttoned-up, tightly-wound wall flower has paid her own way through college, her middle-class upbringing a normal one steeped in a solid work ethic and positive maternal figure (Jennifer Ehle). Stepping up to help her sick roomie BFF Kate (Eloise Mumford), Anastasia agrees to interview the enigmatic socialite Christian Grey (Jamie Dornan), a chiselled-jaw millionaire telcom exec, and an oddly defined attraction forms between them.

‘Ana’ learns very early on that Christian is a psychologically damaged individual who will offer no long-term, emotionally stable co-existence. Yet she indulges herself in her own fantasy life, embracing the opulence of his 1% lifestyle. That comes at a price – she must adhere to his demands of male-dominant sexual submissiveness. Whether in his lean, muscly embrace or, as the ‘relationship’ progresses, chained to his dungeon wall taking a gentle flogging, she smiles and gasps and moans, like a soft-core B-movie queen. Yet her most heartfelt sensations stem from those breathless, pulse-quickening first glimpses of his helicopter, collection of cars or shimmering steel-and-glass apartment.

The actors have an ambiguous, edgy chemistry that serves the film well. Johnson grows into her character convincingly as the narrative progresses, bravely baring all when required to do so; Dornan plays Christian with an icy stare and rigid formality, reflecting the character’s need to be in total control. British director Taylor-Johnson’s last foray into cinematic sexuality was a short segment in 2006’s very ‘European’ anthology, Destricted, in which a young hunk pleasures himself to climax in the desert. Her latest take on the ‘alpha-male’ archetype is not too dissimilar; Christian is also a bit of a wanker, surrounded by a barren, lifeless landscape, in this case the shiny boardrooms and penthouses of an appropriately grey Seattle.

Over an hour in, we get the first glimpse of how close the film will align itself to the books stark intimacy. But, barring one spontaneous bedroom bout of highly-energised action, the overly-choreographed raunch is mildly titillating at best; the baring of bottoms and boobs with the occasional glimpse of down-there hair is played with an earnestness that gets a bit giggly at times. The decision to launch the film internationally at the Berlinale may backfire, with continental audiences bound to roll their eyes at the exaggerated sexual melodrama played out in Christian’s ‘playroom’. Thankfully, scripter Kelly Marcel mostly reins in the florid ridiculousness of the novel’s ripe dialogue, yet somehow let Christian’s plaintive cry, “I’m fifty shades of f**ked-up” slip through.

The most lasting impression is the nonchalance with which the production refuses to acknowledge the arrogance of the rich in this post-GFC world; when Anastasia asks Christian about his conglomerate’s philanthropic endeavours, he states without irony, “It’s good for business”. Seamus McGarvey’s glistening cinematography and David Wasco’s extravagant production design celebrates the excesses of the rich like few films have dared to in recent years. This is a world that recalls the ‘Greed is Good’ mantra of 80’s yuppiedom; an America that has cast aside the ‘all for one’ goodwill of post 9-11 western society and rediscovered the tenets of the ‘Me Generation’. There are thematic echoes of American Psycho and Bonfire of The Vanities, but not a drop of those much finer works’ knowing, satirical skewering of gaudy wealth.

It may be perfectly sufficient that, above all else, Fifty Shades of Grey captures the shallow essence of its source material. It is an indulgent guilty-pleasure of no consequence whatsoever, preferring to forego the deeper ramifications of a dark sexual lifestyle in favour of a franchise-starting origin story.

MINUSCULE: VALLEY OF THE ANTS

Writers/Directors: Helene Giraud and Thomas Szabo.

Rating: 3.5/5

The bigscreen adaptation of co-directors Helene Giraud and Thomas Szabo’s French TV hit is a charming adventure that only stumbles when it favours an increasingly expansive plot over its delightful six-legged stars. Which won’t matter one bit to the under 10s, for whom this unlikely, sweetly-told tale of friendship in the insect world will prove irresistible.

Giraud and Szabo stumbled upon a cottage industry when they launched the first series of six-minute shorts in 2006 chronicling anthropomorphised insect life in the French countryside (the film’s backdrop is the woods of Provence). To date, the pair has produced 78 mini-episodes; all are sans dialogue (as is the film version), ensuring easy transition into a global marketplace that now numbers over 70 territories. The step-up to cinema-sized coin was inevitable and has proven audience-friendly; Minuscule is already one of 2014’s top-earners, with Eu14million banked domestically.

The theme of family is established early, when a pregnant woman enjoying a picnic with her beau abandons her blanket of food to dash to the hospital. Jump cut to a birth, but not the one expected; instead, we are under a vast leafy frond and witnessing three ladybug eggs pop open. The new winged family set out on an exploratory adventure, only to have one little one become separated. All alone, his misadventures in survival lead him to the blanket, where he inadvertently befriends the leader of a black ant food-scouting regiment.

With the ants balancing a tin of sugar cubes and the wee ladybug along for the ride (a damaged wing renders the poor critter flightless), a cross-paddock odyssey is undertaken to return the bounty to the ant’s home. Dangers abound (including one very scary lizard, when viewed from the ant’s perspective), not least of which is a determinedly evil red ant platoon led by the film’s villain. The red ants are continuously denied some sugar (both good guys and bad almost falling victim to an ant life’s many dangers, including fish and motorcars) until they can take it no more; the reds launch an all out assault on the black ant hill.

It is this third-act/ninety-degree turn into a Lord of the Rings-style ‘castle siege’ that betrays the elegant, character-driven warmth of Minuscule; the wonderfully expressive eyes of the key protagonists and the major threats posed by minor obstacles are all the narrative needed. By the time the warring ant armies drag slingshots, fireworks and a bug-spray can into battle, audience empathy and interest has waned. One senses Giraud and Szabo were unsure of how to upscale the story as convincingly as the visuals; the narrative hiccups when our ladybug hero/heroine must travel back to the rug, becoming side-tracked into an unnecessary encounter with a spider and frog.

In every other respect, Minuscule is an enormously entertaining adventure. It effortlessly finds more engaging interplay and laughs amongst its handful of tiny, wordless characters than the entire cast of most recent smart-mouthed US animation efforts.