Wild Rose (2018) Film Review by Gareth Rhodes

Wild Rose (2018) Directed by Tom Harper. With Jessie Buckley and Julie Walters.

There is no brighter diamond in more ragged rough than Jessie Buckley in ‘Wild Rose’, Tom Harper’s heart-on-sleeve drama about a troubled Glaswegian country singer (don’t say ‘& western’) with big dreams of Nashville. Buckley catapults every fiber of her being into her performance as she conjures real ‘x-factor’ stage dominance (and composure) in a demonstration of raw ability that will undoubtedly graduate her from the dual Olivia Colman schools of look-at-how-far-she’s-come and is-she-in-everything!?

While it lacks a certain conviction towards the end (you never get the feeling it won’t try to crowd-please), the meat & veg of the film possesses a grit to convey the struggle and turmoil with some success. Buckley is well supported by the ever-sturdy presence of Julie Walters as her long-suffering mother.

The film covers the complications of balancing dreams and responsibilities and the inherent selfishness required to be part of an industry that demands sacrifices. The sacrifices at the altar for a rock n’ roll life are Rose-Lynn’s two neglected young children. This represents an emotional tug-of-war that sits at the heart of the film.

On the poster, rocking out in a white leather jacket, Buckley looks like a flame-haired Axl Rose from the Guns N’ Roses ‘Paradise City’ music video. In the movie she is surgically attached to her white cowboy boots. They represent a significant part of her identity. In one revealing scene she likens her Scottish origins and love for the USA and its country music to a person with gender dysphoria.

While the corny moments feel like they belong in another movie, the strength of Jessie Buckley’s star turn is more than enough to see it through. She encapsulates the essence of raw talent with a sincerity that is frequently startling. The movie is one to watch and so is Buckley.


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First Man (2018) Film Review By Gareth Rhodes

First Man (2018) Directed By Damien Chazelle. With Ryan Gosling and Claire Foy.

Having enjoyed Damien Chazelle’s previous two films, Whiplash and La La Land, I looked forward to seeing what the exciting young director might do when tackling humankind’s greatest “where were you” moment to date…setting foot on the surface of the moon. As it turns out, First Man is more of a study on grief and loneliness than a procedural charting of the Apollo 11 mission that led the USA to plant its stars and stripes into the moon dust to seemingly claim eternal bragging rights over the rest of the world…Soviet Union at that particular time.

Ryan Gosling stars as Neil Armstrong, presenting a man haunted by the loss of his young daughter while struggling to attend to his young family as he throws himself headfirst into a death-defying reach for the stars. Claire Foy plays his loyal wife, Janet, who carries the triple burden of grief for her daughter, nurturing their other children and a painful anxiety for the safety of her husband. Gosling and Foy are excellent in their restraint. Shot up close and personal, Foy’s beautiful eyes are pools of love, pain and frustration as she suffers on the sidelines while Gosling is the stoic loner, shedding any remnants of leading man charisma to portray Armstrong as a methodical man of heroic inner strength, a strength that the movie seems to suggest is summoned by an emotional detachment following the loss of his child.

Combined with the personal intimacy achieved through performance, writing and photography, the use of sound is an almost overwhelming force in First Man. What Chazelle achieves in bounds is capturing the perilous nature of space exploration. A lot of that danger is realised through sound as we hear the ferociously violent forces of nature attempting to rip apart the tiny capsule protecting the astronauts. As their instruments spell danger with red-flashing warning lights and low fuel indicators, turbulence and space rolls couple with the hellish squeal of buckling metal pushed to the absolute brink of its resistance. Chazelle’s achievement here is not to be understated. That is to say we all know the mission was a success (sorry-not-sorry if that’s a spoiler) yet still the tension is borderline unbearable.

The wider competition of the space race is alluded to but not focused on. The global and political conditions seem to be mere satellites around Armstrong’s remarkable world. In press conferences he is to-the- point and without need for self-promotion. Counter that Buzz Aldrin, a more outspoken man, perhaps more in touch with who he is. By casting Corey Stoll, an actor with a history of playing bald-headed complex villains, the film is guilty of singling Aldrin out as a bit of a dick, which in itself could be seen as a dick move given that Aldrin is little more than a cameo act over the course of the film.

Though First Man would play neatly either side of an Apollo 13 double-bill, it is most definitely not the same triumphant force of mainstream movie-making. Though it has fine examples of modern film techniques (spot the CGI?), it is a somber piece with a muted emphasis on looking to the equally endless depths of inner space.


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Fighting with My Family (2019) Film Review by Gareth Rhodes

Fighting with My Family (2019). Directed by Stephen Merchant. With Florence Pugh, Nick Frost, Jack Lowden, Lena Headey and Dwayne Johnson.

If you think of Darren Aranofsky’s The Wrestler, subtract the gritty realism and swap it with a tested sense of movie convention, and with that you might arrive halfway toward Stephen Merchant’s wrestling-based drama Fighting With My Family, a film that ensures broad appeal but with arguably less resonance thanks to an underpinned desire to be mass consumable and easy to swallow.

There a good reasons why that isn’t always a bad thing. The film’s rags to riches central narrative is amiably carried forward by Florence Pugh playing the role of WWE Diva Saraya ‘Paige’ Knight and her young Simon Pegg-alike brother, Jack Lowden. Pugh is like a watered-down faux gothic version of Aarya Stark – a poster child for the cool uncool kids.

An appearance by the one and only Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson would be more potent were it not for a plethora of famous faces in prominent supporting roles. Yes Nick Frost and Lena Headey are fun and add star quality but you get the feeling the starry light would have been more emphasised had it been kept back. A little more of a lean to Ken Loach wouldn’t have gone amiss.

From a rest of the world perspective, the WWE is perhaps one of the few surviving examples of the USA of yesteryear. No other nation has anything like it. Amped-up sports theatre on an inflated scale with evolving storylines that span decades and intertwine with real life tales of glory and devastation. Through Vince Vaughn’s ‘coach’ the movie offers the occasional glimpse into the nuances of a world that is all-too-easy to dismiss as panto in spandex. Behind the curtain there is real pain and sacrifice.

A more grounded tone and some lesser-known faces would have made the protagonist’s leap from Nowheresville, Norwich to the WWE a more striking contrast. This is one of those aim-to-please-everyone films that is happy to have one-foot-in two camps and hopes most of us won’t notice. Temporary fun.


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Long Shot (2019) Film Review by Gareth Rhodes

Directed By Jonathan Levine. With Charlize Theron and Seth Rogen.

I like the gorgeous, intelligent sexy, funny, fit, stylish, powerful woman going for the overweight bearded stoner. Who doesn’t? Not having to try at life and having it all land in your lap is exactly what many of us want…even though most of us dare not admit it.

Seth Rogen seems to be on a one man mission to demonstrate how spliff-head slobs can charm incredible women into bed and beyond by being hilarious and immature. He applied the same trick to Kathryn Heigel in ‘Knocked Up’. He’s an inverted Julia Roberts in ‘Pretty Woman’. Coming from nowhere to score big romantically…but unlike Roberts he’s not smoking hot…he’s just smoking pot.

Like Pretty Woman, director Jonathan Levine’s film is a lottery winner’s fairytale fantasy. But it’s a stupid comedy too. The title ‘Long Shot’ implies to attempt a lucky punt. It’s an obvious title that doesn’t scream “WATCH ME!” but its like has furnished Rogen’s anti-leading man career persona since it was farted into existence.

The reality of a tub of lard like Fred Flarsky tweaking the romantic curiosity of Charlotte Field is about as likely as President Donald Trump admitting he was wrong about a subject, but we don’t watch this shit for a reality check. It’s comedic (isn’t it!?) to see schlubby Seth giving the impossibly attractive woman from the J’adore advert a jolly good seeing to…even though the movie doesn’t have the balls to give us this in all its borderline unfathomable glory (undrated edition anyone??)

I’ll admit to the occasional smile during Long Shot, though at over 2-hours (WAY too long for a stupid comedy) I did wonder if some of my time might have been better spent having a long shit.


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A Simple Favor (2018) Film Review by Gareth Rhodes

A Simple Favor (2018). Directed by Paul Feig. With Anna Kendrick and Blake Lively.

A Simple Favor stars nerdy Anna Kendrick and snappy Blake Lively as unlikely ‘friends’ who after the school run, pack their sons off to play while they bond over martinis and juicy confessions in Lively’s designer home, which she shares with Sean, her one-hit wonder author partner. Before long, it becomes blatantly apparent that Kendrick is being used…to what end is the intrigue that fuels Paul Feig’s film adaptation of Darcey Bell’s 2017 novel.

Tonally, it’s like The Devil Wears Prada conversing at a crowded party, making small talk with Alfred Hitchcock’s Rebecca, Gone Girl and Crazy, Stupid Love. It frequently over steps the mark, as two contrasting drives of chic drama-thriller and nerdy comedy appear to clash rather than meld, yet in these times of content overload, it is faintly refreshing to be served something determinedly uneven.

As Emily, Blake Lively’s attractiveness is weaponised. A movie character with instant chutzpah – a special ops authority in style who forces mere mortals to wither with inferiority. The enigma of Emily gives her the edge, however her desire to be invisible is contradicted by her desire to look incredible. Contrast her with Kendrick’s Stephanie, an internet vlogger who is desperate to be noticed amid the daily struggle of being a lonely single parent with a tragic past. They meet and become friends, or so Stephanie believes…

Told from Stephanie’s (Kendrick) perspective, director Paul Feig makes it feel like his lead character has been transplanted awkwardly into the world of glossy lifestyle magazine. She’s out of her depth, trying to wing it, yet she is a willing participant in Emily’s thinly-veiled manipulation for the sake of hanging out with someone intimidatingly cool. Watched as a ‘comedy’, it doesn’t work. The humour stifles the drama, lessening the overall worth of the experience leaving a film that had greater potential than fun throwaway rental fodder.

In the moments when it begins to fatigue, there are fun twists to keep it in favour and Blake Lively delivers an enjoyable shot of femme-fatale movie star mystique. There’s nothing here you haven’t seen before and chances are you haven’t seen it put together in this way.


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Tully (2018) Film Review by Gareth Rhodes

Tully (2018) Directed by Jason Retiman. With Charlize Theron, Ron Livingston and Mackenzie Davis.

The writer-directing team of Diablo Cody and Jason Reitman return with Tully, a small indie release starring Charlize Theron as a 40-something mother on the brink of a nervous breakdown.

The film shares natural kinship with Reitman’s Young Adult, not just in Theron’s warts n’ all central performance (does anyone do diamond in the rough better?), but in the general DNA of telling a story from the viewpoint of a woman struggling to live everyday in the vast spin-cycle of modern American nowheresville.

There are days when feel like you lose, but where the film wins is in the way it depicts the losing as a victory. As a film, its heart is in the right place, stating to the audience that “your struggle is honorable”. Though you might feel like you’re fading away, your decision to plant your feet and do the best you can, given all the crap the world throws at you…well, bloody well-done on that! Of course, it’s a message that could easily come off cack-handed, but everything is layered with a firm eye on delivering the message with an informed sense of humour, coupled and a desire to reach out and put an arm around you.

Often it is an incidental shot that hits the hardest…and the funniest; Theron zombified and exhausted on the couch, stuffing snacks in her face while staring at semi-pornographic garbage on TV. It’s the kind of behaviour we’re all susceptible to – but one that’s accentuated simply and effectively to understand. It makes you think Reitman and Cody should always work together. Cody’s language achieves a chemistry with Rietman’s vision that allows the audience in.

Tully should play well to a wide audience – to anyone who’s brought up children or struggled to be human in the world. It depicts motherhood and marriage as a joyless slog and there’s something wholly refreshing about that. Theron is once again outstandingly gritty and as real as you might hope, which given her prominent association as a goddess of beauty for Christian Dior commercials is a feat in itself. Tully is a rare thing – a good film that’s asking you to take better care of yourself.


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Apocalypse Now (1979) Film Review by Gareth Rhodes

Apocalypse Now (1979) Directed by Francis Ford Coppola. With  Martin Sheen, Marlon Brando, Robert Duvall, Sam Bottoms, Dennis Hopper and Albert Hall.

For a film that isn’t about very much, there’s much to say about Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now. Set during the Vietnam war, the film is essentially ‘men on a boat’ travelling into the unknown on a mission to “terminate the command” of Marlon Brando’s rogue Colonel Kurtz, a decorated U.S soldier who has gone ‘off the reservation’ by taking the lead of a depraved cult, deep in the Cambodian jungle.

Adapted for the screen by John Milius from Joseph Conrad’s novella, Heart of Darkness, the tone is one of duality between cinematic marvel and sheer horror. We’re introduced to the film by Martin Sheen’s Captain Willard, narrating the inescapable reality of his own predicament of insanity. As Jim Morrison sings ‘this is end my friend‘ over images of an entire tree line being incinerated by napalm, we’re left alone with Willard in his room, paranoid over the strengthening enemy ‘squatting in the bush’ while he grows weak awaiting the next mission. The scene ends with an intoxicated Willard punching a mirror, naked and wailing helplessly in his own bloodstained bed sheets. Welcome to the jungle.

What ensues is a tour de force of what cinema can be. Coppola’s ego is on show and there are moments that are deeply upsetting, but there is something unflinching and true, in as much as the horror it inflicts upon you is what ought to be expected from a film set in a war zone as deranged as Vietnam. There is a background sense that the U.S is losing the war, and from that apart, the war has no achievable end. The central consciousness of the film is a U.S soldier driven to the edge of his sanity, on a mission to assassinate another U.S soldier who has fallen over the edge of his own – perhaps a metaphor for the mental mind-fuck of a country out of its depth, choking in the aftermath of its own napalm cloud.

Perhaps the most iconic sequence of Apocalypse Now is its most misunderstood, misrepresented, misremembered. The stunning ‘Ride of the Valkyries‘ helicopter attack on a peaceful village has become an emblem of power and victory, viewed outside the context of the film as a moment of military justice from the skies. The actual scene is a further establishment of how desperately miscalculated the war in Vietnam was. Robert Duvall’s “I love the smell of napalm in the morning” and “Charlie don’t surf” are t-shirt slogans, forever ingrained into the culture of “boo-ya!”, yet heard in context, they are the words of an army commander operating outside the parameters of humanity, seeking pleasure in horror as he forces his troops to surf breaking waves as they simultaneously dodge explosions and blow innocent people into oblivion.

Through the texture of Vittorio Storaro’s spellbinding cinematography, Sheen’s performance is a fine mix of understated and weighty, as he narrates an insight-giving inner monologue. With a wounded screen presence and a long pain at work behind his eyes, Sheen and Brando’s Kurtz are two peas in a pod. It is through Willard’s narration and reading of Kurtz’s background that we also learn about who Kurtz is. There is a symbiotic nature to their characters in the way they are written, as we take a sight-seeing trip through the worsening dementia of Coppola’s conflict zone.

It took 16-months to shoot, Coppola tried to take his own life and Martin Sheen suffered a near fatal heart attack. The good news is, a sense of crumbling sanity makes it on the screen, enhancing a visually astounding piece of cinema that is as alarming today as it was in 1979. Coppola says of his own movie – “My film is not a movie. My film is not about Vietnam. It is Vietnam. It’s what it was really like. It was crazy. And the way we made it was very much like the way the Americans were in Vietnam. We were in the jungle. There were too many of us. We had access to too much money, too much equipment, and little by little, we went insane.” Indeed.


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