In cinemas now [M]

Director: Josh Trank

Runtime: 83mins.

Notably the first produced feature for screenwriter Max Landis (son of Hollywood great John Landis), Chronicle is an intriguing amalgam of the science fiction and coming-of-age genres, mislabelled in the media as found-footage due to the handheld camera style used predominantly in the first half of the film.

Protagonist Andrew (Dane DeHaan) is a strange, but mostly very shy kid with a drunk-ass Dad (Michael Kelly) and terminally ill Mum (Bo Peterson), who buys a camera and starts filming everything – including his father’s abusive tendencies – as a way to document, but also distance himself emotionally from the shit happening around him. It’s his shield, if you will, but it does very little to promote a ‘cool’ image at high school, something his cousin Matt (Aussie actor Alex Russell) is none too shy to point out. Matt initially treats Andrew with grudging acceptance, distancing himself from Andrew at the first sign of ‘abnormal’ behaviour, but it’s pleasing how much the relationship develops over the course of a very tight 83 minutes.

When the pair go to a party and Andrew brings his new camera along, events take a creepy turn. Matt and Andrew follow high school politico and popular kid Steve (Michael B. Jordan) into the forest at his insistence: the three boys disappear into a cave and come into contact with a strange alien object, emerging with powers. If you’ve encountered teenage boys, you’ll know they’re not to be trusted with the simplest of objects (sharp pencils are a hazard, for example). With that in mind, Chronicle documents in realistic fashion what would go down if teenage boys were actually granted super powers: violent, hormonally-charged mayhem.

What starts out as mere experimentation (watch out for a hilarious scene in a toy store) becomes more sinister when both their confidence and Andrew’s family woes spin out to gigantic proportions. But Chronicle is far more than its climax and conclusion; it’s a film with a fresh angle on each element. The characters are incredibly well developed; the main trio interact with each other in a very believable way, and the dialogue is pitch-perfect. Furthermore, Chronicle sets itself apart from ‘comic-book movies’ (as defined by William Goldman in Adventures In The Screen Trade) by always maintaining its emotional backbone, which informs the plot points and propels the story from a place of real human anxiety, instead of the reverse. 

Chronicle’s ability to give viewers something unexpected: hilarious one-liners, thrilling supernatural stunts, and real human connection make this first-feature effort a thoroughly entertaining experience, which will no doubt inspiring a cult following.

****

KATIA NIZIC

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In cinemas Thursday [R18+]

Director: Steve McQueen

Runtime: 101mins.

What a frightening and gloriously productive relationship writer-director Steve McQueen and actor Michael Fassbender must have – the former has made two feature films, both with Fassbender, and both absolutely putting the actor through a physical and emotional ringer. In Hunger, McQueen asked Fassbender to portray IRA martyr Bobby Sands, a gruelling role that saw the actor shed dozens of kilos to realistically depict a man starving himself to death. And now, in Shame, McQueen asks his collaborator to characterise a man who seems supremely committed to fucking himself to death.

Fassbender plays Brandon Sullivan, a New York executive with a problem; in fact, Brandon could do worse than consult one of Fassbender’s other upcoming characters, nascent psychoanalytic psychotherapist, Carl Jung in David Cronenberg’s A Dangerous Method (out in March). But this New Yorker rarely acknowledges the impact that his addiction has on his life; despite amassing a truly phenomenal collection of pornography, a disturbing knack for ricocheting off fellow subway commuters in sweaty, thrusting, anonymous, back alley encounters, and snatching brief moments of the “little death” in a toilet stall at work, Brandon rarely allows himself to admit that he has a serious problem. And he certainly never permits any significant connection with anyone he meets. This unfortunate creature abhors true emotional contact, and privileges his solitude, even in one of the world’s most populous cities. But when his estranged cabaret-performing sister, Sissy (Carey Mulligan) drifts back into his world, Brandon is forced to confront the implications of his lifestyle, especially when his sleazy boss decides to use her to emulate his own version of Brandon’s legendary prowess.

There is so much going on in this complex and very challenging story, and it’s such a disappointment that Fassbender was one of several notable actors overlooked in this year’s Academy Awards – another was Ryan Gosling for his outstanding performance in Drive. Fassbender’s Brandon is an excruciating study in self-abuse of the most intimate kind, and it is heartbreaking to watch him avoid any possibility of redemption or meaningful connection with others, let alone his equally problematic sibling. Shot in the pitiless, frigid light of New York’s winter, Shame builds on the extraordinary offering of Hunger, and has me looking forward to the next collaboration of McQueen and Fassbender – Twelve Years a Slave – a period film that sees a 19th-century New Yorker kidnapped and sold into slavery in the Deep South.

*****

TIM MILFULL

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In cinemas Thursday [PG]

Director: Michael Sucsy

Runtime: 104mins.

As the new Hollywood tearjerker The Vow so earnestly describes, amnesia is no laughing matter. Yet I still can’t help but think of the benefits – for the remaining (and remembering) partner that is. Just think of it – every one of your mistakes, boo-boos, bad presents and terrible decisions are all erased. The relationship tabula would be well and truly rasa-ed. But what happens if they don’t remember you at all? And worse, what if they don’t want to?

The film is inspired by a real life story; much like the world it’s set in is loosely based on reality. The always enjoyable Rachel McAdams is Paige, a decidedly untroubled artist who’s wedded to Leo, an up-and-coming music producer played by Channing Tatum. They live a pleasant and unbelievable life in a fauxhemian quarter of Chicago (actually Vancouver). Their apartment makes the set of Friends seem plausible. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. As far as glossy Valentine’s Day movies go, The Vow is a cut above the usual “love is nice” affair. If only slightly.

Following what has to be one of the tamest car accidents in cinematic history, a groggy but still perfectly made-up McAdams is set upon by her estranged family. So enters Sam Neill and Jessica Lange as her thoroughly WASP-ish parents. They’re determined to return Paige to the place she left, a world of lawyers, cardigan shawls and grown women who still shriek-hello one another. It’s a life that doesn’t include the raffish Leo.

In keeping with the film’s soap-opera stylings, a destructive family secret looms close. But not too close, and not too destructive either. Director Michael Sucsy (Grey Gardens) coats everything in a thick layer of schmaltz. The possibility of tension is buried beneath montage after montage. Paige’s recovery consists of mild confusion and a lot of frowning, while Leo’s grief at having his wife pull what amounts to a polite Coyote Ugly is contained to a few grimaces and masculine near-tears.
Again there’s nothing really wrong with any of this. The Vow knows exactly what it is, which is a crowd-pleasing Valentine’s Day date. Everything is nice to look at, all of the actors are pleasant to watch – look out for Australia’s Jessica McNamee as Paige’s sister – and the story plays out as expected. Almost, anyway. It may not be a trip to Paris, but it’s no petrol station bouquet either.

***

SCOTT FORD

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In cinemas now [MA15+]

Directors: Måns Mårlind, Björn Stein

Runtime: 88mins.

Underworld: Awakening, also known as Hey Look, They Made Another One Of Those Things, is the fourth instalment in the vampires versus werewolves series, but it feels like a lot more than that. Unlike its goofy, campy counterpart Resident Evil, the Underworld franchise seems to take itself quite seriously indeed, leading to a lot of soulless, effects-heavy films that just sort of plod along without going anywhere. The previous three stacked on a lot of boring mythology and exposition, but never made much of an effort to get you engaged with the stories or characters. Taken on those terms, Underworld: Awakening might actually be the best film in the series so far – it has a plot with some actual tension, and some characters with clear motivations to act as counterpoints to the splatter and gore. At a bare minimum, Underworld: Awakening is also the best vampires versus werewolves movie you’re likely to see this year, so there you go.

Kate Beckinsale, whose name is so associated with genre flicks that she can probably expect a call to star in a Quentin Tarantino film any day now, reprises her role as the vampire Selene. It’s 12 years after the events of the last film. In the intervening time, humans have discovered the existence of vampires and werewolves, and set about exterminating them in a series of purges. Selene has been cooling her heels in cryogenic suspension, and when she awakes, plagued by a series of weird visions that may or may not exist to drive the plot forward, she’s keen to get back into ass-kicking mode. Stephen Rea, who visibly seems to regret being involved in all this, is in the mix as an evil scientist. There’s also a mysterious little girl, who, as tends to be the way with mysterious little girls in movies like Underworld: Awakening, is the key to unlocking what they both desire.

Everything else is about what you’d expect from an Underworld film. The colour palette is an oppressively gloomy blue, the violence is copious, and Kate Beckinsale’s black body suit is very much in place. Generic hunk Scott Speedman is absent, replaced by generic hunk Theo James, but that’s about the only big change. The film ends on a cliff-hanger, which always feels like a bit of a cheat, but if you’re a fan, then at least you know there’s a lot more of this to come.

**½

ALASDAIR DUNCAN

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In cinemas now [M]

Director: Asger Leth

Runtime: 102mins.

From the opening moments of Man On A Ledge, it’s pretty obvious that Nick Cassidy (Sam Worthington) is up to some sort of mischief. After checking into an old-fashioned, but still quite upmarket hotel in downtown Manhattan, Cassidy orders champagne and an expensive meal of lobster, wolfs down the lot before wiping down the suite of any fingerprints. Then he opens a window and steps out onto the ledge in question. Of course, Cassidy’s not going to jump – at least, not yet – because now we need some time to work out why he has reached this desperate course of action.

When the police negotiator arrives to talk him down, Cassidy turns him away with instructions to bring in his colleague, Lydia Mercer (Elizabeth Banks), whose reputation as a negotiator is a little on the nose after a run of failed attempts to talk jumpers out of their goal. And Mercer is just as nonplussed as her sneering colleagues about why Cassidy would want her on the job. But there are hidden agendas here on behalf of more than just Cassidy, and the unfortunate Mercer seems to be the only one in the dark.

Perhaps director, Asger Leth and screenwriter Pablo Fenjves thought the idea of a plonking a protagonist on a ledge 20 stories up in one of the world’s busiest cities would be sufficient to leave the audience with their hearts in their mouths. But we’re living in a world where people are rushing from one hassle to the next, and barely have the time to look up, let alone stand for hours on end encouraging some unfortunate to literally make his mark on the world. And truth be told, audiences are more likely to head off to see Tom Cruise dangle from the world’s tallest building, rather than Hollywood’s not-quite-next-big-thing mumbling through his lines and staring into the middle distance. Yes, there’s a (rather unrealistic) caper subplot running parallel to Cassidy’s hope to avenge himself, but it doesn’t take long for all of us to lose interest. Unfortunately, Man On A Ledge very much has the feel of a paint-by-numbers thriller, not to mention the very pedestrian direction and telemovie aesthetic that sometimes comes with debut features. You have to worry when the audience starts yearning alongside the baying crowd in the streets for the protagonist to take that final step forward.

**

TIM MILFULL

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In cinemas Thursday [MA15+]

Director: Andrew Haigh

Runtime: 97mins.

Two people have a one-night stand. The morning after one pulls out a tape recorder and asks the other to recount everything that happened the night before. Not only what they did but why, and how they felt about it. This is the premise of new British film Weekend. The results are more awkward than a walk of shame, but they’re also more insightful, funny and touching.

Yes, both parties are men, but to categorize Weekend as a “gay film” is to do it a disservice. Sure they meet at a gay bar, but this isn’t the world of topless discos and body glitter. The term “camp” couldn’t be applied to either of the men in question. This is a film that goes beyond labels and stereotypes. Like the art project that initiates it, Weekend studies the complexities of how we present ourselves, who we really are, and the space between.

Both men are keenly drawn. Russell (Tom Cullen) is a softly spoken lifeguard with a taste for antique crockery. He is out to his friends but not his parents. Glen (Chris New) is a combative young artist scarred by a philandering ex-boyfriend. Both have their reasons to be cautious, yet their connection is undeniable. From stilted beginnings their one-night stand blossoms into a weekend of romance. Not that romance is something they can admit to – they’re both too guarded for that. Especially considering Russell lives in Nottingham, a place where bigotry and bashings seem to be a constant threat. Not that it’s bleak to look at. Cinematographer Urszula Pontikos washes the urban sprawl in delicate blues, pinks and yellows.

All of this is directed with remarkable skill and elegance by Andrew Haigh, who also edited and wrote the screenplay. Previously he directed Greek Pete, a docu-drama about male prostitution. While Weekend touches on issues like gay marriage, the film is wryly self-aware, and sometimes even cynical. Glen knows his artwork will probably never be shown. In his words, the gays will only come for a glimpse of cock, while straights won’t go at all; “They’ll go and see pictures of refugees or murder or rape, but gay sex? Fuck off!”

There’s not a single false note or sentimental moment throughout. Everything rings achingly true; whether it’s Russell’s dithering on whether to end a text with an ‘x’ or smiley-face emoticon, or the film’s sweetly elusive end.

*****

SCOTT FORD

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