Filth

UK | 2013 | Directed by Jon S. Baird

Logline: A corrupt, manipulative, drug addict cop is in line for a promotion, but finds his own schemes and plans to be scuttling his chances at everything.

Despite being the fourth of Irvine Welsh’s books to be adapted for the big screen, Filth is by no means any easier to digest. In fact, this is one of the hardest to generate any empathy, but that’s not surprising, as Welsh relishes creating lead characters that are deeply unsympathetic, usually with addiction problems, and often infused with a sarcastic, cynical sense of humour. Baird, who also penned the screenplay, has not toned down the central character of Welsh’s novel; to put it bluntly, Bruce (James McAvoy) is a cunt.

Brown-nosing for a promotion, Robertson will stop at nothing to clinch this higher position within the precinct. The murder of an Asian teenager has Robertson pulling out all his dirtiest tricks and grubbiest tactics to upset and foil his colleagues, all of whom are keen on the same promotion. The problem is: Bruce and the arena of the unwell. This man has issues. Serious.

Robertson is a whiskey-swilling, coke-addled, sex-abusing, foul-mouthed charmer. He’s his own worst enemy. And the battlefield is his playground. The real trouble starts when his bad habits begin to lap at his blistered heels. There’s only so far you can climb up the ladder of deception before the rungs start to splinter. Robertson’s grip on the reality show of life is starting to slip and slide. Soon enough this little piggy who had roast beef is the little piggy who ran all the way home with his wee tail between his legs …

The first half of Filth is tough going; it’s as chaotic and intense and obnoxious and heady as snorting a gram in a short space of time because it’s almost lockout time and you’d better be on the floor before that happens. It’s hard to find anyone to like. And those accents are impenetrable! But James McAvoy is brilliant, arguably in his most affecting performance to date, certainly his most bold and compelling.

The rest of the cast are uniformly excellent, and it’s a well-heeled bunch too: Eddie Marsan as Robertson’s hapless buddy Bladesey, Martin Compston as hoodlum Gorman, Imogen Poots as police colleague Amanda, Jamie Bell as rival cop Lennox, Shirley Henderson as randy Bunty, Pollyanna McIntosh as the office size queen, John Sessions as Chief Inspector Toal, and last, but not least, Jim Broadbent, as Robertson’s Ocker psychiatrist Dr. Rossi.

Filth is an identity crisis wrapped up in a brown paper bag. It’s a cracked portrait of a hedonistic descent into self-inflicted delusion. It’s a morality tale disguised as a full-blown bender; the violent seduction of power and the tragic effects of mental illness. A hell of a cocktail. 

I’ve not read the novel, but I get the impression Jon Baird’s remained quite faithful to the tone and intent of the novel. He’s certainly got visual flair. But this is not a cute carousel cruise; it’s a fucking bronco billy ride. Wake up and smell the coffee sunshine, the future’s not bright, its pitch black, like wicked medicinal comedy. 

Filth is released in Australia on DVD & Blu-ray through Icon Entertainment on April 3rd. 

Blue Caprice

US | 2013 | Directed by Alexandre Moors

Logline: A lonely teenage boy finds himself befriended by an embittered man, who steadily embroils the boy in his own deadly contempt for humanity.

The so-called 2002 Beltway sniper attacks shocked America and ricocheted around the world. Nothing as brazen and as shocking had confused both the innocent and those who serve to protect them. Over three weeks across the States of Maryland, Virginia, and Washington D.C. ten people were murdered and three others critically injured. The victims were gunned down, at random, by a sniper with a high-powered rifle, along the interstate highway, in parking lots, and at gas stations.

The culprits were eventually caught; an African-American adult, John Allen Muhammad, and a seventeen-year-old ex-pat “orphan” from Jamaica named Lee Boyd Malvo. It was the boy who had been coerced into doing the shootings, mostly through a tiny hole drilled in the boot of a blue 1990 Chevrolet Caprice sedan. The pair was linked to another seven killings, and in 2003 Muhammad was executed and Malvo was sentenced to six consecutive life sentences.

Blue Caprice paints a dark and sombre portrait of their deadly drift.

This is a very impressive debut feature from Moors, working from a spare, but intelligent screenplay from the curiously named R.F.I. Porto, also on their debut feature. Blue Caprice is very much a mood piece, an oneiric study of manipulation and corruption, of loneliness and despair … but ultimately of a disquiet that burns like the Devil’s furnace.

Isaiah Washington is superb as Muhammad, pulling the brooding adolescent under his tortured wing and cultivating his confusion at the world. This is a nurturing of the darkest kind. Tequan Richmond as Lee doesn’t have many lines, but his screen presence is solid. Good support in bit roles from Tim Blake Nelson, Joey Lauren Adams, and Leo Fitzpatrick.

The sleeper stars of the movie are Brian O’Carroll’s slide reversal-esque cinematography, and the score from Sarah Neufeld and Colin Stetson, both of which enhance the movie’s elusive edge. This is a drama that seethes like a slow-burn thriller, but never explodes; hardly even boils, yet it resonates like the after-shock of an earthquake.

Knowing this actually happened is chilling. That while pushing your trolley at any shopping market parking lot, or casually filling up your car with petrol, you could be shot through the head by a sniper five-hundred metres away who’s been having a bad hair day. A really, really, really bad hair day.

Blue Caprice is the (dis)quiet achiever of the year. 

Blue Caprice is released in Australia through Eagle Entertainment on March 19.

All Is Lost

US | 2013 | Directed by J. C. Chandor

Logline: After a lost shipping container damages his yacht, an elderly, but resourceful sailor finds himself battling the elements and struggling to survive.

“13th of July, 4:50 pm. I'm sorry ... I know that means little at this point, but I am. I tried, I think you would all agree that I tried. To be true, to be strong, to be kind, to love, to be right. But I wasn't. And I know you knew this. In each of your ways. And I am sorry. All is lost here ... except for soul and body ... that is, what's left of them ... and a half-day's ration. It's inexcusable really, I know that now. How it could have taken this long to admit that I'm not sure ... but it did. I fought 'til the end, I'm not sure what this worth, but know that I did. I have always hoped for more for you all ... I will miss you. I'm sorry.”

A disembodied voice speaks in a somber, resigned tone. A red shipping container sits half submerged in a still ocean. Then we are taken back in time, eight days. A salty seadog is awakened from his cabin slumber aboard his elegant 1978 39-foot Cal Yacht by a loud crunch and splintering of wood. Something nasty has just smashed a gaping hole in the side of his sloop, and the water pouring in has ruined both the CB radio and his laptop.

Bugger.

Still, Our Man (Robert Redford) is a dab hand with the fiberglass sealant, so after rescuing his vessel from the evil freight clutches of the Chinese “good fortune” and repairing the hole with an impressive display of sea-savvy he is back navigating the steady swell of the ocean, albeit on a temporary lean as he allows the sea-line sealant to set.

Ahoy! Tempest on the horizon!

Yeah, that’d be right.

From his own script, J. C. Chandor (whose only other feature is the corporate thriller Margin Call) directs with a mighty hand, never once over-stepping into anything other than serving the action as simply and effectively as possible. There’s a rare European grace and lack of pretention that exudes from this tale of one man’s increasingly desperate plight.

Robert Redford, aged 77, is amazing. He barely utters a word the entire film. He is also the sole actor. It is without a doubt the best one-man show in quite some time. But it's a humbling show; a show of courage and strength, of endurance, and finally, most importantly, of hope. Mortality is cast asunder, as the waves of Murphy’s Law crash down.

All Is Lost is another of my year’s favourites. If this trend continues 2014 will shape into a great year in cinema. 

Blue Is The Warmest Colour

France/Belgium/Spain | 2013 | Directed by Abdellatif Kechiche

Logline: A frustrated high-school student meets and falls in love with a girl several years older, and finds her love-life becoming an emotional rollercoaster ride.

Attraction is a stolen glance.

Attraction is a lingering gaze.

Flirtation is asking what you’re thinking.

Flirtation is saying you’re always hungry.

Desire is everywhere.

Love is elusive.

Because there’s no such thing as love and adventure, there’s only trouble and desire.

Adèle (Adèle Exarchopoulos) loves books and the prospect of teaching. But the most profound learning will come from her relationship with Emma (Léa Seydoux), a dyke with short dyed-blue hair.

Adèle has experienced frustration after dating a senior boy at school. The spark lies elsewhere; St. Elmo’s fire passes her on the street, and catches her eye. The flame of intrigue burns a passage, fuels a sexual fantasy.

Fate hands Emma to Adèle in a gay bar. Strawberry cocktail aside, Adèle is in heaven. This university student is a painter, and Adèle becomes her muse. The two women embark on a passionate relationship that spans several years.

The title that appears at the end of the movie is La Vie d'Adèle - Chapitres 1 et 2 (The Life of Adèle – Chapters 1 and 2). This is the movie’s original title. However the international title, Blue is the Warmest Colour, is taken from the original French graphic novel the screenplay is based on.

800 hours of rushes was shot. The screenplay, by Ghalia Lacroix and Kechiche, was only read through once by the lead actors, as Kechiche encouraged them to improvise as much as possible, and much of Adèle Exarchopoulos’s screen-time was lifted from the B-roll camera.

Her performance is a revelation.

This is a movie, much like Wong Kar-wai’s brilliant Happy Together (1996), where the gay/lesbian orientation of the relationship isn’t as important as the emotional nuances and profundity of the character’s psychological arc.

In fact, the controversial sex scenes are the movie’s most contrived sequences; explicit, yes, graphic, no, and not especially erotic either. It is the moments “in between” that are most memorable; Adèle lost in her own thoughts.

Blue is the Warmest Colour is dramatic romance awash with melancholy. It is utterly unpretentious in its production values, yet utterly compelling with its central performance.

And I will savour Bolognese even more than I already do. 

RoboCop (2014)

US | 2014 | Directed by José Padilha

Logline: A police officer, critically injured and rebuilt as a cyborg cop by a corrupt conglomerate, seeks revenge.

This is one of those remakes where to give it any kind of chance you need to remove yourself from the original as much as possible, and if you know and love Paul Verhoeven’s RoboCop (1987), a dark satire that seethes with cruelty and bristles with conviction - arguably the director’s finest work - then it will be hard. Verhoeven’s RoboCop is one of those cult movies that had a lot of people upset when it was announced a remake was going into production.

José Padilha’s calling card is his political action thrillers; Elite Squad (2007) and Elite Squad: The Enemy Within (2010), but also of note is his excellent documentary on a hijacking, Bus 174 (2002). When I found out he was going to helm the remake my interest was raised a little. Still, I knew it was a slim chance Padilha would (be allowed to) make anything remotely as ultraviolent and dark as Verhoeven’s powerhouse original. And I was right; it’s a PG-13 in the States, and an M in Australia.

The re-booted RoboCop has a screenplay re-fit by first-timer Joshua Zetumer, who uses very little of the Edward Neumeier and Michael Miner original screenplay. They get credit, but hey, it’s token for the most part. For starters five major characters have been jettisoned, or recreated; the white-collar criminals Dick Jones and Bob Morton have been merged into Raymond Sellars (Michael Keaton), also absorbing OCP’s CEO The Old Man. The creative part of Bob Morton becomes Dr. Dennett Norton (Gary Oldman), and he’s rendered as anti-hero support to Alex Murphy (Joel Kinnerman), our officer with the most.

Murphy’s partner Anne Lewis becomes Jack Lewis (Michael K. Williams) and is shunted into the background, whilst Murphy’s wife Ellen, virtually a featured extra in the original, is brought to the fore as Clara (Abbie Cornish). Gone is one of the great villain nasties of the cinema, Clarence Boddicker, and there’s no one to replace him! But most significantly, Alex Murphy is not killed in this new version, and he is out for revenge for those that tried to kill him, unlike the Murphy of the original, who was killed, rebuilt, and subsequently has memories from his soul triggered, causing him to become a rogue.

In a nut(-and-bolt)shell, this RoboCop lacks the original’s soul. Yes, there, I’ve said it. It’s a cold and mechanical story that, whilst it sports slick production values, and is not without a few choice moments, like Alex Murphy having his RoboCop self revealed to him, it fails to provide any real empathy with the lead, or his wife’s anguish. Without splitting hairs, the central villain simply isn’t enough of a cunt to give the movie’s denouement any real punch.

The movie is bookended with an incongruous attempt to re-capture the original’s television news-style immediacy with Samuel Jackson playing a political broadcaster and all-round Grumpy Old Man with a conservative bone to pick. The infamous ED-209’s from the original have been emasculated, and only one original line of dialogue remains intact; “Dead or alive, you’re coming with me.”

I’d rent this for a dollar, but I wouldn’t buy it and have it sit next to Verhoeven’s original on my shelf.

Her

US | 2013 | Directed by Spike Jonze

Logline: A lonely professional love letter writer falls in love with his new artificially intelligent computer operating system.

There’s something to be said about watching a movie you know next to nothing about. The only information I had gleaned going into this com-rom (that’s comedic romance, rather than romantic comedy, and the comedy is on humour’s darker side) was Joaquin Phoenix was starring and Spike Jonze directed it. I hadn’t watched a trailer, certainly hadn’t read any reviews, and, thankfully, hadn’t conversed with anyone who had seen it and unintentionally blurted out spoilers. 

Her is a movie that is rapidly finding its way onto critics’ best of the year lists. And it’s still only January. Her is a movie that is bound to appeal to the same demographic that loved Gravity, bridging across a divide between offbeat love story, and hip futuristic trends of technology and social media culture. I can’t help but feel slightly irked that I’m not in a minority, but that’s just the way I roll. Gravity didn’t do it for me the way it did for the majority, but Her has rubbed me up in all the right ways. 

Enough of the rambling critic idiosyncrasies, let’s get down to silicon tacks. Her is the best movie of Spike Jonze’s career. Jonze's first feature, Being John Malkovich, was a superb black comedy; surreal, novel, and endearing, but Her is his crowning achievement in terms of direction. He also wrote the screenplay, and it’s a brilliant study of love’s fondness and love’s fickleness. Her is, quite simply, a wonderful tale of melancholy.

Set in a not-too-distant future in a Los Angelefiles that looks more Asian than American (exterior city scenes were shot in Shanghai) it tells the story of Theodore Twombly (Joaquin Phoenix), a man dealing quietly with the break-up of his marriage with Catherine (Rooney Mara). By day he writes professional love letters for those who haven’t the heart or wit. By night he yearns for intimacy with a woman.

Cue: Samantha. OS One. A brand new operating system that is the first artificially intelligent software designed to really get to know its owner/user, and service their every desire. In this case, Theodore’s aching heart. Within days of installing her Theo has fallen for the husky-voiced Samantha (Scarlett Johansson). And who wouldn’t? She sounds sexy, and she’s smart and funny and imaginative and provocative. The only thing missing is … a body. But Theo doesn’t mind.

It’s only going to end in tears.

Joaquin delivers a finely nuanced performance, and his support cast, along with the atmospheric cinematography, help construct a terrific platform; Amy Adams, in her daggiest, but most endearing role to date, as Theo’s neighbour Amy, and Olivia Wilde as a blind date. Although she doesn’t have much screen time, Rooney Mara is once again a scene-stealer (those Mara sisters are something else!), but it’s Scarlet Johnasson that commands every scene her dulcet tones emit from.

Her is one of those delicate movies on a balancing act. The premise alone is one that many will scoff or guffaw at, and yet, there is a remarkable astuteness to Jonze’s portrait of our very likely future. Artificial intelligence is not to be taken lightly, and whilst Her floats on a poetic cyber-feather, there is an inherent sadness that, like an emotional weight, steadily brings it down to earth. The final scene is both uplifting and heartbreaking at the same time.

And yes, I too will be bold enough to state that Her is definitely in my year’s top ten favourite movies. And it’s not even February. 

Kiss Of The Damned

US | 2012 | Directed by Xan Cassavetes

Logline: A female vampire turns a male mortal as they embark on a love affair, only to have their romance disturbed with the arrival of the woman’s jealous vampire sister.

Vampire movies are a dime a dozen, these days probably not far behind zombie and found footage flicks. So it is with an undead weary and fang wary eye that I approach yet another bite on vampire lore. But don’t get me wrong, I’m always up for one that gets the balance fresh, offering something curious, atmospheric, creepy, sensual, sexy, brutal, nightmarish, or a tasty combo!

Kiss Of The Damned is the best vampire movie since Let The Right One In (2008). It’s an American production with a European edge. Set in Connecticut and Manhattan, it’s a love story that appears to head toward a certain dawn, only to finish, most satisfyingly, at another.

Striking strawberry blonde Djuna (Joséphine de La Baume) lives in a huge white mansion with her maid Irene (Ching Valdes-Iran) making periodic visits. She feeds on the blood of animals, and is part of a community of modern vampires that do not dine on humans, and prefer to keep it that way. Lonely Djuna is drifting around the local video store when she catches the eye of a handsome bearded fellow (Milo Ventimiglia). She feels the tug, and swiftly leaves the store, but it is raining so heavily she is forced to stare into the void … “My name’s Paulo.”

Before you can say “Nosferatu, a symphony of horror” they are back at her pad, but Djuna is resisting Paulo’s advances. She gets him back onto the porch, and they finally kiss passionately, awkwardly, and Djuna bites his tongue. She slams the door shut. But Paulo will return. That’s certain.

Enter dark Mimi (Roxane Mesquida), Djuna’s hedonistic, reckless, and sly sister. She arrives unannounced, intending to stay for a week. There is no love lost between the sisters. Mimi is an old school vampire: manipulative and predatory. She has an agenda, and she is driven like the snow. There won’t just be tears spilled before bedtime …

Here’s another from the clutch of talented daughters of famous male American directors, Alexandra “Xan” Cassavetes, on her debut feature, having previously made the documentary Z Channel: A Magnificent Obsession (about early cable television), and it’s obvious she’s inherited an eye for provocative cinema. Kiss Of The Damned takes inspiration from lush cult faves, such as Daughters of Darkness (1974) and The Hunger (1983), adds a Brian De Palma-esque erotic thriller vibe to the look and feel, and yet maintains a distinct female sensibility. 

Great performances from all involved, especially Roxane Mesquida who nails the femme fatale role, but also Joséphine de La Baume and Anna Mouglalis as vamp artiste Xenia (despite their thick French accents, and knowing English is not their first language). Combined with stylish cinematography, a pulsating score, ardent sex – especially the first one between Djuna and Paulo – and some solid effects work entwine to make Kiss Of The Damned a throbbing hot affair of the dangerous undead heart. 

Kiss Of The Damned screens as part of Monster Fest, tonight, Sunday, December 1st, 7.30pm, at Cinema Nova.

Chocolate Strawberry Vanilla

Australia | 2013 | Directed by Stuart Simpson

Logline: A lonely ice-cream van driver, obsessed with a local soap starlet, starts a video diary as he builds up the courage to ask her out.

Warren Thompson (Glenn Maynard) is a case study time bomb of rage. He lives alone. By day he is the driver and operator of an ice-cream van seeling just enough cones to get by, parked on the edges on of an industrial zone where a pimp hangs out under a train bridge. By night he eats cold baked beans on bread for dinner and masturbates to videotaped episodes of his favourite daytime soap, Round the Block, featuring his obsession Katey George (Kyrie Capri).

Warren keeps everything in check with his mundane routines, whilst harbouring his pipedream of meeting and dating the pretty star from televisionland. And before you can say “knickerbockerglory” Warren’s dreams seem to be coming true! Katey George is filming just around the corner and she comes to his van for an ice cream cone!

From a story by Addison Heath, Stuart Simpson has made an engaging, very funny, black comedy (oh, yes, it's dark alright), shot on the smell of an oily rag, with a clutch of extreme moments to keep the mainstream at bay, about one man’s descent into the self-destructive pit of loathing. Warren’s fragile world is about to come crashing down, thanks to the sharp ugly reality that pushes at the thin fabric of his sheltered existence.

All Warren wants is to offer those three magical flavours and be loved.

Be loved by Katey George.

Warren fantasizes he’s the vengeful Man With No Name, or better still, a studly surfer whom Katey can’t resist. But like Travis Bickle in Taxi Driver (1976) Warren has a distorted view of the world, and that perspective will soon be shattered. Hell hath no fury like a melted ice cream van driver.

Chocolate Strawberry Vanilla is a superbly realised character study of loneliness and abuse, similar in tone to Tony (2009) and Bad Boy Bubby (1993). In almost every scene, Glenn Maynard gives a terrific performance as the wallflower in a uniform, capturing the joy, sadness, and rage of a simple man at the end of his tether. Simpson, previous feature was the rockabilly creature feature El Monstro Del Mar! (2010), and it’s great to see he’s matured as a storyteller, yet straddles the limitations of a low budget without obvious compromise.

Chocolate Strawberry Vanilla screens as part of 15th Melbourne Underground Film Festival, Friday 19th September, 9pm.

Top Of The Lake

Australia/NZ/UK | 2013 | Directed by Jane Campion and Garth Davis

Logline: When a pregnant 12-year-old girl is recovered from a freezing lake, then disappears into the wilderness, a troubled detective returns to her old hometown and becomes embroiled in the township’s dark secrets.

Jane Campion has a distinct style and is not afraid to throw caution to the wind. Returning to the small screen to direct a mini-series, twenty-three years after her magnificent portrait of Janet Frame, An Angel At My Table, she has created a small-town crime mystery with more than a few nods to David Lynch’s masterful Twin Peaks, but without the supernatural element.

Garnering a top-notch cast of Australasians, but giving the top roles to Americans and English, Top Of The Lake is set in the beautiful rugged mountainous landscape of New Zealand’s South Island. It is here in this village brew that the scum rises to the surface. Young Tui (Jacquiline Joe) has been raped and has escaped into the bush. Who is the culprit? Detective Robin Griffin (Elizabeth Moss), a child specialist, is called in to investigate and uncovers more than she’d care to.

The mood and vibe is cool, sensual, yet detached, and very typical of Campion. The cinematography is icy, serene, and stunning, sensational work from my favourite Australian DOP, Adam Arkapaw. A brooding, melancholy score from Mark Bradshaw keeps the vibe in check, and uniformly excellent performances from the large cast keep this mystery on a compelling slow burn.

Scots actor Peter Mullan is the standout, as Tui’s dangerous and volatile father Matt.  He steals almost every scene he’s in. David Wenham is superb as the dubious police inspector, and there’s strong work from American Elizabeth Moss as Det. Griffin, although her Australasian accent was a most curious distraction.

It’s a shame the script, by Campion and Gerard Lee, is so full of character inconsistencies and strange, and sometimes annoying, narrative deviations, including a rushed and rather unsatisfying denouement. The sub-plot of Holly Hunter’s guru-of-sorts “GJ” and her posse of women in plight was almost entirely unnecessary, and only served as comic relief, much of it unintentional. It was as if Campion and Lee had transplanted this story element from an entirely different screenplay.

Despite its frustrating script problems (and a lame title), Top Of The Lake is still well worth viewing for some of its more intense dramatic moments, the lush scenery, and the colourful performances, all hallmarks of Campion’s best work. 

Top Of The Lake is released in Australia by Transmission Films.

Gravity

US | 2013 | Directed by Alfonso Cuarón

Logline: A medical engineer and an astronaut struggle to survive in earth’s orbit after an accident leaves them adrift in space.

Apparently Angelina Jolie twice turned down the role of Ryan Stone, the medical engineer with not an awful lot of flight simulator landing success to her credit. Natalie Portman was then approached, followed by tests from Rachel Weisz, Naomi Watts, Marion Cotillard, Abbie Cornish, Carey Mulligan, Sienna Miller, Scarlett Johansson, Blake Lively, Rebecca Hall, and Olivia Wilde. Finally the role went to Sandra Bullock. And she’ll probably get an Oscar nod for performance. Not that I think it’s anything special, but I’m prepared to put money on a nomination.

Which brings me to my main issue with this extraordinary movie. The two lead roles, which are the only on screen roles in the whole movie. George Clooney plays Matt Kowlaski, the cowboy in a spacesuit (in a role intended for Robert Downey Jr.), and Ed Harris is the voice of Misson Control in Houston. And that’s pretty much it. Oh, there’s another astronaut, but you never see his face, and he doesn’t say anything of note.

George Clooney and Sandra Bullock, two actors better known for their comedy and light drama, than their attempts at serious drama, two of the most recognizable A-list Hollywood actors. It just didn’t work for me. All those female actors who tested are too familiar, except perhaps Rebecca Hall. A movie like Gravity demands unknowns or close to it. Not matinee idols.

Cuarón is an immensely talented director, anyone who’s seen Y Tu Mamá También (2001) and Children of Men (2006) can attest to that. The screenplay to Gravity was co-written between Cuarón and his 32-year-old son Jonás Cuarón, and as a visual narrative it’s sensational. But the dialogue is frequently corny and mostly unnecessary. A version of Gravity sans dialogue could work as profoundly as 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), or Solaris (1972).

Gravity is without a doubt a technical marvel; the photo-realistic CGI and model work is astonishing. I’m tempted to see the movie a second time on the giant IMAX screen where I’m sure it would be nothing short of breath taking. It’s a shame Bullock and Clooney were cast; their combined smoothed out plasticity weighs the movie down (pun intended).

Steven Price’s score brings gravitas to the movie’s lofty setting (puns unintended), and frequently provides punctuation and tension where normally a sound effect might. Keep in mind for approximately 85 minutes Gravity is in space or zero g. It’s an ambitious movie to say the least, and for the most part Cuarón pulls it off. 

SUFF cockumentaries!

Unhung Hero

US | 2013 | Directed by Brian Spitz

Logline: A young man embarks on a quest to rationalise his obsession with his penis size, or lack thereof.

Patrick Moote has a small dick. But he’s a nice guy, and he doesn’t understand why there are such huge social implications to having a tiny package. His fiancée dumped him when he proposed on national television. She told him later it was because he had a small John Thomas. Women can be so cruel! So Patrick grabbed debut director Spitz and head off into the great unknown to discover why humankind are so obsessed with schlong size. The short answer is that we live in a modern world that has been pornofied. But it goes deeper than that. Patrick pulls out many shortcomings, but also gains enlightenment with serious girth. He even scores a cool new girlfriend. Go Patrick, it ain’t the size of your boat, it’s the motion of the ocean!

For much of this rather endearing, and frequently funny “cockumentary” (as Patrick coins it) I was convinced it was another one of those elaborate faux documentaries, like Babelfish from a few years back. But by the end I decided it probably was real, and Brian Spitz just happened to be very lucky with the footage he got. Either that, or he paid off a number of people to get some of those dramatic moments on tape. Either way, Unhung Hero is one of the more original cringe inducing, cheeky grin documentaries of recent years. My only real gripe is that we never actually got to see or even get told just how small Patrick’s weiner was! Oh, the humanity!

Unhung Hero screens as part of the Sydney Underground Film Festival, Saturday 7 September, 4:30pm, Cinema Two, The Factory Theatre, Marrickville.

The Final Member

Canada | 2012 | Directed by Jonah Bekhor & Zach Math

Logline: The quest for a museum owner to find the final specimen to complete his extensive array of phalluses.

There is a museum called the Icelandic Phallological Museum, it is the world’s only exhibition space dedicated to the appendage we know as the penis, and owner, operator and dick obsessive Siggi Hjartarson, now aged 70, has garnered an extensive collection over the past thirty years. He has everything from a bull’s penis bone to an enormous sperm whale schlong (only a third of it, and still bigger than a small man!), but he has yet to acquire the penis of a man.

Enter Tom, the strange American, and Pall, the Icelandic womanizer. Tom is middle-aged and is quietly desperate to give Elmo, his ample member, the fame he feels it deserves. He intends to have him removed and donated to Siggi’s museum. Pall, on the other hand, will offer his penis to Siggi post death. The race is on.

The Final Member is one of those utterly charming, wonderfully peculiar discoveries. It doesn’t attempt to be anything other than what it is, and it’s something completely unique, blackly comic, and rather bizarre; as slight as it is profound. It is the tale of Siggi and Tom, two phallus-obsessed aging men, grappling with the deeper meaning of manhood, and the elusive masculinity of being cocksure.

The Final Member screens as part of the Sydney Underground Film Festival, Sunday 8 September, 5pm, Cinema Three, The Factory Theatre, Marrickville. 

Elysium

US | 2013 | Directed by Neill Blomkamp

Logline: In a future where the very wealthy have left the over-crowded, disease-ridden, trash-strewn Earth and inhabit an orbiting space station an ex-con finds himself embroiled in a dangerous mission.

Science fiction wunderkind Neill Blomkamp delivers his much-anticipated follow-up to the blistering extraordinary District 9 (2010), one of the best sf movies of the past twenty years. This is a separate story that could be in the same universe, just much further down the track. Elysium is a socio-political action thriller with more than enough firepower and thuggery.

Matt Damon plays Max, living in the massive ghetto that is Los Angeles, AD2154, working the line in one of the huge robot factories. His childhood sweetheart Frey (Alice Braga) is a nurse at a nearby overrun hospital. Disease and decay is rife, and Frey’s young daughter has terminal leukaemia.

Just like the near future of Blade Runner, the uber-rich have left Earth, and reside in a Stanford Torus design space station built by mega-corporation Armydyne, known as Elyisum (as the word is Greek for a part of the Underworld, it’s an odd name for a paradise, but hey). Jessica Delacourt (Jodie Foster) is a high-ranking Government official in charge of keeping the riff-raff out, the illegal immigrants from Earth entering Elyisum. She employs a mercenary known as Kruger (Sharlto Copley) to eliminate the trouble. 

Max finds himself on borrowed time, and with the aid of smuggler hacker Spider (Diego Luna), and the reluctant participation of Armadyne CEO Carlyle (William Fichtner, Max is cyber-wired for international sabotage. But Kruger is the gremlin in his side.

With District 9 Blomkamp’s background in visual effects came to the fore, and the results were photo-realistically stunning. He also exhibited a no-holds-barred approach to the violence, keeping it sudden and graphic. He brings the same game to Elysium. The special effects across the board are superb. The legendary conceptual designer Syd Mead, who provided Ridley Scott with Blade Runner (1982) magic, is onboard, as is the inexhaustible Richard Taylor from New Zealand’s amazing Weta Workshop.

What Blomkamp’s screenplay lacks in originality makes up for in terrific pacing, and strong characters; Max by the central role, but it’s the support cast that bring real gravitas (the exception being Jodie Foster whose stilted, grappling with a French accent and unconvincing dialogue is jarring), with Copley’s psychopathic rogue threatening to devour everyone in sight; truly one of the best and nastiest villains of recent years.

Watching Elysium and marvelling at the gritty, futuristic spectacle of it all, not to mention the topical politics, it suddenly dawned on me that Blomkamp is the man who should be directing the cinema adaptations of William Gibson’s cyberpunk Neuromancer, and Richard Morgan’s Altered Carbon, two of the greatest hard-sf novels ever written. But unfortunately he isn’t. Here's to more Blomkamp hard-sf cinema. 

Rewind This!

US | 2013 | Directed by Josh Johnson

Logline: A documentary tracing the history and influence, both culturally and commercially, of home video.

An endearing, affectionate, and at times downright geeky look at one of the most influential elements of pop-culture from the 20th Century, especially in terms of how it shaped an industry and defined domestic living, Rewind This! is a documentary aimed squarely at the nostalgic X-Gens, whilst winking at the iGen hipsters. I’m not talking about Internet, this was something invented twenty years earlier. This is the history of the Video Home System, known to Joe Public as VHS!

In 1971 Japanese corporation JVC developed a consumer video recorder for the home. The world was changed forever. VHS and Betamax (the rival - and better quality – format) battled it out for world supremacy during the late 70s, and the cheaper format one because, basically, your average consumer wasn’t that concerned with quality. The early 80s saw the inclusion of cinema-released movies on video tape (albeit panned and scanned), and before you could crack wood, the San Fernando Valley was all over it; VHS was porn industry heaven.

If you’re a Gen-X like myself you’ll remember Jane Fonda’s Workout Video (1983), which revolutionised the exercise regime for housewives. You’ll remember the fantastic cover art that for much of the 80s dominated the shelves of video stores, back when most titles were facing cover out, not spine out. Those wonderful few years when movies on video were inexplicably free of classification and young movie buffs could rent “adult” (R-rated) movies they were restricted from seeing in the theatres.

There will never be another period quite like that of VHS. Rewind This! champions the trashy nature of this global phenomenon. To put it in perspective, DVD quality lasted less than ten years before being superseded by Blu-ray. VHS was king of the viewing platform for nearly thirty years! But for the creatives – I’m talking budding filmmakers here – VHS was accidentally essential. The rewind and pause functions on the VCR machine meant you could study how a big Hollywood or foreign arthouse director and editor constructed a scene. The language of film became ownable.

Rewind This! features many great anecdotes and musings from collectors and aficionados, filmmakers (big and small) and distributors. What was once the most mainstream part of our existence now seems curiously underground. There’s something fascinating about how the retro appeal of VHS continues to flourish, despite all its trappings and limitations.

Analogue recording videotape. Lest we forget? No chance.

Rewind This! screens in Sydney as part of Possible Worlds Festival of American & Canadian Cinema, Saturday 17 August, 6.30pm, Dendy Newtown. 

It Felt Like Love

US | 2013 | Directed by Liza Hittman

Logline: A young and naive teenage girl feels the need to pursue a boy several years older in response to her slightly older girlfriend’s sexual prowess.

Like Evan Glodell's Bellflower a debut feature that exudes a pure sense of cinema; soaked in atmosphere, bristling with anticipation, drifting with a moody attention to detail, yet aloof and detached like a contemptuous breeze. In the throes of adolescent curiosity and confusion It Felt Like Love hits all the right spots, but refuses to reach around.

Gina Piersanti plays 14-year-old Lila, the only child of a disinterested father, a mother who is either in hospital or has passed away. Her neighbouring friend is a boy several years younger, her best friend Chiara (Giovanna Salimeni), is two years older (a lifetime when you’re a teenager), and Lila feels it intensely.

It’s summer in Brooklyn, New York City. Boredom is rife, and the ennui of kidulthood permeates everything. Chiara and her current boyfriend Patrick (Jesse Cordasco) make out at any opportunity, and Lila tags along like a spare tush at a wedding. Then college student Sammy (Ronen Rubenstein) sidles past one day at the beach and Lila is infatuated.

With a sensual visual narrative style very similar to that of Australian director Cate Shortland (Somersault, Lore) and a perspective that slides between provocative and dangerous, reminiscent of French director Catherine Breillat, writer/director Liza Hittman captures a beautiful sense of urgency and identity whilst riding that often elusive, but powerfully resonant tone exhibited by the best European fare.

The performances by mostly first-timers are spot on, but it’s Piersanti in the central role of lonely Lila that commands the movie, she is definitely one to watch. Like the amazing Kate Jarvis in Andrea Arnold’s Fish Tank, the camera loves Piersanti, and it’s obvious she has talent in spades.

Liza Hittman has one of the year’s best first features on her hands, a bold and beautiful movie, and yet another testament to the impressive digital calibre of the Red Epic camera.

It Felt Like Love screens in Sydney as part of Possible Worlds Festival of American & Canadian Cinema, Saturday 17th August, 6.30pm, Dendy Opera Quays. 

White Reindeer

US | 2013 | Directed by Zach Clark

Logline: After an unexpected tragedy a suburban woman struggles to put her life back together in the days leading up to Christmas.

A labour of love for Zach Clark who wrote, produced, directed, and edited this bittersweet, black as coal comedy about one woman’s clutching of straws as she reconciles with life’s rich tapestry of cruelty and desire. If Bad Santa is the wicked bourbon, then White Reindeer is the naughty eggnog.

It’s almost a one-woman show as Anna Margaret Hollyman’s Suzanne plays front and centre, stumbling from one peculiar situation to the next, grasping for the light switch in the darkness of her quiet despair. It’s a pearler performance indeed. Laura Lemar-Goldsborough lends terrific support as a stripper called Autumn, whose real name is Fantasia (it’s that kind of comedy), who oozes charisma, but quietly charms.

Also of note, peripheral, but crucial to Suzanne’s catharsis, are Joe Swanberg and Lydia Hyslop as Suzanne’s swinging neighbours George and Patti. They’re only in only a few scenes, but very funny as they ingratiate themselves into Suzanne’s life. They could almost have their own movie. 

Christmas time has never felt so endearingly kitsch as it is in White Reindeer. There’s a Guy Maddin-esque surrealism to the atmosphere, a melancholy that permeates the droll sense of humour. Suzanne’s predicament teeters on being pathetic, but then she pulls herself back from the abyss. The ghost of Christmas present will be her saviour; she only needs to decide whether she follows the spirit of the past, or the call of the future.

Amidst Suzanne and Fantasia’s partying indulgences (the lofty dandruff of Santa Claus!) and the revelations of the indiscretions of the husband she thought she knew, there is a curiously touching festive movie at the heart of White Reindeer. The devious tone is delicate, but oh so deliberately tugging at the heartstrings. You might not be aware of it whilst the tinsel unfolds, but Suzanne’s tender plight is one holly-tinted satire that’s sure to win many hearts and minds.

A Teacher

US | 2013 | Directed by Hannah Fidell

Logline: A high school teacher’s life starts to unravel as she realises the affair she is having with one of her students is coming to an end and she is in too deep.

Diana (Lindsay Burdge) is making a terrible mistake, but the reality is that it’s too late. The audience knows this from the start. Diana knows this, but she can’t help herself. A Teacher is a thriller that burns slow like a drama. It’s a searing and sad tale of lust found and love lost with superb performances and assured direction.

Apparently based on the experience of the writer/director when she worked as waitress and was attracted to a younger patron, yet there is a topical relevance to the premise in recent crimes that have made worldwide news, most infamously that of American teacher Mary Kay Letourneau. Of course this kind of thing happens all the time, but what makes Hannah Fidell’s movie so compelling is that it presents the narrative almost exclusively from Diana’s point of view.

A Teacher is a study of female desire, regardless of morality. Lindsay Burdge is amazing in the role, especially in the scenes as she begins to lose control and breaks down emotionally. The the centre of her affection, the apple of her eye, her dangerous obsession, is Eric (Will Brittain), a handsome, effortlessly charming young man who is enjoying the moment, but as soon as cracks begin to form, he knows its time to jump ship.

The movie is great looking, shot mostly with available light, exuding a naturalism in mood, tone, performance, and production. It’s a brisk film, less than eight minutes in length, but long enough to establish a solid emotional core. Hannah Fidell knows when to linger, and it is in these moments where the essence of this forbidden love lies an uncomplicated beauty and sensuality, most notably in the sequence where Eric and Diana get out of Austin, Texas, for the weekend.

A Teacher broods and unfolds with a restraint that is both powerful and compelling. It is urgent and sexy, but the confliction and torment soon overwhelms, and the movie finishes a perfect collapse.

A Teacher screens as part of Sydney’s Possible Worlds Festival of American & Canadian Cinema, Saturday 10 August, 8.30pm, Dendy Newtown. 

My Awkward Sexual Adventure

Canada | 2012 | Directed by Sean Garrity

Logline: In an effort to win back his ex-girlfriend, a conservative accountant inadvertently enlists the help of a stripper to help him gain sexual prowess, leading him to experience cross-dressing, S&M, and romantic truth.

A thoroughly disarming and slyly charming rom-com. Oh gosh, am I reviewing such a movie?! Yes, I am, and despite the movie’s less than witty title, this urban tale of male self-discovery at the hands of a lonely exotic dancer, and at the expense of a less-than-perfect relationship is definitely a case of the funny love story that could (I couldn’t bear to mention that hyphenated genre more than once!)

There’s nothing new under the sun with the plot, it’s a story we’ve all seen a dozen times (even when it’s not one of those kinds of movies), but it’s the way this story is told that is as fresh and juicy as the rock melon that serves as a guide to delivering cunnilingus like it should. Yes, it’s as funny and yet awkwardly sexy as it sounds. Sean Garrity has directed a comedy of errors that hinges on snappy dialogue and great performances, and this movie sports a great cast. Even the supporting roles are solid.

Jonas Chernick is Jordan, the dorky corporate who is a complete fizzer between the sheets. His long-term girlfriend, Rachel (Sarah Manninen), has the back of her camel broken when Jordan proposes to her after yet another night of unsexy perfunctory sex sans orgasm. She dumps him. He flaps about like a fish out of water and seeks a shoulder to cry on in the form of womanizer buddy Dandak (Vik Sahay) who is humouring an arranged engagement with coy Reshma (Melissa Marie Elias). At a strip club Jordan gets blind drunk and is kicked out into a pile of garbage. Cue: Julie (Emily Hampshire) ending her club shift and trying to help Jordan into a cab.

Jonas’s performance is very reminiscent of a couple of classic blunderers, David Schwimmer’s Ross from Friends and Steve Carell’s Andy from The 40-Year-Old Virgin. But the real star of the movie is Emily Hampshire, who shines as the spunky stripper who excels in the kitchen. Sarah Minninen also has great charisma, and there’s a hilarious mouthing off scene between Rachel and Jordan that is one of the movie’s many comic highlights.

(Special mention goes to Mike Bell as Julie’s neighbour, Naked Tom, who sports an enormous schlong. Was that a prosthetic, or not; I couldn’t help but wonder amusedly of the audition process if it was real).

My Awkward Sexual Adventure is the perfect date flick for those who wouldn’t be seen dead at a rom-com in the cinema. Embrace the candid antics of these hapless romantics and relish the dirty-minded playfulness. Light as a feather, sweet as a peach, and pussy-whipped like cream, it’s the best adult fun you’ll have all weekend!

My Awkward Sexual Adventure screens as part of Possible Worlds American & Canadian Film Festival, Friday 16 August, 6:30pm, Dendy Opera Quays.

Man of Steel

US/Canada/UK | 2013 | Directed by Zack Snyder

Logline: A young man is forced to confront his alien heritage, and the magnitude of his existence on Earth, when malevolent members of his race arrive on Earth with a catastrophic agenda.

Forget Superman Returns (2006), Bryan Singer’s ill-fated sequel to the original Superman movies of yesteryear, Man of Steel is the Superman movie we’ve been waiting for (although I still really want to know what Kevin Smith’s Superman Lives script – with Nic Cage attached - would’ve been like). The movie has divided audiences, and it’s easy to see why; Man of Steel is closer to the vivid comic book stylised narrative and action violence than any previous Superman movie.

Zack Snyder has succeeded superbly, just as he did in re-booting Romero’s cult classic Dawn of the Dead almost ten years ago, and delivers a movie rich in character, bursting at the seams with symbolism and sub-text (more on that in a moment), and featuring some of the most blistering, hammering (er, hang on, this is DC, not Marvel) scenes of superhero vs. supervillain combat ever committed to celluloid (er, digital file).

Henry Cavill is a brilliant casting as Kal-El, known to his adoptive parents as Clark Kent, but known to the world as “Superman”. However, in a nice scripting and directing touch the name Superman is only mentioned one-and-a-half times in the whole movie. Yes, a half, as the omnipresent Lois Lane (Amy Adams, probably miscast, but never mind) takes it upon herself to interpret the “S” on Kal-El’s uber chainmail suit of armour as another word and not the concept of “hope” as Kal-El explains. She’s interrupted before she can finish the word, and it’s one of several moments of sly and subtle humour.

Michael Shannon chews the scenery, giving Jack Nicholson and Heath Ledger a run for their money, as General Zod (I wonder what Terence Stamp thinks?) He is one pissed off military leader, and is hell bent on terra-forming Earth after Jor-El (Russell Crowe attempting to Shakespearenise [Ed: ?!] the role) took it upon himself to seal the fate of Krypton’s people by giving his son all the power and code of origin. Zod and the Man of Steel are set to battle it out hard and good.

Antje Traue as General Zod’s right-hand woman Faora-Ul makes for a most fetching Krypton warrior, all voluptuous attitude and menace, while Kevin Costner (two Robin Hoods as Kal-El/Clark Kent’s fathers?!) and Diane Lane do solid work as the Smallville locals, Jonathan and Martha Kent, who’ve harboured a monumental secret. When Jonathan explains to his son that the world isn’t yet ready for whom he really is, the Christian faith seeps through the comicbook cracks and spreads liberally across the farmland.

Yes, the religious iconography, symbolism, and metaphors are rife, but curiously they don’t deter from the movie’s primal superhero appeal. Okay, so the Man of Steel is probably the Second Coming. We see him turn his cheek, do battle against Heaven’s fallen angel, and receive apparitional advice from his All-Mighty father. But Snyder manages to keep his movie on the right side of absurdity, although the Greatest American Hero moment of Kal-El grappling with his extraordinary flying ability has borderline.

Man of Steel will age well, I can feel it in my bones. Now, who’s going to play Lex Luthor, and they had better not play him for comic relief!

NB: If you keep your eyes peeled, there’s a beautiful and pivotal moment when Henry Cavill’s visage morphs briefly into that of Christopher Reeve.

Revelatory documentaries!

Revelation - 16th Perth International Film Festival July 4 – 14th

Interior. Leather Bar.

Hollywood heartthrob and agent provocateur James Franco and fellow filmmaker Travis Matthews put themselves out on a limb and create a re-imagining of something precious few have ever seen: the notorious and legendary - amongst cinephiles – missing forty odd minutes that director William Friedkin was forced to cut from his controversial movie Cruising in order to secure an R-rating from the MPAA, and not get slapped with the kiss-of-death X cert. Just what were in those forty minutes? Al Pacino deep undercover as a NYC homosexual prowling an underground gay club in search of a vicious serial killer. As perversely fascinating as that sounds Interior. Leather Bar. is far more interesting as a documentary on the organisation, auditions, and rehearsals during the making of this maverick indie exploration of desire and identity on film. What is ultimately exposed and studied is the creative process stripped back.

 Friday 11th, 10pm, C1 Luna

London – The Modern Babylon

Director Julien Temple takes the viewer on a kaleidoscopic journey through the annals of London’s development from the turn of the century right through into the new millennium. It’s a paen and a lament wrapped up in greasy fish’n’chip paper and thrown into the gutter of Trafalgar Square. Temple’s perspective is a very personal one, deeply entrenched in socio-politics. This is not a travelogue to entice tourism, but it does celebrate the city in a contemptuous fashion. This is a richly archived, darkly fascinating history of a city plagued by problems; poverty and social disease, racism and classism, but also a city that has continued to pick itself up from its knees and blossom once again, if only until the next thrashing. The montage of extraordinary archival footage is intercut with Londoners, both ordinary folk and celebrities, recounting their love/hate relationship with the metropolis. Temple punctuates with a selection of gritty songs of (mostly) yesteryear, no doubt plucked straight from his own collection.

 Saturday 6th, 1.45pm, C2 Luna, Saturday 13th, 8.30pm, SX, Sunday 14th, 3pm, C1 Luna

The Act of Killing

An utterly original take on the inhumanity of humankind, this lengthy documentary follows a clutch of former Indonesian death squad leaders as they recount and, more curiously, reenact (and film) the killings they did on thousands of innocent men, women, and children in the mid-60s. It’s a hard pill to swallow, as the appalling nature of their acts is strangely and disturbingly lightened in tone as the central figure is of a charming disposition. It’s not surprising Werner Herzog and Errol Morris are the executive producers, as this kind of provocative documentary filmmaking is right up their alley. At times surreal and beautiful, at times heartbreaking, at times utterly grotesque, the violence of truth is exposed and laid bare. But time is a beast unto itself. Forty years have passed and these sanctioned murders have been buried. Now they have been exhumed and the repercussions have a resonant edge all of their own.

 Sunday 7th, 2pm, C4 Luna, Saturday 13th, 11.30am, C1 Luna

Exposed

“There is freedom in vulgarity,” says Bunny Love, an American burlesque performer. And in this frightfully endearing exposé on the risqué side of cutting edge burlesque – New Burlesque, if you will – a bunch of performers from the US and the UK talk candidly about the trials and tribulations of this confrontational stage art, but more importantly, the passion they share for its unabashed exhibitionism and stalwart individualism. Some of these people are damaged souls that have found solace behind the nakedness, some are considered freaks by the conservative norm, but in the realm of the burlesque they are normal. It is this portrait that filmmaker Beth B. brushes with broad strokes, coaxing deeper ideals from within the sexual mind. Exposed isn’t designed to titillate, despite the inherent nature of burlesque’s leftfield eroticism. There are many insights into the nuts and cracks of the burlesque revival of the past twenty years, with a vibrant and sly sense of humour, and plenty of nudity whipped up into a frenzy of political drag. 

Tuesday 9th, 9pm, C1 Luna, Sunday 14th, 7pm, C4 Luna

Only God Forgives

France/Denmark | 2013 | Directed Nicolas Winding Refn

Logline: An American criminal living in Thailand becomes embroiled in a high-stakes game of murder and vengeance when his criminal mother arrives to seek revenge over the slaying of her eldest son.

For his ninth feature the Danish tour-de-force that is NWR stirs up a stylised ultra-violent brew of spiced family dysfunction and exotic doom. Only God Forgives isn’t about religion or faith, it’s about broken love, lust askew, twisted vengeance, and it might just touch on that mercurial element known as redemption, but then, in the tenebrous realm of the foreign underworld, there’s no more room in heaven.

In the boxing ring of life sex and death dance a lonely waltz. Julian (Ryan Gosling) knows this well. His brother Billy is psychopathic, and his mother Crystal (Kristen Scott Thomas) is sociopathic, while his lover Mai (Yayaying Rhatha Phongam) is indifferent, and his nemesis Chang (Vithaya Pansingarm) cold-blooded. These are reptiles in human form.

The Bangkok of Only God Forgives is a sensual hell.

Booed at Cannes Film Festival Only God Forgives just won the Sydney Film Prize (awarded each year by the Sydney Film Festival in recognition of courageous, audacious, cutting edge cinema) – the second time for Refn – and cements itself as one of the year’s most intriguing movies.

Gosling, in a performance even more restrained than Drive (2011, Refn’s neo-noir box office hit), exudes the same seductive charisma that gives him a kind of early De Niro presence (something I’m sure hasn’t gone unnoticed by Refn a la Scorsese). He’s a troubled soul with demons scratching under his skin and skeletons just waiting to tumble from his closet.

Kristin Scott Thomas is almost unrecognizable as the matriarchal manipulator. If her sons Billy and Julian are bad eggs, then she’s most certainly the crooked hen that laid them. She has the social graces of a leopard in a rabbit hutch, and a tongue soiled long ago.

Cliff Martinez provides yet another stunning score of ethereal electronic lushness, dark, but uplifting; in particular a confrontation fight scene in the later half of the movie that throbs with an intensity that reminded me of classic Goblin (Argento’s favourite band).

Refn has made a brooding, dangerous, but incredibly seductive movie that writhes and coils like a snake finding a cool patch of stone on a hot day. The neo-washed filth of the Bangkok backstreets bathed in the under-glow of nighttime springs to life through Larry Smith’s vivid primal cinematography, the extreme violence contrasting in very Lynchian fashion with kitsch Thai pop music.

Yes, Only God Forgives is like David Lynch drinking Chang beer and discussing (im)morality with Martin Scorsese, whilst Dario Argento loiters in the background whispering perversities. Only God Forgives resonates long after the final scene, but there’s hollowness to its finale; Refn deliberately denying his audience the predicted avenue. There’s no clichés at work here, but the narrative cries – no it screams out - for the old way of the sword.

Only God Forgives screened as part of the 60th Sydney Film Festival.