Review: Man of Steel

Dir: Zack Snyder

Written by: David S. Goyer

Starring: Henry Cavill, Amy Adams, Michael Shannon, Russell Crowe.

Henry Cavill as the Man of Steel

Zach Snyder’s film history is patchy at best. His re-telling of Frank Miller’s graphic novel 300 (2007) was woeful and one of his most recent ventures, Sucker Punch (2011), cemented the notion that he was physically incapable of seeing anything deeper than a costume (or lack thereof).

At a push, Watchmen (2009) I liked. Diehard fans of the source material may have winced, but as a gritty anti-hero film, it was reasonably good. Nothing to phone home about however, and certainly not worthy of anymore thought from this point. This collectively, I believe, betrays Snyder as a questionable director.

All of that aside, going into Man of Steel, more than anything I wanted to like Zack Snyder. My eternal love for the characters and canons of DC Comics would pull me through from a substance point of view, but I wanted to see whether or not Zack could, for the first time, achieve that fine balance between substance and that all important Snyder style.

One thing that is inherently obvious throughout the film, is Christopher Nolan’s influence on the project. Whilst Snyder blows everything up twice, Nolan seems to have influenced him enough to make him take a step back and assess the fundamental reason why all of this destruction is taking place. The result is a film very much of two distinct feels, both of which complement each other magnificently.

Christopher Nolan (left) and Zack Snyder on set

With a screenplay by Nolan’s former Dark Knight trilogy accomplice David S. Goyer, Snyder had everything at his disposal to create a fun, zippy, explosive film, with just the right balance of narrative and, in this case, back-story, told through intelligently written and placed flashbacks. By doing this, Goyer worked around the problem that many faced with The Dark Knight Rises, the fact that the central hero doesn’t appear in costume until much later into the second act. Man of Steel, however, showcases its hero, in action maybe but not in costume, within five minutes of first introducing him (complete with waterproof coat and beard).

British actor Henry Cavill dons the red cape in what is every bit the most life changing role and famous costume, greater than or equal to the buttoning up Bond’s tuxedo (which, incidentally, he very nearly did), or sliding on the bat cowl. Cavill does very well in fact of demonstrating the challenges of someone with extraordinary powers living amongst mere humans on their own planet. There is a dissonance in his thoughts and a falter in his early steps that allows us into his character in a way that previous Superman films have glossed over.

Amy Adams, ever reliant for a good performance, had climbed up my list of favourite working actresses after I saw her Oscar-nominated performance in Paul Thomas Anderson’s masterpiece, aptly titled The Master. Here, although obviously not working with the same quality of material, she gave a fantastic performance. It must be said however that although her character development began and ended with “I’m a Pulitzer-prize winning reporter,” and the relationship developed between her and Supes was somewhat superficial, it was nice to see Lois in the field in what was bolshy and brash character choice that paid off.

Russell Crowe did the Russell Crowe thing, ever reliable (however I can’t imagine he featured as heavily in initial drafts than he does in the final cut), Kevin Costner put in a star performance (the best thing about the first half of the film) as Jonathan Kent, Clark’s human father and Laurence Fishburne did remarkably well as Daily Planet editor Perry White, again striving under Goyer’s decision to take every character out from behind their desks to see what they would do in reality when faced with such an enormous threat.

Michael Shannon as Zod

But the star of the show for me was Michael Shannon as General Zod. The interesting thing about Zod is that he is more than just a villain. He is a military man who is proud of his people and seeks to defend them and uphold their honour under any circumstances. The only real action that defines him as being “evil” is his lack of compassion for other civilizations. Shannon has that look of determination and true grit about him that makes us subscribe to his ideology, in understanding rather than coercion, but nonetheless his performance alludes to the great notion that antagonists aren’t always the “bad guys,” many are simply misunderstood.

The final scenes in Metropolis do have a certain feel of 9/11 to them, and I don’t for one second believe this to be coincidental. Goyer and Snyder have been shrewd in turning what is literally an alien invasion into something that we, and especially American audiences, can relate to. To see civilians coated with dust and surrounded by rubble were some of the most heart-wrenching scenes to come from that day, and the parallels drawn between them and the film seek to connect an audience to a real life event and the hope and American patriotism that Superman has always encompassed.

Laurence Fishburne as Perry White running from Zod's destruction

As a film it is too long, by at least half an hour, maybe more. It also gets to a point where everything blowing up becomes a little bit, dare I say it, annoying. Although it doesn’t quite turn into Transformers, the scale of the destruction is almost there. The best parts of this film are all contained within the first two acts, and although there is an attempt towards the end to bring Superman and Lois together, it feels a bit stilted and stale.

The very end scene however is excellent and with Hans Zimmer's ever-incredible score soaring into a wonderful cut-to-black, we are reminded of two things: that Superman is indeed timeless and is the greatest superhero we've got.

Review: The Great Gatsby

Dir: Baz Luhrmann

Written by: Baz Lurhmann & Craig Pearce (based on the novel by F. Scott Fitzgerald)

Starring: Leonardo DiCaprio, Tobey Maguire, Carey Mulligan, Joel Edgerton.

Leonardo DiCaprio as Jay Gatsby

In a world where multiplex cinemas are inundated with pre-teen birthday parties and gaggles of upstart young teenagers going to the cinema for “something to do,” a great film screening is hard to find. If you haven’t got an uncontrollable child kicking your spine into submission from behind, you’ve got some cretin in front offending your eyes with the light and sound pollution coming from their mobile. You would think that most sane people could live without looking at their phone for a couple of hours. Most, but unfortunately, not all.

I mention this because the screening of Baz Luhrmann’s new film adaptation The Great Gatsby that I attended, was impeccable. The 200-odd seater screen had all of six people in it and all were well behaved, conscientious and, most importantly, quiet. I was, for the first time in a long time, allowed full and complete concentration which, luckily, turns out to have been needed.

Luhrmann is no stranger to a glitter ball or two and the colour palates of most his previous endeavours, notably Moulin Rouge! (2001) and Romeo+Juliet (1996), were so sickeningly bright and garish that even Pixar would have had to put sunglasses on.

It was with much anticipation, yet a steady sense of trepidation then that I sat in my seat, prepared to see how old Baz would handle the glitz and unmentionable glam of 1920’s New York, and from minute one we’re in familiar territory.

The first thing I noticed was the soundtrack. For me, the film illuminated how powerful movies can be. Take a list of artists I have no real passion for, apply them carefully and thoughtfully to a film soundtrack (something which Luhrmann failed to do with Romeo+Juliet) and watch them transform into genre defying snippets of musical enlightenment. Beyoncé, Florence and her well oiled machine, Jack White, Bryan Ferry, Lana Del Ray and many others (all executively produced by Jay-z) make this film that little bit more special, providing a contemporary stab in the vein and dragging this older narrative kicking and screaming into the 21^st Century. It makes it fresh and vibrant and it certainly seems that the party scenes carry more weight with a modern soundtrack. Ignoring purists in this instance, it also gives a modern audience, unfamiliar with the story, a framework with which to start to engage with it, which can only be a good thing.

Carey Mulligan as Daisy and DiCaprio as Gatsby

From a performance perspective, there’s nothing much to worry about. Leo DiCaprio does a fantastic job at bringing Gatsby to life (not quite Oscar worthy as others have suggested, but excellent nonetheless), Carey Mulligan as Daisy Buchannan shimmers with beauty throughout, Joel Edgerton made me hate the character of Tom Buchannan all over again and Jason Clarke delivers a fantastically underrated performance as garage owner George Wilson. The only disappointment for me was Isla Fisher. With Myrtle only being a smaller role, you get the sense that Fisher is hamming it up a little too much. It’s a tad too much pantomime, even for a Luhrmann picture.

Special commendation must go to Tobey Maguire however, who brought the Nick Carraway I always envisioned to the screen. Awkward at points, liberating and forthright in others, the former Spiderman star has found his niche I think in drama on this large scale and I hope he has the good sense to apply this dramatic freedom to perhaps a couple of art-house releases in the future.

Tobey Maguire as Nick Carraway

Visually it is spectacular. Never one to do anything by halves, Luhrmann treats us to huge, expansive CG panoramic vistas and stunning fluid shots that fly over the city, race up and down buildings and weave through cars as we power, with supercharged engines, through the streets of the big apple.

It’s reasonable to suggest that by most people’s definition, Luhrman could, and should, be described as an Auteur in the same breath as Tarantino and Paul Thomas Anderson, in as much as an audience can identify a Bazmark production from a mile away, but as Luhrmann has shown with his woeful adaptation of Shakespeare’s most revered (or at least most popular play), style can take over substance. In the case of The Great Gatsby however, although the palate is louder than ever, it works.

Gatsby's car outside George Wilson's Garage

 F. Scott Fitzgerald’s source material of course lingers in the background, and purists of both the novel and Jack Clayton’s 1974 adaptation will sneer at the sheer volume of chandeliers and bottles of Champagne, but there’s something special about this production, an essence that Luhrmann captures, that I think adheres more faithfully to the book than Clayton’s film ever did.

It’s a modern retelling of an old story and with a backdrop of the current financial and political misdemeanours we now face on a daily basis, a satirical account of the greed involved in social class and private wealth couldn’t be more relevant.

Bad Directors Never Make Decent Films

The undeniable truth is that a film is only as good as its director. Need proof? The Star Wars prequels. There. Now pipe down.

Okay, so it’s become lazy and a cliché in itself to attack those films, but the fact still remains that very rarely do bad directors churn out decent films. George Lucas, for anyone who has both eyes open, is the epitome of this rule. The Star Wars prequels are pitiful; badly directed, awfully written and, with the exception of Samuel L. Jackson and, to a certain extent, Ewan McGregor, woefully casted. I mean, who watched Hayden Christensen and thought “yes”?

For all I inexorably adore the Star Wars universe, which is tantamount to dangerous obsession, it cannot be denied by anyone who has watched the original trilogy that The Empire Strikes Back is the greatest episode of the saga. Second place is up for grabs, but for me, Return of the Jedi pips A New Hope considerably. And what do the top two have in common? Neither were written or directed by George Lucas. Creating the story, as Lucas did, is one thing, but turning that into a 120-page screenplay and then a two-hour feature film, is quite another.

For those of you still on the Lucas express, my final parting comment would be to keep an eye on A New Hope’s editing. A New Hope is appallingly directed, but very well edited. To a certain extent, I can sympathise somewhat with Lucas’ struggle to create A New Hope. With studio executives breathing down his neck and threatening to pull the plug everyday of production, it’s a wonder anything got released at all. But the fact still remains that the clear presentation of Lucas’ dreadful directing abilities were saved by his editing team,  who turned Lucas’ turgid, sluggish scenes into zippy, vitalized episodes.

Worse than his directing, however, is his writing ability, which, it must be said, has considerably worsened with time. Clearly no-one told George that to develop and explain the plot, you don’t have to have all of the characters standing in a semi-circle explaining everything that has just happened and how this may, or may not, have grave implications for the future.

Remove the unnecessary diplomatic conversations (that do nothing to illustrate the fall of Anakin, which is apparently the purpose of the prequels) and you can condense three overly long, pathetic and empty films into one two-hour episode of a pod race, a clone war, an Obi-Wan/Anakin lightsaber fight and a Vader suit being fitted.

Stars. Credits. The End. Roll on the original trilogy. Goodnight, God bless.

Star Wars rant over, let’s move on to other suitably terrible directors. Next on the list, Michael Bay. Now there is absolutely, categorically, no excuse for liking Michael Bay or anything he has ever produced. Absolutely none. I won’t even entertain the notion. Michael Bay revels in his rightfully awarded mantle of the anti-christ of the film industry. He is proof that millions of Hollywood dollars can’t always buy you a decent film. Just because people paid, doesn’t mean they enjoyed it.

For those unfamiliar with Bay’s staggeringly poor back catalogue, he’s responsible for the monstrous Transformers films, Armageddon, Pearl Harbour, The Bad Boys films and The Island.

Michael Bay

For a filmmaker to spend more time at a computer in post-production than being involved heavily in character development in initial script meetings seems, and indeed is, ridiculous. No one enjoyed those films. Some might think they do, but they’re wrong. They have fallen victim to what the BBC’s Mark Kermode calls “diminished expectations.”

His pornographic sensibility, alongside his love for CGI explosions and robot fights (almost as fetishised as Tarantino’s n-word obsession) is slowly destroying the film industry. But I suppose Bay fans probably also like 3-D, so they’ll be in one place when we hunt them down as part of the anti-3-D revolution – coming soon to a multiplex near you.

But we can’t talk about destroying the film industry without bringing in the veritable Adams Family of putrid films: the Wayans Brothers. The list of their ranks seems to grow everyday and is almost as horrific as their filmography. We have to hold the Wayans responsible for the Scary Movie franchise, Dance Flick, White Chicks and Little Man, amongst several other genuinely offensively bad films that at least one member of the family has been involved in, either as director, producer or writer.

Little Man

It’s cheap, crass, unfunny, lowest common denominator humour, which, if we’re not careful, could very well be the norm for the foreseeable future.

If that’s the case, the future has us all speaking Mandarin and laughing mechanically at films involving a man’s head being superimposed onto a baby’s body in order to validate breast-feeding jokes.

That doesn’t sound like any future I want to be a part of.