The opening voice-over reeked of amateurishness – John Lithgow narrating shots of our heroes playing football, describing a wee bit of superfluous info about them all – so I turned it off and watched a documentary about the bomber instead.
I believe it to be the correct decision.
What a wee hunk James Spader is in this. Was he the definitive representation in human form of the peak Yuppie era? Spader is almost homeless in the sordid story yet defines that breed. If you ever needed utter sleaze he was your go-to lad. And what an unbelievably annoying little cunt he is here! His purpose is to wind the couple up, expose the facade. And they are manky things aside from the lassie from Four Weddings (1994).
Why do Americans in these films always have deep conversations in coffee shops? I sit in them and want to string myself up, such is the nausea of the establishments.
To summarise, your reviewer felt rather uncomfortable and icky viewing this brilliant movie. I suppose that was the point.
And the psychiatrist at the start is the one who asks Hannibal some rudimentary questions before the doctor brings up stiffening nipples:
I wish this would have just been about the Battle of Waterloo (1815) as it’s the only time this movie truly ignites, and that’s despite the battlefield inaccuracies and the atrocious performance of Rupert Everett as the Duke of Wellington, the ’90s throwback playing Wellesley as a snarling thug rather than aristocratic master of defensive battle.
The first 45 minutes are great, Napoleon awestruck by Joséphine and proceeding to act in the most hilariously childlike manner, a supreme baby smitten. It’s very funny and it’s a shame it didn’t stay this way, a couple’s domestic melodrama taken to the extremes of the world stage. Unfortunately, what follows is a series of scenes from your basic high school history lesson with nothing holding them together. Don’t expect a character study but a truncated telling of events. It’s an enigmatic performance from Phoenix and he’s always engrossing; the drama, however, is zilch.
Hurried, unfocused, and often boring, it’s a technical marvel with sumptuous visuals but a decent script would have helped. There’s no sense of the wider historical forces that enabled or expanded the Napoleonic Wars, or any concerted attempt to explore the lad’s mammoth fall. Here, it just … happens.
I’ll wait for the four-hour cut I keep hearing about.
I mind this being “hilarious” back in the day. I think I might have lost my mind. It’s a rubbish piece of work, barely funny, and just nasty. Some of the lines are shocking, the story is ludicrous, and there is an unbearable air of smugness to it all. The cast are also insufferable, really mediocre actors. Oh, we had a wild night and that’s somehow rib-splitting. Grow up. Plonkers.
I hated it and you should too.
I had no deep interest in anything that happened within the narrative of this bog-standard thriller, but the atmosphere is captivating.
It’s a mood piece, and best appreciated as that. And the tension in a few scenes was … exhaling (proper audience member verb over here).
I recommend it if you’ve got nothing else to do.
And Herc from The Wire is in it.
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Al Pacino is so haggard here. It’s the most beaten-down human I’ve seen in a film and I hope it wasn’t method. I’ve been two days without sleep and I’ve hallucinated (Ah, Estonia Bantz 2011). Alcohol was the only solution but this guy doesn’t do any of that and just seems intent on torturing himself. It’s the best I’ve seen from one of our most lauded thesps.
Robin Williams turns up and he is diabolically insane in this role; he’s Mrs. Doubfire gone crackers. The acting ability of this bloke was quite something. There is “going dark” and then this. He just had an extraordinary gift for the theatrical and could tone it down when the script demanded.
Nothing exemplary here but it’s elevated by the off-the-charts acting and the pristine way the director frames and cuts.
It makes Alaska look lovely despite the ghastly happenings within the narrative.
Top film.
Martijn Doolaard makes the most mesmerising videos you’ll see anywhere. They shouldn’t be, but the tranquil simplicity distinguishes the content. And he’s doing something, not filming a cat with a selfie stick.
There’s a Robert Bresson quality here. An inspiration.
Wanderings and ... wonderings. 