Tag Archives: Film

Matchstick Men (2003).

I was dreading this movie would be too reliant on the standard As Good as It Gets (1997) OCD schtick to drive the narrative but it smartly sidestepped all the easy mechanisms. A highly entertaining dramedy with two plots going on seamlessly, a con and a character study intertwined, this is another solid entry in the Cage compendium.

One wishes Ridley Scott would make inconsequential but breezy fare like this rather than all his insipid train wrecks of late, which are too numerous.

And Bruce McGill is in it, showing once again that he’s in everything. 

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Sinners (2025). Not an enjoyable experience.

This was just one unfathomably tedious exposition that never felt like going anywhere, and by the time the carnage commenced I patently couldn’t be arsed. 

I must have sighed on a dozen occasions and this produced sighs from displeased persons in front of me, who evidently did not approve of my sighing. 

Pish. 

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π (1998).

An intro to Aronofskyisms, who in his exceptional debut feature pulls off the remarkable feat of making mathematics sort of interesting, theory relayed to us via the characters in their gripping exchanges; in these moments you end up taking notes for a Wikipedia binge.

The director draws so much from a conceptual premise through stylistic verve and repetition, and doesn’t run out of steam. There’s always something going on, the plot presenting successive obstacles for Max Cohen in his hopeless search for meaning where there frankly isn’t any to be found. The dirtiness of his domain (it’s like Abel Ferrara territory), the fact he’s living (barely) in squalor, the cocoon lifestyle, seems to further convince him that he’s deep in the shit and on the verge of an Earth-shattering discovery.

Great film, wild ride, the Aronofsky template.

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Clueless (1995).

Lovely wee comedy. It’s not hilarious or anything but it’s witty and clever. What happened to Alicia Silverstone? Was it Batman & Robin (1997) that robbed her of a career? Or maybe she just belongs in the ’90s.

A sad shame.

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Waking Ned (1998).

Bill Forsyth could have made this charming flick, which is surprisingly well shot and not the TV movie aesthetic that I was expecting. 

Nice wee story, characters you can root for, and the consummate thesp Ian Bannen gets a late career-defining role. The bloke was in literally everything, even turning up in Braveheart (1995) as the leper pops of Robert the Bruce. 

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Sting (2024).

Avoid this lifeless pish, which doesn’t even have the B-movie charm to recommend it. 

I wasn’t expecting much, but a tiresome episode of TV’s Goosebumps is more fun. 

Or just watch Arachnophobia (1990) instead. 

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The Bikeriders (2023).

My attention was drawn to this as my ears were piqued, tickled even, by Tom Hardy’s bonkers accent in the trailer – whatever accent it’s meant to be, I was intrigued. That or the feeling it was picking up the aesthetic mantel of The Wild One (1953), that seminal exploitation movie that barely merits a second viewing because it’s shite. But it does have Brando being a committed Brando.

Sadly, and this is where my faith in peculiar accents was misplaced, I was annoyed beyond composure with the lead lassie in this and her grating, stomach-churning voice, Marge Simpson scraped down a blackboard with a bit of Karen Hill from Goodfellas (1990) chucked in the vernacular mix. The entire 30 minutes I could manage this film I was telling myself, “This is so bad. My ears are in pain. I hate folk on motorcycles.”

Nice bit of scenery in the picture, open landscapes and all that; it would have been better if you just jettisoned the shitty accents, all the motorcycles, and the story, which I gave up on.

This will be the only movie starring both Tom Hardy and Michael Shannon that I’ll turn off. Sorry, lads.

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Alien (1979) pioneered the epic trailer.

It’s the original trailer for Alien (1979), and it is up there with the best of them:

Sometimes trailers are art. If you watch the Star Trek (2009) one, for example, with its Two Steps From Hell accompaniment, it’s more accomplished than the actual movie. 

There should be awards for trailers.

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Far from Heaven (2002).

’50s Americana here looks like a repressive white-picket hellhole, and the trivialities of the dialogue lays bare the desperation of the characters in their staid conformity to societal norms. The style, all lush colours and impeccable static takes, has a refined and absolute purpose with nothing superfluous in the frame. It engenders a stillness which is rare in most of cinema. 

A movie intent on capturing dignified sadness in its characters, and moments of quiet bliss all too fleeting, you come away from this feeling that you’ve been right in the middle of something special.

An outstanding work, 5/5.

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Nosferatu (2024).

Wow.

The exquisite and sweeping shots here, the depth of field, and attention paid to the sound design were an anomaly to see in a movie within this genre, which isn’t much of one. A breathtakingly beautiful film to look at and listen to, Gothic horror done right. This is how you do it (sorry, Montell).

This is proof that plagiarism can work.

And just so you know, Chris Finch from The Office is in it.

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