Reviews

Unlike the polished and predictable origin films and sequels churned out by the Marvel assembly line, Venom is refreshingly slapdash and bizarre. Don't get me wrong. It's still an incoherent, painfully tone-deaf film that careens wildly between midnight body horror and goofy buddy comedy. It is also eminently watchable, thanks to Hardy's unhinged, balls-to-the-wall performance that would make Nicolas Cage proud. The messy script is maddeningly dumb and uneven, and you're left scratching your heads as to why such a high-calibre cast (Michelle Williams, Riz Ahmed) would say yes to this clunker. If only it had the chutzpah to embrace its inner craziness fully, it could have been a bona fide future camp classic.

A deftly riveting film by wunderkind Damien Chazelle, First Man retells the story of NASA's first successful lunar landing mission in a way that is both epic in its scale, yet intimate in its focus. The sequences inside the space capsule are surprisingly immersive, with every thud and shudder feeling of viscerally well-earned. Gosling is perfectly cast as the taciturn Armstrong, whose stoic demeanour belies a familial tragedy that plunges him and his wife into a black hope of grief. And once you land on that big rock in the sky, you'll truly be left breathless.

Those expecting a shoot-'em-up in the vein of Aliens will be disappointed. But those who value cerebral science fiction will be thrilled beyond belief. Annihilation is that rare piece of cinema that keeps you engrossed not just with dazzling visuals (of which it has plenty) but also with its sheer, ambitious, risk-taking ballsiness. Uniformly well-acted by a dream cast which includes Natalie Portman and Jennifer Jason Leigh, this movie is not to be missed.

A disarmingly honest coming-of-age film about a young girl's fraught relationship with her mother. A must-watch film about those troubled teenage years... of angst and disappointment and expectations gone awry. I could see myself in a lot of the characters.

Having watched it for the second time recently, I was struck by how razor-sharp the film's script actually was. Sure, it didn't have a big Agatha Christie-type mystery reveal; but the banter and repartee between the main characters was just so well-written. Of course, the film's framing and camerawork is legendary (for good reason) and Grace Kelly has a luminous screen presence. Suspenseful, intriguing, and a film that shows off a master at the peak of his craft.

Set in the world of 1950s haute couture in London, Phantom Thread is a beguiling love story with a somewhat dark, occasionally unpalatable underlay. Daniel Day-Lewis proves yet again why he's the pre-eminent actor of our generation by deftly inhabiting the character of Reynolds Woodcock, a brilliant couturier with an equally expansive ego. He is matched onscreen by two other powerhouse performances: Vicky Krieps as Alma, his strong-willed muse slash mistress; and Lesley Manville as Cyril, his cold-as-ice sister & business partner.

The world that director Paul Thomas Anderson creates is both sensual and aloof, with clashes that alternate between imperceptibly subtle and wildly spectacular. It's a beautiful film to both watch and hear, with elegant cinematography that evokes the period magnificently, and Johnny Greenwood's incessant score that portends the plot's vicissitudes with pitch-perfect precision. It may not be a film for everybody, but it's the most incisive commentary on the innate tragedy of relationships that you'll see all year.

Like a breath of fresh air, Spider-Man: Homecoming recharges the constantly rebooted franchise with some much-needed levity. Spider-man is perhaps the most millennial of all superheroes in the Marvel canon, and direct Jon Watts injects enough clever humour and self-aware juvenescence into the proceedings to make it a delightful romp. It also helps that Tom Holland nails the role with charm and finesse!

As far as blockbuster franchises go, the current Star Trek series has been undergoing a distinctly palpable identity crisis. Should it wholly embrace its blockbuster marketing, aiming for go-for- broke action to attract the popcorn audience in droves? Or should it aspire to reach loftier ideals of character development, intellectualizing about existence as the crew gets caught up in seemingly intractable story lines (and timelines)? The good news is that Star Trek Beyond successfully manages to do both, incorporating terrific sound design and seamless visuals in a plot that respects its sci-fi pedigree. It harks back to Gene Roddenberry's idealistic principles of unity, diversity, and inclusion, while at the same time throwing a winking nod towards the growing cinematic predilection for fun and silliness. In this regards, Star Trey Beyond owes a huge debt of gratitude to the hugely successful Guardians of the Galaxy, which reinvigorated audience interest in space odysseys that are, well, fun. And fun this certainly is. For two hours well-spent, don't miss Star Trek Beyond on the big screen.

Indie cinema's favourite on screen couple faces a harsh dose of reality in Richard Linklater's latest film.

The third chapter of the popular 'Before..' series, Midnight maintains the same narrative structure as the previous two - we follow these two characters as they meander around a sunny European city while doing little other than talking. But this time, the cracks in their relationship begin to show, and the compromises become too much bear. We watched these characters fall in love in the first two films, so seeing them bogged down by the struggles of marital life becomes all the more heartbreaking to watch.

In recent years, a plethora of screen actors have managed to successfully make the transition to becoming film directors, often choosing politically-charged message films to help them cement their status as truly respected 'cinema artistes'. However, as far as controversies go, none of these new directors could possibly hold a candle to the contentiousness surrounding the works of Mel Gibson. His Oscar-winning turn as actor/director in 1995's Braveheart prove that despite the 'vanity project' feel of his film, he was a formidable filmmaker who had more than proved his mettle. Nearly a decade later, he gave us a film that was drenched in enough of his obsessive fervour to rival the torrents of blood on screen - The Passion of the Christ. Criticised for its anti-Semitic tinge, relentless gore and sheer sensationalism, Passion surpassed all expectations to become the highest grossing R-rated film (as well as the highest grossing subtitled film) in US box office history, certainly no mean feat.

Undeterred by his critics, Gibson went on to direct another subtitled film (proving that he was unmindful of his films' box office potential) about the decline of the Mayan empire. Just like his previous works, Apocalypto was an exercise in bloodletting, often juxtaposing unflinchingly violent sequences with scenes of exceptionally beautiful catharsis. The crisp digital video services the film well, creating a sense of stark realism that's befitting for a film set in the lush rainforests of pre-Columbian Central America. The film also creates a sense of vicarious thrill by using sharp editing to create some truly exhilarating foot-chases.

The one thing that flaws Apocalypto in the end is its desire to overachieve. Its heedless ambition far exceeds its reach, and in the end the film is nothing more than one man's account of his pursuit to reach his family. It fails to analyse the reasons involved behind the fall of the empire, a topic it tauntingly hints at with the citation it quotes just prior to the opening credits. Still, Apocalypto manages to give us a fascinating look inside a civilisation now lost to the ravages of time, conquerors and self-destructive abandon. And that alone is worth the spectacle.

It took filmmaker Darren Aronofsky six years to follow up his ferociously brilliant tour de force, Requiem for a Dream, so anticipation for The Fountain was justifiably stratospheric. Internet sites were abuzz with fanboys salivating over the snazzy visuals from the film's promotional material, which is to be expected from the man who brought us the trailblazing editing technique of his previous films. But these sites were also rife with speculation about the film's story itself. Was it a metaphysical exploration of a man's self-discovery? Or was it a time-spanning journey through different historical epochs while attempting to solve a religious riddle? Whatever your interpretation of the film's deliberately ambiguous trailer, there was no denying you were in for a mindblowing ride. So you can imagine the disappointment of critics and filmgoers alike when the movie turned out to be exactly that -- an obfuscated look at life and death which asks more questions than it answers. The Fountain, however, unlike Aronofsky's previous relatively straightforward films, demands to be reviewed in order to be appreciated. Just like the tree of life guarding the titular fountain of youth, the movie grows and evolves with each viewing, as if taunting you with the prospect of ultimate enlightenment which you suspect will never arrive. Mixing together the trippy experience of Kubrick's 2001 with the cryptic philosophical pretensions of Zardoz, The Fountain simmers forth as a steaming plate of meditative reflections with very little in the way of a narrative obstruction. You will marvel at the film's pensive visuals, you will admire the artistry of the film's lead actors (Jackman & Weisz in brilliant form), and you will be encapsulated by the majesty of Clint Mansell's evocative score. This fountain is well worth the visit.

Dystopian futures never looked more blissfully bleak than they do in Alfonso Cuarón's anti-futuristic masterpiece, Children of Men. The year is 2027, and humans have lost the ability to procreate. With the death of the world's youngest citizen, people are coming to grips with the fact that their slowly aging population will one day become extinct. The city of London is embroiled in anarchy, with pillagers and terrorists taking the best opportunity from the surrounding chaos. Technology has indeed caught up with the times, but it's a far cry from the ultra-slick future envisaged by other movies in the genre. Amidst this paranoia-stricken populace, an ex-political activist (Clive Owen) unwittingly becomes in charge of protecting and transporting a mysteriously pregnant woman to the seaside sanctuary of a human research facility. Cuarón eschews the potential mawkishness of the story (glimmer of hope, anyone?), opting instead for gritty realism and a restrained background score. The film is also more rife with special effects than it lets on, with several sequences leaving you in complete awe. One particular motorcycle chase leaves you wondering about the logistics of filming it, with the camera playing tricks you haven't quite seen before. Ultimately, where the film fails is in its failure to bring any fresh insight into this oft-repeated premise. The film ostensibly traces its influences to the Orwellian landscape of 1984, but through dazzling cinematography and compelling direction, manages to leave an indelible mark of its own.

While the name Stephen Chow might barely elicit a hint of recognition among Western audiences, there's no denying he's a legend back in his home turf of Hong Kong. His films are often characterized by their zany characters, over-the-top action scenes and eye-popping (sometimes literally!) special effects. His earlier works, such as God of Cookery and Shaolin Soccer, were uneven escapist fluff-pieces that were weighed down by a tinge of superfluousness. With Kung Fu Hustle, however, Chow managed to find his footing, creating a film that manages to rise above its genre conventions to become a veritable piece of cinematic artistry. Part action film, part love story, part loving homage, Hustle is a pitch-perfect example of the best that Hong Kong cinema has to offer, effortlessly mixing digital wizardry with old-school martial arts stunts while never skipping a comedic beat. Starring Chow himself as a hapless wannabe gangster embroiled in a head-spinning battle between the notoriously violent Axe Gang and the high-flying residents of a slum called Pig Sty. The kung fu masters from the ramshackle village are faced with the task of thwarting the dastardly attacks of the Axe Gang, which include a band of suited axe-wielding mercenaries, a pair of string-strumming assassins and a prison-abducted supervillain known as The Beast, fast enough to catch a speeding bullet. All this climaxes into an go-for-broke showdown between the newly enlightened Chow and the malevolent Beast. And if that's not reason enough for you to rush to your nearest video store, Chow peppers the film with nods to everything from Looney Tunes slapstick to Kubrickian surrealism, as well as an inspired reimagining of the 'Burly Brawl' sequence from The Matrix Reloaded. A true gem!

No one can accuse Christian Bale of taking his profession lightly. While it's not uncommon to hear of established actors losing or gaining a few pounds for a role, Bale shocked viewers everywhere when he first appeared on screen in 2004's 'The Machinist' looking so emaciated he could squeeze through prison bars (with room to spare). His shocking 63-pound weight loss is said to be a record for any actor for a movie role. What's even more remarkable is how he quickly bulked up right afterwards to play the Caped Crusader in the following year's 'Batman Begins'. While such wild weight swinging is hardly recommendable, Bale makes the effort worthwhile by sinking his teeth so deep into his role as troubled insomniac Trevor Reznik that the mere sight of him on screen is enough to send shivers down your spine. Of course, in Brad Anderson's masterful suspense chiller, that's precisely the point. Playing the titular machinist who hasn't slept in a year, Bale's deep, hollow eye sockets and rail thin physique are the perfect foreground for Anderson's tension-filled tale of guilt, forgiveness, and ultimately, redemption. Under no circumstances a feel-good film, 'The Machinist' ratchets up the sense of dread with every passing moment. Showcasing a talented cast that also includes Jennifer Jason Leigh in her umpteenth prostitute role, the movie offers no respite for those looking for frothy entertainment. Moody set pieces and a tightly wound plot make this a successful exercise in high-concept storytelling. Don't be fooled into believing that the semi-predictable plot twist is what the film's about -- this is no Shyamalan venture. 'The Machinist' is coated with several layers of subtext that almost demands a second viewing. With a film this disturbing, that might just be too much to ask for.

Despite the slew of recent book-to-film adaptations, it is admittedly a difficult task bringing to screen something that's by nature a completely different medium. And while there has been no shortage of exceptional films that originated from within the confines of a novel or short story, it takes a truly gifted screenwriter to come up with a translation that manages to be daringly original. Fortunately, when you use the word 'original', the name Charlie Kaufman won't be far behind. The visionary screenwriter behind such cult hits like 'Being John Malkovich' and 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind', Kaufman is no stranger to metafiction - that loopy film genre where the boundaries of reality and fiction are blurred so self-referentially that it actually makes you feel smarter just watching it. While attempting to adapt the Susan Orlean book 'The Orchid Thief' for the big screen, Kaufman runs into a minor obstacle: the book is devoid of any hint of a plot. So what does he do? He writes a story about himself - an overweight balding screenwriter named Charlie Kaufman (played to perfection by Nicolas Cage) who is trying to adapt 'The Orchid Thief' for the big screen. Things are not aided by the fact that Kaufman's twin brother Donald is also a fledging writer trying to write the screenplay for a big-budget psychological thriller called 'The 3'. It is a testament to Cage's performance that despite wearing the same fat suit while playing both brothers, his facial expressions are enough for you to distinguish between the brothers on screen. The film then delves into a heady mix of inspired lunacy, as Kaufman meets the book's author, played by Meryl Streep, who then recounts meeting the book's subject, a Florida orchid grower played by Chris Cooper in his Oscar-winning role. As Charlie slowly loses his control over the screenplay while realizing the book is un-filmable, he starts getting advice from Donald, who suggests adding a love story, some drug use, some guns and a car chase. The genius of 'Adaptation' lies in the fact that after Donald 'Hollywood-ises' Charlie's screenplay, the movie itself turns into the very thing he wants it to be. The film is peppered with several ironic moments, such as the appearance by screen writing guru Robert McGee (played by Brian Cox) who decries the use of a voice-over narration at the very same time that the angsty Charlie is spouting off a narration in his head. It is truly difficult to do the film justice in a straightforward film review like this. Its amorphous plot could only be enjoyed by watching the film itself, and enjoying it as it takes you on a journey to the most unexpected places. While meta-fiction has existed in films as old as Woody Allen's 'Annie Hall' and as recent as Michael Winterbottom's delightfully quirky 'Tristam Shandy', few filmmakers attempt it for the sheer convolution of its structure. But when you are in the hands of a genre-master like Kaufman, all you can do is scratch your head, squeal in delight, and enjoy the ride.

There is a school of thought that passionately believes in the excesses of modern cinema. And while it's true that film is a medium that incorporates several different elements, one has to look no further than your average Michael Bay film to realise that more does not equal better (though in fairness to Bay, no one quite stages an action sequence like he does). This would lead one to surmise that the true test of a movie's quality is its ability to be both restrained and riveting. If this were the criteria, then 'Maria Full of Grace' would surely be among the upper echelon of the best films ever made. Sparingly filmed and all the better because of it, Grace is a mesmerising study in understatement. Freed from the distractions of an invasive musical score, the movie relies on pure human drama to create a level of anxiety and tension that few films ever achieve. Starring the beautiful Catalina Sandino Moreno in an Oscar-nominated role as the titular Maria, the film presents us with a story of a young, pregnant Colombian girl who becomes a drug mule after getting sacked from her menial job at a flower farm. Needless to say, things start going awry, paving the way for the most intense, white-knuckle plane sequence you would have seen in a long time. It's not easy creating sympathy for a character who's a merchant of death, but Grace goes a step ahead and makes us wish Maria would successfully dodge authorities to get her drugs (which she's hiding as cocaine pellets in her stomach) across to the US. Dramatic without being sappy, exciting without being formulaic, Grace is also rife with religious overtones - from its title derived from a Catholic prayer to its poster image of Moreno receiving the drug pellets as if they were a priest's communion wafer. Such religious iconography somehow works seamlessly with this film's agenda, which is to provoke while engaging. It's easy to dismiss this film as another socially relevant message picture, but the subtle performances and measured direction elevate it to something a whole lot more.

While I often have no problem watching films for what they are -- pleasant diversions that set out to entertain -- I have to admit I've got a particular affinity for movies that induce a certain degree of introspection while under the guise of a popcorn entertainer. It would be easy to dismiss 'Changing Lanes' as another piece of mindless drivel that Hollywood churns out oh-so-regularly. But look a little closer, and you will begin to notice that this is a very frustrating film. Our dichotomous minds like to think in terms of black and white, evil and good, Darth and Luke. This film is refreshingly different because it presents us with two diametrically opposing characters; and just like in real life, it has been left for us to decide who we want to root for. On one hand is Ben Affleck's hotshot attorney who's rushing off to meet a court appointment deadline. On the other hand is Samuel L. Jackson's alcoholic insurance salesman who is also in a rush for a hearing over the custody of his children. Their mid-highway car collision quickly escalates from road rage to unscrupulous vengeance and then utter moral breakdown. As we fascinatedly watch their cat-and-mouse game of one-upmanship, we shockingly realise that these ethically challenged individuals could very well be a mirror for ourselves. The movie obstinately refuses to side with any one character, presenting each one as a mix of the vile and the pitiable. The dubious moral ground that these characters stand on leave us questioning the world we live in, where nothing is as simple as choosing between the chocolate mudcake and the strawberry sorbet... there's always got to be that lemon meringue pie!

It's difficult enough possessing a hard-to-pronounce name in Hollywood. But when you've also got a name that virtually needs no introduction, then you're in real trouble. Such is the plight of M. Night Shyamalan, the Philadelphia-bred South Indian director who was catapulted to stardom overnight with the release of his masterful ghost story 'The Sixth Sense'. So indelible was his impression on the movie-going public that half a decade later, his name alone single-handedly propelled the opening weekend of 'The Village' to a stratospheric $50 million. But just like any wunderkind who's achieved success on his first go, Shyamalan was quickly dubbed a one-trick pony who had lost his touch. His film was ripped apart in its second weekend, crumbling a hemorrhagic 67%.. enough for it to be labeled a commercial disappointment. It's truly a shame, considering 'The Village' might just be Shyamalan's most poignant and deeply moving film to date. Starring the luminous Bryce Dallas Howard in what could best be described as a revelatory performance, 'The Village' tells the plodding story of a small 19th century community isolated from the outside world by an encircling forest populated by threatening hooded creatures. While the film's premise (and particularly its preposterous climax) might wither away in the light of logical reasoning, its best pleasures are found in its small moments. The hushed midnight conversation between Howard and Joaquin Phoenix on the front porch. The strained violin soundtrack as they cross the screen in beautiful slow motion to escape the intruders. The tracking camera movement as it follows the blind Howard around the village in haunting deliberation. In the end, these images sear themselves into your mind far more intensely than the whole movie does. Call Shyamalan what you may.. a one-hit wonder, a formula-milking charlatan, or a self-deluded narcissist (see Lady in the Water), he sure knows how to direct a scene.

The Coen Brothers are clearly the frontrunners in laying claim to the title of being the most prolific, yet least profitable, film-making duo around. Their names are synonymous with an indie chic that's comparable only to Kevin Smith, yet none of their films (not even their award-winning Fargo) have managed to leave an impression at the box office. It's all for the best, perhaps; as their films are often tinged with a dark sense of humor that's probably best appreciated by a select group of filmgoers -- any attempt to commercialize and the results would be lacklustre (see Intolerable Cruelty & The Ladykillers). And when it comes to being dark, none of their films probably fit the bill better than their 2001 neo-noir offering 'The Man Who Wasn't There'. Starring Billy Bob Thornton as a taciturn barber caught in the middle of a botched blackmail, the movie is exceptional at presenting us a character we simply don't care about. Thornton's stoic performance makes him at once unsympathetic and attractive - the perfect anti-hero. Filmed in glorious black and white, the movie looks resplendent in its stark contrasts of shadows and light. And with exceptional performances by a standout cast that includes James Gandolfini, Frances McDormand, Scarlett Johansson (who already starts looking like the sultry seductress she plays in most of her later movies) and especially Tony Shalhoub as a calculating, self-assured lawyer, 'The Man Who Wasn't There' becomes a film that's truly unforgettable.

Only a handful of Bollywood movies attempt to break their silly boy-meets-girl conventions in favor of more high-brow fare. But even fewer movies stay within the confines of this oft-repeated formula, and manage to get the formula right. Swades is one such film. The much-anticipated follow-up to Ashutosh Gowariker's award-sweeping success Lagaan, Swades is a more low-key, rustic affair. Starring the ubiquitous Shah Rukh Khan in what is arguably his most nuanced performance to date, Swades tells the simple story of a Non-Resident Indian (NRI) who embarks on a journey to India's heartland with the sole purpose of bringing back his effervescent nanny to the US. What starts out as a simple mission turns into an eye-opening exploration of the meaning of being an Indian. What separates Swades from other passionately patriotic films (i.e. Rang de Basanti) is its ability to avoid grandiose political statements. Instead, the film's charms are simple... the plight of a small village without basic electricity, a young boy selling water for pennies, a villager with two daughters and no reason to educate them. And who can forget SRK's impassioned speech at the town hall gathering, where he decries India's blind affection for its divisive culture? At the end of the film, you're left with an exhilarating feeling of hope - a hope that comes from making deceptively simple decisions. And the message is clear for every single Indian who once called the subcontinent his home. Go light your bulb!

From the very first frame of Sam Mendes's gorgeously shot gangster drama 'Road to Perdition', you know you are in the hands of a truly gifted auteur. Starring the indefatigable Tom Hanks as a lonesome Depression-era hit man grappling with his loyalties to his Irish Catholic mob and his family, the movie is a picture-perfect vehicle for Mendes to showcase the breathtaking camera work of legendary cinematographer Conrad Hall. Each scene is meticulously framed, and some sequences are bound to leave you breathless (e.g. the silent shoot-out in the rain). Uniformly good performances by Hanks, Paul Newman and particularly Jude Law as a cold-blooded killer sent to hunt down the protagonists on the run make this an achingly beautiful film -- a big-hearted paean to the sometimes troublesome relationships between fathers and sons.

Labours of love don't get any more poetic than Steven Spielberg's flawed masterpiece 'A.I. Artificial Intelligence'. Part science fiction, part fairy tale, AI takes us on a fantastical journey across a bleak yet hauntingly beautiful futuristic landscape, where robots are created with an uncanny ability to mimic human emotions -- including that most contentious of feelings, love. The movie polarised audiences upon its releases, with many people seeing the film as a disjointed mix of Spielbergian schmaltz and Kubrickian stoicism (Spielberg directed the film based on a concept he developed with the late Stanley Kubrick). But despite all its shortcomings, including a tacked-on second ending, AI remains a near-perfect piece of cinema, a thought-provoking work that is a must-watch for any filmmaker worth his salt.