The Capricious Thoughts of Peter Crispin

More 'Film Opaque' than 'Film Noir', Touch of Evil is an unparrelled cinematic study of corruption, racism and the morality of the Law.

Welles' direction is again light years ahead of anything contemporaneous, the Mexican border town locale being all shadows, smoke, grime and black & white neon, framed by low angles, long tracking shots and car-mounted cameras. Charlton Heston and Vivien Leigh are good foils to Welles' monstrous police chief Quinlan, the do-gooding newly-weds who are enmeshed in the local web of sin and cartelism.

A proto-Chinatown, this thought-provoking yet highly entertaining film is as good as it gets for the noir genre.

Toy Story. You don't expect The Seventh Seal of a film about a civil war between giant alien robots that turn into cars and planes, but a bit of characterisation would have been nice.

The admittedly mind-blowing special effects go some way in distracting the viewer away from the rather hum-drum, sub-Spielbergian motions of the narrative, and there are some moments of genuine, self-depreciating comic relief amongst the nonsensical b*ll*cks that pass for a plot, but the overall impression one gets is of ennui and formula.

Shia LaBeouf is rather good as the main human focus of the story, but his love interest is so wooden you fear he may get splinters. Jon Voight once again proves that he'll do anything for a pay cheque although John Turturro wonderfully camps it up as a secret service agent that specialises in giant alien robots that turn into cars (as you do).

Of course, over-grown boys of a certain age will get an illicit, nostalgic thrill with the references to the cartoon of their youth (the film gets some kudos for retaining the original voice of main goodie robot Optimus Prime, which is fabulously gravelly and distinctive), but really it all amounts to time-wasting nonsense designed to bankrupt middle class parents by spoilt demands for cheaply-made shape-shifting plastic lumps. The robots, although brilliantly animated, are confusingly designed so one looks pretty much like another, and their motivations appear to be as deep as a kiddie's paddling pool... which has sprung a leak on a hot summer's day.

Kinetic yet traction-less, "Transformers" proves that there's nothing that is 'more than meets the eye' about most Hollywood blockbusters these days.

I have set up a My Space account that can be viewed at http://www.myspace.com/petercrispin.

The clips will change daily when I access to a terminal, and all the interests listed are hyperlinks that once clicked will either take you to a relevant clip or article.

Enjoy!

Over the course of 21 films and 40 years, each new cinematic visitation of secret agent 007 has been heralded with the proclamation that “Bond is Back’. Casino Royale, the latest film in the series, begs the question as to whether previously he was ever there at all, for Daniel Craig, the latest actor in the role, has made the part his own, even overshadowing the nonchalant, iconic brutality of Sean Connery’s 60s portrayal.

Casino Royale is shorn of all the cinematic devices that have made such an unpalatable character the established family Boxing Day hero of yore. No overelaborate secret bases staffed by lackeys in hardhats and colour-co-ordinated boiler suits, no submersible sports cars, no campy exchanges or Carry On double entendres. Craig’s Bond has been hardboiled, all impurities burnt away, the audience captivated by his cold, merciless basilisk stare, injecting a genuine sense of drama into what had increasingly become a self-parodic, self-indulgent routine of ritual.


This is not to say the film is unrecognisable from what has gone before. The disapproving boss, Bond’s disregard for authority while remaining resolutely of the Establishment, the consumerist fetishism, the fast cars, the easy women, the exotic locales, the physically disfigured villains are all present and correct, but then again, they were in Ian Fleming’s original novels. Casino Royale transposes with surprising ease Fleming’s tropes of a Club-land infused 1950s to a post 9/11 environment of international terrorism, and the back to basics approach of the film makes this transition easier. It is easier to imagine Bond being set upon with a machete than being cut in half in an over-elaborate setup involving lasers that can punch holes in the moon or being fed to sharks in the secretarial pool underneath the villain’s lavish offices (transported there by trapdoor, naturally).

In an era where we have all now become James Bond ourselves with our GPS tracking systems, iPods, minute digital cameras and laser-marker pens, the audience has now reached a parity with Bond in terms of his gadgets. Whereas in more recent entries in the franchise had led the filmmakers to stretch the techno-fetishism to breaking point (invisible car, anyone?), 007’s toys in the new film are believable to the extent that you would expect them to be in most middle-aged man’s Christmas stocking by 2008. This allows the filmmakers to focus solely on the look, narrative and performances of the film, with one or two indulgent action scenes being dispensed with quite earlier on in the film (although deftly executed) so they can get on with telling what is, at its heart, a genuinely gripping thriller.

Trailer for Casino Royale (2006)
Martin Campbell, the director of Casino Royale who was also responsible for the post-Cold War riposte of the series Goldeneye, has accomplished what he has set out to do – make James Bond a credible twenty first century character who can hold his own against the faux ultra-realism of Jason Bourne and Jack Ryan.

Ably supported by a great supporting cast (Eva Green is especially good as the best Bond girl since Diana Rigg in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service over 30 years ago), Daniel Craig makes the film his own, with an intense performance coupled with a physicality that even Connery lacked. The action sequences recall the bare knuckle clashes of Raiders of the Lost Ark or more adult fare, and this helps the drama no end by making you believe that not only can Bond inflict serious physical damage on an opponent but that he too is vulnerable, easily wounded and at high risk of being snubbed out at any moment.

The defining moment of Casino Royale is a quiet scene involving just Craig. Bond has just killed two men with his bare hands, he is literally drenched in blood, his face is lacerated, and he has returned to his luxurious hotel room, propping himself up against the sink in the bathroom, downing shots of whisky as he just stares at himself in sheer disbelief and barely contained horror at the realisation of what he is capable of. Previous Bond films would have tried to denude the brutality of a killing by having it done by gadget or by a mordant post-kill quip (“I think he got the point”). Casino Royale, however, like Bond, forces the audience to stare the film’s consequences in the face, and is more gripping and shocking as a result. Casino Royale, like its protagonist, is a killer.

Official Site:
www.casinoroyalemovie.com

This movie will reconstruct in 10 seconds….

If, dear reader, you have seen either Brian De Palma ‘s wonderful John Le Carre/ MTV hybrid Mission Impossible or John Woo’s elongated car advert aka Mission Impossible II, there will be not a lot to be gained by seeing Mission Impossible III, which in keeping with our “Vote Tory, Go Green” times, manages to recycle its predecessors and most other spy films of the last 40 years.

Given this, I am not going to spend too much time on the plot, but I defy anyone who witnesses the first twenty minutes of M:I:III (note to producers and poster designers - capital ‘i’s and Roman numerals don’t mix) not to be urging the film onto the particularly sadistic torture scene previewed in the pre-title sequence as we are encouraged to bask in the joy of Ethan Hunt’s (Tom Cruise) engagement party to a winsome bride-to-be (Michelle Monaghan).

Could Ethan Hunt be the most boring spy ever? His ‘silent majority’ lifestyle does not attest to a particularly driven man. Harry Palmer’s ordinariness gave him a working class edge in the Len Deighton books/ movies, but Cruise’s poster boy looks combined with his beige apartment and Sister Sledge listening habits make him instantly tedious. Devoid of any apparent ideology, drive or characteristic flaws, he becomes a kind of James Bond-lite, but monogamous, teetotal and (probably) a Scientologist.

Ethan Hunt - License to Quiche

Part of this absence of definition is due to a lack of an external enemy. In this, and the last two instalments of the series, the enemy has been an agent gone rogue. This, invariably, leads to the rogue agent trying to frame Cruise’s character to take the rap, leading in turn to an hour and half spent with Hunt on the run from his own side while trying to stop the release of the (equally predictable) ‘evil disease’ du jour, which jeopardises the entire human race and Hunt’s wonderful complexion.

You would think in M:I land that the US Government would have come to the conclusion by now that the Mission Impossible team are probably more trouble than they are worth, but I suppose there will be deleted scenes on the DVD of a Rumsfeld-type character claiming at a press conference that ‘stuff happens’.

But this kind of omission is quite telling about the times we live in. Even at their most fantastical, the Bond films acknowledged the real politick of the period so as to give the audience a frisson, but in the new, post Cold War Mission Impossible world the filmmakers studiously avoid naming any country or organisation as being bad… the rogue agent, once uncovered, boasts that by helping the arms dealer (who we are initially meant to think is behind everything – a nice turn by Philip Seymour Hoffman) he is ‘sorting out the Middle East’ (er… how?), but aside from that, nothing. Even the main drop off point in the movie is Vatican City!

It is all timid stuff, and the film makers should introduce a little bit more grit to the proceedings if they really want their audience on the edge of their seats.

It is not all bad though… the obligatory action set pieces are fun if you like that kind of thing, and Laurence Fishburne and the aforementioned Hoffman steal the show every time they appear on screen (and the film noticeably flags when they are not). However, the more geeky in the audience may find themselves looking at their watch as various homages to… no let’s call a spade a spade – steals of The Ipcress File, True Lies, On Her Majesty Secret Service and Spy Game are played out without any new discernible twist or slant.

This film passed the time but at no point is one truly exhilarated by or involved with the events on screen. Let’s hope when James Bond returns (as he always promises to do in the end credits), he will be more Conran shop than Hunt’s DFS drab motivationless spy.

Here are some of my lowbrow highlights coming to the cinema this summer. Click on the links below to gorge yourself on the trailers….

• Superman Returns
  
• X-Men: The Last Stand
  
• Mission Impossible 3
  

Ain’t no shame in it… ☺


Ian McKellen - a magnetic personality...