Solo: A Star Wars Story

In the ever-growing library of Star Wars cinematic productions, Solo has endured the roughest road - that we know of, in any case. Rocked by the departure of directorial team Phil Lord and Chris Miller after much of the initial filming had already been completed, hampered by reshoots and with a myriad of other rumours hounding the project, none of them good, suffice it to say that my expectations for Solo were minimal out both a sense of caution and, more importantly, a feeling of apathy.

With Disney's yearly model for Star Wars taken into consideration, and with the growing sensation of fatigue which The Last Jedi served to exacerbate on a personal level, these things added to the one overall question that I had about Solo - was it necessary? Technically no film is; rarely is there an obligation to make a film that rests on anyone's shoulders, but films are made regardless, for entertainment or education or a whole host of other purposes. In the context of Star Wars, however, a film focusing on the life of one of the franchise's most iconic characters just didn't feel needed, especially when the original trilogy was as much about Han coming to accept a cause worth fighting for and growing as a person as it was about Luke and Leia's own personal journeys. I went into this with little prior knowledge of the film under my belt as a result, only knowing a few bits and pieces such as the (still) brilliant decision to cast Donald Glover as a younger Lando Calrissian. I left with an air of general satisfaction, but also with feelings of a different sensation that I could not place at first - and after examination, I found that I could still not reconcile whether or not this film actually needed to be made, among other things.

Solo, as the name nakedly states, is about the early years of Han Solo (Ehrenreich), Star Wars' acerbic yet gold-hearted smuggler. The plot is simple, if superficially different from preceding films by nature of its focal characters and its premise; after successfully bribing his way off his home world but being forced to leave behind his lover Qi'ra (Clarke), he takes it upon himself to find a way to scrounge up enough credits for a ship to return, find her, and head off into the galaxy. While enlisted in the Imperial army, he meets career criminal Tobias Beckett (Harrelson) and his crew, who comes to show sympathy for him, and he enlists both Han and recently liberated Wookie Chewbacca (Suotamo) to carry out a heist job. From there, the film settles into the rather typical beats of such a story - righting wrongs to please shady mob bosses, people from one's past emerging where one least expects them and accomplishing the impossible, slathered in a layer of snark and decorated with a smattering of intriguing tidbits.

Unfortunately, the end result is a plot that has precious little to really write home about. Certainly, at their core, the stories of many of the preceding films are themselves generic, and by this point in history almost any premise is on a surface level - Star Wars itself was presented as a simple tale of rebellion, a fight for freedom to lift the yoke of tyrannical imperialism from the wider galaxy. Those films possessed moments that carved themselves into film history despite the plain narrative that they presented.  The film does offer somewhat tantalising glimpses into other facets of the larger universe through the existence of elements such as masked marauder Enfys Nest and their gang, christened the 'Cloud Riders', fleeting looks at places such as the den of iniquity known as Corelia where Han was born and raised, genuinely exciting looks at the franchise's take on a high-stakes card game, a more low-key examination of Imperial officers and propaganda - at least in the first few minutes - and all sorts of little name drops to make the world seem larger. This, however, does not compensate for the film's ultimately by the numbers story. Most people who have seen any sort of heist film are keenly aware of how the rest of the feature is going to proceed the moment Han and Chewie are roped into Beckett's little scheme, and dedicated Star Wars viewers, perhaps even those who entered the series through The Force Awakens, will know what becomes of Han and Chewie, and Lando by extension. That is not to say that prequels are inherently flawed - three of Star Wars' own movies, and perhaps the most crucial with regards to the greater narrative, are prequels themselves - but knowing that none of what occurs in Solo really matters overall hampers one's enjoyment of the experience. With the exception of a single revelation in the closing moments of the film that is doubtlessly going to leave hardcore fans salivating, the events of Solo are just too distant to have any lasting effect by virtue of the film taking place before Rogue One. Its intention was to be a self-contained story, no doubt, and that's acceptable, but when we know what happens and how little the effects of this film seem to linger, one grapples with searching for a reason to remain invested in the larger picture.

Additionally, Solo, like Rogue One, is eager to bombard its viewers with a deluge of nostalgic throwbacks - stormtroopers say 'Move along' as they once did to Kenobi on Tatooine all those years ago, Han's lucky dice are featured front and centre, oblique references are made to popular characters in the wider mythos and a key portion of the film revolves around the Kessel Run, an event mentioned only in passing in the original film and possibly ad-libbed by Ford himself - but also much like Rogue One, it struggles to create any sense of identity for itself because of its need to remind audiences of these things that once existed or were once mentioned or seen, something that infects even the film's very setup. There are even references to locations featuring in Rogue One itself in the script, which leaves one wondering how much Disney's crew values the memory retention capabilities of their supporters. The end result that arises from this mindset is a film that is certainly well-crafted, but also a product that openly struggles to present anything new and thought-provoking that doesn't wind up as either truthfully intriguing but regrettably pushed to the side, unintentionally hilarious - like the briefly-seen 'Lady Proxima', a criminal overlord who just so happens to be a ridiculously fake-looking giant worm - or quietly aggravating, as with new character L3-37 who is a militant advocate of droids' rights and fond of railing against 'organics', even invoking a throwaway line from A New Hope after her first meeting with the crew, and precious little else aside from revelling in the occasional moment of witty banter with Lando.

To make up for what the film lacks in the story and in the uniqueness department, somewhat, the performances are solid - for the most part. Donald Glover as a younger Lando is perhaps the most eye-catching member of the cast. Though at times he goes seldom-seen, he nails Lando's character with a potent cocktail of irreverence, humour and genuine conviction, and should a follow-up ever be made I would be delighted to see him reprise the role. Alden Ehrenreich has served to defy doubters with his roguish, charming and ultimately determined depiction of Han in his younger years, even though he still doesn't entirely look the part. Emilia Clarke's Qi'ra is perhaps the greatest surprise among them, having entered the film believing that she would be little more than a token love interest - or worse, a bog-standard moll, given the seedier nature of the setting that they were trying to depict. As a fellow "scumrat", though, she comes to prove that she can hold her own as well as Han can - perhaps even more so in certain respects, and she comes to serve the plot in ways I did not believe would come to pass. Harrelson does a convincing job at portraying Beckett as a cynical, grizzled outlaw and malefactor, and barring a handful of noticeably flat line readings he stands out as one of the best things about Solo, cast-wise. It is difficult to grade Chewbacca's 'performance', Joonas Suotamo being behind the fur - but it can he said that he growled, roared and snarked in untranslated Shyriiwook with enough conviction. Even here, however, there are duds. Actors of note are essentially thrown away without much thought with brief turns in playing starkly one-dimensional characters - alongside Phoebe Waller-Bridge as L3, there are also Thandie Newton and Jon Favreau who end up essentially as tragically wasted talent - and Paul Bettany plays quite possibly the blandest and most thoroughly forgettable villain that a Star Wars title has ever played host to.

On a technical level, too, the film shines. There are a handful of outstanding moments of cinematography that chiefly arise during the train sequence in the early film, the more rough-and-tumble nature of the premise results in locations that are grittier and feel more worn-down and lived-in as a result, and the depictions and Corelia and Kessel that we see do spark the imagination. As with most Star Wars features, the CGI is mostly top notch, if a little peculiar and oddly uncanny in certain places, particularly during the third leg of the Kessel sequence and some fast-paced shots of interior mechanisms. It's much more refined when viewed up-close, like with L3-37's design or with the exotic crowds of players indulging in sabacc, a bizarre and mostly impenetrable card game with roots in an old novel attached to the now-abandoned and pre-Disney 'Expanded Universe'. But with the exceptions of Kessel and Corelia, of which precious little is seen, the crew seem reluctant to make these locales in a 'galaxy far, far away' alluring and unique, falling into the same trap that ensnared Rogue One and both new trilogy films with how sparse and barren they made their new locations seem. The writing also hovers slightly above decent and rarely deviates, though there is a fair amount of humour to be had with Lando, Han, L3 and even Beckett taking turns at providing laughs. At times, too, the pacing hangs excessively much to the film's detriment - there is a heavy sense of ending fatigue in particular, further underscored by the Kessel Run consuming an ordinate amount of screen time. Although the film is never at a loss for direction, it seems content with staying far too long in certain places, and its somewhat inflated running time doesn't help in that area.

I entered into Solo with virtually non-existent expectations, but an open mind (and getting to see it in IMAX was a definite plus). I was willing to be surprised, and in some ways, I was. it does do an admirable job at adding more to the setting, and its characters are mostly colourful, but it's overshadowed by a plot that's almost suffocating in its predictability - something that even good performances cannot deflect. In the end, for all of its technical competence, cast experience and name recognition, it still ends up as it started - a film that struggles to define its own existence. If there is ever a form of continuation, without the behind-the-scenes strife that threatened to rip Solo apart at the seams, perhaps we can eventually hope to bear witness to something more concrete and willing to strike out on its own. As it stands, however, it registers as little more than 'alright', and with Solo being released while controversy about the previous film is still very much alive, that may be far from the reaction that its creators desire.

I Kill Giants

Growing up is a peculiar and sometimes frightening experience, laden with heavy choices and hard decisions and a lingering fear of what lies ahead. People cope with the stress of looming adulthood in a number of different ways. Some hurl themselves into the great unknown of adolescence; others grapple with the problems of reality in a different way. They attempt to quantify them, give them names and weaknesses so that they can be confronted, conquered and laid to rest without looking back and combating them at the source.

This is how Barbara Thorson operates. The youngest child of an acutely dysfunctional family, with a sister struggling to stay employed and keep a divided house in order and a brother who spends his time captivated by his PS4, she is a self-styled 'giant slayer'. Routinely venturing into the natural surroundings beyond her home, she styles herself as a hunter of beasts straight out of a fantasy novel as she roams about with her trusty 'war hammer', Covalesci, looking for the next apparent beast to slay. But elsewhere, she is considered peculiar; a frequent target of harassment at school, a troublesome pupil for teachers and a source of exasperation for her desperate older sister. When a British girl named Sophia (Sydney Wade) moves into the area and discovers Barbara fiddling with her assorted 'giant traps', the two spark off an odd kind of friendship. However, this is merely a prelude to the drama to come as Barbara sees more 'giants' looming on the horizon. Seeing them as a portent of an impending disaster, she becomes ever more determined to stop them, no matter what it takes.

I Kill Giants is already being set up to be a tragic victim of disingenuous marketing, because evidently, the suits believe that honesty will not sell tickets. For those without knowledge of the source material, it will seem like some suburban fantasy action romp from the trailers, when that could not be farther from the truth. It does have action in a sense, but this is a work that is firmly grounded in reality beyond the veneer of lumbering giants. The film is not a fantasy flick by any stretch of the imagination; rather, it is a character study. Barbara - with young Madison Wolfe giving the performance of her career, and I strongly hope this takes her to new heights - appears to be the walking embodiment of eccentricity on a surface level. She immerses herself in mythological knowledge, she has an unyielding fascination with all things fantastical, she has knowledge of obscure facets of baseball, she possesses a sharp wit and a way of speaking quite unlike those of her age group, and operates out of a self-made base filled with assorted equipment and bric-a-brac, wherein she devises her plans against the 'giants'. Her character seems all sorts of strange superficially, but as the film progresses the viewer comes to see Barbara for what she actually is, and what she so fiercely struggles against. The revelation of such is pleasingly gradual and organic; up until a certain point, we can only make assumptions mostly based off of Barbara's personal lexicon. 'Giants' are a catch-all term for the problems that she encounters, her parents are curiously absent and mention is made of how 'upstairs' is strangely forbidden. One can make educated guesses, but the film teases with only brief glimpses of thought-provoking and tantalizing details, a wind-up for a tried but true gut-punch.

Beneath the quirky and strangely charming veneer and the odd yet adorable rabbit-ears headband she so often wears, Barbara is the quintessential image of a troubled youth, who tries despite everything to stave off the trials that beset her and her family, and while this is endearing in a way, the film also pulls no punches in showing its downsides. Along with the aforementioned harassment at and outside of school - that shows no qualms about getting violent - she treats her lessons with forced acceptance at best and absolute disdain at worst, prioritizing her 'giant-hunting' activities above virtually everything else and being incredibly vague when people, including her own family, ask for explanations.  This attitude also extends, at least initially, to her psychiatric evaluation sessions with Mrs. Molle (Zoe Saldana), the only member of the school's faculty to overtly display sympathy for her and who is willing to try and understand her; "Teachers aren't paid enough for that kind of abuse, she's a psychiatrist", Barbara says, in the aftermath of a particularly heated moment. The extent to which she is ostracised for her mannerisms is also made clear, with an abundance of curious glances being shot her way as she strides down hallways, disparaging murmurs being flung her way and with Barbara herself acknowledging that she is a 'freak' with limited social skills. Her interactions with Sophia, herself played solidly by Wade, serve to gradually bring her out of her shell, but are also ruthlessly exploited by bullying types, with additional misunderstandings, familial divides and bouts of raw emotional outbursts to boot. Suffice it to say the film makes doubly sure that Barbara, and most of the rest of the cast, are put through the wringer before the denouement.

It may seem frustrating, perhaps intentionally so, to see these people put through so much while yearning for the situation to improve, but is through the hardships that the film proves itself. I Kill Giants is a feature with a single driving message: that although reality is often harsh, cruel and unpredictable, we emerge all the stronger for managing to face it head-on. To the film's credit, however, it never once feels as though the script is belittling Barbara for acting the way she does. While other members of the cast throw criticism her way, the way she is depicted and the way her character writing translates from the source material to the screen allows us to sympathize with her fully, and never denigrates her for her habits. Although the overall message is one of acceptance and of facing one's demons, it casts no shame on what she does to cope with the troubles she faces, and that is what makes Barbara's character, and I Kill Giants as a whole, so outstanding. It's an accurate representation and an acknowledgment of the things some people do to endure the ever-shifting vicissitudes of life, and though the film is a firm believer in the idea of troubles shared being troubles halved, it is understanding of those who are locked in the struggle of early adolescence. Because of this, Barbara emerges as a truly exemplary character and a role model for youngsters who feels entirely natural and relatable. She becomes someone you want to see succeed, who you want to protect, to support and comfort in her moments of fragility and doubt, and that stands as a testament to the effectiveness of Kelly's original writing and the deftness he exhibits in carefully adapting his work for the screen, the overall faithfulness of the adaptation, and the strength of the film as a whole.

I Kill Giants is a simple tale, told earnestly, featuring solid performances all round, decent effects work, and a strong emotional core surrounded by characters who feel human, trying to do the best they can with the lot they are given. Being adapted from a rather niche source, it is perhaps not for everyone, but I implore you not to be dissuaded by dishonest advertising. Beyond the CGI giants, it is a tale of blossoming maturity, emotional closure and personal acceptance - a film that tells all those in Barbara's position, as she herself eventually espouses: "We're stronger than we think."

Ghost Stories

We see much in the way of supernatural horror hitting the silver screen in this day and age, most of it attached to franchises that simply refuse to innovate - or, in harsher cases, refuse to die. Almost all of the more prominent examples of horror films in recent years have originated from the States, with a handful of exceptions generally ending up being swept under the rug.

This British horror flick seeks to subvert the prevailing trend. Ghost Stories, written by, directed by and starring Andy Nyman as its frontman, is an adaptation of Nyman and Jeremy Dyson's 2010 stage play. Nyman takes the role of Doctor Phillip Goodman to the screen, a man of science who dismisses the superstitious and the supernatural at every turn, with a worldview firmly rooted in reality. Called away from his regular routine of attempting to expose psychics for frauds, he receives an abrupt invitation Charles Cameron (Leonard Byrne), a fellow doubter of the paranormal, but Goodman soon finds the old skeptic to have changed his tune. Now a firm believer in the existence of the otherworldly, he presents three mysterious and unsolved cases to Goodman, who must confront a trio of troubled individuals who all claim to have grappled with the supernatural. He soon discovers that not everything is as readily explainable as it appears, and from there the film leaps into a quest for the truth as Goodman struggles to deal with demons both paranormal and personal.

Ghost Stories presents itself as a sort of throwback to the older days of horror, of people with rational minds called upon to investigate seemingly ordinary occurrences and finding that nothing is truly as it seems, as opposed to a gaggle of nitwits bumbling about with a handheld camera. The film is divided, somewhat unevenly, into a series of examinations of individual cases and characters - unsettled nightwatchman Tony Matthews (Paul Whitehouse), troubled teenager Simon Rifkind (Alex Lawther) and seemingly chipper businessman and expecting father Mike Priddle (Martin Freeman). The characters themselves, at least, are a delight to watch. Each is played to the hilt by their respective actor, and the performances are roundly convincing in very solid fashion.

The time they receive is far from equally distributed – indeed, the case revolving around Whitehouse's character consumes the most time by degrees - but all three use what time they are given to make a strong if not necessarily lasting impression. The tone in their respective sequences and throughout the rest of the film is also consistent. There are smatterings of dry wit from most of the cast, doing well to counterbalance the serious air that the film adopts, and Nyman plays Goodman to perfection, giving the character added depth in a medium that offers more creative possibilities in the realm of theatre. It is a horror feature that strives to be taken seriously and presents itself as such, and the people involved are uniformly excellent at what they do.

In this horror feature, however, it is the horror that is most lacking. While Whitehouse's case is the longest, it is also the most effective, next to the case that focuses on Lawther's character, due to noticeable care being taken to prey on more primal fears, rather than the existence of elements that are overtly supernatural - at least at first. The fear of the dark, of the unknown, of the unseen, all of these are sources of discomfort and unease that have lingered since time immemorial, and through exploiting these fears a fair amount of tension is certainly ratcheted up – but there is no defining moment of a true pay-off until the last moment's of the film's closing act.

The tension that is organically created, too, is often spoiled or outright obliterated by the use of hackneyed and excessively loud orchestral stings, and occasionally hampered by the use of questionable effects and CGI that is noticeably lackluster when not shrouded in darkness. It's not all about horror, admittedly; the most interesting segments of the film to me weren't those that revolved around build-ups and scares, but the exploration of Goodman as an individual, eventually culminating in a mind-bender of a moment in the film's last breath that serves to be the one outstanding sequence that Ghost Stories possesses. Even this leaves behind a whole host of nagging thoughts, however, and it may even make one wonder if the whole experience was even worth it to begin with. The narrative can also become wearisome to those who cannot find a reason to invest themselves in it, and with the only genuine hammer blow coming at the curtain call and with a rigid, even predictable structure - even if that is intentional, being a throwback to conventional horror staples – the end result is a feature that wanes more than it waxes.

Ghost Stories is certainly a competently-made production, that much is certain, a passion project aimed at bringing its source material out of the realm of theatre and onto the screen. It is earnest in its intentions, but the performances from the cast, the general level of technical competence and a final act that may in and of itself prove divisive are the only things that save this feature from falling completely into obscurity. By no means is it abysmal; indeed, if Nyman and Dyson hone their craft further, I believe they can create something stellar. But as it stands, this little tale is a story that, in all likelihood, you will not find the enthusiasm to tell more than once.

All the Money in the World

Some films are embroiled in controversy and fade into obscurity, slipping beneath the waves and ending up forgotten by the industry at large. A rare few weather this storm and emerge stronger for it - so it is with Ridley Scott's powerful depiction of the events surrounding the kidnapping of Paul Getty III, the then 16-year-old grandson of exorbitantly wealthy and infamously frugal oil tycoon John Paul Getty, played with marvelous aplomb by a dominant Christopher Plummer, a worthy replacement for Kevin Spacey amidst the bombardment of allegations of sexual misconduct aimed at the latter.

As a film that revolves around a kidnapping plot there is some suspense and enjoyment to be gained from the regular proceedings, to be sure. The direction is competent, the writing ample enough to ratchet up the tension when the plot calls for it. But the movie, thanks to the deft touches of writer David Scarpa - who seems to have found his footing after the middling works that were The Last Castle and 2008's odd remake of The Day The Earth Stood Still - is elevated into becoming something higher, something greater: a character study focusing on a most unique and cupiditous character indeed.

The film frequently calls into question the nature of money, whether or not it is truly the so-called root of all evil and how it can both poison and provide. The film spares no expense in detailing the seemingly uncapped limits of Getty Sr's avarice. His immortal dismissal of the demands of his grandson's kidnappers - “I have 14 grandchildren, and if I pay a penny of ransom, I'll have 14 kidnapped grandchildren" - is still retained, made all the more colder and pragmatic by Plummer's delivery, and he is frequently shown to be a thoroughly inveterate hoarder casually negotiating the purchases of masterpieces while his son is left in the grasp of his captors. Indeed, Paul even forms a strange sort of bond with their leader Cinquanta, played by an equally demanding yet gentle Romain Duris. Even the efforts of Gail, Paul's long -suffering and nigh-destitute mother desperately concerned for her son's safety and so often met with Getty Sr's aloof refusal to aid her, and Mark Wahlberg as Fletcher Chase, an FBI agent reluctantly recruited by the aging billionaire to assist in negotiations, do little to change the man's stolid demeanor. Utterly rapacious, fetishistic in his obsession with material and monetary gain and with a mood as capricious and fickle as the stock ticker that he examines with a sense of acutely unnerving zeal, Getty Sr is an enduring reminder that for every benefit the coin can bring, it can harm in ways both overt and insidious. As Wahlberg succinctly encapsulates, "There's nothing people can't find a way to turn into money."

Not only bolstered by a mesmerizing central performance, Scott and his colleagues put their catalog of filmmaking expertise to good use through the use of simple yet strikingly effective imagery. From Getty Sr. stepping off an ominous train onto land practically bursting with oil, the locomotive spewing towering smoke as it approaches, to Paul Getty III's ethereal and dreamlike stroll through the streets of Rome moments before he is abruptly spirited away, Ridley's regular partner Dariusz Wolski utilises the surroundings in a menagerie of ways to keep viewers spellbound, and lets the composition of shots speak just as loudly about characters as one of the many money-related speeches the film has to offer. This is a product that does not let its turbulent creative process rob it of iconic imagery and genuine substance, and it wears that fact like a badge of honour.

There are drawbacks, of course - as with so many things that focus on historical events, there are dashes of rather conspicuous poetic licence scattered about the wider piece, and certain scenes in particular are heavily fictionalized for the sake of leading the audience along. Additionally, at times, Scarpa's script seems more reliant on making points about money and the nature thereof than actually permitting most characters beyond Plummer's withered miser and Duris' strangely affable kidnapper to display true emotion. The actual body of the work is also rather rote and procedural, and at times even praiseworthy performances can't quite conceal the occasional bout of drabness.

Even so, this is a film that defies the expectations of many, proceeding undaunted by Plummer's last-minute addition to the cast and drawing out his very best to create something that is not perfect, but certainly worthwhile - a decent thriller, a compelling if slightly overbearing examination of the darker side of wealth, and something ultimately worth viewing.

Darkest Hour

Churchill has cemented his place in our country’s history as the shining example of a leader born to lead a beleaguered and concerned nation through the crucible of war, exemplifying the traditional British spirit of an unwaveringly stiff upper lip, indefatigable determination in the face of impossible odds, and unyielding national spirit. Many an actor has portrayed the man in innumerable cinematic works – in the past year alone, we have had icons of the screen such as Brian Cox, Michael Gambon and John Lithgow portray the immortal Bulldog. But of all these and more, Darkest Hour endeavors to rise above the competition off the back of one of the strongest depictions of the Prime Minister in years.

The span of the film is limited, a drawback for those who were expecting more of Churchill’s history even if the decision was intentional, but that makes Oldman’s thoroughly captivating performance no less spectacular. During the film’s production, much news made the rounds in regards to the level of Oldman’s preparation for the role – extensively studying biographies, conversing with family members, nailing Churchill’s distinctive accent, shaving his head and wearing several pounds of foam, prosthetics and silicon, yet he could hardly look more natural in the part. So often is he depicted as vigorously puffing on a cigar, face framed by light both dim and intense when the situation calls for it,  As a Churchill beset by the early difficulties of Britain’s role in the Second World War, facing opposition from within and without, he contends with political jockeying from dissatisfied rebels in Parliament – chief among them Lord Halifax, who is of the opinion that Britain’s position in the war has become increasingly untenable – and grapples with affairs overseas, particularly the invasion of France and the prelude to Operation Dynamo. As the film directly states, this is an examination of the country’s own darkest hour in a time of almost impossible crisis – and it is a dark hour made bright indeed by the overwhelming magnetism of Oldman’s compelling performance.

To say that Oldman may well have produced one of the strongest depictions of Churchill in cinematic history is no overstatement. It is not only his willingness to research that has paid dividends; he brings the entirety of his experience to the role, calling upon his catalog of films and thespian workings to give us a Churchill so artfully crafted that one forgets they are watching an acted production entirely. Oldman flawlessly captures the bombast and grand, sweeping oratory that Churchill is known and lionized for, but so too does he not overstep his boundaries into relentless chest-thumping. The full scope of the PM’s emotions and actions are encapsulated entirely in his performance, from moments of dry wit and quintessentially British humor with his wife and colleagues to the peculiar sort of care he displays for those close to him, particularly Lily James’ at-first nervous yet eventually determined take on Elizabeth Layton. The moments of quiet doubt, of silent rumination and personal admittance, are by no means a weakness. They serve to craft a fuller picture of the man, making him as human as he is mythical, as emotional as he is outspoken, and the end result is a welcomingly multi-faceted portrait that lends a truly historical and genuine air to the proceedings. For every energizing speech and defiant declaration – “You cannot reason with a tiger when your head is in its mouth!”, thunders Churchill to his rebellious fellows – there is an understated counterpoint as the scenes change from arguments or patriotic oration to moments of solitude. All this is underlined and emphasized further by an unobtrusive, effectively stirring score from Dario Marianelli, making the emotional impact of the film as a whole that much more pronounced.

 The other members of the cast shine too, though Oldman’s radiance is so brilliant that they find themselves almost inevitably eclipsed – Ben Mendelsohn plays a reserved yet captivating take on King George VI, a role that is both the source of dry humour and inspiration in equal measure and one that was similarly meticulously researched, as Mendelsohn goes to great pains to emulate the monarch’s noted lisp. Lily James and Kristin Scott Thomas both excel as Layton and Clementine Churchill, respectively, displaying convincing pluck and courage under fire of their own all while drawing out the Prime Minister’s softer, more intimate qualities. Stephen Dillane and Ronald Pickup end up being rather overshadowed by comparison, but that hardly dampens the earnest nature of their own performances. It is a true ensemble cast, with years of collective experience behind them, and they play their roles with almost immaculate care and perfection.

Churchill, as a subject, is admittedly rather old hat, and he has been covered so many times before that one could be forgiven for feeling reluctance towards seeing Joe Wright’s take on the subject, the latest in a long line of cinematic odes to the man’s enduring spirit and unyielding perseverance. Oldman’s flair and love for the role, combined with technical finesse, a solid script and a comfortable running time almost entirely bereft of dull moments, make this stand tall above its predecessors. This film covers a harrowing time, a time where tyranny, bloodshed and oppression lay at our doorstep, and for a few perilous months, we never looked closer to defeat. This is, indeed, a tale about our darkest hour – but in its superb depiction of the man who brought Britain back from the brink, those involved, and indeed those who see it, should look back upon it and say, without hesitation, that this was their finest hour.

Napping Princess

Dreams have often been the subject of intense speculation and outstanding works of fiction.  

Kenji Kamiyama's take on the matter is decidedly peculiar. Venturing into different territory from his earlier works such as Ghost in the Shell and Eden of the East, there are no shadowy agencies, political statements or geopolitical machinations here. Instead, the action is small-scale and fantastical as the real-world struggles of Kokone Morikawa - an energetic yet often slumberous girl played with fresh appeal by Mitsuki Takahata - are interwoven with the fantastical events that transpire within the confines of her mind. While she deals with her daily life in the waking world, in the realm of sleep she is Princess Ancien of the Kingdom of Heartland, embroiled in a struggle that reflects her daily trials and tribulations. When her father is arrested under mysterious circumstances, Kokone takes it upon herself to save him in a tale of familial bonding, and as the story progresses her wild dreams may have a greater effect on reality than what it initially seems.

Signal.MD, the company behind this, was formed by IG Port to develop animation specifically aimed at children and families, and while being comparably more complex than other films the company has been responsible for, chiefly films in the sprawling Pokemon franchise, it shows in Napping Princess. Napping Princess offers something that is considerably more down to earth and digestible than his earlier productions, and this is being said even with the presence of giant lumbering robots and talking stuffed animals. At the heart of this feature lies a rather ordinary tale about familial love, and although the setup makes the affair somewhat predictable, it is far from offensive. The plot is easily guessable and easy to absorb, and the connections that Heartland has to the real world are plain as day and an obvious allegory, but it makes for charming viewing seeing events that transpire in near-future Japan having a fantastical bent attached to them in a dream world. Effectively this is also Kamiyama's first honest attempt at a family film, far removed from the density of its relative predecessors, and the result is something simple, twee and fun, if lacking in staying power - on the heels of such films as A Silent Voice and Your Name, this is sorely lacking in memorability.

The visuals do help to alleviate that to some extent, however - if nothing else, this film is visually stunning both on the real world and in the significantly more colorful realm of the car-infested, castle-crowned Heartland. In addition to the fantasy-oriented visuals on offer, Kamiyama has often associated himself with works that prominently feature mechanical creations, and here is no different. Just as Cyborg 009 played host to humanoid cybernetic organisms, and Ghost in the Shell featured the much smaller Tachikomas, Heartland is defended by colossal war machines known as ? which serve as the centrepieces of the film's most notable action sequences, alongside Kokon's transforming and self-driving motorcycle named Hearts, a rather blunt and unsubtle if appropriate name upon a second viewing. For all the relative plainness of the film's narrative, Signal.MD go as far as they can in offering a production that is undeniably pleasing on the eyes, but once more, after the crisp visuals of earlier films it cannot help but feel overshadowed.

It is still a standout aspect, however, and additionally, the choice of voice actors for the project is also unique. Of those involved, only two - Wataru Takagi and Rie Kugimiya, who voices an anthropomorphic doll of a dog named Joy for the Heartland sequences - are industry veterans. For many of the cast involved, Takahata included, this is their first foray into the field of voice acting, and consequently hearing new, untested voices is positively refreshing, adding a layer of novelty and genuine emotion to the performances on offer. The material they are given to recite does not really pull at one's heartstrings, but it's the effort they put into their work that matters most, and it is always intriguing to hear newcomers and gauge their performances.

Napping Princess is a film with good ingredients, but it has the misfortune to come out at at a time where the world of animation is still left reeling from two spectacular creations. Consequently, despite having a novel premise beyond the simplistic story, it already feels dwarfed by its contemporaries, and while it is obvious that this film is directed at younger viewers - and there is no crime in that - the lack of any true memorability Napping Princess has beyond its captivatign visuals and the spunky outlook of its protagonist causes harm to it.

Unfortunately, too, for all its visual variety and splendor, the film seems to indulge in its visuals to the detriment of the overall story. The core narrative is rather plain and cliched, and while it is enjoyable and never boring in a visual sense, the narrative stands as being unfortunately forgettable. One cannot also he;p but feel as though the emphasis placed on the dream sequences, while expected,  The dream sequences do not necessarily forget that the real world exists, but some of the segues are awkwardly implemented, and the climactic final sequence is a rather egregious culprit in this regard. It's a collection of pretty pictures, that much can be said with certainty, but aside from rather plain morals regarding the matters of family and legacy, there is sadly not much to take away from it. Give it a whirl if you want to be visually entertained, but if you're looking for something of substance, there are far better candidates to choose from.

It's a collection of pretty pictures, that much can be said with certainty, but aside from rather plain morals regarding the matters of family and legacy, there is sadly not much to take away from it. Give it a whirl if you want to be visually entertained, but if you're looking for something of substance, there are far better candidates to choose from.

The Emoji Movie

The simplest questions are often the most profound. In the immortal words of the Bard, brevity is the soul of wit, and from this thing's conception to release one short, enduring question was on the tongues of those who followed its development with abject disbelief and those who left theatres with ashen faces and mortified minds.

Why?

Why, in another hapless bid to recreate the wonder of Toy Story while ignoring the heart and soul and messages that Pixar put into their work, did a gaggle of clueless executives greenlight a film about banal emoticons? Why did renowned, veteran, thespian actors agree to be associated with this tripe? Why is this, in all likelihood, still scheduled to make back every bit of the $50 million that went into funding this misadventure?

All these and countless more burning queries raced through my mind as I watched the procession of images flash before my disbelieving eyes. I left bamboozled, befuddled, discombobulated, uncertain as to whether or not what I witnessed was some crazed fever dream that would make Hunter S Thompson blush with admiration. But alas, my faculties were intact, and on sitting down to write this I am reminded once more that this is a product that was indeed released to the public. Such is the world we live in today.

Above everything else, this is a product. It is not something made with creativity in mind, nor is it a bold, intrepid venture into unexplored territory. This is a bold-faced, utterly unabashed advertisement for apps wearing the guise of a family feature, born from a desire to exploit new "toys", and the film's "plot", for lack of a better word, is likewise slapdash. It's a generic, tepid "be yourself" story interspersed with blatant product placement so shameless that Mac and Me finds itself humbled. Gene, a phone-dwelling "meh" emoticon in a society where emojis can only perform the task they're given or display the emotion they're assigned, is played flatly by TJ Miller who gives a performance that never rises above passable – something shared across virtually every single performance in the film. He stumbles from app to app, paying dues to rapacious corporations and blundering through sessions of Candy Crush and Just Dance as he tries to change his abnormally expressive ways through enlisting the assistance of a hacker named Jailbreak, played by Anna Faris who may or may not have been reminiscing about her Scary Movie glory days in the recording booth.

Throughout this arduous and asinine voyage, barring one brief yet merciful stretch, they are accompanied by one of the most ruthlessly humorless comedic "sidekicks" in recent cinematic history, a disturbingly uncanny hand frozen into a high-five inventively called Hi-5 who is left bitter about being laid by the wayside and denied the digital high life he once indulged in. They're pursued by Smiler (Maya Rudolph), the perpetually grinning, gratingly-voiced overseer of the city of Textopolis – and the film's idea men pat each other on the back vigorously – who seeks to eliminate Gene due to the threat he poses to the system as a "malfunction". All the while, the phone's teenaged owner, high school freshman Alex, is grappling with what many monied first-world children in the world today struggle with: smartphones. And a romantic crush. But mostly smartphones.

So our bumbling band of bozos go, off on a merry adventure towards discovery and self-acceptance so obviously telegraphed that it's safe to say you could watch it with your eyes clamped shut. Off a minuscule 86-minute running time, even less factoring in the credits, the film catapults itself through the motions and inserts every single cliche that it can crowbar into the script. Emotional moments are glanced over, striking changes are reversed in only a handful of scenes, everything feels like it's on fast-forward and consequently the central cast remains only slightly less threadbare than when they started out on their grand odyssey.  It's a ceaseless barrage of noise, light and sound, with barely any downtime to allow the audience to breathe and digest, and nothing sinks in as a result. But even with this in mind – surely, if the visuals and pacing are troubled, an outstanding script can make up for such shortcomings.

Maybe so, but certainly not here. Instead, courtesy of writer-director James Leondis and fellow collaborators Eric Siegel and Mike White – whose presence is nothing less than utterly perplexing considering his repertoire – we get such insightful, thought-provoking rise on subjects like the personal desires  and the changes in the way people communicate as "Wow, that's a super-cool emoji!", or "What's the point in being number one if there aren't any other numbers?" The entire script reeks of unabashed sloth. Modern lingo is crudely shoved into conversations because it is modern, ergo funny, ergo guaranteed money in the eyes of executives without any need of context or effort. In a thoroughly galling display, it shamelessly pilfers dialogue from timeless classics in a desperate bid to please any older or more cinephilic viewers who have the misfortune of watching it. Lyrics from popular songs are outright lifted to serve as plot points, and amid such platitudes almost every single statement that masquerades as a "joke" is painfully inept and made as obvious as possible for the sake of the viewers, as if the film takes a perverse glee in belittling the intelligence of the audience it's aimed it. Kids are developing – but they aren't stupid.

Character development is accelerated to ludicrous speed on all fronts as the movie barrels through the beats in a desperate attempt to end faster, and Gene is the only member of the cast who comes even remotely close to possessing some kind of arc. Hi-5 is almost completely devoid of anything resembling a character, and James Corden's proven comic chops are non-existent as the character exists chiefly to bombard the audience with insipid zingers. Jailbreak, aside from being the token female love interest and action girl, is similarly unrealised and bounces around aimlessly. Her reasons to exist alternate haphazardly; sometimes she is there to spout oddly-inserted feminist tracts about alleged emoji sexism and ignored female ingenuity, make forced statements on girl power and use random slang to appeal to the trendy crowd – "Slay!" she cheerfully shouts at one point for no discernible reason, after being invited by Gene to "put some sauce on that dance burrito" – and sometimes she's an average tough chick doing hacker business or bantering, or preaching the wonders of youness. Steven Wright and Jennifer Coolidge provide perhaps the only truly noteworthy performances in the film as Gene's parents, Mel and Mary Meh, whose attitudes are strikingly reflective of what the average moviegoer feels when bearing witness to this drivel.

Everything from the story to the characterisation to the humour falls utterly flat and summarily this is a blunder, a mess in every sense of the word. The lone high points are one or two genuinely amusing quips that seem positively restrained compared to the rest of the script, and the visual presentation of the digital realm that is distantly evocative of the mindscapes of Inside Out, steeped in corporate avarice instead of encapsulating developing emotions. Leondis, an avid fan of Pixar's work, tries to recreate its splendor but it is something that is simply out of his grasp. Pixar's creations are founded upon a bedrock of passion and there is precious little in the way of passion to be found here – this is not someone's baby. It is the spawn of a think tank, made solely to leech off of that which is popular, rake in a guaranteed profit and get people in seats. It is filmmaking at its most hollow, little more than extended lip service to financial benefactors while having only the barest of necessities for any kind of three-act structure, and it's a painful experience that ultimately overwhelms the few faint glimmers of hope the film has.

But it's not panful merely because of its narrative deficiencies, or crude and obvious humour, or even the nature of its existence. Above all else, the most painful aspect of this misguided endeavor is that there was promise. In a culture so thoroughly addicted to smartphones and so enamoured with all things digital as our own, a film that anthropomorphises emojis and bandies them about as the hot new way to communicate and calls them the pinnacle of technological innovation – "Words aren't cool", a friend of Alex's glibly opines near the film's beginning – this entire concept could have served as some lighthearted yet rather timely and incisive social commentary. Everywhere we look, people are glued to their phones, and there are fleeting glimpses of the possibilities that this film had that are buried away, chiefly manifesting in the real-world segments. Alex, his crush Addie and his friends are consistently enraptured by the technology they possess. For them, the world rests comfortably in their pocket, almost every interaction they make is done wirelessly, and even in the realm of the emojis the film offers some sparse commentary on the subject as Gene and his companions briefly advertise Facebook - they interact with people they don't even know, all for the sake of achieving popularity. With the right amount of self-awareness and an analytical outlook mixed into its script, it could have at least attempted to deliver on the promise that its premise held. It could have been something else, something worth thinking about, a cautionary tale on the direction our society is going in thanks to these miniature worlds within worlds, these do-all creations and enduring distractions no bigger than the palms of our hands.  But honestly, the moment Sir Patrick Stewart was cast as a walking, talking mound of excreta, I believe this film's fate was sealed long before it even hit the screens.

If there is any consolation to be gleaned from this experience, however, I can report that the screening I attended was as silent as a crypt. Perhaps the developers aimed wide and went for all the wrong wisecracks – or, maybe, the youth of today have grown wise to the soulless pandering that the film industry so frequently churns out. As a firm believer in the potency of human intelligence and ingenuity, I reside firmly in the latter camp.

Midhorn

It is not often that the Isle of Man receives much focus at all – be it in the field of film or in global affairs. Sean Foley, however, is determined to change that, and in this hit-and-miss yet merry little romp he does so through making it the centerpiece of a decidedly zany caper.

Richard Thorncroft (Julian Barratt) is an ageing, washed-up actor who has long since had his 15 minutes of fame. In the 1980s, he starred as the eponymous Mindhorn, a dashing detective equipped with a cybernetic eye that allowed him to function as a living lie detector. In reality, things are much less grand. Thorncroft finds himself locked in a downward spiral, one that is clearly pronounced despite the film not taking itself too seriously. Down on his luck, stuck promoting DVT stockings and becoming desperate after a humorous failure of an audition, a murder in Manx territory leads to an ominous call to the police from a person known only as the Kestrel (Russel Tovey) whose obsession with the fictional sleuth's exploits lead the authorities to attempt to convince Thorncroft to become Mindhorn one last time in the hopes of cracking the case, enlisting the aid of his old flame Patricia DeVille (Essie Davis) along the way.

The premise is undeniably rather novel, a sort of peculiar rarity in a genre that so often finds itself dominated by more standard fare. Using a unique location in the Isle of Man and evoking memories of comedy troupes such as Barratt's own Mighty Boosh, it takes the weird nature of its premise and runs with it, indulging in 80s-era shlock and ridiculous antics and pitching its absurd story with poker-faced seriousness, and while it stumbles here and here in its presentation,the film still fares well. There are a number of genuinely amusing set pieces – one such example, set along one of the island's piers, is a noteworthy standout moment complete with cheerfully oblivious background noise – and being written and acted by seasoned comedians the performances are solid and the laughs, generally, are plenty. The cornerstone of any comedy, however, is its characters, and the film goes to great lengths to ensure that Thorncroft stands out in this regard.

Barratt performs admirably as Thorncroft, lending energy, a weary sort of self-awareness and genuine charm to the proceedings in equal measure. He takes the very real and yet oddly surreal scenario the film presents and embraces it, no stranger to bizarre scenarios himself, fully becoming the fulcrum around which the film's most memorable comedic moments unfold. Barratt additionally takes great care in lending an edge of subtle humanity to him, not simply portraying him as a looney trying desperately to relive his halcyon days. Underneath the enforced suaveness there is a man who resents aspects of his past and the career choices he has made – there are repeated references throughout the film towards a disastrous attempt to break into show business in Los Angeles – and a man who, when he finds himself free of restraint, can be more than a little bit spiteful to those around him. Beneath the devil-may-care exterior, Thorncroft knows what he is, and Barrett plays him in such a way that his character ends up being enhanced further by it. Unlike some comedies, there is an earnest effort at a respectable plot, and his performance makes it more compelling to watch, especially whenever he has an earnest conversation with Patricia or her daughter (Jessica Barden).

Barratt is undeniably a gifted comedian, but it helps the film when others get a chance to shine – and the surprisingly touching tale at the core of this film allows them to do that while simultaneously giving a noted boost to the film's quality. Though Barrett is always at the centre of the action, he, Davis and others such as Steve Coogan, playing Peter Eastman, Thorncroft's infinitely more successful co-star, and Richard McCabe's Geoffrey Moncrieff, his manic, crass yet supportive former agent, play off of each other well and give an array of commendable performances. It's a gathering of splendidly talented, honestly funny people, which benefits the film greatly whenever they receive focus. It is just as much of a drawback, then, when a lot of them end up being unfortunately marginalised – the movie's main error.

Here lies a noted sort of disparity that drags the film down somewhat. While much of the cast is demonstrably hilarious, there are quite a few members of the cast who receive a paltry share of screen time and subsequently get little time to show off their own abilities, or those who are eclipsed by their co-stars. The female portion of the cast, too, finds itself significantly overshadowed, chiefly by Barratt. Davis does put in a good turn as a sharp, wry counterpart to the occasionally hyperactive, manic or sometimes simply violent male portion of the cast, but she ends up lacking in any real presence for a significant part of the film.Similarly, cast members like Andrea Riseborough are criminally wasted in tragically small roles, even if Riseborough herself steals the scene whenever she finds herself at the center of it. Barden and Harriet Walker, as Thorncroft's suffering agent, lend good sparks of humor, but Barratt seems overwhelming, at times.

There are also, inevitably, some duds – sometimes the film simply ends up reaching too far for a joke, and some of the characters present are rather one note. McCabe's Geoffrey, despite his entertaining nature, mostly falls into this, and Simon Farnaby's Clive, Thorncroft's old business partner in his glory days, is good for eliciting a chuckle or two the first time he rubs his success in Richard's face, but as the film proceeds onwards and the jokes repeat, dressed up in slightly different clothes, his presence wears rather thin.The film does also end up faltering from fishing for laughs in its final furlong, and considering the lengths it went to in order to attach some appealing humanity to its protagonist, to not offer a proper resolution to his problems seems a slight disservice. It might not get in the way of enjoyment, but it would have been a nice way to conclude things.

Despite its drawbacks, however, Mindhorn is a nicely entertaining barrel of laughs that successfully executes an unconventional premise. Full of homage, humor, and humanity, this small gem is certainly worth a watch - and it will more than likely put the Isle of Man back on the map.

The Great Wall

The name Zhang Yimou is not unknown in the Western world. Though he has immersed himself more down-to-earth dramas in recent years, he gave such sweeping martial arts masterpieces as Hero and House of Flying Daggers to the world. These critically acclaimed films, renowned for their acrobatic feats of martial prowess, character drama and tragedy and splendid editing, have embedded themselves in popular consciousness – over a decade on they are still remembered as defining examples of martial arts movies in the early 20th century. When a director has already built up a reputation so impressive, one must tread carefully – and in this case, the final product is found wanting.

The Great Wall marks a return to the genre for Yimou, a film marked by considerable controversy and accusations of whitewashing surrounding its casting. It is not the first time the director has had a Western actor in his films, as Christian Bale starred in 2012’s Flowers of War. Damon is an accomplished action man and Yimou is a veteran action director, yet the result is something that lacks the striking qualities of its predecessors. Ten years on from his last feature in the field of fisticuffs – Curse of the Golden Flower – Yimou has now elected to run martial arts through a fantastical wringer.

In this universe, the titular Great Wall of China does not exist solely as a means of deterring the encroaching Mongol hordes and as a future tourist trap. Instead, it also acts as a barrier defending the capital and the rest of the mainland from roving extra-terrestrials known as the Taotie. Very loosely based off a symbol relating to Chinese mythology, these creatures are mostly oversized dogs armed with rows of razor-sharp teeth and sporting enough eyes to make arachnids jealous. The wall is manned by a military unit known as the Nameless Order whose soldiers and commanders alike strut around in color-coded armour that has them come across as medieval Power Rangers. Two roving mercenaries, an "Irishman" of questionable accent by the name of William (Matt Damon) and a Spaniard named Tovar (Pedro Pascal) are inadvertently roped into defending the wall after a run-in with one of the creatures, and it is from there that our generic tale emerges.

There’s certainly a lot of spectacle on display, almost from the outset, and while it’s doubtlessly beneficial for audiences who came expecting frenetic action sequences it is heavily detrimental to the characters involved – we don’t even learn their names until after the conclusion of the first proper set piece, with Tovar’s name being mentioned only once throughout the entire film, and considering the movie’s fleeting 104-minute runtime such an approach is more of a drawback than a boon. There’s a few inventive tricks here and there as the film does its damndest to display Chinese military efficiency at work in unique ways, such as hidden pulley-operated blades within the walls and the soldiers of the Crane Troop, an all-female unit led by Commander Lin Mae (Jing Tian) who operate via essentially bungee-jumping from platforms built on the edges of the wall to thrust their spears into the horde of alien nasties below. The scenes in the opening battle are somewhat evocative of Yimou’s earlier works, and it is a treat to watch – and yet, with so much time spent on preparations for it and the event itself, the flow of the film suffers for it.

At the same time, the feature comes across as lacking in true grandeur and scale and even feels a touch hollow after the impact made by Flying Daggers and Hero. Not merely with regards to the fighting – with a budget of $135 million and standing as the most expensive film to be shot entirely in China, the CGI on display is effective enough, but you are reminded all too frequently, especially in 3D, that the actors are effectively playing out a pantomime and swinging swords and spears at green screens and digitised images. It’s nowhere near as outstandingly egregious as the later Star Wars prequels, say, but there is a constant disconnect that lingers at the back of your mind made all the starker after comparing the action on display here with the mesmerizing sequences from Yimou’s earlier productions.

Little can be said with regards to the plot. It’s a by-the-numbers, run of the mill alien invasion story with historical window dressing that attempts to pass itself off as one of the "legends" surrounding the Great Wall’s construction and existence. With mercenaries as the central characters it has all the standard beats that one would come to expect from such people being the centre of attention – initial reluctance to join the cause, talk of escape with ill-gotten gains, learning to trust others and doing the right thing, and all the other predictable events that accompany such a story. It’s not necessarily to the film’s detriment. It contains some moralising on the nature of warfare and human greed mostly done in the form of conversations between William and Lin which ultimately serves to have the former come out of his shell and have both parties form mutual respect, but it never tries to be anything too grand even if the message on avarice is rather slapdash. This mutual respect also supersedes any forced romance, and this is a nice touch as Damon and Tian play off each other well enough for their shared scenes to be meaningful.

The interactions between characters are mostly serviceable, even if some of them are given far too little focus for viewers to develop an attachment to them despite the film’s insistence, and others, such as Ballard, a fellow foreigner and a conniving language teacher played by Willem Dafoe seem to be awkwardly shoved-in leftovers of what may have been ideas half-picked up from the cutting room floor. Given that the script was bounced about between no less than six writers, including Tony Gilroy and Max Brooks, such a thing may well be a likely possibility – and despite so many writers being involved, even if the dialogue if serviceable, their talents cannot elevate the dialogue above cliché most of the time. The verve and flair put into the action and the leads’ decent interaction, with Pascal and Tian providing some decent quips on top of it, are what keeps this film afloat.

As an action film, it’s passable. As a showcase of rather fantastical Chinese martial prowess and certain customs associated with them, it’s certainly a spectacle in that sense. But in comparison to his previous efforts, Yimou’s action blockbuster falls squarely in the middle of the road. It’s a silly premise that makes for decent fun, and contains a couple of timely if simple messages to take away, but ultimately there are simply better action films available, and better products from Yimou himself.