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The Boy In The Striped Pyjamas
Written and Directed by: Mark Herman
Based upon the book by: John Boyne
Cast: David Thewlis, Vera Farmiga, Rupert Friend, Asa Butterfield, David Heyman, Sheila Hancock, Richard Johnson.
http://www.thefilmfactory.co.uk/boy/
I came to the cinema completely unaware of the profound effect this astonishingly well made and crafted film would have upon
me. David Thewlis plays a family man, with a beautiful wife and two lovely children but with a remarkable and deeply unsettling
job. As the proceedings unfold, a lavish party is being held to celebrate his promotion, with his mother (Sheila Hancock)
intimating her deep disapproval at her son's career path. Much to the chagrin of his eight-year old son Bruno (a superb performance
from Asa Butterfield) as he is being forced to bid farewell to all his friends, the group prepare to vacate their palatial
home in 1940s Germany as Dad is being promoted - to his new role as Commandant of a concentration camp.
The film is a spellbinding, previously undreamt of view on the impending Holocaust through the eyes of childhood innocence,
of two young boys - from and in extremely opposite backgrounds - one from a well-heeled wealthy family, the other in the midst
of chilling, soul-numbing horror as a Jewish lad stripped of all dignity but still retaining the capacity to smile whilst
looking for friendship.
The sheer force and power of an outstanding narrative and an utterly unbearable conclusion brings into abominable focus
human beings' capacity for inhumanity, greater than any other film on this subject, even than the seminal Schindler's List.
I implore you to see this film at all costs. It is a work of immense power, persuasion and sublime ability.
The Strangers
Director: Bryan Bertino
Cast: Liv Tyler, Scott Speedman, Gemma Ward, Kip Weeks, Laura Margolis
Running Time: 88 mins
Bryan Bertino's directorial debut is a slight conundrum - being another example from the horror/suspense genre, but made with
just a marginally more refreshing approach. However it contains so many clichéd elements, some so blindingly creaky and pathetic
you want to scream for all the wrong reasons. The first mistake is an ominous, yet useless "based on a true story"
on-screen text (and doomy voiceover for moronic non-readers), which suggests elements of real life in a film that doesn't
hang about in steering away from them.
Scott Speedman stars as James, who, after a friend's wedding, returns to a remote cabin with his girlfriend Kristen (Liv
Tyler). By layering together flashbacks and snippets of their clipped, tense conversation, we work out (clever us) that James
proposed to Kristen and she refused. They settle in for an awkward night (the house is full of champagne and rose petals)
and they tell each other it's 4am when a knock comes at the door. A strange girl asks for someone who isn't there, acts oddly
and leaves. Scunnered by his knock-back with Kristen, James goes out for a drive and to get her some cigarettes. The strange
girl returns and knocks again, asking the same question. However, more strangers appear, lurking around the house and wearing
odd, expressionless masks. Things get creepier and creepier. In some scenes, director Bertino plays with astonishing compositions,
as when Kristen shuffles nervously around the kitchen while an out-of-focus ghoul watches her from the background; he holds
the shot for an amazingly long time, and the payoff is not what you'd expect (it leaves you feeling even more tense rather
than providing a release). Bertino makes do with a minimum of dialogue as well as exciting use of sound and editing. A record
player provides eerily off-kilter tunes and a turntable skip adds unbearable tension to one scene. But the behaviour of the
characters is thirty years old, straight out of Halloween (1978) and its many rip-offs.
The killers apparently have supernatural powers that allow them to remain one jump ahead of their victims, making them
rather less interesting. And the victims fail to take even the most basic, logical steps to protect themselves. It's the old
"why didn't they just..." syndrome, as in "why didn't they just lock the door?" in a sneering contempt
for the audience's interest. Ultimately the mystique of the empty and vague narrative proves to be just that, as the denoument
is utterly devoid of anything other than blatant anonymous sadism - a cheap copout - when it demands so much more.
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