Director: Alejandro González Iñárritu

Cast: Javier Bardem, Félix Cubero, Blanca Portillo, Rubén Ochandiano, Martina García, Manolo Solo, Karra Elejalde, Eduard Fernández, Piero Verzello, Ana Wagener

Running Time: 147 min.  (Spanish, English subtitles)

Horrendous exploitation of Chinese workers, cancer, violence against children and drugs are all part of the sordid miserable scenario of “Butiful” from writer-director Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu.

This is a soulful tale, focussing almost entirely on Uxbal, superbly played by Javier Bardem, giving for me his finest performance to date in what has so far been an unblemished career. Uxbal is a contradictive and hypocritical character attempting to cope with an unstable wife and two delightful children, raising them on his own. Following separation from their bi-polar mother, Marambra (Maricel Alvarez), he daily walks them to school before setting out on his list of things to do.

Uxbal fights for the rights of the underprivileged Chinese community, whilst benefiting from their exploitation. He is a tormented soul and to add to his woes, he has been diagnosed with cancer. Not only does he play father to his children he must also look out for the lives of the people he's been caring for and earning from, on a daily basis.

Biutiful is an exploration of one man's spiritual journey and for as much as death guides the majority of this story, it's the preservation of and caring for life that will remain once we pass away, that makes this an outstanding piece of filmmaking. Inarritu has bookended the piece brilliantly and in the final 30 minutes or so that he finally pulls the film out of the deep depression which earlier it seems will never exit. Uxbal’s birthday celebration for his young daughter is such a welcome screen moment, and once the candles are lit “Butiful” soars from being a technically proficient downer to an utterly magnificent feature.

Bardem is quite extraordinary in the lead role. The emotional range he has as an actor is tested in every scene and throughout never appears as someone trying to elicit emotion… he just does it effortlessly. The entire cast is terrific, especially Diaryatou Daft as Ige, an African woman whose husband is being deported back to Senegal leaving her and her child homeless and alone. Daft lifts the heavy weight of the film's final moments and does so with a dignified, effortless smile, helping the film claw its way out of the dark and into the light. I expect anyone who sees this film will have an emotional response to an ending that will leave many in tears.

Réexaminer dans l'espagnol

L'exploitation épouvantable de travailleurs chinois, cancer, la violence contre les enfants et les drogues est toute la partie du scénario pitoyable sordide de « Butiful » de l'écrivain-directeur Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu. 

Ceci est un conte mélancolique, convergeant presque entièrement sur Uxbal, superbement joué par Javier Bardem, donnant pour moi son exécution la plus fine pour dater en ce que loin a été si une carrière sans tache. Uxbal est un contradictive et tenter de caractère hypocrite de faire face à une femme instable et deux enfants charmants, les élevant seul. Suivre la séparation de leur mère bipolaire, Marambra (Maricel Alvarez), il les marche quotidiennement pour instruire avant d'exposant sur sa liste de choses à faire. 

Uxbal combat pour les droits de la communauté chinoise défavorisée, pendant que profitant de leur exploitation. Il est un a tourmenté l'âme et ajouter à ses malheurs, il a été diagnostiqué avec cancer. Fait non seulement il joue le père à ses enfants il doit regarder aussi hors pour les vies des gens il a soigné et le gain de, sur une base quotidienne. 

Biutiful est une exploration d'un voyage de l'homme spirituel et pour autant que la mort dirige la majorité de cette histoire, c'est la préservation de et soignant la vie qui restera une fois que nous passons loin, qui ceci fait un morceau remarquable de cinématurgie. Inarritu a bookended le morceau brillamment et dans le final 30 minutes ou pour qu'il tire enfin le film de la dépression profonde qui plus tôt il semble ne sortira jamais. La celébration d'anniversaire d'Uxbal pour sa jeune fille est un tel moment d'écran bienvenu, et une fois les bougies sont allumées « Butiful » plane de l'être un techniquement compétent la plus en bas à une caractéristique totalment magnifique. 

Bardem est tout à fait extraordinaire dans le premier rôle. La gamme émotive il a comme un acteur est essayé dans chaque scène et à travers n'apparaît jamais comme quelqu'un essayant de provoquer l'émotion… il le fait juste aisément. La distribution entière est formidable, surtout Diaryatou Bête comme Ige, une femme africaine dont le mari est expulsé de retour à partir de Sénégal elle et ses sans-abri enfant et seul. Les ascenseurs bêtes le poids lourd des moments du film finals et fait si avec un sourire digne et facile, aidant le film griffe sa façon de l'obscurité et dans la lumière. Je prévois que quiconque voit que ce film aura une réponse émotive à une fin qui partira beaucoup dans les déchirures. 

Despite being touted as a piece on the traumas of accomplishment as a ballet dancer, Black Swan is actually a film about sexual awakening, and the way that it unfolds everything it touches to present something new. Sex is a fairly new topic for Darren Aronofsky, because even though it has been present in his previous work (particularly Requiem for a Dream), sexual identity has never been a predominant concern for any of his characters. Here, in his first film with a female protagonist, he acquits himself reasonably well on the technical front and is able to skillfully imagine a sensual world that is only now coming into focus for Natalie Portman’s ballerina, but in doing so, he sadly reveals his limitations in understanding the nuances of human behaviour and interaction. Healthy female sexuality may be a terrifying prospect for Portman here, but seems to be more so to Aronofsky.

Nina Sayers (Portman) is a dancer with a New York City ballet company, and lives strictly under the control of her overly fussing mother, Erica (Barbara Hershey), a failed dancer who has channelled much of her frustration into a maniacal, overbearing grip over her daughter’s life. When the director of the company Thomas Leroy (the ever-excellent Vincent Cassel) announces that their show for the season will be Swan Lake, Nina is desperate to get the part of the white swan, but shocked when she does, under the scrutiny of the rest of the company's dancers. There is a twist, however: Leroy insists that the dancer who portrays the innocent White Swan must also act as the devious, manipulative Black Swan, in a not tremendously subtle representation of the Madonna/Whore complex. At his insistence, Nina begins to explore herself sexually, and also to befriend her understudy Lily (Mila Kunis), who lives and acts with a freedom that Nina can only begin to imagine. But the loss of virginity is a painful process, roughly equivalent here to the opening of a wound, and with mastery of the ballet role comes a powerful loss of Nina’s innocence, and her ability to restrain feelings that she didn’t know she had.

The influence of earlier films here is quite clear: the ballet sequences would probably not have been possible without Michael Powell’s The Red Shoes, the dynamic between Nina and Erica is more than a little reminiscent of the home-life of Carrie, and Nina’s fearful reproach of sexuality owes something to Repulsion. It should probably be noted that the most recent of those films came out 35 years ago, and it’s hard to argue that the sexual politics of this film are any more advanced than those that were commonplace back then. The problem isn’t necessarily in the way that Aronofsky largely aligns the world of the film along the black and white division of Swan Lake but in the clumsy over-metaphoric way that Aronofsky chooses to exemplify Nina’s liberation/debasement. She has violent hallucinations (often featuring dark-featured bird creatures), mutilates herself and others, and thinks about engaging in lesbian activity with Lily. Again, none of these are necessarily awful on their own, but the implication that all of these behavioural processes are somehow linked together is highly questionable at best, and wreaks of an age-old thinking that sexual pleasure will lead to personal destruction if not properly restrained.

While Aronofsky’s early films depended mostly on their editing to achieve full impact, Swan is full of many well-composed moving shots that far surpass anything that he’s done yet (even the final match at the end of The Wrestler). Above all, he is a director concerned with force, and with each passing film, he is able to work out more and more narrative kinks to better refine that force. But he is not yet a master of subtlety. This isn’t a problem when dealing with the comfortable terrain of men obsessed and enraged (with whom he clearly identifies), but it’s curiously alienating in matters of women discovering themselves, and feels strangely like the work of an outsider looking in on feelings that he doesn’t fully understand. As expected, it’s an interesting enough ride, but one that’s less than satisfactory on several levels.

It's rare that a really stylish film has enough of a story to keep it from resting on its cinematic laurels. Peter Mullan’s “NEDS” offers some extraordinary, unforgettable visual shots - and no small measure of tragedy, in this quite remarkable tale of disillusioned youths and gang violence in early 1970s Glasgow.

The film centres on John McGill (a hugely impressive, measured performance from Conor McCarron in his screen debut) as a young boy moving into puberty and Secondary school. His aspiration towards bodyswerving the potential demise into peer-pressure gang warfare culture embraced by his older brother is short-lived, and the inevitable downward spiral is exacerbated by the violent tensions in his home. Domestic harmony is under constant threat and dread as his father (a sublime turn by Mullan himself, exuding dark, alcohol-fuelled menace) is a constant shadowy presence on the stairs in the McGill household.

Peter Mullan acutely observes the pack mentality of working class prejudices and John’s subsequent educational humiliations, as the main protagonist loses faith and face in his scholastic endeavours. Implicit in the film is an understanding that power over other people is what motivates the untrained mind. 

The fury with which the gang members (the Neds of the title) pursue each other is at times almost abstract, and some of the surrealism, as John reaches a state of social banishment with his decline resulting in glue-sniffing followed by an almost epiphanic moment as Christ descends from the cross and embraces him – together with the closing scene in a wildlife park, rank amongst some of the most iconic cinematic images in recent memory.

Cast: Colin Firth, Geoffrey Rush, Helena Bonham Carter, Michael Gambon, Jennifer Ehle, Derek Jacobi and Timothy Spall

Director: Tom Hooper

Running time: 118 min

With first rate performances from a superb cast, The King's Speech is one of the most accessibly entertaining films of its kind in many years. Colin Firth plays England's King George VI (father of the current Queen Elizabeth) who must overcome an embarrassing stutter in order to lead his country through the difficult times of World War II. Geoffrey Rush is the Australian speech therapist who gives George strength and training, and as a result a lifelong friendship develops between the two. This inspiring and beautifully told tale should have afficionados of fine drama lining up to see it.

Prince Albert (Firth) suffers from a major speech impediment and wishes to stay well out of the spotlight. Fortunately his brother, Edward (Guy Pearce), is happy to grab the attention, and looks to be the natural successor to his father, King George V (Michael Gambon), until he famously abdicates for the "woman he loves," Wallis Simpson. Edward's abdication clears the way for the reluctant man who would be King. Albert's wife, Queen Elizabeth (Helena Bonham Carter), books the services of an unconventional Australian speech therapist, Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush), and the men form an uncommon bond as Lionel and Bertie (as he calls Prince Albert) go to work using Lionel's unconventional methods to prepare him for the brave new world of radio broadcasting; a necessity as the world prepares to go to war and the newly crowned King George VI will have to deliver speeches authoritatively - and without a stutter. The bulk of the film becomes a relationship testing the determination of a frustrated King to overcome his handicap, and his trainer's go-for-broke, unorthodox methods, all set during a very important time in the history of the United Kingdom.

Director Tom Hooper and screenwriter David Seidler have crafted a literate, funny and ultimately touching story that, at its heart, is really about friendship. In a genre of stuffy, tedious English period pieces, The King's Speech stands out as something to which everyone could relate. Credit for this goes in large part to the meticulous casting, particularly in leads Firth and Rush who play beautifully off each other. Firth, as he did last year with his Oscar nominated A Single Man, again proves he is almost without peer among contemporary British actors, as he takes on the extremely tricky task of playing a monarch with a severe stutter and not making his character seem cartoonish or, worse, disrespectful. Rush is the perfect counterpoint; a take-no-prisoners coach who demands to be on a first name basis with his student and treats him without any special consideration for who he is. These are two of the finest performances in this - or any other year and they are well-supported by Gambon, Bonham Carter, Timothy Spall as Churchill, a wonderful Derek Jacobi as Dr. Cosmo Lang and Jennifer Ehle as Logue's confused wife (who is just terrific in a scene where she unwittingly meets the King and Queen of England unannounced in her living room).

The King's Speech is a magnificent cinema treat, completely engaging, beautifully enlightening and immensely enjoyable. 

Directed By: Steve Antin

Cast: Cher, Christina Aguilera, Alan Cumming, Kristen Bell, Stanley Tucci

Running Time: 1hr 55min

Should anyone mention the word burlesque, the first thing that really comes to mind is a strip club. It certainly sounds marginally more sophisticated than that . . . but essentially it is the same thing. However, that apart, the participants sing too – which, wait - seems like a great idea for a musical. Chuck in a couple of iconic pop-stars – one just about past her sell-by date, and another moving on from teen territory and you should have a guaranteed hit. I’m guessing that was the plan anyway. This is the formula for Steven Antin’s Burlesque (which he both wrote and directed). But if it seems that you’ve seen this film before . . . it’s because, in essence, you have.

The stereotype assembly line starts up and kicks off in a quiet café as Burlesque is introduced in a small, dead-end town, where local waitress, Ali (Christina Aguilera), who has big dreams of becoming a successful singer, is seen taking money from her employer’s till, which her cheapskate boss owes her. She then travels to Los Angeles, full of hope and aspiration of attaining her American Dream, when she runs into a small club by the name of “The Burlesque Lounge.” Interested and intrigued, Ali decides to take a look inside. Upon her entrance, she is transported to a place very reminiscent of a French World War II-era strip joint. Stunned, she asks the ticket holder (a criminally under-used Alan Cumming), “What is this place? A strip club?” To which he responds, “I should wash your mouth out with Jägermeister,”(a herbal, bitter liqueur from Germany made of a secret blend of over 50 herbs, fruits and spices. Over recent years it has gained a notorious reputation as a liquor that will get you very intoxicated, very fast). serving as a key indicator for the overall nadir quality of Antin’s atrocious script.

As you’ve probably guessed, Botox Queen Cher plays the owner of the club, Tess, a former dancer and no-nonsense diva, who maintains the venue with Sean (Stanley Tucci), her suitably flamboyant and camp as Butlins best friend. Not surprisingly it turns out that Tess is up to her pinned back lugs in debt and the club is in danger. In fact, it may even be closed down, as property tycoon and world-class arsehole Marcus (Eric Dane), is gearing up to buy the place for his own selfish reasons. But in a last ditch effort, Tess hires Ali, who proves worthy of the stage, after one of her dancers, Georgia (Julianne Hough), announces that she’s pregnant and is forced to leave. However, Ali’s transformation from hick-town country-gal to fabulous city-slicker proves to be rocky, and her new-found success strikes a sour note with Nikki (Kristen Bell), an egomaniacal dancer, whose drunkenness, green eyed raging jealousy and vindictiveness sends her to the back of the pack on stage.

Still awake? Among the sea of faces, all of whom for some inexplicable reason are caked up with eye-liner and lipstick, there’s Jack (Cam Gigandent), a decent enough barman, who first talks to Ali and hands her a job waiting tables. They slowly develop a romantic connection (although Jack has a fiancée in New York), which is a sharp contrast to the mother-and-daughter relationship that Ali and Tess share.

The cringeometer goes up to 11 via some horrendously cliched musical performances,  especially those by geriatric granny Cher – so really, there isn’t a lot to recommend in Burlesque. The performances are the stuff of oak trees, though Aguilera is slightly better than expected, especially in the more contemporary numbers, but the screenplay just reeks of horrible dialogue and ridiculously poor pacing. Ali becomes bitchy and increasingly hard to empathise with towards the film’s second-act, which seems to parallel her transformation. As she uses more and more makeup and indulges in designer shoes to hide her true-self, Burlesque becomes increasingly more contrived, with more current pop-driven routines (in contrast to the earlier 1950s-era tracks, which are nails on the blackboard hellish anyway). Both styles, however, are equally offensive to women — with themes ranging from gold-digging to casual sex. The costume design is decent, although it all comes down to the horrendously clichéd ending — the last nail in the film’s bedazzled coffin.

Steven Antin was probably expecting that by adding a stack of scantily-clad women, all of whom prance around and talk about screwing men, that he’d captivate the straight male audience, whereas Cher and Aguilera would make any females and gay men happy. None of this is even remotely acceptable and merely emphasises the horrors of an abominably poor film. 

Directed By: Danny Boyle
Written By: Danny Boyle, Simon Beaufoy, from Araon Ralston’s book “Between a Rock and a Hard Place”

Cast: James Franco, Kate Mara, Amber Tamblyn

Running time: 95 minutes

When Rana (Clémence Poésy), girlfriend of 26-year-old Aron Ralston (James Franco), breaks up with him in the middle of a sport game, she tells him with an angry look on her face, “You’re going to be so lonely, Aron.” Neither could have known how accurate that remark would be. Aron, a smart-arse but spirited mountain climber who would often go off alone to America’s wide open spaces to test his mettle against nature, was not accustomed to telling anybody where he would be. He was not the type who would hire a guide nor would he climb with a friend, which is not to say he was especially anti-social, as director and co-writer Danny Boyle makes pains to suggest in one rather contrived but nevertheless lively scene. 

When he went to Utah’s Blue John Canyon in 2003 without a mobile phone or navigation device, not even informing his parents where he would be, he would meet a tragic fate like a puppet being out-manoeuvered by the mountain gods taking revenge against a mere mortal exhibiting the cardinal sin of excessive cocky-bastardness.

“127 Hours” is a true story which (apparently) stays close to the details of Ralston’s deftly named book, “Between a Rock and a Hard Place.” Cinemagoers (such as yours truly, as I am now about to) will be swift to compare and contrast the film with Rodrigo Cortés’ outstanding “Buried,” starring Ryan Reynolds as Paul Conroy, a contractor in Iraq who is kidnapped and held for ransom while buried alive in a wooden box.  “Buried” is an even more claustrophobic experience than “127 hours” in that we see nothing of terra firma, as Conroy does no thinking or even breathing outside the box, making director Cortés depend largely upon Chris Sparling’s screenplay.  Danny Boyle, on the other hand, relies more on Anthony Dod Mantle and Enrique Chediak’s photography, their cameras exhibiting vistas of the rocks and canyons of the American West, specifically in Utah near the famous bicycle paths of Moab. As such, Boyle lets the tension slacken, with in addition his desperate desire to keep the film visually exciting at all times resulting in too many gimmicky flashbacks, stylised shots, dream sequences and cutaways, all of which exhibit less impact than the simple reality of a man trapped and alone.

Despite that however, 127 Hours does manage to evoke the contrast from a life lived ecstatically, to one that is suddenly cast into utter despondency in a matter of seconds. Boyle introduces the film with a frenzied take of hundreds of people dashing about in fast motion, then honing in on Aron Ralston, who is packing a few things for his latest canyon climb, not bothering even to answer his mother’s landline telephone call or to take the trouble to search for his mobile version. He drives to a site near an area of relentless mountain-ness, cycles frantically to the destination, meets a couple of hikers (Kate Mara, Amber Tamblyn), coaxing them into a short cut that leads them all into a few high jumps into an underground lake. This is, by all accounts 'extreme' sport, i.e. physical living to the fullest: this is, I am reliably informed, life.  After the girls leave and as though to punish the young man for squeezing too much joy out of his twenty-six years, fate makes him slip and a very heavy boulder collapses on to him in such a way that his forearm is buried between the rock and the wall of the canyon. Try as he does, he cannot budge the rock. During the next 127 hours, he gives free rein to fantasies, running through the five stages of grief: Denial; Anger; Bargaining; Depression; Acceptance. Not that he accepts his fate: at the climactic point, dehydrated, despite drinking his own urine, he removes part of his right arm thereby freeing himself. This is, actually, pretty grim stuff to behold.

Some of the monologues however, are ridiculously twee, such as his imitation of a game show announcer’s spiel, the mannered laughter track punctuating the stupidity of the imaginary audience. Since much of the film is a one-man show, not unlike the action in “Buried,” some sequences here and there do drag a bit.  As a whole, however, the film is cinematically engaging and James Franco’s performance is very good indeed.

Unlike the final scene in “Buried,” which was a real downer, the conclusion here is uplifting, a triumph - despite the loss of an arm which, in real life, has now been replaced with a prosthesis. A.R. Rahman’s score on the soundtrack is as upbeat as you can get.  

Ralston, we are told in the closing credits, continues to go mountain climbing and 'canyoneering' to this day, despite his handicap (some people never learn do they?). For this nonsense, and this now-filmed 'adventure' he gets maximum dosh for chatting about his experience, on the lecture circuit, and is said to be a genuine hero particularly in New Zealand. My guess is though that this film may ultimately put a dent in his future bank balance – you can only bang on for so long about what a numpty you were and still are before the penny (or metaphorical boulder) drops, out of sight.