I’m going to avoid any vehicular puns here, but to use to obvious metaphor, Drive is an American muscle car. Sleek, sexy and extremely powerful – but not overly refined or with much intricacy going on beneath the surface. But it’s an absolute triumph of style over substance, and the simplicity of what the story presents means that its effects linger for a long time afterwards. A bit like if that same muscle car ploughed into you at top speed at a zebra crossing.
On the ‘videogame movies are awful’ scale, what are you expecting? ‘Reasonably acceptable if not actually like the games’, like Resident Evil? ‘Abysmal but at least a bit atmospheric’, in the mould of Silent Hill? Or ‘it’s kicking my treasured childhood memories in the crotch with steel-toed boots’, like Super Mario Bros?
Antonio Banderas escapes the animated claws of Puss In Boots and performs in his mother tongue in Almodovar’s utterly compelling thriller. The ultimate in mad scientists, Robert Ledgard (Banderas) is a pioneering plastic surgeon creating a brand new type of synthetic skin. His guinea pig, the mysterious Vera Cruz (Elena Anaya), is a flawless example of his work but as we slowly unwind her past, we begin to understand the scope of Ledgards talents.
Terrence Malick does not like to be rushed. Held in high esteem for great films Days Of Heaven and The Thin Red Line, The Tree Of Life is only the fourth film for which he’s stood behind the camera in 33 years. That kind of output makes the Gran Turismo team look Usain Bolt-quick in comparison. Fortunately, he’s come back with a truly exceptional piece of work – albeit one that lapses into self-indulgence a little too often.
The worst thing that a superhero film can do is the origin story. Spider-Man 2 was better because it didn’t spend an hour developing Peter Parker’s ‘I can do what now?’ surprise. Same for The Dark Knight, which cracked away thanks to no time wasted on Bruce’s angsty backpacking years of self-discovery. So what of a movie that focuses on the birth of an organisation?
If ever a film intro succeeds in making the viewer feel unwelcome, it’s this 1971 psychological thriller from Sam Peckinpah. As David Summer (Dustin Hoffman) and wife Amy (Susan George) drive across the tediously brown Cornish countryside, their dialogue is private and inconsequential. As the viewer, you’re eavesdropping rather than absorbing plot. It’s a central theme in Straw Dogs, and from this standoffish introduction the film only pushes you further away into the role of the outsider.
It’s fair to say that with its prior, overblown back-to-back sequels, the Pirates series didn’t so much drift into troubled waters as career off the edge of the world while on fire. So what hope for instalment four, which would have surprised no one had it been subtitled Plundering The Box Office?
While the stars of this car-boosting franchise might not be so furious anymore, the ever-more-outlandish events of their latest film are likely to leave you feeling just that.
Before the opening credits have rolled, the quality of The Social Network is evident. Then-future Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg (Jesse Eisenberg) is sat in a crowded bar opposite his girlfriend, who is in the process of dumping him.
As anybody who has ever tried cheating on their girlfriend with a zombie will tell you, walking corpses and love triangles don’t normally mix. (‘Why is there an ear in your pocket darling?’) But this AMC drama, based on the classic comic book series, does its best to balance real human emotion (beyond the usual knicker-wetting terror) with gruesome monsters and genuine horror scares.
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