Friday’s Film Reviews: Ex Machina, Mortdecai, A Most Violent Year and The Gambler
According to statistics, 1981 was the most violent year in New York City history in relation to the population.
Over the 12 months, more than 1.2 million crimes were recorded including 60,000 aggravated assaults, 5,400 rapes and 2,220 murders.
Writer-director JC Chandor, who was Oscar nominated for the 2012 thriller Margin Call, uses this turbulent period as a backdrop to his masterful and searing portrait of crime and brutal punishment.
Centred on a married couple, who are struggling to keep their heating oil distribution business afloat, A Most Violent Year powerfully conveys the personal and professional sacrifices of a devoted husband and wife, who become one of the shocking statistics.
The film’s pacing is deceptively steady and slow, lulling us into a false sense of security as Chandor ups the stakes for his beautifully sketched characters, forcing them to take greater risks to protect their nearest and dearest.
A Most Violent Year hits a sweet spot on every level, from Chandor’s measured direction and lean script, to the powerhouse performances.
Oscar Isaac is mesmerising as an honourable family man, who refuses to sink to the depths of some of his rivals, sticking to the path of righteousness for as long as he dare.
Jessica Chastain essays another ballsy woman of substance, cutting through her husband’s rose-tinted idealism with harsh home truths.
When oblivion beckons for Abel and Anna, we discover the true strength of their moral compasses in the face of the corruption and senseless bloodshed.
4/5
91%
For his bravura directorial debut, London-born author and screenwriter Alex Garland (The Beach, 28 Days Later) explores mankind’s unquenchable desire to give birth to sophisticated automata that learns from its mistakes.
Shot largely within the confines of a state-of-the-art complex, which has enough fibre-optic cabling in the walls “to reach the moon and lasso it”, Ex Machina is a deeply disturbing thriller that explores the murky moral ramifications of creating a robot that could pass for human.
Ex Machina exerts a vice-like grip on our attention, anchored by riveting performances from the central trio.
Domhnall Gleeson exudes sufficient sweetness and naivete to convince us he would be an unsuspecting pawn in a sinister game.
In stark contrast, Oscar Isaac bristles with machismo and menace as he voyeuristically documents Nathan’s burgeoning attraction to Ava.
Alicia Vikander, who studied at the Royal Swedish Ballet School, sets the screen ablaze with her deliciously ambiguous portrayal.
Flawless visual effects blend seamlessly with her luminous performance to expose Ava’s inner workings as she prowls her Perspex prison cell.
Like Nathan, we’re bewitched by her as she devours knowledge and begs for help to avoid the scrapheap.
There’s no chance of Garland’s gripping film suffering a similarly grim fate.
4/5
93%
With an Oscar on the mantelpiece for The Departed, American screenwriter William Monahan attempts a similar feat of alchemy with this modern update to the 1974 film of the same name directed by Karel Reisz.
Alas, Monahan’s penchant for excessively wordy set pieces proves an insurmountable distraction.
He arms the cast with polished one-liners and barbed retorts that would draw blood if his woe-begotten characters weren’t so emotionally cold and distant.
After the first hour of endless verbosity, I hoped – in vain as it transpired - that Monahan would rein in the dialogue and let actions speak a hundred words instead.
No such luck.
But then good fortune is in perilously short supply in Rupert Wyatt’s film, which unfolds through the bloodshot eyes of a college professor, whose daredevil antics at the blackjack table have left him heavily in debt to men who trade in violence.
The Gambler stakes everything on Monahan’s screenplay and incurs losses.
Mark Wahlberg is elevated by the material but those long speeches, including a centrepiece rant in the lecture theatre, become wearisome.
He verbally jousts with Jessica Lange in fiery form as a matriarch who is sick of hauling her son out of the mire.
Brie Larson is shamefully underused in an underwritten supporting role.
Director Wyatt should crank up tension every time Jim sits down at a card table.
Instead, we savour the momentary silence as the lead character stops philosophising to concentrate on the deck.
2½
46%
In David Koepp’s poorly executed crime caper, the eponymous hero repeatedly seeks assurances from his hulking manservant that their hare-brained mission to retrieve a stolen painting will end in success.
“I couldn’t say, sir,” dryly responds the lackey.
Well I could say: it will end in boredom, despair and disbelief, and an occasional sympathetic titter for a starry cast, who have to wrap their weary laughing gear around the flaccid one-liners that litter Eric Aronson’s haphazard script.
Based on the first book of author Kyril Bonfiglioli’s cult trilogy, Mortdecai is an anachronistic tale of puckish rogues, swordplay and bitter love rivalry, which lampoons a culture of privilege that remains blissfully out of touch with the grim realities of modern life.
The irreverence and borderline insanity of Bonfiglioli’s writing fails to mesh with exaggerated performances, cartoon violence and Carry On-style innuendos.
Mortdecai is a car crash of broad physical comedy, crass culture clashes and preposterous action sequences, draped awkwardly around Johnny Depp’s predictably showy performance.
Channelling the spirit of Terry Thomas replete with gap tooth, though none of the charm, Depp careens from one limp scene to the next like a bull in a china shop.
Gwyneth Paltrow struggles to catalyse screen chemistry with her buffoonish leading man, while Paul Bettany takes most of the bruising punches in the skirmishes that punctuate an outlandish plot.
It’s a mystery how some of the so-called gags will translate for audiences across the Atlantic.
On these shores, it’s toe-curling comedy tumbleweed.
1½
9%
