johnattridge

'Beauty and the Beast' is one of the few pictures in the history of the fairy-tale genre which can truly boast perfection; it is, in every respect, unashamedly enchanting, magical and romantic. No other words suffice to encapsulate the sheer majesty of this film. Disney put together exemplary displays of animation, character, plot, colour and wonderful melody to bring definitive legend to life; 'Beauty and the Beast' is the pinnacle by which so many other animated films and fairytales should be judged.

The tale begins Once upon a time, (as the best ones always do) on the outskirts of a small French village. The animation and iconography are spellbinding; never has there been such detailed forestry and tumbling waterfalls as in the opening scene, or such an imposing, awe-inspiring gothic castle as the Beast's isolated home. The meticulous detail and soft score enhance the traditional prologue with great effect. It's a moving, involving introduction.

The story, well known as it is, includes some modern revisions; Belle is now an only child, and a feminist in the 18/19th century village. The beast's attendants and servants have also been transformed into household objects under the witch's magical spell. And Belle's suitor, the arrogant, masochistic Gaston, will do anything to make the headstrong girl his wife.

Already you have the classic elements of a great story. But it is in the advanced character development and strong emotional thrust that elevate the picture beyond it's counterparts. This isn't a love at first sight, by any means. As one of the character's observes "These things take time". But the Beast has little time before the enchanted rose withers, and earning the love of a beautiful woman is no easy feat here. The mature screenplay by Linda Woolverton centres on this struggling romance without ever reducing the stakes to call it 'a children's picture'. You sense the Beasts love and Belle's sympathy simultaneously, slowly evolving, until you want the pair to fall for each other; that she takes longer than him underpins an urgency in the film, where the audience are desperately seeking final happiness.

The direction too, is crisp and refined around romantic ideals. In embarking on endless creative endeavour directors Gary Trousdale and Kirk Wise use a 'camera' that swoops, zooms and swerves around character movement and magnificent settings, wonders of artistry themselves. The film has a great dose of humour too, but by restraining itself to an 'internal reality' where magic exists but, unlike most animated pictures, animals do not speak and physical pain is possible, the film holds a sense of logic. Feeling isn't always articulated. Actions have consequences.

And who doesn't remember 'Beauty and the Beast' if not for its marvellous, striking music. Composer Alan Menken and the late lyricist Howard Ashman crafted some of the finest songs in the Disney canon, each with the benefit of advancing the narrative or adding character insight. And they are marvellous to listen too. The Oscar winning titular ballad, sung in the famous ballroom sequence, is a naunced showstopper.

'Beauty and the Beast' remains to this day the only animated feature film ever nominated for the Best Picture Oscar. In such a weak year it ought to have won, and picked up additional directing and screenplay nominations among the six it already garnered. I cannot heap enough praise upon this picture. You just have to watch and be swept away by its sheer grandeur and feeling. So few animated films now are willing to embrace traditional storytelling. They are overloaded with crude gags and pop music, and suffer for it. 'Beauty and the Beast' remains a masterpiece. A lot could be learned from it.

"Just take my picture"

'Closer' is a film about style, among other things. It is about love, sex, relationships, and just what it means to feel something in this world where everything seems so extensively pre-planned. It is also about infidelity, truth, deception, pleasure; but the idea of style is what elevates the picture, from its aesthetics to ideas, and the way it articulates them. Patrick Marber's marvellous dialogue infuses every scene with a blunt lurch only to inject ambiguity behind each of the character's facial expression; in their eyes.

Marber adapts from his own award-winning play of the same name, with Mike Nichols in the director's chair. The result is a film of tragic activity, and something bordering on morbid fascination. When all the leading roles (played with such tour-de-force by the superb ensemble) fail to strike an empathetic cord you can bet a regular picture is in trouble. But not 'Closer'. Despite such brutal honesty and betrayal the interplay is compelling, adequate compensation to allow the audience to see beyond a character's likeability.

The film is constructed over a period of four years, around several snapshots of four people's intertwining relationships. Dan (Jude Law) meets Alice (Natalie Portman) in London after a minor hospital visit, but he is enamoured by Anna (Julia Roberts), his photographer. He inadvertently sets her up with Dr. Larry (Clive Owen) via an internet prank gone wrong, but a year later at the opening of Anna's exhibition an affair seems imminent. Through a smartly assembled non-chronological narrative device we witness these relationships in their varying stages, surprises and confrontations inevitable.

But that makes 'Closer' sound like a melodrama, which it certainly isn't. Like a melodrama, perhaps, Marber seems to perceive these relationships one step aside from reality; few speak with such frankness as these young adults, totally avoiding all attempts at guile. That's what you are led to believe, anyway. I invite another glance at the title.

Deservedly, Alice is widely considered Natalie Portman's breakout role, stripping the actress from childhood reins and lending her a sense of true maturity. Law and Roberts are impressive, especially her, and Owen proves his worth with such an enriched and forceful character. Nichols, too is worthy of praise, bringing a distinct subtlety to every scene, really capturing the essence of what a character study entails. But watch out for Portman. She is utterly devastating.

Style certainly comes into things, but it's really just the surface behind which the characters hide their true feelings behind. So much is said about honesty and love, but instead you're left feeling cold and dehumanised. Don't count it as a mistake; Nichols is rooting for it. 'Closer' is a profound analysis of the modern-day relationship, and such a compliment I enhance by acknowledging that by the end of the film, I felt alienated from every individual. I have my guesses, or hunches as to what they really think and feel, but maybe they don't know it themselves yet. They are blinded by their greed, and the measures they are willing to venture for pleasure. They invoke self-harm, not in a physical sense, but by just causing enough trouble to make them feel better. It is fine pretending to be someone else, but what it must be like to be someone.

He's back, and darker than ever in 'Quantum of Solace', the all-out action follow-up to the immensely successful re-boot of the Bond franchise, 'Casino Royale'. New director Marc Forster successfully transitions the gritty style and glamorous aura of Martin Campbell's classy depiction of the anti-hero, and Craig furthers his portrayal as the first Bond unrestricted by a scope of feeling; the script goes as far into his mind and motivations as it does in globe-trotting around the world.

There are those who will scoff at the serious tone, desperate for the nostalgic element of the old tongue-in-cheek Bond, but those pictures are playthings; nothing was ever truly at stake. There's a deep sense of urgency undercutting this picture, and we care what happens to 007 this time round; to his friends, his allies, even his lovers. For such a blazing action film, 'Quantum of Solace' still retains a sense of meaning.

So after the terrorist-funding, card-dealing plot of the first film, 'Quantum' sees Bond investigating a secret agency that both MI6 and the CIA seem unaware of. It leads to the trailing of Dominic Greene (Mathieu Almaric) and the purchases of his global ecology firm; is it oil or water they're after? Bond plans to find out, learning on the way he isn't the only one out for revenge when he's acquaintaced with Russian spy Camilla Montes (Olga Kurylenko).

After some dodgy opening action scenes, exciting but lacking slightly in kinetic energy and slowed down by some poor editing, things keep well-paced and focused. The mention of 'Bourne-influence' is inevitable, but Bond doesn't suffer for some minor similarities. 'Quantum' is coherent and organised, packed with brutal fights, smart quips and some really glossy direction; ever see Bond make an entrance to opera? It's ultra-cool.

It's a short picture, (just over an hour and three quarters), and I felt too much of the opening definitely ended up on the cutting room floor. But Forster keeps things flowing smoothly, and the ending isn't too soon by any means. Craig's sense of grief over the death of Vesper Lynd is written superbly, and his trusting relationship with Dench's M really kicks-off. Characters are no longer plot devices.

Kurylenko is full of assurance as the leading Bond girl, and her story is a great parallel to make Bond look into his own shame and remorse. Gemma Arterton also has a small role as Agent Fields, and it would be unwise to presume 007 fails to get his kit-off with neither of them. Mathieu Almaric's villainous role is slightly less advanced, but we get the general idea.

If 'Quantum' isn't the equal of its predecessor, (passing over the fact 'Royale' was a complete rebranding of the secret agent) it is due to a lack of suspense. It makes sense that after the moody build up Forster rallies the forceful nature of revenge to spill across the screen, but don't expect anything close to tension; there's nothing like that nail-biting card game here.

Don't get me wrong; despite its flaws 'Quantum of Solace' is a grand entry to the franchise, and definitely more entertaining than your average action flick. I'm involved in Bond now, not just laughing along with the cheesy one-liners and tired formula. 'Royale' is a great picture, and 'Quantum' is very, very good; deeply absorbing and driven by a sense of justice. And as I said, ultra-cool.

'Eternal Sunshine' is as bizarre and original a picture one has come to expect from writer Charlie Kauffman, co-creator of 'Being John Malkovich' and 'Adaptation', but what we don't see coming is the intense, emotional core; building around the generic formula of a romance Kauffman dazzles with his power of heartfelt storytelling, and it makes 'Eternal Sunshine' all the more impressive a picture. It is so well written, and superbly acted it transcends its unconventional premise to make us not just think, but feel.

We meet Joel on an ordinary morning. He is quiet, shy; perhaps a little self-conscious. At the train station he makes the impulsive decision not to go to work today; instead hop on somewhere else and go wherever fate leads him. We sense this is unlike him, and he even seems surprised by his sudden spontaneity. On the train he meets Clementine, a woman with outrageously highlighted locks and a demeanour that seems intent on finding conflict. But there is a spark, some chemistry. It turns out to be a lot more than we think.

The credits don't open for another ten minutes, and yet I really can't say much more about the narrative without ruining the surprises. Suffice to say the story is told from Joel's point-of-view, and he and Clementine have some sort of relationship. The fictional procedure of partial-memory-erasure comes into things, headed by Tom Wilkinson and his young team (Mark Ruffalo, Elijah Wood, Kirsten Dunst), but again that isn't really giving much away. They are just the facts, laid out much neater on paper than on screen.

But despite the jumping chronology and parallel narratives, Kauffman makes everything work; the picture is a coherent whole, and Joel and Clementine are the force of the film, not least thanks to Winslet and Carrey's stunning performances. As remarkably unique as the plot is, the film doesn't rely on it; this is no clever gimmick, or neat trick, but a beautifully woven idea. And with a powerful human centre, ideas have the power to elate, and inspire.

But just because the romance is the centre of things, don't expect stuffy clichés or overwrought melodrama; Joel and Clementine's journey is a painfully honest one, and the dialogue equals the plot mechanics for subtle, superlative writing. Gondry's vibrant and eccentric direction never distracts, and the poetic force of the entire production doesn't fail to hit home.

I had my reservations on the first viewing, wondering if you could effectively follow a relationship backwards rather than as it blossoms and evolves. But 'Eternal Sunshine' is about so many things it doesn't appear to be, and you cannot but be drawn into such a complex, rich and pure picture. The film is about taking risks and chances, moving on from past mistakes. Learning to forgive, but not forget. 'Eternal Sunshine' is a whirlwind of imagination you'll be stuck with, heart and mind both.

Fame and fortune hits those who have never experienced it in weird and wonderful ways, but for lan Curtis, lead singer of late 70's post-punk band Joy Division, the limelight was tantamount to a curse; expectation and failure engulfed the working-class kid from Macclesfield, and on the eve of the band's American tour, as the final shard of his broken marriage snapped cleanly in two, Curtis saw no other way out. At just twenty-three life was already too heavy, full of burden and depression, and the acclaimed singer committed suicide.

'Control' is director Anton Corbijn's fascinating account of the singer's life, from his teenage marriage to young sweetheart Deborah (on whose autobiography the picture is based), his struggle to cope with depression and later, epilepsy and life on the road with his band and Belgian girlfriend. It seems a short summary, but Corbijn's unobtrusive direction doesn't glamorise or condemn any aspect of the musician's short life; instead the audience observe as things stretch, their importance to Ian's happiness gravitates and the seemingly workable becomes unsolvable, irreversible and lost.

An interesting, but perhaps not all that important attribute of 'Control' is Corbijn's decision to shoot in black-and-white instead of colour. It is noticeable, but I feel compelled to warn it isn't what makes the picture what it is. More like we have just stepped into some more comfortable shoes, put on the focused glasses that act as a window into how Curtis himself perceived the world; grim, dreary, and enclosed. Otherwise the cinematography is still decent; some of the director's distant shots really amplify moments of sadness or privacy, and we always feel intrusive, despite such unflashy work. Perhaps it is because Curtis' imposing demeanour would make us feel as if we're snooping. Which we are, really.

Newcomer Sam Riley's performance is a powerful tool in creating such a complex character in Curtis; I was struggling to determine him as empathetic or abrasive, self-loving or self-loathing. I never saw Riley as acting, simply channeling thoughts from his mannerisms and expressions so we can try to discern this thoughtful character. But we struggle to find a balance or connection, and empathise strongest with his wife, who suffers a similar plight; Morton is absoloutely mesmerising as Deborah Curtis, playing a girl who married to young, and never quite understood why she did. But she is enamoured with Ian from the off, and only after marriage asks him "Are you embarassed to be seen with me?". Just twenty years later it seems certain a girl finds that out before the wedding.

'Control' could easily be described as 'cool' and 'bleak', and while they are apt descriptors Corbijn at least offers profundity in there as well; he finds human comedy in the most hand-wringing snapshots of indescribable exasperation. He sees Curtis as a boy, all to keen to prove himself, all to prepared for failure. Riley is a force to be reckoned with, a character who has an impulsive need to fill that void the modern age packs into humanity. From the music, the performances, the understatement - 'Control' is so passionate a picture you don't even realise it until the haunting final scene hits you right in the gut.

Hitchcock knows what makes a top thriller. You see his talent in every shot he positions, in the actor's movements and delivery of intense and realistic dialogue, in the panning of one set, one back street housing square where, among the everyday lives of a number of residents a man in a wheelchair has little else to do but observe his neighbour's mundane day-to-day activities.

But voyeurism is such a strong human compulsion. Even the medium of film, to go to the cinema and watch a movie is voyeuristic; whether fictional, based or inspired by reality, we go to see through a window into the world of another person. And Hitchcock captures that fascination we have with an alternate life, a different perspective; we analyse and evaluate the benefits and punishments, we allow ourselves to feel hatred or pity, and ultimately our observation has a surprisingly profound effect.

Widely acclaimed as one of Hitchcock's masterpieces, 'Rear Window' is a master-class piece of film-making, a picture that combines the suspicion and paranoia of a Christie-esque murder mystery with the ethical and moral considerations and consequences of becoming apart of someone else's life. Not just in a literal sense, but even that burning desire to know more, to see behind the closed curtains and peer into the soul.

Photographer L.B Jeffries has a week until his leg cast is removed and he can get back to work. He is our protagonist, our hero; for it is from his viewpoint we observe what he eagerly and intently spies - even though he professes to despise his situation. He has interest has grown into obsession, as acknowledged by his girl friend, Lisa and nurse Stella. But when one of Jeff's neighbours seemingly disappears, the bored invalid begins putting together pieces of a possibly dangerous puzzle, with an alarming conclusion.

'Rear Window' doesn't stop at working as a thriller and a social commentary; the script is packed with succinctly observed comedy of the macabre, black humour that lightens the tone but never dispelling our sense of fear and foreboding. Thelma Ritter gets all the best lines, and her dismissive and amusing attitude toward death is strangely apt.

The film's cinematography is a remarkable achievement, and the key to winning over the audience's need to watch and engage in the lives of these absorbing neighbours. The director frames and moves every shot so our focus is always them, even when we're half listening to what James Stewart and Grace Kelly have to say about the situation. Their romance is on the rocks, of sorts, and the actors work well at sparking a husband-wife chemistry to parallel with the lives they soon arrange their own around.

I want to rate the film five stars, but I cannot. I see what Hitchcock has attempted to achieve, and how well he knows his audience; the director understands that through observation, in it's pure and simplest form, has the ability to move us, make us truly feel something. Because we don't get the full picture we build our own image, colour in the blanks, and it is a strange human instinct to put an interesting face on the ordinary. In this instance, Hitchcock succeeds marvellously.

My only, and very small gripe with the picture is the climax; the finale where the thriller elements culminate and close the story, all too quickly, all too incoherently to be labelled 'perfect'. He did later perfect the technique in the famous shower scene of 'Psycho', but here the rushed finish of such an important penultimate scene offers the first and only edge of disappointment and disheartening. Yet it is the chill sent up my spine by those glinting eyes, lingering in the dark shadows, full of malice and cruel intent for which I'll certainly remember the confrontation between stranger and spy, the showdown between 'Rear Window's villain and victim.

Tim Robbins death penalty drama appears simple on the surface, but this is a complex and intelligent picture, exploring themes of redemption, salvation and truth with great responsibility and profound depth. The director may have his opinions on the subject matter, but they are certainly not readable from this film; he never manipulates our mindset, exploits political stance or takes sides. The film doesn't resort to sentimental tactics to rouse emotions, but draws us into conversation and debate, dialogue that entrances us, even if only momentarily, to believe in the characters words, and so endearingly want to empathise with almost everyone - this reflects the cleverness, maturity and challenging nature of the outstanding screenplay. Sarandon and Penn give superlative performances - she as the quiet, honest yet confused nun wanting to do good in a world she sees full of hate, and he as the sadistic, nasty murderer who hides a loneliness and need for acceptance between layers of macho persona. Then Robbins direction - there is nothing to fault. He uses reflection, flashback and barrier as marvellous technical symbols, and has created a compelling and absorbing film with an unfathomable sense of grief and wretchedness, one that balances both arguments to a point of gratifying frustration. He appreciates the complexities of reality, and his drama is as realistic as one is likely to come across - it contains black humour, awkward pause and a great sadness that we, as the film, are almost unwilling to express for fear of opening our minds, or hearts, to particular individuals. And despite such sorrow, anguish and desperate sadness, the film manages to end on a perfectly acceptable, appropriate high note, uplifting as it needs to be; for as Helen says in the final scene "Perhaps, together, we can find a way to overcome our hate". If the film is not about this, the spiritual philosophy of doing what is right, at least in majority - then it's hard for me to distinguish an alternative subtext.

Sam Mendes suburban drama encapsulates so much by saying so little it is almost overwhelming. It is, though, never preachy or frustrating, never melodramatic and soapy - the director finds the perfect tone to balance the actions of the film and never falters in maintaining it as such. 'American Beauty' focuses on a group of people, all linked through various emotions and moments of their lives. As the narrative unfolds we are presented with an insightful look into each of the characters inner souls, their most hidden and well guarded secrets, insecurities and fears. The director never takes sides, simply because there are none to take - he empathetically demonstrates how everyone involved struggles with themselves and the situations they find themselves in, and the lack of blame illustrates a strong humanity we are rarely presented with in cinema. The cast are all outstanding - Kevin Spacey and Annette Benning extremely passionate about their roles, Chris Cooper strikingly real and Mena Suvari perfectly capturing the unpredictable nature of those we least expect. The fantasy scenes are beautifully directed, enhanced by the delicate music and vivid cinematography. Moving, funny, haunting and emotional - a masterpiece in film-making.