Blood Simple

This hugely impressive debut feature from Joel and Ethan Coen is a brilliantly cast, highly stylised modern noir. Immediately showing its hand, the film opens with a beautiful scene, with two characters talking in a dark car at night, viewed from behind. We glimpse their faces only as headlights approach and pass. It sets the tone for a film that is built around the characters never quite seeing the full picture.

M. Emmet Walsh is the sleazy private eye hired to kill a debutante Frances McDormand, the cheating wife of bar owner Dan Hedaya, and her lover John Getz. A spate of twists and excellently scripted misunderstandings follows, as the body count mounts, and the characters are each pushed through their own private hell.

The acting is excellent throughout, especially the vivid, droll performance from Walsh, who is truly disgusting and yet mesmerising in his own way. McDormand's character emerges from the wreckage in the state described in the title - that of a childish simplicity into which those immersed in violence slip.

Indeed the central premise of the original script appears to be the emotional and psychological chaos that is formed in violence. The Coens' juxtaposition of this tumultuous idea with the calm, almost stately direction is intoxicating, and the film intelligently builds to a deeply satisfying, subversive and highly original conclusion.
4/5

A Zed & Two Noughts

This 1985 surrealistic analysis of the notions of decay, evolution and the trappings of flesh is one of the most vivid films of the decade. Peter Greenaway's film concerns twin brothers, whose wives are killed in a freak swan accident outside the zoo (the title spells out the central location in a pun) at which they work. As they struggle to cope with the notion of their loved ones' decomposition, they form a bond with the only survivor of the accident, a French woman who is to lose her leg.

In parts extremely disturbing, the film contains much footage of plants and animals (and eventually worse) decaying, using time lapse photography that the brothers use as an experimental means to consider the notion of death. There is also much screen time spent watching characters watching a series of David Attenborough-narrated nature documentaries. The central postulate of the first act seems to be the futility of any evolution which can climax only in death.

As with all of Greenaway's films, there is a glorious mix of lush cinematography, full of rich colours and steady tracking shots, and the propelling force of Michael Nyman's pre-Baroque score. As well as the virtuoso use of the time-lapse photography, there are many visual tricks, such as the twins' appearances gradually converging, and this being mirrored in an increasing symmetry in the shot framing, culminating in the most perverse and profound of finales.

The real joy here is the sensual overload that coils around the increasingly surreal plot. The doctor obsessed with amputation, the stranded amputees, the decaying fabric of society compared with decomposed flesh, the resurgence of animalism over humanism, the sexual frustration of losing a partner, the association of animals with nursery rhymes (and the repeated use of the "Teddy Bear's Picnic"); all these ideas and more combine in a visual, sonic and intellectual smorgusboard of decay and despair in modern society.
5/5

Hard Eight

This 1996 debut by rising talent Paul Thomas Anderson is an underplayed, rewarding drama about gambling and crime. Philip Baker Hall is brilliant as Sydney (the film's working title), a professional gambler who takes a young John C. Reilly under his wing after finding him penniless outside a diner. The pair go to Las Vegas, where the protégé is taught a few clever tricks to earn himself a bed for the night in a luxury casino hotel. Without warning, the films shifts forwards two years, and the pair are still working together. Reilly's character is mixed up with Samuel L. Jackson, unusually in villainous mode, and Gwyneth Paltrow is the hooker who is the object of his affections.

Pleasingly moving along an unpredictable plot at a stately pace, the film rewards in a style that Anderson would later perfect in Magnolia. Philip Baker Hall gives a magnetic performance, lending a mixture of gravitas and humanity to a role that could easily have been pantomimic. Reilly and Jackson are as excellent as ever, and Paltrow is believable as the confused prostitute whose actions catalyse the violence of the second act. There is also a small appearance by Philip Seymour Hoffman as an impertinent gambler.

Anderson is an extremely talented writer and director, both in terms of his visual style and how well he coaxes interesting performances from characters often typecast. Hard Eight is not his best picture, but it is an interesting and under-rated debut from a director who would go on to great things. For a film concerning gambling and crime, there is pleasingly little of either on show here, and instead he bravely focuses on the human drama surrounding the idiosyncratic plot.
3/5

My Neighbour Totoro

For true appreciation of Miyazaki's genius, his films must be watched with children. Because they are Japanese films its easy to forget that they're not art house cinema; they are cartoons written with children in mind. For my money, My Neighbour Totoro is perhaps the most wonderful expression of childhood ever found in a film that can be enjoyed by children.

An early high watermark from Studio Ghibli (indeed the film that gave them their icon, the titular "Totoro"), the story is astonishingly simple, and is perhaps unique in featuring no antagonist whatsoever. A frequent device in Miyazaki's films is to undermine the simplistic notion of villainy, but here there is no villain of which to speak. We follow the story of two sisters, the school-age Satsuki and her younger sister Mei, as they move into a new house and explore the surrounding area.

With a small crop of wonderfully realised characters (academic dad, the helpful old lady who asks them to call her "granny", and a mother sick in hospital, possibly from tuberculosis) the true joy in the film is the children's giddy excitement at such simple acts as collecting acorns. When Mei discovers a series of increasingly large squashy rabbit-trolls, the adventure begins. Despite there being no antagonist, the latter half of them film is still extremely tense, and had my young cousins biting their nails at the thought that young Mei had become lost in the woods.

The animation here is obviously done on a smaller budget then later works such as Princess Mononoke or Spirited Away, but is alive, and the rural landscape breathes and moves unbelievably. The film is wonderful fun, and very funny for both adults and children. The score by the ever-excellent Joe Hisaishi is superb, although the English-language title song is cringingly terrible (but then you were going to watch it subtitled anyway, weren't you?).

The Totoro himself is a wonderful, comic creature that has a deliriously idiosyncratic character (try to stop yourself giggling with glee at the effect an umbrella has on him). If nothing else, the film is worth watching for the two appearances of the Catbus, perhaps the single greatest piece of animation ever seen in cinema.
5/5

Barton Fink

This 1991 surrealist drama swept the board at Cannes that year, winning the Palme d'Or as well as awards for best director and best actor. Despite this, it remains one of the Coen Brothers less known pictures, as indeed do all of their films before Fargo.

The chameleonic (and impossibly faceless) John Turturro is brilliant as the titular playwright who (perhaps literally) sells his soul to Hollywood in 1941. After achieving critical success in his native New York with a social realist play about fishmongers, he moves to Hollywood and is immediately set to work on a demeaning B-movie about wrestling. Nonetheless, writer's block sets in, and as he imprisons himself in a run-down hotel and attempts to connect with "the common man", the only people he encounters are the twitchy "Chet" (Steve Buscemi), the receptionist, and his unnerving neighbour, played with disturbing amiability by John Goodman.

Stylistically owing a huge debt to David Lynch's Eraserhead (from the industrial drone of the hotel down to John Turturro's hairstyle), the film can be read in any number of ways - vitriolic satire on Hollywood; character study of writer's block; blackly comic analysis of Nazi influence in the 1940s; even a twisted take on the biblical (or perhaps Satanic) epic. Crammed full of inventive and frequently nightmarish ideas - the wallpaper in Fink's room slowly peeling down to reveal a worrying flesh underneath - the film bravely moves into less familiar territory in its second act, and provides one of the most stunning, if perplexing, finales I have seen in some time.
4/5

The Host

This Korean monster flick (literally translated as "Monster") was a box-office smash back home, and has received critical adoration the world over. In addition to this, it has been wilfully rejected by horror aficionados, who fail to realise that it was never really aimed at them in the first place.

Concerning the story of a giant mutant tadpole/fish born in the Han River, filled with toxic formaldehyde, its a tremendously entertaining and riveting blend of teen-horror flick gore, human drama and black comedy, with a cunning line in political satire too. Kang-ho Song is terrific as the simple-minded father of Hyun-seo, the little girl kidnapped by the monster and kept in his sewer lair for food. The plot follows him and his family as they attempt to rescue the child, but uniquely the main obstacle in their path is not the monster itself, but the paranoia and bureaucracy that its arrival prompts.

Indeed, the film refuses to conform to any genre stereotypes on a number of levels. Firstly, the monster is not hidden, waiting to be revealed from darkness at the climax (as in virtually all horror films post-Alien and Jaws). Instead, it is shown in broad daylight in full shot right from the start; this does not diminish its impact. Secondly the characters are all deeply flawed, making stupid mistakes (such as miscounting the number of bullets in a gun) that frequently have tragic costs. The film also subverts the notion of 'form a plan, preparation, enactment' by repeatedly throwing in innovative and unexpected plot twists.

As an entire film, The Host in fact feels much more like one of George A. Romero's Living Dead films than other monster flicks from Jaws to Ringu. Nonetheless, it plunders what it wants from these, and creates a truly original and hugely entertaining piece of subversive blockbuster entertainment.
4/5

Hostel

This abysmal progenitor of the non-existent 'torture porn' genre is a cynical, xenophobic and misogynistic mess of a badly plotted flesh-and-gore horror film, which in no way deserves any of the success or attention it gained on release. Exec-produced by Quentin Tarantino, who evidently loves the terrible films to which his work so frequently pays homage, the mind boggles as to how such a distinguished film maker could put his name to such a poorly-scripted rubbish dump of a movie, and as to how director Eli Roth is somehow being proclaimed the saviour of American horror with such uninspiring and frankly tame adolescent fantasy.

The plot, as we are forced to refer to it, follows American backpacker Jay Hernandez and his clearly soon-to-be-dead companions, a fellow American and a ridiculously sex-mad drifter from Iceland, as they blunder their way across a Europe populated entirely by stoned glamour models. Roth may claim the film as an indictment of ignorant American sensibilities abroad, but attempts to use this as a shield against his own incredibly blunt and bizarre realisation of Slovakia as a pit of hell, inhabited only by evil, beautiful prostitutes, violent, twisted German businessmen and feral packs of murderous children is offensive.

More offensive still is the sickening mound of stupidity we are force-fed through the characters' cataclysmicly dumb actions. Oh, there's a youth hostel near Bratislava filled with beautiful women who are horny for American men? Yes, I believe you, sinister pimp, lets trot off on a merry expedition over there. Oh, my friends have disappeared mysteriously, I know, I'll ask that suspicious prostitute who drugged me if she can help. She can? Brilliant! I'll just follow her into this ominous old warehouse surrounded by shady business and from which all those screams are emanating. Oh, whoops.

Perhaps most infuriating is that Roth is clearly a talent, to which the few spatterings of genius attest (the baffled receptionist in the titular hostel, the monetary use of bubblegum) and it is impossible to understand why he so deliberately goes out of his way to blow gaping holes through his own film. Jay Hernandez is a good actor (as he showed in the underrated Crazy/Beautiful) but has little to do here apart from grin flirtatiously and then scream as his fingers are chainsawed off.

Indeed, the torture scenes are surprisingly tame, given the controversy at time of release. There is only one full one, in which the other American is drilled to bits (killing off the only interesting sub-plot, and conforming to the tired cliché of kill those who give in to sex), and the other bits here and there are generally mostly off screen violence. In fact, everything here you will have seen before. If you want to see a grimy, horrific film, watch Se7en. If you want to see gore, watch Braindead. Hell, if you want to see eyeball-related violence (the supposedly unique selling point of Hostel) then watch Un Chien Andalou, a film which by seventy-six years predates this ill-conceived, narcissistic and adolescent pile of cinematic excrement.
1/5

Ran

Not so long ago, I used to think of the 1980s as a cultural void. In music and cinema, the relative golden era of the 1970s had given way to brainless commercialistic drivel. But then I realised it was actually the golden age of the alternative, the underground, the hard-to-find gems nestled in among the post-Star Wars, post-pop detritus. Suddenly, I connected with music in a new way, listening to The Smiths, New Order, Pixies and R.E.M. And in cinema, I found the birth of independent American cinema (in Alex Cox's Repo Man) as well as a wave of auteurs such as David Lynch and Peter Greenaway.

All of this was an act of profound realisation and also profound ignorance. Ignoring the mess in the English-language, world cinema was as much a source of originality and excellence as ever. Ran, maestro Akira Kurosawa's last epic, is one such example. Shorter than such lengthy epics as Seven Samurai, it is a tale most recognisable to non-Japanese audiences as that of King Lear, transplanted to feudal Japan. A king divides his land between three sons, the youngest of whom calls the decision foolish and is banished. However, it becomes clear that he fears only for his father, and is proved right when civil war breaks out between the other two sons.

The story was initially developed as a twist on the traditional parable of Mōri Motonari, who gave each of his sons an arrow to break, which they did. He then gave them three arrows together, and they were unable to break them, thus demonstrating their united strength. In Ran, the youngest son ably demonstrates that even together the arrows can be snapped.

There is so much that could be written about Ran without ever passing judgement on it. The use of primary colours (one each for the three sons) and their comparison with blood, sunlight and so on; the amazing visual impact of the King losing his mind (and possible comparisons with Kurosawa's own deranged attempt to secure his legacy); the phenomenal, exciting and bloody battle sequences so powerful that their effect is still felt today in, for example, Peter Jackson's The Lord of The Rings trilogy.

Ultimately, it is the final image that most haunts. The war is over, and the Shakespearean tragedy has taken its toll, leaving a blind young man stood on a precipice, uncertain of how to find his way home. You leave the film with a sense of loss that is intangible, but stays with you for days.
5/5

Shadow of a Doubt

This wonderful thriller from 1943 is a mid-period masterpiece from director supreme Alfred Hitchcock. His sixth American production since Rebecca only three years earlier, it was regarded by the auteur as his personal favourite, and it is not hard to see why. Neither is it hard to see why it is so often overlooked in favour of other masterpieces such as Psycho, Rear Window or The 39 Steps.

The subject matter here is dark and perhaps more psychological than other examples of his work from this period. Joseph Cotten plays Charlie Oakley, a suspicious character on the run from the law. He goes to stay with his sister's family, whose daughter, also called Charlie (played by Teresa Wright), feels a pseudo-telepathic link with her mysterious uncle. This is not overstated; merely, she feels they share a connection akin to twins, though to the modern viewer this relationship may feel a tad more unhealthy than that.

Shot in inky black and white, the film's aesthetic is dark and yet never murky, a decided contrast to the bright clarity of Rebecca. There is a vaguely surreal feel to some of the plot - the girl's father and his colleague pass the time by discussing diverse and grim ways to murder each other. The surface tranquility of the Californian suburb in which the family live is gradually disturbed, revealing the unrest underneath; a pair of men who may be investigating the elder Charlie turn up asking the family about their apparent normality, a concept the younger Charlie cannot bear. Not until the final act does the tension break, as Charlie's suspicions of her Uncle finally come to a head, and yet we are not treated to a trademark Hitchcock showdown, rather the denouement is abrupt and deliberately unsatisfying.

Innovative in both its direction and plot, the film is blessed with a terrific script by renowned writer Thornton Wilder. As an interesting side note, this film probably most directly shows Hitchcock's influence on David Lynch, whose Blue Velvet borrows somewhat from the plot and themes here.

So, an assured and innovative masterpiece from the master of suspense, and a film both psychologically and visually well ahead of its time.
5/5

The Matador

This 2005 black comedy serves as a vehicle for erstwhile (then current) James Bond actor Pierce Brosnan to distance himself from his defining role by parodying the spy. He is the middle-aged, alcoholic hitman, complete with comedy moustache, who finds himself in a mid-life crisis, unable to kill with the coldness he once had. Greg Kinnear is a nervy businessman who encounters Brosnan on a trip in Mexico City, and the two strike up an unlikely friendship.

Written and directed by Richard Shepard, the film's plot is rather clichéd. Its difficult not to cringe when you realise that Brosnan's character has turned up on Kinnear's doorstep halfway through, leading to a predictable fish-out-of-water farce in which Kinnear's shy wife (Hope Davis) reveals a desire for guns. There are also a couple of twists towards the end, pretty much all unfortunately predictable, and the spattering of irony doesn't really distract from the gaping holes in the plot. For my money, you either need to embrace the cliché, or avoid it all together.

Despite all these (major) problems, the film is actually a real treat to watch, almost entirely due to the two male leads, and the bizarre undercurrent of homo-eroticism in their relationship. Pierce Brosnan is amusing as the loser hitman with no friends, and shows once again how underused he was in the Bond franchise (check out The Thomas Crown Affair or The Tailor Of Panama). Similarly, Greg Kinnear demands more attention from Hollywood. A previous Oscar nominee, its something of a mystery as to why his profile is so low, and he proves himself as a good comic straight man here.

Ultimately, The Matador is not essential viewing, but is an enjoyable slice of rather brainless comedy, greatly improved by some fine comic acting.
3/5

Kids Return

This character study from Japanese writer/director Takeshi Kitano is a measured consideration of the alienating effects of the end of adolescence. One of my favourite directors, Kitano's films have an annoying habit of being impossible to find on DVD, VHS or TV anywhere, and such is the case with Kids Return. Having managed to rent it as a download, I was pleased to discover that this low-key film is a treat among Kitano's strong work.

The story concerns two friends, who misspend their time at school getting into fights and stealing dinner money. As their education falls apart, they each take up boxing, and one eventually moves away into the local yakuza gang. As ever for Kitano, the action and acting is understated. However, for the first time here the camera is somewhat dynamic, a move away from the static tableau that dominated earlier works such as Violent Cop and Sonatine. The score is provided by Joe Hisaishi, and is uncharacteristically dependent on electric instruments; it's still a winner, though.

As his first film following a horrendous traffic collision that left Kitano semi-paralysed, it begins a loose trilogy of contemplative pieces that move away from the violent downward spirals in his first films. Kids Return lays the template for a formula that would be perfected in his following two masterpieces, Hana-Bi and Kikujiro.

Its as good an entry point into the Kitano catalogue as any, and as such is strongly recommended for those with an interest in Eastern cinema that avoids the vaguely trendy 'extreme' scene, or simply for anyone who wishes to see a well-realised, moving drama.
4/5

Princess Mononoke

Princess Mononoke, to give this Japanese anime feature its English title, is the strongest of the films of Hayao Miyazaki (Spirited Away, Howl's Moving Castle) that I have yet to see. Set in sixteenth century Japan, it follows the story of Prince Ashitaka, cursed from a battle with a terrifying boar-demon, on his quest to cure himself, and the encounters he has with the industrial, personified in trigger happy Lady Eboshi, and the wild, in the eponymous 'Monster Princess'.

At over two hours in length, this is no throwaway children's adventure story, and indeed the PG rating it received in Britain in no way anticipates the violence in the story; blood is a recurring theme, and there is a great deal of dismemberment and decapitation, as well as a hoard of terrifying demons and gods of the natural realm. Developed from Miyazaki's original script, the story is typically unpredictable and features a host of, to Western eyes at least, completely innovative encounters. It possibly reads as a parable for the destruction of nature by industry, although the symbolism and realisation is so complex as to feel that Miyazaki has produced a complete, epic fairy tale, with all the hidden meanings and emotions thus inherent.

As ever with Studio Ghibli productions, the animation is astonishing throughout. The life breathed into the natural world is amazing, from the huge lush landscapes down to the tiny details. There is also a terrific sense of pace to many of the action scenes, unusual in animation for often featuring a roving camera that swoops and flies along with the action. The whole thing is held together by a lush, sweeping score from the inimitable Joe Hisaishi. Moving from minimalist ticks and thumps to sweeping orchestral mayhem, he cements his place as one of the best composers of film music in the world today.

As a point of principle I watched this film in Japanese, subtitled in English, but for those disinclined to do so, there is apparently one of the finest examples of translation and dubbing in modern cinema, so this should be no reason not to watch.

Many will be familiar with Spirited Away, the Oscar-winning fantasy animation that was to be Studio Ghibli's next production. In that film, a modern-day setting was juxtaposed with the fantasy world into which the central character is drawn. While brilliant, I personally feel that Miyazaki's best is when these elements are distilled into their own stories. My Neighbour Totoro is a delightful fantasy about childhood that is given a completely non-fantastical setting, inhabited by strange creatures such as the 'Kittenbus'. Princess Mononoke steals Totoro's crown as my favourite Miyazaki feature, and indeed may be the best animated film I have ever seen.
5/5

Inland Empire

The career of David Lynch has, much like his films, been profoundly unpredictable and reliably surreal. His feature debut, Eraserhead is a landmark piece of American cinema, a surreal, post-apocalyptic black comedy horror that plays out like some form of demented silent picture, and was followed with the superb character study of The Elephant Man. From that point, via a few mis-steps (Dune) and light-hearted blips (The Straight Story and TV's Twin Peaks), and taking in such masterpieces as Blue Velvet and Mulholland Drive, his output has been ever darker psycho-sexual thrillers with a biting surreal edge. By 2001's Mulholland Drive, the Lynch format had become developed enough to experiment outside of the usual strictures of character and plot.

And so, in Inland Empire, Lynch finally returns to the dizzying experimentation of Eraserhead, in the process seeming to complete a loose trilogy with Lost Highway and Mulholland Drive. Shot over five years on digital film, this three-hour mystery is incredibly complex, with a myriad of interweaving plot lines moving through different realities between Los Angeles, Poland and the set of a terrifying sitcom about talking rabbits. A potentially impenetrable nightmare of non-sequiturs and surreal musical interludes, the film is held together by a magnificent, career-defining central performance from Laura Dern. Perhaps the word here should be in plural - her character morphs from declining Hollywood starlet to Southern wife to battered woman to whore and back again several times, all played with a believable combination of strength and frailty.

To discuss the plot of Inland Empire is to miss the point somewhat (at least on the first or second viewing), but essentially it follows the story of an actress becoming trapped inside the character she plays in the strangely named film "On High In Blue Tomorrows", itself a remake of an unfinished, presumably Polish film in which the leads were murdered. The first third roughly follows this storyline, and her embarkation on an affair with leading man Justin Theroux. However, Dern's character soon loses her mind, and we are dragged into nearly an hour of surreal interludes, some comical, some disurbing, all surreal and unexplained. Eventually some form of plot re-emerges and a conclusion of sorts (albeit a baffling and inexplicable one) ties things together before the brilliant end credits leave you with a smile on your face.

Many have turned their nose up at what is, to the uninitiated, a wholly impenetrable and confusing experience. And yet even on that count the film is a success. If nothing else, Lynch manages to convey a sense of mental breakdown. The film is technically brilliant, and personally I think his use of the digital film is extraordinary, although this does not perhaps have the visual beauty of many of his earlier films. The acting is excellent throughout, with the cast populated by a range of familiar faces (Jeremy Irons, Diane Ladd, William H. Macy) as well as Lynch's usual hoarde. Deserving of special mention is the superb sound design throughout, a delirious mix of industrial noise, jarring orchestration (courtesy regular collaborator Angelo Badalamenti) and pop culture references.

This is no entry point to the Lynch canon; newcomers should watch Blue Velvet or Mulholland Drive first. Inland Empire is, however, a treat for those who know what to expect; it delivers the completely unexpected.
5/5

Enter The Dragon

United 93

That the first important and successful piece of cinema about the events of the 11th of September, 2001, should be written and directed by an Englishman seems to suggest a certain unease in American film-makers to tackle a subject that has become taboo. Paul Greengrass here follows the story of both the titular aircraft, the only one of four hijacked that day not to reach its destination, and air traffic control attempting to understand what is happening.

The danger of recreating any sort of tragic event that still burns in recent memory is not that lines will be crossed, but rather that caution can ruin any sense of cinematic worth. Thankfully, Greengrass treads a careful line that panders both to cinéastes and those with emotional attachment. Some of the dialogue is lifted from actual phone calls made by passengers on the flight, but there is no sense of morbid fascination with these calls from the dead. Well acted (including the FAA's operations manager as himself) and unobtrusively shot, the film's dispassionate focus on accuracy builds an excellent tension, whilst at the same time avoiding either over-sentimentality or crassness. There are no manipulative swells of music to pinpoint the moments of tragedy, but nor is there any sensationalisation of the violence inherent in the plot.

One minor sticking point is the timidity of the only European passenger. He and he alone repeatedly insists that no action should be taken against the hijackers, assuming they will land somewhere and be ransomed. Its lazy scripting that has no basis in the reality of anything that is known about the flight.

A powerful film that reaches far beyond the "dramatic reconstruction" sensibilities of most films its type, United 93 is an artistic success that also succeeds in capturing the atmosphere of a pivotal historic moment.
4/5

V For Vendetta

What a peculiar, infuriating mess this British-set, American-made graphic novel adaptation is. Set in a future London ruled by a Big Brother-esque John Hurt through his grip on the media, it concerns the pseudo-fascist government being undermined by the actions of "V", played by Hugo Weaving (and perhaps also Rome's James Purefoy?), an eloquent, thespian Guy Fawkes lookalike with a love of explosions and kung fu. This preposterous setup is confounded by a terribly drawn analogy with the original Guy Fawkes, which paints him as some sort of 17th Century Che Guevara and completely ignores any of the multitude of conspiracy theories.

The novel apparently centres on the clash between fascism and anarchy, an interesting and reasonably unexplored area of political analysis. In the film there is no such consideration; the state is certainly fascist but there is no attempt to explain the cause or motives of such a system, rather it is a pantomime villain embodied by (the, as ever, brilliant) John Hurt. On the anarchist's side, there is no cohesion to V's political doctrine, only a perfunctory attempt to tack on a sense of rebellion. The fact that the encircled V symbol used repeatedly so closely resembles the symbol for anarchy seems completely lost on the film-makers.

On the positive side, Natalie Portman in the lead role, V's would-be apprentice, is as interesting to watch as ever. While her accent is somewhat suspect, and tends to drift around a bit, the sweetness and ultimate toughness that she portrays is extremely watchable. Hugo Weaving is given little acting opportunity, permanently glued behind a gurning mask, but neatly wraps his tongue round his complex dialogue. Its nice to actually see some local actors as well, especially a rare appearance from Stephen Fry in an interesting role. Stephen Rea adds unneeded but efficient comic relief as well as a sense of pace, playing a conflicted detective.

I had been somewhat suspicious of the positive critical reception the film recieved, given the Wachowski brothers last couple of films - while The Matrix remains a (post-)modern classic and a personal favourite, the two sequels were uninspired, insipid pieces of blockbuster fodder that I only wish I could describe as brainless. The fact that they attempted to fill the scripts with the same philosophical and, in particular, religious symbolism present in the first only served to hammer the final nails in their respective coffins. In V for Vendetta's case I am again, and to my ongoing horror, forced to agree with Jonathan Ross's disapproval of what I see as a total artistic failure, rescued only by a strong cast, and relying at its core on a huge, unbelievable twist which is in no way explained or justified.
2/5

The Cook, The Thief, His Wife & Her Lover

I must confess this is the first Peter Greenaway film I have seen. I had come to accept that the high points of British cinema would always live in the shadow of the 'angry young men' of the British New Wave. That gritty social realism and the prevailing sense that "its grim up North" were as good as it got. Grim in Yorkshire in Brassed Off. Even worse in Edinburgh in Trainspotting. So this absurdist masterpiece of black comedy from 1989 came as something of a shock to the system.

Michael Gambon gives a brilliant, repulsive performance as the titular criminal, constantly bullying and beating his wife, a never-better Helen Mirren. The film is set almost entirely in and around the high society restaurant "Les Hollandais", and different parts (the kitchen, the toilets etc.) are represented by different colours, with the costumes of characters moving around often changing to match the decor. To say that the film is bold or a visual feast can not convey how rich each frame is, loaded with rich food and striking costume and set design.

The plot progresses on the basis that the Wife begins a secret, initially silent affair, in the restaurant under the nose of her violent husband. There is a great deal of nudity which was apparently controversial at the time, but it is obvious today that Greenaway is painting decadence in the style of Renaissance paintings, of which the nude is obviously a central icon. Indeed the entire film highlights the director's painter's eye (think Kubrick's Barry Lyndon or Lynch's Blue Velvet), with much of the action seen in long, wide shots, where the camera drifts back and forth along the length of the restaurant. Special mention must go to the music. A pseudo-classical score by Michael Nyman rises and falls along a strong central theme, a technique I can only think of being used so extensively in Requiem for a Dream.

The film is obviously a technical success. But it is also extremely engaging, carried by a delicious mix of disturbing black comedy and shocking, violent action. The acting is excellent throughout, and the cast contains a smattering of the cream of British acting talent that would achieve success in the next decade. Its impossible to take your eyes off the sultry, refined Mirren, nor the loud, unpredictable and vulgar Gambon, and as the film spirals towards it magnificent, horrific finale, I was completely transfixed.

A truly independent and artistic British film, The Cook, The Thief, His Wife & Her Lover is a complete success on every level. The squeamish may find it too hard to watch, and those who last to the finale will be shocked at the power of Greenaway's imagery in the final scenes. As a piece of satire on Thatcherite society, the film packs as much bite as the rest of this delicious treat.
5/5