We Need To Talk About Kevin (UK/ USA, 2011)
Directed by Lynne Ramsay
Starring Tilda Swinton, John C. Reilly, Ezra Miller, Jasper Newell

Fate has a funny way of producing amazing success out of apparent failure. For the best part of two years, director Lynne Ramsay struggled to bring The Lovely Bones to the silver screen. She relinquished the project in 2004 and contemplated giving up filmmaking, while The Lovely Bones eventually emerged in a heavily flawed version helmed by Peter Jackson. But without being unfair to either director, this failure was almost certainly a good thing. Otherwise, we wouldn't need to talk about Kevin.We Need To Talk About Kevin is Ramsay's first film in nearly nine years, and is without any conceivable doubt the best film of the year. It's an astonishing, bold and haunting work which is both evocative and emotionally draining, combining a fragmented, nightmarish narrative with expressionistic visuals to create an intoxicating experience. Its unique and frightening vision of the world will chill you to the bone and remain with you for a very, very long time.Regardless of its other merits (and there are many), the film is a flawless adaptation of Lionel Shriver's novel. Ramsay doesn't fall into the trap of many bestseller adaptations, which simply arrange the pages in a literalistic order, shoot what they contain and hope that the performances will somehow hold it together. Instead she takes the book's fragmented confessional structure and transforms it, allowing the story to move between events fifteen years apart without any feeling of directorial imposition or incoherence.We Need To Talk About Kevin finds Eva Khatchadourian (Tilda Swinton at her terrifying best) looking back over her relationship with her first-born son, struggling to understand how and why he ended up massacring his classmates with a bow and arrow. Their story is told expressionistically, with imagery, colours and sounds being employed to connect Eva's memories. We are never spoon-fed any easy answers about where blame or cause may lie, or whether Eva's intense guilt is justified. The experience is draining in the best possible sense: we follow every glance and sound intensely, feverishly looking for some kind of meaning in all the horror we encounter.Purely on a narrative level, We Need to Talk About Kevin is an extraordinary representation of how memory works. It is on a par with Memento in its refusal to allow plot to get in the way of story, or mechanics to override emotions. The internal logic of Kevin is present in its powerful colour palette: the film begins with Eva being drenched in tomatoes at La Tomatina in Spain, which foreshadows the gruesome massacre that Kevin will wreak upon his innocent and unsuspecting classmates. But like Christopher Nolan's later works, like Inception and The Prestige, feeling lost or deeply confused is as thrilling as having it all worked out.Outside of Nolan's mental and narrative acrobatics, the film to which Kevin sits closest is Inland Empire, David Lynch's most recent and perhaps most esoteric work. Both films feature female protagonists who are dragged deeper and deeper into a dark world from which there is seemingly no escape, and in which the power of their imaginations are as great an enemy as whatever physical evil may be waiting for them. Eva's guilt, shame, negligence and suppressed despair are a powerful cocktail which produce moments of both earth-shattering horror and painful beauty.The other comparison between Ramsay and Lynch is in the disorientating use of sound. The soundtrack to Kevin is by Johnny Greenwood, who previously scored There Will Be Blood, and here he continues his fascination with the intrusive quality of music. Where There Will Be Blood featured burbling eruptions and groaning ironwork (akin to Alan Splet's work on Eraserhead), Kevin is populated with background noises being amplified in a way which is fantastically unsettling.The film's exploration of memory and trauma is not confined to the evocative nature of colour and composition. Ramsay's sound design is magnificent, turning ordinary background noise into a source of threat and menace. Kevin's constant screaming as a young child leaves Eva and us with a heightened sense of the world around us. We hear a lawnmower, or a sanding tool, or even rain falling, as if there were a woodpecker hammering away in each ear.In one memorable moment, Eva parks Kevin's pram by a pneumatic drill in the road, going to desperate lengths to drown out her child's complaining. We are on constant alert throughout the film, and every sound, especially from Kevin, feels like a vicious attack. But as well as being aware of such attacks, Eva appears to have grown numb because of them: it's difficult to say whether she simply no longer cares about what Kevin does, or whether she is too tired to fight. Perhaps she invites in the noise of the world around her to help her forget the problem she has borne.The film is an intelligent, nuanced and multi-layered approach to the nature of evil, asking many questions to which there are no satisfying answers. It's redundant to single any one out as the 'issue' of the film, because they are all interconnected and there is no sugary pay-off that you would find in more Oscar-baiting work. The film is almost structured as a thriller, in which we are charged with gathering all the evidence and offering our verdict as to what happened and why. But the evidence is so conflicted, ambiguous and speculative that it will take many viewings and much discussion to settle on even a workable version of events and motives.One of the questions which Kevin raises is whether evil is something which is innate, or whether it is a product of one's upbringing. Eva is far from a natural mother, seemingly incapable of dealing with Kevin and harbouring bitterness at him for ruining her life and career. But both of the actors who play Kevin (Jasper Newell and Ezra Miller) have a disturbing charisma and intelligence: they are smarter than Eva and Franklin, seeing through their every word and deed, and having no time for emotions unless they serve their interests.From this arises the question of who is to blame for everything. Is Kevin guilty because he is inherently evil, a sociopath who exists to provide entertainment for the empty-headed morons that are called his equals? Is it Eva, for not standing up to him? Is it Franklin for ignoring Eva's warnings, laughing off her perhaps irrational ravings with comments like "that's just what boys do"? Or perhaps it is a wider social problem: Kevin speaks about the voyeuristic nature of modern society, in which people on TV are filmed watching TV, and in which what is left of entertainment comes from acts of shocking, shattering horror like those that he will perpetrate.Finally, there is the role of emotions to consider. It is possible to accept, up to a point, that Eva never really loved Kevin: that she held him responsible for ruining her chances of happiness, and soon got tired of playing mother, knowing full well that there was no point. But equally there is evidence of Kevin's emotional side underneath his dark veneer. We might accept that he is a sociopath, someone who cannot process human emotion and revels in causing pain to others. But in the final scene in the prison, he is openly afraid, a sign that he is still a child who craves affection. This is a significant if pyrrhic victory for Eva in a story of shame and sorrow, and the ending with her walking into piercing white light would seem to leave things on a balance between optimism and stark pathos.We Need To Talk About Kevin is the film of the year and Lynne Ramsay's best work to date. It is a shocking, haunting, deeply unnerving masterpiece with a bold artistic vision, every bit as striking and earth-shattering as the best works of David Lynch. If we get another film as good as this in the decade, let alone the year, all the dross which passes in between can easily be forgiven. It is a staggering achievement on all fronts, and nothing short of essential viewing.

Rating:
Verdict: Film of the year

This is a reprint of my review which was first published on Rotten Tomatoes about 2 years ago, with a couple of minor revisions. It appears here to mirror a series of reviews I had done for RT entitled 'From Burton to Nolan'.

Batman Begins (USA, 2005)
Directed by Christopher Nolan
Starring Christian Bale, Michael Caine, Liam Neeson, Katie Holmes

The words 'substance' and 'blockbuster' are rarely found in the same sentence. Nor indeed are the words 'auteur' and 'commercially reliable'. But Christopher Nolan is living, breathing proof that the two can come together and make astonishing work. Having won over mainstream audiences with Memento and Insomnia, Nolan uses his particular blend of non-linear storylines and visual hyper-realism to breathe new life into a long-dead franchise.With all the acclaim being accorded to The Dark Knight (most of which it deserves), it is easy to forget just how good or how strong Batman Begins is. It's not just good by Batman standards, or by prequel standards; it has its own, stand-alone identity, a headstrong independence which defies and ignores all that has gone before it. Gone are the Gothic spires of Tim Burton's Gotham City, or the day-glo camp of Joel Schumacher's costumes. This is a new whole new world, in all its meticulous and frightening glory.All of Nolan's films are stunning to behold, but Batman Begins takes his craft to new heights. He is famous for not using a second unit, allowing him to supervise and construct every shot just the way he wants it. This means there is no jarring difference between the film's dramatic scenes and the external effects designed to show us the city. Even in the most effects-heavy parts of the film, we never question who is behind the camera, guiding these scenes and determining their significance.Nolan has the same gift for visual verisimilitude as Ridley Scott, whose masterpiece Blade Runner was a major influence on the young filmmaker. Both directors are able to construct seamless, immersive worlds on screen which are simultaneously strange and familiar. They have a beauty which both comforts and surprises us, allowing the filmmaker to play with the clichés and always come up with something new. But while several of Scott's films are truly style over substance (Legend, Someone to Watch Over Me), Nolan has yet to make a film which forsakes narrative substance for the sake of visual splendour.What makes Batman Begins so rewarding, so gripping, and arguably so radical, is that there is a constant and unrelenting focus on the story. No matter how much we jump back and forth in time, or how many bad guys get hit, we never doubt that the movie is in control of itself and is yearning to move on to the next important piece of character development. The fact that we have to wait an hour before Christian Bale even dons the bat-suit is a clear sign that the filmmakers want to do this properly. They have avoided falling into the trap of either the original films, which often put the narrative on pause for a kid-friendly set-piece, or the Star Wars prequels, which waded through years of turgid back-story for a few minutes of vaguely dark action.Mark Kermode once described this film as "a little independent, weird, art movie, trapped within the body of a $140m blockbuster." And he wasn't far off. Batman Begins is much less a superhero film per se than it is a detailed philosophical examination of the nature of fear and morality in a chaotic world. Both our protagonists and his many enemies have fear and intimidation as their source of power -- the former by their bribes and weapons, the latter by stealth and an incorruptible desire to do good. But rather than keep it as a straight fight between good guys and baddies, the film questions the motivations of our hero on a frequent basis. The supporting cast, particularly his old flame, push him on his motivation for doing what he does, in the way he does, regardless of how little they actually know.This is a film in which the desire to do good can so easily be blurred into the desire for power; in which the lines between justice and vengeance are frequently re-drawn; and in which the triumph of good over evil is neither complete nor reassuring. In the film's closing scenes, Gary Oldman warns Batman that he is potentially doing more harm than good; this enemy may have been extinguished, but a darker menace lurks on the horizon which will be harder to defeat.At the centre of all this is the idea that to defeat evil, one must understand it and even adopt part of its methods if the ends justify the means. The League of Shadows, headed up by Ra's al Ghul, are a symbolic forewarning to Bruce Wayne of what he could become should he fully embrace his fear. Liam Neeson's character is a Nietzschean figure, who has channelled his desire for justice so purely that it has consumed all his remaining humanity. Bruce Wayne should if anything be more brutal, since he wishes to atone for the death of his parents. But when he is asked to slay the farmer, his humanity intervenes and he refuses. This pivotal scene confirms Wayne's incorruptible nature; he may become feared, but he will never let the fear become him.One criticism of this film from some quarters is that this new emphasis on darkness and philosophical soul-searching has taken all the fun out of the character. In fact one of the pleasant surprises about Batman Begins is the extent to which humour still resides. Not only do we get impressive popcorn-worthy action sequences, but we also have a script which grows more sarcastic and playful as all the battle lines are drawn. There aren't any laugh-out-loud moments, but that's not why the film exists.The film is inhabited by one of the best all-star casts outside a Robert Altman film. Christian Bale is brilliant as Batman, drawing on his great work in American Psycho to make Bruce Wayne totally three-dimensional. He plays Wayne with a tortured intensity which makes his pain all the more palpable. The supporting cast is completely solid, with the best performances coming from Cillian Murphy as the chillingly creepy Dr. Krane and Michael Caine as the affable father figure Alfred. Special mention should also go to Gary Oldman as Gordon and to Liam Neeson, who gives one of his best performances in years.The only real flaws with Batman Begins come when it attempts the widest possible appeal. The last twenty minutes, is completely over-the-top and rather cavalier on the part of the director. It's not so much a punch in the face as a flick on the nose; not especially painful, but you still feel annoyed that it happened. Moreover the opening scenes, before Bale reaches the monastery, are very jumpily edited so that only the most devoted will be pulled in.Nonetheless, Batman Begins is a really great film which does not deserve to be neglected in the wake of The Dark Knight's success. It is a stunning combination of style and substance which avoids all the pitfalls of its counterparts and predecessors. Together with The Dark Knight, it has become the gold standard against which all subsequent superhero films have been measured, and more often than not come up short. It may not be Nolan's best film - that remains Inception - but it is a fantastic demonstration of how art and money are not so easy to separate.

Rating:
Verdict: The best Batman film

This is a revised and rewritten version of my Inception review first published August 19th 2010. The original review can be found here: http://threemenonablog.blogspot.com/2010/08/film-review-inception-2010.html

Inception (USA, 2010)
Directed by Christopher Nolan
Starring Leonardo DiCaprio, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Ken Watanabe, Cillian Murphy

Most of us have at least one film which we can watch over and over without necessarily getting anything new out of it. But there is a small number of truly magnificent films which keep rewarding us, intellectually and viscerally, even when there is no need for the gift to keep on giving. Inception is a worthy member of this club, sharing pride of place with A Clockwork Orange, Mulholland Drive and - dare I say it - Blade Runner. Every new viewing opens up new theories and interpretations, while confirming its status as the best film of 2010 and of Christopher Nolan's career.A lot has been written about the reputation of Inception as a 'smart blockbuster' which proves that audiences aren't stupid and lays down the gauntlet for the rest of the film industry. While all of this is completely true, it has been said so often that people have been led to doubt whether the film has anything of offer beyond what it represents: in other words, is it meant to be admired rather than enjoyed. Make no mistake: Inception is a smart blockbuster, but in order to appreciate it we have to look beyond its possible implications for the industry, at least for the moment.Inception is the culmination of Nolan's career, at least up to now. It shares a number of qualities with his previous efforts while having its own identity, like a series of jewels that have been waiting ten years for a crown. There is the deceptive chronology of Memento and The Prestige, used to make you question everything you have seen and distrust the editing over where stories begin and end. There is the nail-biting action of the Batman films, with real characters exploring ideas and experiencing pain in the midst of outstanding special effects. And there is the genre integrity of Following and Insomnia, creating in this case a film which follows heist film conventions without being in any way limited by them.All of these elements are woven together by Nolan's constant pursuit of verisimilitude, the art of finding reality and believability in the most fantastical of stories and concepts. Rather than go down the surrealistic route, filling the heist with scenes from Eraserhead or Un Chien Andalou, Nolan creates a hyper-stylised world which is so akin to our own that his artistic flourishes feel all the more surprising. His use of organic, physical effects wherever possible confirms his desire to keep us rooted in reality even as the world around us becomes extraordinary. The story introduces the mechanics of dreaming incrementally, so the film never grinds to a halt for plot exposition or loses its way by twisting too much at once.At its most superficial (if such a word is appropriate), Inception is about the nature of dreams and dreaming. In previous films which have explored dreaming, particularly as part of a thriller storyline, the boundary between dreams and reality has been all too obvious. Think, for instance, of Alfred Hitchcock's Spellbound, whose dream sequence directed by Salvador Dali is in stark contrast to the rest of the film.Inception corrects this, blurring the lines so seamlessly that we quickly understand the danger the characters are facing - both in failing their mission and in losing themselves to their own sub-consciences. During her training, Cobb warns Ariadne not to base a dream's architecture on real life, because that is the easiest way to lose your bearings and perhaps even end up like Mal. The feeling of getting lost is reflected in our experience as an audience: the film is constantly asking us to keep up, and there are only so many points where we can rely on totems or editing to tell us where we are. But as with Mulholland Drive, feeling lost is not only fun, it enhances the experience, making the dream-state all the more believable, threatening and fascinating.Like all great heist films, Inception is not really about the job itself. Nor, indeed, is it entirely or primarily about the nature of dreaming. The mechanics of dreaming, involving inception and extraction, heavy sedations and multiple dreams-within-dreams, are there to serve the plot by putting an enticing twist on the conventions of the heist film. But they also provide an introduction to a host of other interesting themes and ideas, each as enticing and multi-layered as the dreams in which they appear.One of Inception's biggest themes is identity, namely the ability in the dream world to be whoever you want, potentially forever. Like Mulholland Drive before it, it examines the idea of characters creating whole worlds or lives for themselves within a dream or fantasy. In this case the dreams can be designed and engineered to such a degree that reality becomes unnecessary: characters spend so long in dreams that reality seems like a pale imitation of the world which offers them everything they need.The one factor connecting all the members of Cobb's team is that their abilities and worth are enhanced by being in the dream. In reality, Eames is flippant, soft-headed and can't hold onto his money; in the dream he is brilliant, impersonating people and garnering information with ease. Arthur begins as a "stick in the mud" with no imagination, but in the dream he gains the imagination needed to bring the team home. Cobb is the exception to this rule: haunted by guilt, any potential enhancement in the dream in cancelled out or undermined by his troubled, unrestrained psyche.There is a counterpoint in the characters between Mal and Ariadne, played with superb skill by Marion Cotillard and Ellen Page. Both are to some extent experiments of Cobb: he trials inception on Mal, in a move which produces the impossible (inception) at the cost of creating the unbearable (her death). Ariadne represents Cobb trying to avoid his past mistakes, revisiting the impossible for the sake of catharsis. His relationship with Ariadne is sensitive because she sees through him, providing his salvation from the dream while giving him the chance to atone for Mal's death.When Darren Aronofsky made Requiem for a Dream, he commented that it was not so much a film about drugs as about addictive impulses - what constitutes or defines a drug, and therefore what makes a drug addict. So much of Inception is about addiction, with the characters being sedated to experience dreaming and their dreams being a pursuit of the high that is unlimited creativity.As with Aronofsky's work, Inception contrasts the limitless possibilities of the characters' fantasies with the threatened or actual destruction of their lives, minds and memories. Cobb was drawn to extraction by the ability to design whole new cities which could never exist, and when Ariadne runs away he remarks that "reality won't be enough for her anymore". But these optimistic sections are given perspective by the revelation that Cobb can no longer dream of his own accord. The chilling scene in the Mombasa basement hints at what he threatens to become if he does not restore his grip on reality and work for something more than the selfish high of extraction or inception.The performances in Inception are magnificent across the board. Leonardo DiCaprio has been working hard to cast off the pretty boy image of his early career, and in this case he manages it, turning in his most layered and accomplished performance to date. Cillian Murphy has an intriguing fractured quality to his performance which brings subtlety to his relationships with the other characters. And Tom Hardy is outstanding as Eames, providing much of the light relief as the world falls apart around him.Inception is a mesmerising masterpiece which improves with every viewing. Its mind-blowing, hyper-tense action sequences are perfectly complimented by its multi-layered examination of dreaming, addiction, catharsis and identity. It is visually superb thanks to Wally Pfister's outstanding cinematography, and Hans Zimmer's unusual score is nothing short of breathtaking. But at the centre of everything is Christopher Nolan, possibly Britain's greatest living director, who has delivered a film which is not only smart, but utterly flawless.

Rating:
Verdict: The best film of 2010

Memento (USA, 2000)
Directed by Christopher Nolan
Starring Guy Pearce, Carrie-Anne Moss, Joe Pantoliano, Stephen Tobolowsky

Long before his reinvention of the superhero genre with Batman Begins; long before he conjured The Prestige onto our screens; long before Inception even existed in a dream, Christopher Nolan was proving his worth as a director. Having garnered critical attention for his debut feature Following, Nolan sets its sights on his brother Jonathan's short story, Memento Mori. Eleven years on, it remains one of the most audacious thrillers in recent memory.Nolan's films have often been criticised for being cold or clinical, being too focussed on ideas or concepts to be interested in the characters. While this has been emphatically disproven with regard to his subsequent films, the opening 20 minutes of Memento are a little too mechanical. Some critics complained about the film's reverse chronology being little more than a gimmick, and certainly if all the colour sections had played literally in reverse, the film would have quickly become annoying. While such accusations are misplaced, this section of the film does seem more concerned with establishing a structure than with introducing a story.

But once we are in the zone and understand how the film is going to work, Memento is never short of fascinating. Like many films associated with time travel or disparate memories, the big reveal happens in the middle (or so we think). But the film's deceptive chronology keeps pulling us in, forcing us to think if we want to keep up and rewarding our detective work. As in The Prestige, Nolan allows us to revisit scenes and places which we thought had run their course, and shows us that little bit more that makes all the difference.Telling the story of Memento in reverse is not simply a gimmick, designed to cover a deceptively simple story of revenge. Instead it challenges one of the deepest foundations of the thriller, namely the linear progression of suspense. In one sequence, when his wife is in bed re-reading a book, Leonard says: "I thought the real pleasure was in wanting to know what happens next." Memento completely inverts this idea, making us want to find out what happened before and allowing us to share in Leonard's disorientated state.On top of this emotional inversion, Memento twists the age-old principle of Chekhov's Gun. Chekhov's Gun states that no prop or device shall be introduced unless it is going to be used at some point: if there is a gun on stage in a play, it must be fired at some point, otherwise there is no point in it being there. In Memento, however, the question is not so much what each prop is for as to how it got on stage in the first place. If there is a Polaroid of someone or a name scribbled out, we want to find out how, when and why it got there. We (mostly) know what these props are for, but how they came about could make all the difference.Memento is often cited by film theorists as a demonstration of the difference between plot and story. The distinction, put simply, is that the plot is a logical progression of events from A to B, while the story is what these events are ultimately about. In this case, the plot involves Leonard waking up in a motel, meeting various characters, and shooting Teddy. But it is the story of Memento, namely its exploration of memory and revenge, which is the thing which keeps us glued to the screen.

In approaching the subject of memory, Memento begins by making a distinction between factual and emotional memory. Leonard talks about learning by routine, relying on facts to determine his actions and tattooing them onto his body. Emotional memory, the memory of how an event or moment felt, takes a back seat to cold rationality.But as the film moves on it becomes clear that this distinction is at best ill-defined and at worst completely redundant. Leonard talks about memory being essentially impressionistic - the memory we have of an object or event is not an actual picture of it, but something we have created, changing anything from the colour of a car to the whole time and place when it happened. Even the photos on which Leonard relies are subject to manipulation and can be burned should his desires lead him to believe they are unessential. This, combined with the climactic twist and his recurring mention of 'instinct', raises the question of whether we really know or experience anything real.In terms of its character content, Memento could be called the acorn from which the mighty oak of Inception grew. Apart from their aesthetic similarities (both being expertly shot by Wally Pfister), both films have a central character whose actions are driven or dominated by the memories of his dead wife. Although Leonard's wife is a much gentler creature than Mal and has much less screen time, there is the same idea of creating new worlds from memories as a way of dealing with or attempting to escape reality (whatever that is). While Inception is more successful and adventurous in conveying this concept, all the groundwork for Cobb's dreamscapes is to be found in Leonard's decision-making.Memento is also further proof of the hardiness of film noir, showing just well how its techniques and archetypes have persisted and retained their relevance. Where previous neo-noir efforts like Blade Runner borrowed most from the genre's visual poetry, Nolan takes the convention of the unreliable narrator to its most extreme conclusion. Just as Deckard is increasingly unsure who may or may not be a replicant (or indeed, whether that really matters), so we find ourselves unravelling with the story until, in Teddy's words, "you can only remember the things you want to be true".This brings us on to the final scene in which the timelines merge and we are left utterly baffled by what we have seen. Teddy's line is the pivotal phrase in the film, capturing as it does both the film's message about memory and the motivations of the various characters. In Teddy's case, it is an indication of corruption, a desire to solve cases and create something certain even if the outcome isn't true: as he says, "there's plenty of 'John G's for us to find."

For Leonard, however, the line reveals something darker. Having believed all along that Leonard was in the right, we are faced with the possibility that our tragic hero may in fact be a monster. Either his version of events is true, in which case his wife was murdered and Teddy gets what he deserves - or Leonard killed her, and is now wandering the earth killing people to fit with his twisted version of events. Most chillingly, Nolan leaves it to us to choose, handling his material with more subtly than American Psycho and leaving us genuinely unnerved.Memento is a truly great film with a twist and subtle touch which makes The Usual Suspects look like total child's play. Its intense examination of memory, morality and revenge is counterpointed by slick visuals and great performances, including a career-best turn from the eternally underrated Guy Pearce. It isn't quite a masterpiece, being neither as multi-stranded as Inception nor as mesmerising as Mulholland Drive. But whichever version of events you choose to believe, its greatness cannot be disputed.

Rating:
Verdict: Memorably marvellous