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

The Ninth Gate (France/ Spain/ USA, 1999)
Directed by Roman Polanski
Starring Johnny Depp, Lena Olin , Frank Langella, Emmanuelle Seigner

With the notable exception of Se7en, numerical horror-thrillers are utter rubbish. With their ridiculous twists, over-the-top acting and an overreliance on special effects, they epitomise all that is banal and disappointing about these two genres. You would think that Roman Polanski, the man who gave us Repulsion and Rosemary's Baby, would be able to handle such well-worn material in at least a workable manner. But instead we end up with a ripe old stinker every bit as disappointing as Prince of Darkness.Polanski has always been a fan of absurdist, quirky comedy, being greatly influenced by France's crown prince of absurdity, Eugene Ionesco. While absurdity in and of itself is no bad thing, Polanski has always been at his best when this aspect of his sensibility has been minimised, or at least properly accommodated. You have to admire him for being able to switch between bleak, serious works like Tess and The Pianist, and something more fun and frothy like Frantic. But his out-and-out exercises in comedy have dated very badly, with What? being the worst example.Further doubts are raised by Polanski's attitude towards the source material. When interviewed in 1999 he said that he didn't believe in the supernatural - something you would never have guessed from Rosemary's Baby. He was drawn to the novel El Club Dumas by Arturo Pérez-Reverte because it was an opportunity to play with the clichés of a genre that he enjoyed. The consequence is that we aren't sure how seriously Polanski is taking things, and therefore how seriously we should be taking him.The Ninth Gate starts off quite atmospherically, with good pacing, dusty books and nice gothic colours. Film noir touches are evident throughout, from the archetype of the downbeat detective (or "book detective" in this case) to the enigmatic women in his life. Like so many noirs or Hitchcock films, the blond is enigmatic but for the most part on the hero's side, while the brunette is seductive and passionate to the point of being pure evil.Having set things up quite nicely in the first ten minutes, The Ninth Gate starts to crumble as more and more ridiculous elements encroach. We might swallow the story about the three copies of The Nine Gates, if only because Frank Langella sounds authoritative as he wades through exposition. But subsequent developments are so clouded or convoluted that we quickly give up trying to figure it all out, insofar as there is anything to figure out. It feels like the sort of thing that Polanski could have done in his sleep - and for much of the film, he might as well have done.All the big plot points in The Ninth Gate can be anticipated because they borrow all too heavily from better genre efforts. Having Dean Corso commissioned to search for The Nine Gates is exactly the same set-up as Angel Heart, but with a book instead of a jazz musician. His infiltration of a secret ceremony is lifted from The Wicker Man, and the mansion scenes strongly resemble Eyes Wide Shut, although this may be coincidental. There are also very standard references to The Omen in the use of 666, for instance, The NINE Gates being published in 1666. There is even a nod to An American Werewolf in London, as Corso arrives at the castle in a truck full of sheep.Having given up on taking The Ninth Gate seriously, the next logical step is to try and enjoy it as a comedy, perhaps as an unintentional one. But the comedic elements are so completely at odds with Polanski's execution of the twists that they feel like they have escaped from a different film. The twin brothers, who are played by the same actor via split screen, bumble their way through their lines like a cross between Thomson and Thompson from Tintin and Alf Garnett in Till Death Us Do Part.The silliness of the supporting characters increases as the film moves on. Baroness Kessler, played by Barbara Jefford, is introduced as a formidable character of real threat to Dean Corso - who then slips almost immediately into pantomime villain mode when we discover that she only has one hand. Corso later finds her slumped in her motorised wheelchair having been strangled: he turns the wheelchair around, only for her to go careering through the double doors, like Mason Verger's death in Hannibal two years later.Like many numerical thrillers, The Ninth Gate suffers from dodgy special effects. It's hardly a dull car crash like End of Days, in which Gabriel Byrne demonstrates his demonic power by blowing everything up, and Arnold Schwarzenegger try to stop him with a grenade launcher. But alongside bad continuity and an unconvincingly burnt book, there are at least two examples of dodgy wire work, in which Emmanuelle Seigner floats down into a scene, without any prior clue that she could fly.The Ninth Gate is littered with irritating plot holes which leaving us scratching our heads even in the moments when generic convention could fill in the gaps. There is no explanation of the serpent tattoo on the brunette's back, nor of Boris Balkan's ability to know exactly where Corso is at any one time - which is, conveniently, always within reach of a phone. But more annoying than either of these is Polanski's contempt for the subject matter. It's hard to believe that either Corso or Balkan know or care so much about rare tomes when they treat them so carelessly. They don't bother to handle them with gloves, flip through ancient pages like they were airport paperbacks and carry them around in scruffy bags which get flung everywhere.This care-free attitude spills over into the performances. Johnny Depp had wanted to work with Polanski for some time, but Polanski didn't tell him that he wasn't giving the performance that he wanted - in other words, he was almost completely undirected in the role. To be fair to Depp, he gets the physical stuff right, modelling himself on Raymond Chandler and being more convincing than he is in Secret Window. But otherwise it's pretty phoned-in, with Polanski being unable or unwilling to tease out the greatness that Tim Burton or Terry Gilliam had managed.Frank Langella is no stranger to trashy villains, having played Skeletor in the awful He-Man movie, Masters of the Universe. He does the best with a surprisingly underwritten role, looking a little bit like Michael Redgrave in The Dambusters. Lena Orin has far too little to do beyond flashing her stocking tops in the first half-hour and then dressing up like the actress from Scottish Widows for the satanic ceremony. As for Seigner, she does a good demon stare, but otherwise she's too airy-fairy, wafting through the scenery as if she doesn't really care who she's playing or what she's doing. In any case, it's essentially the same character she plays in Frantic - the quirky outsider who helps the male protagonist, only this time she's the devil as well.The final nail in The Ninth Gate's coffin comes with its ending, which is hopelessly dragged out and completely incoherent. We get to see Langella self-immolate and fail to pass through the Ninth Gate - but that's not the end. Seigner makes love to Depp against the flames with her demon eyes, the camera zooms in on Depp as if he realises who she is all along, and he seems about to scream - but that's not the end. After the two drive back, and Seigner remarks "is that it?" (to which the answer is "no"), Depp goes back to the bookshop and finds the missing page - but that's not the end. Depp then goes back to the castle and the screen fades to white, in one of the most shambolic and unsatisfying endings in 1990s cinema.The Ninth Gate is an example of what happens when a great director indulges themself to the extent that they no longer feel the need to try. As an exercise in supernatural horror it is every bit as rubbish as Prince of Darkness: Polanski's film looks better, but Carpenter's was shorter. In attempting to put his stamp on overly familiar elements, Polanski fails to deliver chills, thrills or knowing laughs. Thank God that he redeemed himself beyond all recognition just three short years later.

Rating:
Verdict: One of Polanski's few bad films

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (UK/ France, 2011)
Directed by Tomas Alfredson
Starring Gary Oldman, Colin Firth, Tom Hardy, John Hurt

You could be forgiven for approaching Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy with some degree of trepidation. So many European filmmakers, who rocked the world with their first few features, went the way of the dodo after they started working in the English language. And considering just how good Let The Right One In was, you find yourself almost begging that Tomas Alfredson hasn't gone the way of Wolfgang Petersen.O, we of little faith. Within minutes of his second film beginning, Alfredson has laid all such fears to rest, allowing us to enjoy one of the very best films of 2011. His adaptation of John Le Carré's highly regarded novel is as distinctive and artistic as his debut, packing in a gallery of superb performances within a perfectly rendered period setting. While it never entirely hits the heights of Let The Right One In, it is a more-than-worthy follow-up from a director who seemingly can do no wrong.For starters, Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy is truly beautiful to behold. Alfredson reunites with cinematographer Hoyte van Hoytema to create a highly evocative portrait of 1970s London. The screen is awash with faded greens and blues, and many scenes are shot partially or wholly in shadow to underscore the murky dealings that are afoot in the Circus. There is a perfect balance between artistic license and authenticity, creating a world which is both unique and instantly recognisable.Not only is Alfredson's vision of London so visually outstanding, it is also culturally nuanced. He identifies three separate cultures uneasily co-existing, evoking and demonstrating them through intelligent choices of music. We have the recent past, embodied by Tom Hardy's character, which is like a paler rendition of Life on Mars, complete with Mudd and David Bowie. We have the recent past, namely the 1960s, which is reflected in the Breathless-like scenes between Hardy and the girl in the convertible. And we have the Circus itself, which seems completely unchanged from the 1940s, or possibly earlier than that, as typified by the inclusion of a George Formby record when one of MI5's agents makes a call from a music shop.In Alfredson's hands, Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy becomes a film about malaise and ennui. It depicts a Britain which is past its glory, not only as an imperial power but as an intelligence force: not only can it no longer conquer countries, but it is increasingly incapable of holding on to their secrets. The Circus increasingly positions itself as a buffer zone, refusing to admit reliance upon its American "cousins" and contenting itself with gathering intelligence about Soviet activity in Europe.The Circus is depicted as the very definition of old-fashioned. If there wasn't a close-up on the ticker-tape showing it was 1973, you would swear that this was the War Office and we were still fighting the Germans. All of the furniture, from the wooden chairs to the Bakelite phones, seems left over from the war, and in the libraries you can almost smell the dust on the shelves. It feels like an organisation built upon self-denial - a collection of people who continue existing without any real reason for doing so. Without any 'proper' wars left to fight, everything Britain stands for has become redundant, and no-one, not even Smiley, is willing to admit it.In the best possible way, the film is very slow-paced for a thriller. It would be totally inappropriate to tell Le Carré's story through Bourne-style shaky-cam and rapid editing, because the material and the technology surrounding it is does not have a 2011 sensibility. This is still an analogue world, in which conversations are transcribed off reel-to-reel tape recorders, bugs are hidden in lampshades, and people signal through flashlights and banging on walls.

The film is also old-fashioned (in a good way) by its methodical patience. With the exception of Control's outburst or Jim Prideaux beign shot, the conversations in Tinker, Tailor are quiet and considered, containing nothing that could be classed as histrionic. Smiley doesn't speak for the first fifteen minutes, and even when he is interrogating the Magic Circle he never shouts: he takes time to phrase his questions, refusing to give anything away and ensuring that he need not repeat himself.You could argue that this understatement and emphasis on method over movement is another period detail; because modern espionage is built around the internet, it makes sense for the camera to move faster and for things to be more action-packed. But it's also a reflection of Le Carré's sensibility. Where his contemporary Ian Fleming was drawn to the glamour of spying, Le Carré sought to dismantle all such illusions, emphasising the loneliness of spying and the moral ambiguity of the protagonists.If a James Bond film is like a shooting gallery intercut with car chases, Tinker, Tailor is like a tricky game of chess. It is a film about characters who are in the endgame: they see the doom of their organisation approaching, and it is a question of when and not if they will be dragged down with it. After Control and Smiley are forced out (with the former dying soon after), it becomes a scramble for power with Percy Alleline emerging as the leader. We follow Smiley as he navigates through the mind-games to uncover the mole - to find the king whom he will trap in an elaborate mate.The inward-looking nature of the Circus is reflected in the understated performances of an extraordinary ensemble cast. In many ensemble films, the cast often compete for attention by out-acting each other, but Alfredson is too smart to put up with any such nonsense. This is a film in which the tiniest little gesture can say everything about a character, whether it's the raise of an eyebrow, the twitch of a lip, or the slightly forced way that Colin Firth smiles at the ghastly Christmas party.Because the TV adaptation of Tinker, Tailor is so well-regarded, any new adaptation in any medium will have to be compared to it. And for all the brilliance and quality of Alfredson's work, there are a couple of areas in which the TV series has the edge. There is not much between them in terms of cast - Gary Oldman can hold his own against Sir Alec Guinness, and in Colin Firth's current form he is more than a match for Ian Richardson. But in compressing the novel or the series into just over two hours, there are two small flaws with this adaptation.Because the cast is so strong, and charismatic, you find yourself wishing to see more of them, something you do get with the TV series. When you've got someone as radiant as Tom Hardy, or as enigmatic as Benedict Cumberbatch, it doesn't seem fair to give them so little screen time. More to the point, a lot of the rich language of Le Carré's novel has been reduced. Bill Haydon's explanation of why he defected is reduced to a few teary sentences, and Smiley seems to centre in on Hayden relatively quickly. These shortcomings aren't enough to throw the whole film off course, but it does put you in the unusual position of wanting it to be half an hour longer.To be fair on Alfredson, he does make up for these tiny shortcomings by bringing out new aspects of the story, particularly the sexual nature of the characters. There are strong indications that Haydon and Prideaux were lovers, from the loaded glances at the Christmas party to the photograph of them together, which Haydon keeps when he raids Prideaux's flat. Haydon is ultimately killed by Prideaux by being shot under the eye: a tear flows from Colin Firth's eye, mingling with blood over the bullet wound, and the camera cuts to Mark Strong, also in tears.Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy is an almost perfect film. Its flaws are so miniscule and yet so clear that they will drive you to the point of frustration. But no amount of lingering on them can detract from its status as one of the year's very best films. The performances are superb, the visuals are extraordinary, and Alfredson directs with a reserve and intelligence which is all too rare in modern filmmaking. A true gem.

Rating:
Verdict: Almost perfect

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.