REVIEW - NOBODY WANTS THE NIGHT (ISABEL COIXET)

Somewhere within Isabel Coixet's Nobody Wants the Night lies a work of brilliance; somewhere within it lies a work of utter trash. It's a film of opportunities grasped, missed and carelessly snatched at, taking in whatever trails of quality it can. Watching it, one is engaged, baffled, moved, underwhelmed, intrigued, bored, impressed and outraged; most curious of all is that a film so fascinating in its failures and so admirable in its successes is yet so roundly mediocre in its final effect. Recalling films of similarly varying standards, provoking mixed responses in the viewer, how odd that Nobody Wants the Night should exist in such a state and yet provoke little more, and indeed little less, than apathy overall. It barely comes together in one's mind since it functions only slightly in its intentions (or in what we can make of its intentions) - too shallow and lyrical for a philosophical inquiry or character piece, yet too cheap and cloistered for a grand epic drama. The extreme North setting is quite enchanting, in a strangely scary kind of manner, though Coixet's focus is drawn inward, out of the cold and into her protagonists' fragile enclosure; she develops a palpable intensity of emotion between these two curious characters, not least due to committed performances from Juliette Binoche and Kikuchi Rinko (alas, another example of racial miscasting). Yet the film's positive attributes are near-consistently undercut by filmmaking incompetence at seemingly every stage in the production process, begetting a film that never properly connects with the viewer, so uncertain is it of precisely the kind of film it ought to be. A serious case of smoothing out was required in order to turn Nobody Wants the Night into that kind of film, whether that be brilliance or utter trash. As it is, it's a bit of both.

REVIEW - ON FOOTBALL (SERGIO OKSMAN)

A game I've never loved streams through On Football, ever present though rarely truly seen. Sergio Oksman's attention is on another subject, his father, in an extended gesture of loving curiosity that reveals as much about its maker as it does about said subject. A relationship they've never truly known emerges anew, uncovered for us in its filmmaker's quiet inquisitiveness, for this filmmaker in exchanges to which we are only permitted intermittent access. Poignancy abounds, particularly in retrospect, while profundity seems to remain at bay - On Football is very much life as it is lived, rather than as we might want to live it, and its banality amid these life-altering, even world-altering, events is a smart reflection of reality that nevertheless refuses this film the ability to attain the dramatic heft it seeks. Oksman makes his points, but is too hasty to make them as deeply felt as they ought to be. As he cuts from one scene of mundanity to the next, always with at least the notion of football somewhere in the setting, even if only lingering over it, his artistic impulses become quite clear. They're not especially different from those of many other filmmakers, and Oksman needs to cultivate something more substantial - perhaps a fuller emotional depth - to allow On Football to distinguish itself. A game I've never loved features prolifically, if not prominently, in a film I wish I could love. Ever at arm's length, this is an innately intriguing documentary, but one fuelled on intrigue alone.

REVIEW - THE SECRET LIFE OF PETS (YARROW CHENEY AND CHRIS RENAUD)

American animation by the numbers. Certainly, hasn't the genre always been that way? But there's a lack of ambition in The Secret Life of Pets that betrays its unfortunate adherence to formula, its identity as a product merely of our times and not for our times, and its contentment with that. It's a cash-grab, made by people who likely know better, as evidenced by the simple fact that The Secret Life of Pets isn't a complete failure. It's intermittently funny, never intelligent, spoilt by ugly design though elevated by excellent application of Illumination Entertainment's animation skills. It remains a major disappointment to me, witnessing such superb technique wasted on such average visual concepts. To dismiss this as 'what the kids want' might seem appropriate, but it overlooks a sad, significant point: this is what the adults want too. People are stupid, and want stupid things; The Secret Life of Pets is a rather stupid thing tailor-made for a stupid audience. It's no less than adequate at any particular juncture, though given the amount of time, effort and money obviously poured into this project, adequacy alone becomes inadequate, and the more discerning viewer pines for something more substantial. If all that Illumination has ever before offered in that regard is mere sporadic inspiration on the comic front, surely it's not unreasonable to request it of them again? But this Toy Story rip-off only rarely hints at stepping up to answer this request, content instead to roll ever onward from one mediocre moment to another.

REVIEW - MOWER MINIONS (GLENN MCCOY)

Funny how your opinions can change. Or, funny how you let them change, for legitimate reasons or not. I tend to forget, in the time between watching Minion movies, what my opinion on them actually is; indeed, rather than forget, I allow myself to be swayed by the opinions of others, and corroborate this information with my own, very British, distaste of anything and everything brash, successful and culturally ubiquitous. But this is not my opinion, alas, and I suspect your eyes scroll through this article not for the opinions of others, but for my own. And my own opinion is that, fuck it, I like the Minions. Every time I watch a Minion movie, they make me laugh. Now, Mower Minions is a mere mini-Minion movie among many, and, in spite of its brevity, it's unfortunately obliged to do more than make me laugh. And this it does not. A solid, moderately successful comic skit in essence, the makers of this short film neglect to identify not the necessity of cultivating its chief attributes but the inadequacy of everything else herein. The human characters in Illumination Entertainment's world aren't getting any less irritating, the aesthetic design remains crude and unattractive, the score is obnoxious and simplistic. And you're wondering, now, why on Earth I've developed such a detailed critique of a children's short film - well, it's just my opinion. A children's movie is a movie like any other when filtered through my mind, the mind of an adult. And at least I find them funny - any other adult might have dealt up an even more critical critique.

REVIEW - NOTES ON BLINDNESS (PETE MIDDLETON AND JAMES SPINNEY)

Though not a traditional documentary, Pete Middleton and James Spinney's Notes on Blindness is an excellent example of what this genre can accomplish, and certainly should more often. Rather than a story of passionless objectivity, this is a most intense, intimate, subjective experience. It forges the feeling of a new reality, felt as it occurs, from the memories of an old reality; the film is concerned with evocation more than recreation, and thus with a more identifiable, everyday reality for the viewer. Notes on Blindness offers little philosophical commentary in its formal gambits, instead employing them to chiefly emotional and sensorial ends. Middleton and Spinney recognize truths about blindness, related via John and Marilyn Hull's recollections and contemporary recordings, that mightn't immediately come to mind, but whose potency is far greater than that which the obvious techniques could have mustered up. John's life as a blind man is represented not by the absence of image, but by manipulation of it: a lack of focus here, a lack of light there, close-ups at odd angles, or - most effectively - a withholding of the actual sights (or absence thereof) being described. Thus a vivid intimacy is formed, a keen, tight subjectivity through image and sound alike - the former particularly acute in acknowledgement that one cannot substitute the audience's most prominent sense for John's and expect as powerful a response. If this narrow outlook prevents Notes on Blindness from obtaining any stronger significance outside its own direct meanings, it allows the filmmakers to sculpt such significance within, a process to which they are most dedicated.

OBIT - ABBAS KIAROSTAMI

Today is a tragic day for cinema, as I report on the death of Iranian filmmaker Abbas Kiarostami. The 76-year-old had been diagnosed with gastrointestinal cancer in March; he died in Kabul today, the 4th of July. Kiarostami eked out a highly personal style of cinema right from his origins as a key figure in the Iranian New Wave in the 1970s, a style that would become internationally celebrated upon the release of his 1987 breakthrough film, Where Is the Friend's Home? From there, through a seminal trilogy in the early '90s, a number of acclaimed documentaries, and five nominations for the Palme d'Or at the Cannes Film Festival, he would go on to be known as one of the world's most important, influential film artists. His films consistently received critical adulation, no matter what their infinite varities: films in Iranian, French, Japanese, English, narrative and documentary films alike, and a sympathetic streak that marked him as much a committed humanitarian as he was a skilled formalist. A Cannes Palme d'Or, four major awards from the Venice Film Festival including a FIPRESCI Prize, and four more awards from Locarno including another FIPRESCI Prize, an Ecumenical Prize and a Leopard of Honour confirm Kiarostami's status as among the foremost cinematic talents of our time. Among his most notable films were Close-Up, Through the Olive Trees, Taste of Cherry, The Wind Will Carry Us, Ten and Certified Copy. What an enormous loss for the filmmaking and film-watching community.

REVIEW - ABSOLUTELY FABULOUS: THE MOVIE (MANDIE FLETCHER)

There's an art to creating the perfect sitcom, believe it or not. Happen upon an example of a horrible misunderstanding of that art and you'd surely agree. It's an art that resolutely does not translate to the big screen, whereas the reverse is a far more seamless affair, however. Absolutely Fabulous normally nails that art, and in a manner that makes the transition to film a lot simpler: it's a sitcom that knows it's a sitcom, thus freeing it from the stodginess of most of its brethren. A 30-minute episode forgives its flaws, its brevity and the promise of redemption next time around making the awkward patches that bit more palatable. If Absolutely Fabulous: The Movie cannot, by definition, boast such forgiving features, it is at least aided by the series' aforementioned self-awareness. In concept, too, there were indeed multiple potential scenarios to mould into a movie for these most vibrant, prepossessing, extroverted characters. Jennifer Saunders has evidently toiled to maintain everything that worked best about these iconic creations on the small screen, though their already-established longevity ought to have been a fairly reliable indicator. Between her writing and Mandie Fletcher's directing, the laugh track is never missed, with many jokes, both visual and verbal, landing as squarely as they ever did. The broadened scope of the film's aesthetic design thus never betrays the essential Ab Fab feeling, even as the musical score strives too hard to emphasize its newfound difference. Saunders' genius, not to mention Joanna Lumley's, shines throughout, no matter the quality of the comedy, which is brilliant at best and a little bit racist at worst. Alas, if the sitcom was near perfect, Absolutely Fabulous: The Movie is not. But it's as good as it needs to be, and that's good enough for me.

REVIEW - THE COMMUNE (THOMAS VINTERBERG)

Thomas Vinterberg's latest cultural microcosm, another lesson in what we need to know about Danish society, is perhaps his least insightful. It might be one of his stylistic experiments, a grafting of the commercial qualities he has pursued in some less well-regarded features to the scrappy, wordy ensemble-piece concepts that have marked his most well-regarded; The Commune is neither the catastrophe nor the triumph that it might have been, then. In tone and intention alike, it's a simplistic undertaking, a casual look at life in a middle-class commune in 1970s Denmark. Drama is not avoided - indeed, it is crucial to the rather predictable plot and to the success of its application - but neither is gentle comedy; The Commune is at its most striking when it accents moments of the former with bursts of the latter, producing cheeky chuckles at supposedly inappropriate junctures. All very Danish, but such national idiosyncrasy is welcome in a film that seems to shun the suggestion of anything unique in all other regards. Vinterberg just sets off on a course that bears his artistic and thematic hallmarks, but never again nurtures them. The Commune thus lacks inspiration, and also energy, sidling through its narrative with little more than reliability - it's reliably solid work from an experienced filmmaker, but it's also reliably disinterested. And when melodrama reliably seeps into its scenario, there has been too little commitment toward establishing a sense of realism to mitigate its exaggerated effect, and the film sours into soap opera all too quickly. It's held up by some smart acting, and indeed never falls down completely, but is a mere microcosm itself, a miniature version of the mastery that Vinterberg is capable of producing at his best.

OBIT - MICHAEL CIMINO

Acclaimed and iconic, filmmaker Michael Cimino has died. He passed yesterday, the 2nd of July 2016, at his home in Los Angeles. He was 77 years of age. One of the brightest lights in the 'New Hollywood' of the 1970s, Cimino's success truly flourished after he abandoned the commercial populism of his earlier work and made one of the most influential films of the decade. 1978's celebrated The Deer Hunter is often regarded as his magnum opus, and won five Oscars. Alas, 1980's Heaven's Gate, which came in highly delayed and over-budget, was a huge box office bomb, almost led to the collapse of its studio, United Artists, and was branded one of the worst films of all time by some critics upon release. Subsequent re-evaluation of the film, and its several re-edits, has seen a reversal in its perception, and it is now considered a misunderstood masterpiece. But the damage to Cimino's ascendant career had been done; his following four films all disappointed critics and tanked with audiences; there were Razzie nominations and straight-to-video releases, and he hadn't made a full-length feature since 1996 when he died. Despite such an ignominious middle and end to his career, Cimino will nevertheless be remembered as a visionary, a bold and distinctive talent who created some of the most essential films of the 20th Century. He will be missed indeed.

REVIEW - REMAINDER (OMER FAST)

A most abstruse film, and a most deceptive one. It brandishes its deceptiveness with pride, but that in itself is a deception - the truth, as presented, is necessarily difficult, but as understood is likely very simple. I claim only its likeliness, because I can't claim certainty - Remainder not only deceived me, it confused me, and as intriguing as I found its tricks, as beguiling as I found its tone, it never convinced me as to the worth of its enterprise. Obfuscation, whether intentional or not, is all very well, but there's a ponderousness to Remainder that suggests both that this is a work of much meaning (and, thereby, one which requires a greater degree of comprehension in order to be properly appreciated) and that it has been crafted by real clever-clogs. And, as much as I value a film that leaves a lot for the viewer to deduce, to decide upon for themselves, there are signs here that Remainder is meant to be deduced entirely from its content and its makers' interpretations, not ours, yet it stubbornly refuses to divulge enough of those interpretations to guide our own. A better filmmaker might build around this tease a film of sufficient stylistic strength to justify this refusal; Omer Fast reveals himself to be such a filmmaker only sporadically, which is a quality worth savouring when applied to good uses. The more he delves into the weirdness of his conceit - and that of his protagonist, alluringly alluded to as virtually the same - the more singular, and more satisfying, his film becomes. But a predictability of outcome and of tone stifles the uniqueness of Fast's artistic voice and, thus, the standard of his artistic output. With some excellent ideas, some excellent treatment of those ideas, and an excellent performance by Tom Sturridge, the remainder of Remainder deserves better.