The Crying Game (1992)

I’m shocked how the numerous reveals of “The Crying Game” still build on me, that I find hints never noticed before: Side characters, motivations, phrases with new meanings. Stephen Rea is IRA “volunteer” Fargus, who takes part in the kidnapping of a British soldier (Forrest Whitaker) and as he guards the prisoner, foolishly befriends the man. The soldier knows Fargus’ motives are crumbling and pleads, “Go to England, find my girl, and tell her I love her.” Fargus goes and finds Dil (Jaye Davidson) and follows her, attracted and intrigued by her world, stage presence, and an aura that leaves him curious. Soon, though, our hero’s IRA accomplices (Adrian Dunbar and Miranda Richardson) return and are intent on putting our man though a suicide mission. If he fails, Dil dies. That’s only a portion of Neil Jordan’s film, which also is about an entirely different matter altogether, including how Fargus will not fight for his own life, but will kill a man for insulting his lover. Rea is fantastic, complicated, confused, then sure, and Davidson constantly turns the tables on what Fargus expects and wants, and what we expect and want. A

About Time (2014)

Writer/director Richard Curtis (“Love Actually”) gives the time travel genre a romantic jolt with “About Time,” a comedy drama that would leave a Terminator wet eyed. On his 21^st birthday, gawky Tim (Domhnall Gleeson) learns from his dad (Bill Nighy) that the men in his family can time travel. How so? Never explained. (What about the women, eh?) What is important is that Tim cannot pop Hitler or meet Van Gogh. He only can travel within his own lifetime. Indifferent to wealth or fame, Tim wants to fall in love. That he does with art geek Mary (Rachel McAdams), who shares a first name with Tim’s mother, a factoid our boy awkwardly share every time they meet. I do mean “every time” as Tim replays meeting Mary on repeat until it’s perfect, a fantasy every human likely plays out in their mind. In a move that’s on the sleeve and quite welcome for it, Curtis tips that fantasy is wasteful: Enjoy the moment, be it awkward, soggy, messy, or glorious. Perfectly ordinary, Gleeson and McAdams are a delight together. Some of the funniest bits are the side roads, especially Tim feeding a forgetful VIP actor his lines from off stage. A-

Belle (2014)

“Belle” is inspired by history, a 1770s Scottish painting of a half-black woman named Dido Elizabeth Belle on equal level with her Anglo cousin. The posing thumped historic, with the slave trade going on full hell tilt. “Belle” leans standard fictional Brit family drama cum courtroom thriller hoopla, thought it scores marks for telling that Britain and America built their empires on slavery. Fact. Story: Dido (Gugu Mbatha-Raw) is raised by distant, but wealthy relatives (Tom Wilkinson and Emily Watson) when life already was bleak for women –- zero rights. Her obstacles are fierce. Nonetheless, she finds suitors, one an anti-slavery proponent (Sam Reid). Meanwhile, Wilkinson’s high-court judge hears a case on slave cargo and insurance. His decision could topple the sick practice and bring economic ruin. (No more free labor.) Belle obsesses on the case. She swipes evidence, dressed in a hooded robe that had me thinking “Jedi.” Heroic Reid shouts so many truth and justice speeches, I thought, “He’d make a great Superman!” Miscast Tom Felton doesn’t help as a snarling bigot. Is he aware he’s no longer playing Malfoy? Amma Asante’s drama is problematic, yes. Look past that. B

A Liar’s Autobiography (2012)

I love the hell out of Monty Python, the shows, the movies. I can’t get enough, even on repeat viewings. A wildly animated F.U. to the whole biopic genre, “A Liar’s Autobiography: The Untrue Story of Monty Python’s Graham Chapman” wants to be the M.P. version of the group’s founding member and leader’s life story, but it’s a pile of random tid-bits that don’t say much. Crazy fact: I learned more trivia about Chapman’s life and comedy impact in the “Making of…” documentary on this film than the film itself. That’s sounds like a Python satirical sketch. (Skip the movie! Watch the extras!) “Liar’s” never boring and much of the animation stuns – dig the section that represents Chapman kicking booze -- but there’s so little context I never got a hook on the man. A scene big on Python gore has toddler Chapman looking at the bodies of soldiers killed in a WWII plane crash. Why? Did he recall this a haunting memory? Who can tell when we’re told it’s fake? A letdown from a film I expected much from. C+

Locke (2014)

“Locke” is a movie-making stunt that wins its dare. Writer-director Steven Knight (he penned “Eastern Promises”) has fashioned a real-time thriller that follows a construction engineer –- played by Tom Hardy -– fighting to keep all he owns and loves as he drives 90 minutes from Birmingham to London to witness the premature birth of his third child. No guns involved. The damage is emotional. The pending child is the product of a one-night stand. The mother is frantic. Hardy’s Ivan Locke -– we only see him inside his BMW, interacting by phone –- declares himself in control and refuses panic. But he must inform his wife of his transgression, assure his two sons all is well, and track the status of his massive work project -– a skyscraper concrete pouring -– that costs untold millions. Tense and without a wasted second, “Locke” booms loud on Hardy’s fierce performance as a man whose hubris is as destructive as negligence, a trait worn by his dead father who produced Ivan out of wedlock. Knight traps us tight inside that BMW with Locke as his life shreds as the minutes tick by, the most valiant action righting one’s life errors. However futile. Seemingly small, “Locke” is epic. A

Get Carter (1971)

I am supposed to love “Get Carter,” the gritty Brit mob flick about a London enforcer (Michael Caine) going home to north England to kill the bastards who popped his connected brother. And, damn it, Caine is friggin’ brutal bad ass in the role, swinging a woman into bed or swinging a rifle into another man’s skull. But I just could not get into this film, directed by Mike Hodges – who made “Pulp” with Caine, and later “Flash Gordon.” So, I didn’t get “Carter.” There are too many trite names –- Alexes and Allans and Alberts –- and too many scenes where Caine’s Carter has to drive someone palace to meet some guy to talk about another guy he has to go drive to and see and talk some more. And, hey, did Carter even like his brother? No. A gangster film should be watched leaned in, eyes ready for the next blast of violence, not spent studying the bloke under the shepherd’s cap wondering, Now who’s he? The ending, though, knocks you back into the seat. If only all that came previous were as direct. B-

Gosford Park (2001)

Robert Altman’s art-house hit “Gosford Park” has been high in interest for the past three years thanks to Brit series “Downton Abbey,” both written by Julian Fellowes and concerning early 20^th century England where wealthy, connected families made caste system upstairs/downstairs a way of home, and of thought. 

Here, an aging benefactor (Michael Gambon) hosts a shooting/dinner party, bringing in family, friends, and hangers-on from local lands and across the pond in America. After the feast, a hunt, and other stuff you or I don’t ever do, the old man ends up murdered, and suspicion abounds. 

Among the cast: Kristin Scott Thomas as the wife, Maggie Smith as an (imagine!) uppity bird, Ryan Philippe and Clive Owen as footmen, Bob Balaban as a filmmaker, and Helen Mirren as a head house-woman. 

“Park” is purposefully slow as we follow these people in their routines before the murder pops every one’s bubble. Watching the film now, it’s a cool gift to see characters and dialogue lifted for “Downton,” and Stephen Fry brings the comedy as a bumbling detective. But it’s often a check-your-watch sit. 

The cast is marvelous, working for a film master sorely missed. B+

Hysteria (2012)

“Hysteria” is a mostly daring, often hilarious satire, more commentary on history, than actual deed-for-deed, word-for-word history. In 1880s London, the city’s poor are loathed and considered trash by the rich. To help or mingle with them is status quo cultural sin. Women, damn. Women are thought to suffer from hysterical delusions, and if they speak out too loudly, demand change, and a right to their own (gasp!) body, then they face institutionalization. 

More than a handful of good ol’ U.S. Republicans will recognize these traits as the glory days of all humanity. The Romney-Ryan ticket approves, certainly. (Add in blatant hatred of homosexuals.) Indeed, “Hysteria” shows a time best forgotten. Or satirized. Not re-lived.

The big tongue-in-cheek focus lays on the invention of the portable electric massager that gave any woman a right to her own pleasure. We follow a young doctor (Hugh Dancy) who is vile enough to not only wish to help the poor, but recognize the science of germs, who is tossed from job after job for his beliefs. 

So, he bounces into the employ of a physician (Jonathan Pryce) who treats hysteria, the catch-all phrase for the female symptoms I described above, you know, dissatisfaction. Here the film turns riotously funny because the “treatment” at this time means literally having a doctor manually massage a female client to climax, for her to be relived of “unwanted” thought. Hilariously, the endless workload distresses Dancy’s Mortimer Granville to near disability, or what we call carpal tunnel syndrome. More hilariously: Watch how the older female clients of the physician practically rip apart Granville with their eyes. Enter the vibrator, which our hero doctor sees in another device worked on by a rich (and very liberal) friend. 

The old physician, by the way, has two daughters: One demure and colorless, by force, the other, headstrong, willful, and ready for a fight. Maggie Gyllenhaal plays the latter. Yes, trouble brews. When Mortimer foolishly calls her a “socialist” for wanting to help the poor, leaving her own privilege behind, the audience nodded knowingly.

The brew goes flat -- dare I say limp? -- at the end, though. The climax of courtroom speeches and declarations of love is old, and far too Hollywood, umm, rigid for an English film made about breaking boundaries. That grinds loud and old. But I could not help but dig watching the way “Hysteria” parallels our own time, and how far some of us want to go back. We need another shakeup, STAT. B+

The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel (2012)

Comedy-drama “The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel” follows seven derailed-by-life Brits who leave Queen and Country for Jaipur, India, and promises of a sunny paradise resort for “the old and beautiful.” What they get is a barely-functioning pile of bricks and mortar, geese in rooms, and a bouncy 20-ish manager (Dev Patel) who pops off witticisms such as, “Everything will be alright in the end, and if it’s not alright, it is not yet the end.” Film-geek goose bumps boom at the cast: Maggie Smith as a racist grouch, Judi Dench as a broke widow, Tom Wilkinson as a judge on a quest, and Bill Nighy and Penelope Wilton re-playing husband and wife as they did in “Shaun of the Dead.” Nothing as exciting as zombies here. We get stories of redemption, new love, and prejudices and xenophobia laid to rest, or revealed. All is alright in the end. Every Brit actor is naturally top notch, but Patel pulls a muscle to compete with his costars as the script has him running “Slumdog” style for his lady love. Nothing as exciting as that here either. My parents would love this film. B

The Killer Elite (2011)

In “The Killer Elite,” Jason Statham is another badass with a temper, a gun, and a mission. Upfront: This is one of those “based on a true story” stories that screams bullshit! as the action spreads around the globe, double-crosses pile up, and Statham as assassin-for-hire Danny Bryce endures punishment so grim and commits stunts so brazen, they would kill all Three Stooges and Ethan Hunt. Story: A gravely ill sheikh strong arms Danny into offing the three Brit SAS agents who killed his brave sons, leaving pops with a sad-sack brat so nancy, he makes Fredo Corleone glower like, well, Jason Statham. If Danny says no, Poppa Sheik kills Robert De Niro, or rather a spry old spy played by Robert De Niro. The acting is aces, and the action all wrought iron hard curves and twists, but FML, newcomer writer Matt Sherring and director Gary McKendry go all tit-tit, blanching at violence, and mere seconds later dive into their next set-piece where Stathom rips apart packs of men. Brain drivel mediocre. Clive Owen -– stealing the film -- co-stars as an ugly spook who we only think is a villain. Alas, all bullshit. B-

My Week with Marilyn (2011)

Playing Marilyn Monroe is no small feat. She’s the definitive Hollywood icon of sex and tragedy, 40-plus years after her death. Yet, Michelle Williams nails the part with astounding skill, and not just of Marilyn Monroe, but the way Marilyn played “Marilyn” for cameras, for hangers-on, and adoring, endless fans. A role that seemingly even confused herself, according to the screenplay. The lyric “I’m not broken but you can see the cracks,” from U2, comes to mind. In 1957, Monroe arrived in England to make a film with Sir Laurence Olivier (Kenneth Branagh, eerily good), and the screen goddess created an instant clash with her wayward, unreliable off-screen ways. The “My” in the tile is Colin Clark, a young assistant director who befriends, and so much more, the star. A guy named Eddie Redmayne plays him. True story? Don’t know. If the real Colin lied in his books, he didn’t fib big, because he and Marilyn don’t go there. This is Williams’ film. It’s dull whenever she’s not onscreen. It’s a drama and a morality tale, so, yes, drugs are bad. Williams is a pure goddess on screen. Bravo, miss. B+

The Iron Lady (2011)

In “The Iron Lady,” a biopic about Britain’s MP Margaret Thatcher, Meryl Streep embodies the loved/hated prime minister with a voice and movements that are amazing to witness. The actress is more than a worthy Oscar winner here, for she is Atlas, hoisting a terrible film upon her shoulders. Director Phyllida Lloyd and writer Abi Morgan dedicate heaps of time to an Alzheimer’s-stricken Thatcher as she talks to her dead husband (Jim Broadbent), who mucks about as if Peter Pan. The undeniably fascinating life of Thatcher, from World War II-era teenager to leader of a superpower, is all rushed flashbacks, snippets with bold-font headlines, half-explanations, and historical characters that run by. The dementia scenes turn into a bad “Ghost” rehash as onscreen Thatcher literally packs a suitcase for dead hubby so he can go off into the light. What utter nonsense. Streep, thankfully, makes every scene she is in shine, from Parliament debates to her vicious and regretted attack of a second-in-command, to the sad elderly years. Nostalgic conservatives will cheer the speeches, cruel liberals will mock the woman chasing her ghost husband because he’s shoeless. B-

The Woman in Black (2012)

Voldermort would shit his robe. In “The Woman in Black,” Harry Potter himself Daniel Radcliffe is an early 1900s widowed father/ greenish solicitor sent on a miserable errand: Close out the estate of an old woman who left behind a decrepit English mansion and “Hoarders”-worthy piles of papers. How very Jonathan Harker. Eel Marsh House (!) is built on high land regularly made an island during high-tide, set apart from a town where our hero learns much quickly: He is not welcomed, every parent has lost a child, and the manor is full of vile noises and visions. This is an old–school haunted-house yarn, based not on a book written by Poe, but one certainly written with the old master in mind. Radcliffe does well playing a young man raised to believe in God, but not ghosts, and stricken to see much of the latter, but never the former. Director James Watkins has washed out almost all color and light, so any bright signs must not be trusted. The house moans, shadows creep, and ghostly faces appear out of thin air, making the audience jump and scream, and then laugh. A-

Anonymous (2011)

“Anonymous” plays on the theory that Shakespeare wrote no play, poem, sonnet, or even a letter to mom. Here, he is portrayed as an alcoholic half-literate naïf actor. The real author of “Romeo and Juliet,” et al – according to this Roland Emmerich-directed flick -- was Edward de Verve, a Brit royal who dare not put his name to literature, then marked as heretical by the Protestant Church. The film is densely plotted as we start in present day, jump to the 1500s, following Edward’s shuffled deck tragic life, and back again. The edit jumps and myriad of characters are too numerous, and the script shreds many facts to oblivion, especially concerning Christopher Marlowe, and Edward’s alleged anonymity, which actually isn’t true. Another grind: The film smacks of elitism, arguing that middle-class Shakespeare could never have the talent of a rich royal. Really? But it’s a juicy, well-staged conspiracy drama that scores when showing how then-audiences cheered, booed, and stormed the stage in rage at the plays we know well, and its portrayal of the Church as a power-mad entity unsurpassed in corruption. Rhys Ivans plays Edward with a striking sadness, a man eternally haunted by hunchbacked men of God. B-

Another Year (2010)

Few filmmakers portray life as real as Mike Leigh, and “Another Year” feels not so much like a movie, but an invite to stay with the family who’s at the center of this drama. Ruth Sheen and Jim Broadbent play a married couple, perfectly content with gardening, eating and reading in bed. She’s a counselor. He’s a geologist. They invites family and friends to a handful of dinners during the course of a year, including a divorcee (Lesley Manville) crumbling under loneliness who gulps wine as if it is an antidote, and an equally lonely old school chum (Oliver Maltman) who holds onto wine bottles as if they were oxygen. Alcohol equals life in this film. The main couple enjoys it as a side to the wonderful dishes they whip up. Take it or leave it. Manville and Maltman are full-fledged alcoholics, drowning their miseries in wine and all the more miserable for it. There’s not a false word, performance or scene in this drama that lays bare the jealousy that the miserable feel toward the happy. Manville should have won an Oscar. Fact. A

Never Let Me Go (2010)

Kazuo Ishiguro’s 2005 sci-fi novel is a brilliant under-handed writing pitch, a dystopian alternate universe cautionary tale built on high-tech ideas but plays as razor straight as a Charlotte Bronte novel. The film version is very good but it doesn’t pack the devastating emotional wallop. It can’t, this is a story about what goes on in people’s heads, little action, and no amount of narration can cover such ground. The gist: Three youth (Carey Mulligan, Keira Knightley and Andrew Garfield as adults) learn that their lives, raised in total control at a boarding school, are preset. There’s no alternative. No happy ending. We get a slow half-hour start of their childhood upfront that read far better on the page. I will not divulge anything else, except there is some comedy (the trio ordering food at a café) among the drama. Garfield shows teeth and rage only hinted at in “The Social Network.” Watch the movie, but read the book. It is heart-breaking and unforgettable. B+

Jane Eyre (2011)

I’ve not read Charlotte Bronte’s classic novel “Jane Eyre,” nor have I ever paid attention to the dozens of film/TV versions that came before this adaptation starring Mia Wasikowska of Oscar-hopeful “The Kids Are All Right” as the titular character. Blame my lifelong manly ignorance.

The story is pure 1800s English drama: A castaway child is thrown into the meat grinder existence of a church-run boarding school-cum-orphanage, and suffers greatly. When Jane hits 18, she bolts for sunlight and a job as a head mistress at the estate of a singularly disagreeable man named Rochester (Inglourious Basterd Michael Fassbender). From there, it’s a romantic drama.

Director Cary Fukunaga creates an amazing world, going from vast open landscapes to moody interiors where you can feel the … history. (That is, the suffocating standards of Old England.) The romance might not boil to epic melodrama, but I dug Jane, a young woman who has experienced much woe but never bows or weeps like a beaten puppy.

Because it’s strongly evident on screen, I’m sure Bronte probably held a blade to the throat of her then-theocratic English government, one that upheld wealth and class above all, and used religion as a weapon of oppression in the name of greed and power. With much our of country heading fast to a right-wing church state that will boot stomp the poor, the weak, the gay, it’s timely as ever. (That Jane holds onto her faith throughout this film version is a miracle in itself, talk about self-preservation.)

I downloaded the book to my iPad, and will read it next. I wonder if Sarah Palin or Michelle Bachmann has ever read ... Na, not a chance. A-

The King's Speech (2010)

I feared “The King’s Speech” might be another ho-hum British drama about excessively privileged white people battling a hardship that 85 percent of the world’s population would kill to have. I was wrong. It’s damn smart, surprisingly funny, and proudly uplifting. King George VI (Colin Firth) had an untreated speech impediment mostly hidden from public. But as Nazis called for war, George had to lead not with a sword, but with a calm and commanding voice. Smartly portrayed, Firth’s king knows that when he speaks, it will result in lives lost. He wants to be worthy of his people. This is about them. Not him. Geoffrey Rush is the speech therapist who helps George find his voice. (I swear it's not corny. Square, yes. Oscar bait, yes. Corny, no.) The lessons make for solid buddy comedy and social satire as the two bicker and learn to say the “F” word. Firth has Oscar clips galore, but it’s his quiet scenes that impress, such as telling bedtime stories. This was intended as a play, and its dialogue –- witty and strong –- is as good as any stage production I’ve seen. A-

Robin Hood (2010)

Ridley Scott’s “Robin Hood” is a serious, boldly filmed drama, historically accurate as far as any film with the words “Robin” and “Hood” in the title can be, which isn’t much, and stocked with some of the finest modern actors to grace recent cinema. Russell Crowe is our bow-and-arrow titular hero, and Cate Blanchett is Maid Marian, with Danny Houston as King Richard. The film is gorgeous, bursting with detail, and must have cost a fortune. It’s also an utter fucking bore.

Painfully plotted and paced, this “Robin Hood” sucks every ounce of adventure, fun and daring out of the classic tale that pretty much created the whole idea of adventurous, fun and daring tales. This is no story of Sherwood Forrest or Merry Men, or of robbing the rich to feed the poor. No. This is a bloody war film about the evil Crusades and colonialism, fanatical religion gone nuts, and what made Robin Hood into Robin Hood, and a war-burdened superpower levying sinfully high taxes against its own people to pay the bill of sword and horse. Yeah, U.S. Bush-era politics! I can’t get enough of that. And this is a summer major box office film, too.

Crowe doesn’t resemble a starved, war-haunted rebel in the making. Dude looks glum and pissy, and a bit beefy. His Robin hit a lot of bars while killing Muslims, although he’s sure sorry for it. The killing. Not the drinking. Blanchett is at least having fun poking fingers at past Marians who became damsels in distress, yelling for “Robin!!” to save their victim ass. Wait, sorry, Robin again has to save Marian's victim ass, and during a slow-motion battle that copies “Saving Private Ryan” down to the soldiers drowning on a blood-soaked beach. Violent for a PG-13.

When did Ridley Scott become a dull film artist? Where is the guy who made “Alien” and “Blade Runner” and “Gladiator” -- films I could watch endlessly? The action here has been splintered to smithereens, and this whole ultra-serious moodiness and mud and blood, this religious devotion to detail and making 1199 look like hell on earth … it made me wonder what Michael Bay could do with a faster, louder, livelier, more vulgar screenplay. I can’t believe I just wrote that. (See, or don’t, Scott’s equally dull “Body of Lies.”)

It’s sad when I can say Kevin Costner’s “Robin Hood” is a better adaptation, but it is true. That Robin at least had a personality. Even if the ha-ha British accent in that 1991 summer flick was shit. Crowe's sourpuss is as flat as the perfectly decorated sword he welds, ceaselessly without end. His hunger from “Gladiator” is not here. Alan Rickman’s hilariously evil Sheriff of Nottingham could wipe the floor with the half-dozen villains employed in this footless reboot, especially Matthew Macfadyen’s snooze-vile Sheriff. Mark Strong is the lead villain, and William Hurt appears, but I can’t recall who he played. There’s just so little to remember anything.

Seek out Warner Bros. classic “The Adventures of Robin Hood” from 1938 –- you know the one, Errol Flynn, Basil Rathbone, Technicolor, green tights, and more fun than any movie made then or since. This new “Robin Hood” -– which ends with a shout out for a sequel -– should be outlawed. Attempted murder of a legend. D+

The Young Victoria (2009)

Mega-hit “New Moon” had a sullen teenage heroine with zip spine and life interests outside of boys. Not so “The Young Victoria.” Raised as a prisoner inside her royal “don’t touch” estate, Victoria (Emily Blunt) is named queen of England in the middle of the night, before she’s 20. Suddenly, she must maneuver past a domineering mother (Miranda Richardson), a physically abusive controller (Mark Strong), various suitors (among them Rupert Friend as Albert) and a host of snake-like politicos (led by Paul Belamy), as she gains authority. No time to weep over absent boys. And what’s great about this drama, written by Julian Fellows (“Gosford Park”), is how often Victoria stumbles and reels, but gets back up. With Albert by her side -- not in front, but by her side. And, no, it’s not all roses or high drama. Victoria also knows that leading people is to make it about them, not you. Modern implications are high, if you’re paying attention. But maybe not for those in the Party of No. “Victoria” is hurt by a sheer lack of directness and boldness that raised the recent “An Education” and “Precious” to greatness. Still, a film worthy of true mega-hit status. B+