VAN Gogh’s portrait of Pere Tanguy (played by John Sessions) corrupted into life. Photograph courtesy maturetimes.co.uk
VINCENT VAN GOGH spent 37 tortured years on this planet. He was easily one of the most prolific artists the modern world has seen, but he’s also a key figure in visual culture because he has become emblematic of the popular cliché which reflects on a poor man with oodles of talent holed up in a freezing garret with just his absinthe and his unsellable paintings to keep him company. The story follows the chap to his early sad grave, and then sees his work exploding in value on the commercial sphere. It’s an old story, but it’s also van Gogh’s.
And in being so, has become grist for the commercial mill, which has ground out yet another cliché-ridden, disrespectful extrapolation on van Gogh’s life in the form of Loving Vincent. It clearly did have good intentions, which feel from the outset like a vanity project: but what you see on the big screen is precious and cute; it’s hard on the eye and overall wooden in its narrative.
The story focuses on the possible causes of Van Gogh’s suicide in 1890 and, armed with letter written to his brother Theo, the piece casts a faux historical narrative around a quest for the truth. On a level, it’s like a thriller. Or at least, on paper, it might have read as such. But for a full length movie to feature jagged stop-frame-animation, is a hell of a thing. It’s a migraine-inducing thing which causes you to have to rest your eyes much of the time.
And it’s a total mystery why the makers of Loving Vincent didn’t knock on the door of more seasoned animators. Animation isn’t, after all, a new medium in this world. So what you get is a bumpy, self-consciously artsy ride which makes the actors’ voices feel like voice-overs and which separates character from performance, from spoken words in a way which blatantly bruises the fluidity of the story.
But there’s more. The act of taking a painting and reducing it to a milli-second of filmed time in the name of the telling of an animated story is outrageously disrespectful. For several tiny seconds in this much-too-long film, you get a glimpse of images of the paintings themselves before they were corrupted by this animation project. And the biggest casualty in this is that the work is not about the art. It’s about hypotheses as to why one disturbed man kills himself. The art just becomes an incidental novelty. A crass little cherry on top of a big budget project.
And while we’re talking crass, let’s not forget that the title of the thing is a derivation from how Vincent signed his letters to his brother Theo: Your loving Vincent. The makers of this film could not even respect the intimacy of this complex brotherly love and felt the need to interject their commercial presence in even this.
Vincent van Gogh was the father of a certain type of visual expression. He was not an Englishman. None of the people with whom he fraternised or fought, were English. His is not an English story. And yes, perhaps this film is made for an English speaking audience, but seriously? The range of distinct English accents in this film further blurs over historical veracity or any pretense of it. Had this been in Dutch with English sub-titles, it might have held a modicum of value. Had it even been in English with Dutch and French accents, similarly so. But here, you get nothing.
And as you sit there, feeling irritated by the cloying van Gogh clichés which wash over you with a slick and supercilious resonance, you quietly think, at least they’re not touting that 1971 Don McLean song, Starry Starry Night. But stop right there: it’s there, too, in all its syrupy sentimentality, interpreted by Lianne La Havas in this iteration.
This morass of sickly and superficial Van Gogh adulation does little for an understanding of the artist, his work and his desperate illness which led to his death. And above all, it’s a chore to watch – with an entertainment factor standing way under par.
Loving Vincent is directed by Dorota Kobiela and Hugh Welchman and features a cast headed by Bozena Berlinska-Bryzek, Douglas Booth, Josh Burdett, Borys Dominiuk, Kamila Dyoubari, Holly Earl, Jerome Flynn, Przemyslaw Furdak, James Greene, Robert Gulaczyk, Keith Heppenstall, Martin Herdman, Robin Hodges, Cezary Lukaszewicz, Helen McCrory, Chris O’Dowd, Adam Pabudzinski, Piotr Pamula, Graham Pavey, Saoirse Ronan, John Sessions, Anastazja Seweryn, Marcin Sosinski, Bertlomiej Sroka, Joe Stuckey, Nina Supranionek, Bill Thomas, Eleanor Tomlinson and Aidan Turner. It is written by Dorota Kobiela, Hugh Welchman and Jacek Dehnel. Produced by Ivan Mactaggart, it features creative input by Clint Mansell (music), Tristan Oliver and Lukasz Zal (cinematography), Dorota Kobiela and Justyna Wierszynska (editing), Jennifer Duffy (casting) and Dorota Roqueplo (costumes). Release date: February 23 2018.
I see you: Elisa Esposito (Sally Hawkins) opposite the creature (Doug Jones). Photograph courtesy http://www.indiewire.com
YOU MIGHT SIT there in the auditorium watching Guillermo del Toro’s film The Shape of Water, and quietly begin to think you’ve stepped into a time-zone. This beautifully crafted fantasy love story is like a rendition of 1950s schlock horror tradition ramped up all the way. It’s a delight to watch from beginning to end and contains all the fabulously one-dimensional stereotypes that leave you in no doubt as to who the good guys and the baddies are.
Set in the early 1960s in the mad little heart of the Cold War, the piece presents the American guys opposite the Russians in a quest for scientific advancement. At the heart of all of it, is a kind of amphibious beast with an utterly beautiful texture and a guileless face. Played by Doug Jones, he’s the quintessential colonialist’s dream: exotic and unknown, he’s kept as a government secret and both sides want to do a spot of vivisection to see what he’s made of.
That is, until Elisa Esposito (Sally Hawkins) discovers him.
Endowed with a peculiarly self-deprecating physicality, fitting a mute, damaged and introverted young woman who is almost completely alone, and works a strange routine, where her job, alongside her pal Zelda (Octavia Spencer) is to clean the latrines of the facility, Elisa is the “Fay Wray” in this quirky love story. And it will wring your heart in the finest of ways.
There follows a delicious tale of discovery and boiled eggs, of explicit white male malevolence, homophobia and racism, and a rip-roaring adventure which sees rotten fingers tossed on the lounge carpet, a smashed up teal Cadillac which will make you roar with schadenfreude and some monster sex, not to mention the seductive use of Glenn Miller’s wonderful swing standard I know why. Oh, and water, there’s lots of water.
It’s as poetic an extrapolation of the genre as you can imagine and the sentiments sing with the kind of monster narrative that saw Wray in the arms of King Kong more than 80 years ago, and left audience members weeping. Replete with the dark green Art Deco tiles on the walls everywhere, and the insane nuances of Hawkins with her other friend in all the world, Giles (Richard Jenkins) a gay graphic designer who mourns his lost hair, the work is completely delicious, offering as it does, insight into the complexities of Cold War society with all its crude and petty races for new technology, and its deep biases and tendency toward social violence.
Featuring a lovely little cameo with Michael Stuhlbarg (of A Serious Man fame), as the Russian Dr Robert Hoffstetler, aka “Dimitri”, who recognises the ability of the monster to communicate and indeed to love, it’s the kind of film that will leave your heart dancing with a mix of nostalgia for comics and how stories were told, and a love of the underdog monster who is neglected or ousted by social etiquette.
The Shape of Water is directed by Guillermo del Toro and features a cast headed by Evgeny Akimov, Stewart Arnott, Nigel Bennett, Shaila D’Onofrio, Madison Ferguson, Deney Forrest, Diego Fuentes, Allegra Fulton, Karen Glave, Jayden Greig, Jonelle Gunderson, Sally Hawkins, David Hewlett, Richard Jenkins, Doug Jones, John Kapelos, Marvin Kaye, Morgan Kelly, Cameron Laurie, Dan Lett, Wendy Lyon, Brandon McKnight, Sergey Nikonov, Vanessa Oude-Reimerink, Alexey Pankratov, Martin Roach, Nick Searcy, Michael Shannon, Lauren Lee Smith, Octavia Spencer, Michael Stuhlbarg, Cody Ray Thompson, Edward Tracz, Dru Viergever, Danny Waugh and Clyde Whitham. Featuring a screenplay by Guillermo del Toro and Vanessa Taylor, it is produced by J Miles Dale and Guillermo del Toro and features creative input by Alexandre Desplat (music), Dan Laustsen (cinematography), Sidney Wolinsky (editing), Robin D Cook (casting), Paul D Austerberry (production design) and Luis Sequiera (costumes). Release date: January 19 2018.
WAITING to hear what’s what: Newsroom dynamics with the cast of The Post. Photograph courtesy foxmovies.com
THE MESSY BEAST of the print media, in all its procedural glory and inky mechanisms comes under scrutiny in this completely magnificent Steven Spielberg film that deals with the notorious Pentagon papers. Featuring Meryl Streep opposite Tom Hanks in the leads, it tells the story of the Washington Post, a family-run paper, which finds itself fighting beyond its size for national credibility in the face of secret government documents that contradict the need for the longevity of the Vietnam War.
And of course, you know how the film will end, but getting from point A to point B is not the primary point of the work. It’s a story about the early 1970s with all its sexism and women’s big hairdos, about the values that are projected by the media and about the need in the world for a free press. More than all of this, it’s a work that grants you gritty and wonderful insight into the pre-computer era energy of a newspaper newsroom, where the need for accuracy is tantamount and the smoke and stress of the pooled environment of committed professionals attests to the collaborative passion that made a print newspaper the beautiful thing it was.
Streep utterly shines in this complex role – Katharine Graham inherited her role as publisher of The Post when her husband, Phillip committed suicide in 1963. Armed with a fierce belief in the value of the paper and great loyalty to its heritage, she steered it through the muddy and oft bloody waters of the Pentagon papers to a victory that changed the nature of the media and government secrets, going forward. Streep embodies this woman who teeters between the cultural imperatives of men and women in a world run by men in suits and ties, with characteristic grace and elegance.
You will see interesting cameos by the likes of Michael Stuhlbarg – who you might recognise from the Coen brothers’ A Serious Man – in the role of Abe Rosenthal, the editor of the New York Times, as you will see beautiful reflections of the nub and texture of 1970s American social protocol. It’s a true tale of the meaning of integrity in a world on the cusp of madness, and is the kind of film you need to buy and keep in your repertoire of great classics.
Similar, in a sense, to the 1976 film The Network, written by Paddy Chayefsky and directed by Sidney Lumet, The Post offers astute insights into the value of the media in society. There are caveats enfolded into its nuances that point to the way in which society is broken or kept whole by the pen and opinion of the team of journalist, sub-editor and editor, who bring their readers what matters.
The Post is directed by Steven Spielberg and features a cast headed by Saul Alvarez, Celeste Arias, Kelly AuCoin, Tom Bair, Estelle Bajou, David Aaron Baker, Jordan Baker, Seth Barrish, David Beach, Will Blomker, Walter Brandes, Alison Brie, Dan Bittner, Susan Blackwell, Annika Boras, Dan Bucatinsky, Brendan Burke, Brian Burton, Philip Casnoff, Carrie Coon, Lilli Cooper, David Costable, John Henry Cox, Michael Cyril Creighton, Rick Crom, David Cross, Thaddeus Daniels, Juliana Davies, Johanna Day, Will Denton, Michael Devine, Brett Diggs, Curzon Dobell, Jon Donahue, Francis Dumaurier, Jennifer Dundas, Caleb Eberhardt, Gary Galone, Odiseas Georgiadis, Deborah Green, Bruce Greenwood, Tom Hanks, Pat Healy, Angus Hepburn, Rick Holmes, Christopher Innvar, Lauren Lim Jackson, Mark Jacoby, Austyn Johnson, Brittney Johnson, Cullen Oliver Johnson, Steven Kearney, JaQwan J Kelly, Leslie Kujo, Tracy Letts, Brent Langdon, Fenton Lawless, Ben Livingston, Jerry Lobrow, Kevin Loreque, Deirdre Lovejoy, Stephen Mailer, Ginger Mason, Hazel Mason, Don McCloskey, Carolyn McCormick, Gannon McHale, Robert McKay, Shawn Allen McLaughlin, Sean Meehan, Kelly Miller, Jessie Mueller, Joel Nagle, Patrick Noonan, Ned Noyes, Shaun O’Hagan, Bob Odenkirk, Alexander Sage Oyen, Sarah Paulson, Coral Peña, Matthew Piazzi, Mark Pinelli, Jesse Plemons, Frank Ridley, James Riordan, Matthew Rhys, Stephen Rowe, John Rue, Amy Russ, Stark Sands, Kaylyn Scardefield, Armand Schultz, Luke Slattery, Brett G Smith, Cotter Smith, Sasha Spielberg, Sawyer Spielberg, Meryl Streep, Michael Stuhlbarg, Justin Swain, Clarke Thorell, Kenneth Tigar, Joseph Tudisco, Sonny Valicenti, Anthony M Walker, Peter Van Wagner, Theis Weckesser, Aaron Roman Weiner, Jeremiah Wiggins, Steve Witting, Bradley Whitford, Gary Wilmes, Catherine Wolf and Zach Woods. It is written by Liz Hannah and Josh Singer, and produced by Kristie Macosko Krieger, it features creative input by John Williams (music), Janusz Kaminski (cinematography), Sarah Broshar and Michael Kahn (editing), Ellen Lewis (casting) Rick Carter (production design), and Ann Roth (costumes). Release date: January 26 2018.
TAKING the world on with integrity: Molly Bloom (Jessica Chastain) and Charlie Jaffey (Idris Elba), her lawyer. Photograph courtesy http://www.theverge.com
THE CHALLENGE OF telling a complicated story in bold brush strokes in such a way that detail and nuance are not part of the casualties is a stiff one. The creative team behind Molly’s Game has achieved almost the impossible with this finely honed piece of filmography that is at once beautiful and sexy, intelligent and thought-provoking. It is informative and has a moral core; it’s magnificent to look at and will keep your conversations for weeks after you’ve seen it, peppered with suppositions and reminiscences.
On one level, it’s a poker movie. But if you’re not a poker buff, it doesn’t matter. The game and its morality, the energy behind its allure, are portrayed with a slick suaveness that never becomes self-indulgent. Indeed, there are explanatory overlays that speak of the potency of different hands, and it’s a directorial feat achieved with balance.
Similarly, the story is told on an almost documentary level. There’s a narrator to the work which fills in the narrative interstices and lends the story historical flow without dumbing down the performances or making them illustrative.
And then, there is Jessica Chastain in the leading role. She’s beautiful in the sense that LA-film critic Mick La Salle describes French actresses: there’s a realness, an almost harshness, to her which lifts her stature beyond that of bimbo and into the messy realm of high-end gambling behind closed doors. She really looks at the characters she interfaces with, and she embodies her character with a wrenching earnestness that never feels forced.
As the trailer will show you, there’s lots of high velocity gambling, with the lights, the bling, the revealing dresses and the dodgy rich men. But what the trailer doesn’t show you is the deeply intellectual soul of the story.
It’s the true tale of Olympic skier Molly Bloom, who is shaped by the urge to conquer the most difficult challenges, an urge which takes her in a completely different direction to what any of her fans or enemies might have imagined. It’s a tale with heart and soul, blending and twisting James Joyce’s Ulysses and Arthur Miller’s The Crucible deliciously into its narrative and its screenplay.
With honed and strong performances by Idris Elba and Kevin Costner, it’s a work that foregrounds a young woman’s relationship to men in power, and there are psychological themes and intellectual choruses in the work which are allowed to develop in strata.
In short, this yarn, which touches all mythologist Joseph Campbell’s values about the way in which a hero’s life story is constructed, is tight and intelligently made. There are simply no flaws in it. And you will not be satisfied with a single watching of it. This is one of those films that slides into classic status automatically.
Molly’s Game is directed by Aaron Sorkin and features a cast headed by Gurdeep Ahluwalla, Mary Ashton, Nicholas Banks, Jon Bass, Tom Black, Jacob Blair, Chris Boyle, Steve Brandes, Gary Brennan, Joey Brooks, Catherine Burdon, Bill Camp, Jessica Chastain, Michael Cera, Laura Cilevitz, Ari Cohen, Michael Cohen, Kevin Costner, Brian d’Arcy James, Karl Danhoffer, Todd Thomas Dark, Lizzy DeClement, Linette Doherty, Dennis Drummond, Dan Duran, Idris Elba, Frank Falcone, David Gingrich, Jake Goldsbie, Zachary Goodbaum, Angela Gots, Graham Greene, Shane Harbinson, Thomas Hauff, Daoud Heidami, Stephanie Herfield, Kjartan Hewitt, Chris Hoffman, Piper Howell, James Hurlburg, Samantha Isler, Morgan David Jones, Tommy Julien, Jeff Kassel, Joe Keery, Robert B Kennedy, Justine Kirk, Khalid Klein, Michael Kostroff, Natalie Krill, John Krpan, David Lafontaine, Maria Lerinman, Dan Lett, Ken Linton, Alanna Macaulay, JC MacKenzie, Bo Martyn, Matthew D Matteo, Madison McKinley, Elisa Moolecherry, Timothy Mooney, Duane Murray, John Nelles, Randy Noojin, Chris O’Dowd, Chris Owens, Vasilios Pappas, Jeffrey Parazzo, Whitney Peak, AC Peterson, Jason Pithawalla, Phil Primmer, Jonathan Purdon, Claire Rankin, Robin Read, David Reale, Amy Rutherford, Victor Serfaty, Chris Siddiqi, Rachel Skartsten, Tony Stellisano, Amy Stewart, Rae Anne Stroeder, Jeremy Strong, George Tchortov, Dov Tiefenbach, Vladimir Tsyglian, Rico Tudico, Alyssa Veniece, Bruno Verdoni, Leo Vernik, Jason Weinberg and Moti Yona. It is written by Aaron Sorkin, based on Molly Bloom’s autobiography. Produced by Mark Gordon, Matt Jackson and Amy Pascal, it features creative input by Daniel Pemberton (music), Charlotte Bruus Christensen (cinematography), Alan Baumgarten, Elliot Graham and Josh Schaeffer (editing), Francine Maisler (casting), David Wasco (production design) and Susan Lyall (costume design). Release date: January 12 2018.
VILLAIN in a steam train: Johnny Depp plays the wicked Mr Ratchett. Photograph courtesy http://www.variety.com
THERE’S SOMETHING IRREVOCABLY escapist in an Agatha Christie murder mystery. Not for moral reasons, but for the sleight of hand, the twist in the tale and the characters that populate her stories. This remake of the 1974 classic film, featuring a host of enormous names, from Sean Connery to Ingrid Bergman, with David Suchet in the role of the inimitable Hercules Poirot, the greatest detective in the world, at the right place, at the right time, is delightful. It’s not without its flaws, but it is eye candy in the most lovely of ways.
Put a bunch of prominent and distinctive strangers together on a train en route to Istanbul from Jerusalem, with all its Art Deco detail and wood panelling. Pop off one of them, in a sufficiently violent way. And then derail the train, thus trapping all of them, including the killer, whoever he or she may be, in a context where all must be revealed. And there you have the plot, which grows with abandon in curious directions.
But it’s not for the plot that you watch and are seduced by a yarn of this nature. It’s for the characters. Christie’s writing genius was more about her ability to envelop a character in the round, with all his or her idiosyncrasies and hilarious quirks, with all his or her vulnerabilities and hard core beliefs. And she does this in a couple of sentences, a throwaway line or two.
The filmed version of this pays critical attention to detail, in terms of poise and costume, gesture and mien of each of the characters. And while at times you feel that these are constructed and highly polished simulacra rather than characters, as such, each is completely delicious. The work is replete with an unabashed colonialist fascination with Israel – it’s set in 1934 – and a whole range of racist and sexist barbs which need to be understood in the context of the time, but it’s lively and fine entertainment.
To its disservice, however, several of the cast members, including Michelle Pfeiffer as Mrs Hubbard and Daisy Ridley as Mary Debenham are seemingly far too young for the roles they embrace. Is it a flaw of make-up and directed performance? Are they really too young? This is a moot point, but as the plot unfolds, and all is revealed, there are generational connections between the cast and these two stick out as anomalies.
Other silly events such as a stabbing which is so lacking in credulity, it is laughable, pepper this work, but they’re events in which all can be forgiven. This rip-roaring and fabulous mystery and its resolution, will cast you in beautiful geographies and exciting climes. The work is generously sprinkled with magnificent cameos which make it happen – from Judi Dench to Johnny Depp, with a soupçon of Penélope Cruz and Derek Jacobi, this is a treat. Kenneth Branagh ably balances his role as Poirot, director and one of the producers of this film, but it does make you wonder what kind of a collaborator he may be in a project of this nature.
And finally a word must be added for Poirot’s moustache which is the main character in many stills. It’s so fabulous, it deserves a credit all of its own.
Murder on the Orient Express is directed by Kenneth Branagh and performed by a cast headed by Ziad Abaza, David Annen, Andy Apollo, Tom Bateman, Nari Blair-Mangat, Todd Boyce, Lucy Boynton, Luke Brady, Kenneth Branagh, Darryl Clark, Richard Clifford, Olivia Colman, Penélope Cruz, Willem Dafoe, Judi Dench, Johnny Depp, Phil Dunster, Paapa Essiedu, Hadley Fraser, Josh Gad, Adam Garcia, Manuel Garcia-Rulfo, Tom Hanson, Yasmin Harrison, Matthew Hawksley, Gerard Horan, Derek Jacobi, Pip Jordan, Ansu Kabia, Hayat Kamille, Marwan Kenzari, Joshua Lacey, Crispin Letts, Elliot Levey, Joseph Long, Anoushka Lucas, Rami Nasr, Asan N’Jie, Leslie Odom Jr, Michelle Pfeiffer, Sergei Polunin, Chris Porter, Miranda Raison, Jack Riddiford, Daisy Ridley, Michael Rouse, Sid Sagar, Irfan Shamji, Harry Lister Smith, Kate Tydman, Kathryn Wilder, Miltos Yerolemou and Yassine Zeroual. It is written by Michael Green based on the eponymous book by Agatha Christie. Produced by Kenneth Branagh, Mark Gordon, Judy Hoffland, Simon Kinberg, Michael Schaefer and Ridley Scott, it features creative input by Patrick Doyle (music), Haris Zambarioukos (cinematography), Mick Audsley (editing), Lucy Bevan (casting), Jim Clay (production design), Rebecca Alleway (set) and Alexandra Byrne (costumes). Release date: November 24 2017.
OPENING cans of worms for dinner: Kathy (Connie Britton), Beatriz (Salma Hayek) and Doug (John Lithgow). Photograph courtesy imdb.com
CRUELTY, HUNTING, MAKING money and having fun at anyone’s expense are some of the values central to Beatriz at Dinner. Others take a holistic, meditative line. Told with clarity, it is a film that is grown up in sense of balance and of narrative. Astonishingly fine performances by Salma Hayek opposite John Lithgow are the cherry on top – but be warned: there are no clear answers in this battle of values, and you will be discussing the nuances of the film itself for weeks.
Beatriz (Hayek) is a healer. But she’s a woman who carries with her a history of great suffering. Born in a small village in Mexico, she lives in suburban America. She meditates. She keeps goats. She’s a vegan. She drives a beat up old Volkswagen. And she dispenses alternative healing to people with cancer at a healing centre.
Enter Kathy (Connie Britton). Living in an exclusive, gated suburb with her husband and much wealth, Kathy is the mother of a young woman who conquered Hodgkin’s Disease with the therapeutic and holistic assistance of Beatriz. The women consider themselves friends.
But there’s a glitch. Beatriz is not white. And there’s a missing beat in how much the two women are able to share, given politics, prejudice and everything in between. A flat car battery forces the hand of fate and finds Beatriz at dinner with Kathy and her husband (David Warshofsky) together with two couples. It’s a formal dinner and a “work related” one, in which Beatriz has no real place.
There follows a deeply cringeworthy set of exchanges in which values come clashing at one another from developed perspectives. The three white couples are honed stereotypes, very well moulded on convention. Beatriz stands out like a sore thumb with her jeans and running shoes, her un-made up face and her unapologetic beliefs, which the long-haired, heavily done up women can only relate to with shallow expletives and gentle faux sympathetic titters.
Doug Strutt (Lithgow) is the mogul they all want to impress. He’s big, loud and unambiguously bombastic and egocentric. He gets his thrills from canned hunting. To him, wives are a thing about acquisition – he’s currently on number three (Amy Landecker). In short, by conventional accounts, this is a hideous character. He cares more for the sating of his hedonistic character’s whims than for the sanctity of other people’s lives – let alone the trees and birdlife his very many projects will destroy in the process. It’s all about him.
And thus Beatriz meets Doug. She’s earnest and shocked. He’s patronising and smarmy. But wait: you may think this is a tale of good versus evil. You may think you know which values are represented by which character. You may think this is all cut and dried. To the film-makers’ credit, Beatriz at Dinner presents both sides of the argument with nuance and complexity. Bringing in a touch of magic realism, the work is a parable and features an ending that perplexes you into thinking about the parameters of victory and defeat.
On paper, the character of Beatriz seems a naive bleeding heart liberal, a crackpot with values that have no place in the real world. Strutt seems a cardboard cut-out, beating the proverbial drum for jobs, wealth and a western sense of nakedly acquisitive progress, where blood can be found beneath anything beautiful. On screen, Hayek and Lithgow lend these roles an unequivocal three-dimensionality, allowing the work to sizzle and haunt.
Beatriz at Dinner is directed by Miguel Arteta and is performed by Natalia Abelleyra, Amanda Borella, Connie Britton, Enrique Castillo, Jay Duplass, John Early, Salma Hayek, Amy Landecker, John Lithgow, Sean O’Bryan, Chloë Sevigny, Soledad St Hilaire and David Warshofsky. It is written by Mike White. Produced by Aaron L. Gilbert, David Hinojosa, Pamela Koffler and Christine Vachon, it features creative input by Mark Mothersbaugh (music), Wyatt Garfield (cinematography), Jay Deuby (editing), Joanna Colbert and Meredith Tucker (casting), Ashley Fenton (production design), Madelaine Frezza (set) and Christina Blackaller (costumes). Release date: November 29 2017.
WOMAN at a casement: Alicia Vikander is the inscrutable, beautiful Sophia Sandvoort. Photograph courtesy imdb.com
IT’S MID 17TH century Amsterdam and the money making pastime of predicting the rarity of a tulip from its bulb is all the rage. Picture the hustle and bustle and noise of a 20th century stock exchange, or a nineteenth century auction, toss in a bit of Victorian bawdry and market banter, and you’ve got the picture. It’s rough and wild and replete with glorious surprises, which enfolds the rich and controlled presence of the church into its complexity. Against this backdrop, a wealthy spice merchant buys a beautiful young orphan from the nunnery to be his wife, and there follows a beautiful tale of sacrifice and disappointment, love and fear, chance and tulips that will make you feel as though you’ve stepped into a painting by Dutch master Jan Vermeer.
The film is beautifully crafted with a great sense of research and intelligence. It offers the texture of Dutch 16th century life that doesn’t seem to miss a beat in its reflections – and there’s everything there, from the propensity of Dutch artists to work on wood, to a visual comment on the Jewish and black communities of the city at the time. There’s an understanding of class hierarchy and costume rules, as well as of the ignorance of men in matters of gynaecology. And there’s a tiny performance by veteran Judi Dench as the authoritative abbess, pipe in hand, that pulls it all together with wit and wisdom.
It’s a rich and heady tale that presents the older gentleman – the king of peppercorns – who knows a thing or six about what makes a good nutmeg, Cornelis Sandvoort (Christoph Waltz) as the ultimate hero: the widower who in spite of great hurt sees an understanding of truth and is able to reflect generously on the value of wealth in a way that seems to contradict his station or stereotypes of his gender.
Sophia (Alicia Vikander) is heartbreakingly young and her astonishing beauty embraces a deep vulnerability. The challenge of being wife to a man at least forty years older, one who wants an heir is tough, and Sophia remains fairly inscrutable even in bed with him. Enter the young artist, Jan van Loos (Dane DeHaan), on a portrait commission and all libidinal abandon is tossed to the wind.
While the love scenes are deeply beautiful, in certain respects, adherence to the time frame is lost and in the midst of rapture and blind passion, the young couple – Sophia and van Loos – loosen the bounds of the period and seem like a modern couple. Similarly, the finished paintings feel far too modern in style for the period in question, which was curtailed by stylistic convention, even though so much of it is drenched in the kind of liquid light you can see in paintings by Vermeer, from the same kind of period.
Having said that, the complexity of the story which sees the underbelly of the tulip prediction business infiltrating through it, involves chance and misunderstanding, a misleading pregnancy and a plan destined to fail. Fail it does, but you’re overwhelmed and surprised by how and why. It’s a rich and beautiful film that might make you think of Alexandre Dumas’s fabulous tale of a black tulip, as you learn about the nature and ethos of betting, acquiring and letting go.
Tulip Fever is directed by Justin Chadwick and is performed by a cast featuring Keith Ackerman, Laura Allen, Sebastian Armesto, Cressida Bonas, Cornelius Booth, Amy Brogan, Greta Brogan, Jody Brogan, Daisy Chadwick, Conner Chapman, Declan Cooke, Dane DeHaan, Cara Delevingne, Judi Dench, James Dryden, Ian Drysdale, Jane Edwardes, Patsy Ferran, Zach Galifianakis, Michael Geary, Alexandra Gilbreath, B Glanville, Holliday Grainger, David Harewood, Anastasia Hille, Douglas Hodge, Tom Hollander, James Inkling, Alex Lowe, Daisy Lowe, Brendan McCoy, Kevin McKidd, Simon Meacock, Tom Meredith, Deborah Moggach, Matthew Morrison, Michael Nardone, Jack O’Connell, Megan O’Connell, Rhoda Ofori-Attah, Carl O’Rourke, Harry Rafferty, Ian Ralph, Richard Alan Reid, Joanna Scanlan, Michael Smiley, Johnny Vegas, Alicia Vikander, Christoph Waltz, and Miltos Yerolemou. Its screenplay is written by Deborah Moggach and Tom Stoppard, based on the eponymous novel by Deborah Moggach. Produced by Alison Owen and Harvey Weinstein, it features creative input by Danny Elfman (music), Eigil Bryld (cinematography), Rick Russell (editing), Shaheen Baig (casting), Simon Elliott (production design), Rebecca Alleway (set), Michael O’Connor (costumes). Release date: November 10 2017.