Following my rundown of the absolute bottom of the barrel in Part 1, things are starting to improve now⌠but only marginally. The films covered in part two are mainly those I rated 2.5 stars, with a couple of 3 star films as the light at the end of the tunnel. All entries contain spoilers.
85. THE DEPARTED
Watched 8 October 2022
I knew going into The Departed that Iâd found it pretty overrated the first time I saw it. But having always been a fan of Scorseseâs work, I was quite looking forward to giving The Departed a second go. Even though critically it has quickly become regarded as second-tier Scorsese, so many people absolutely love this film. But Iâm not one of them.â¨â¨
In truth, I donât even like The Departed. Iâve never seen Infernal Affairs, the Hong Kong film on which it is based, so my objections are not comparative (although midway through The Departedâs unnecessarily lengthy runtime, Infernal Affairsâ 101 minutes were looking pretty enviable). Rather, I found The Departed sterile, lumbering and tedious. Never once did its tale of two undercover spies, one working for the police and the other for the mob, engage me through tense action, interesting dialogue or three-dimensional characters. The stylistic verve which made previous Scorsese crime epics so compulsively watchable is almost totally absent here. The Departed instead displays far more of the bloat that had crept into the directorâs then-recent films like Gangs of New York and The Aviator. The Departed is also a film filled with great actors but no great performances. Jack Nicholson, Leonardo DiCaprio and Matt Damon are all fine but unremarkable and Mark Wahlberg got himself Oscar-nominated in a slightly over-the-top performance as an abrasive Staff Sergeant.â¨â¨
Ultimately, The Departed has a complex plot that is ill-served by being allowed to meander for two and a half hours. If this time had been used to fill out the characters a bit, it mightâve helped but William Monahanâs superficial script just bogs itself down in convoluted plot which Scorsese occasionally punctuates with bursts of extreme violence, the like of which people who havenât seen many Scorsese films believe define his diverse filmography. This erroneous impression feels like it helped push The Departed onto the winnerâs podium, with people going âAh, classic Scorseseâ because they saw a few guns and brutal beatings.â¨â¨
OK, that last point is entirely unfair. I donât doubt that many people genuinely consider The Departed a masterpiece, I just canât see why myself. The famously heavy-handed rat symbolism at the end is just the tip of a long, unsubtle and tedious iceberg. The Departed also seems like a weird film to have won Best Picture, which many people attribute to it actually being a Lifetime Achievement Award in Best Pictureâs clothing. Certainly the Best Director win feels like an overreaction to one of Scorseseâs most pedestrian works. Would he have won here if heâd already won for Raging Bull as most people feel he should? Thereâs no real way to tell. Ultimately though, The Departed is just not for me, which is surprising given how much Iâve enjoyed similar films in the Scorsese canon.
84. A BEAUTIFUL MIND
Watched 19 July 2022
Ron Howardâs A Beautiful Mind is one of the Best Picture winners that I always forget won the award. While it still has its enthusiastic fanbase, it is rarely mentioned in critical evaluations of the best films of the early 21st century and there is so little to distinguish it as a great film that it tends to slip through the cracks in the collective memory. A homogenised adaptation of the life of mathematician John Nash, A Beautiful Mind has all the hallmarks of an Oscar nominee with its earnest central performances, sepia-tinged cinematography and literate but dumbed-down and sentimental screenplay, but it doesnât feel like a winner. I think the thing that tipped the vote in its favour is the twist that occurs about midway through the film. People were still twist-happy in the aftermath of The Sixth Senseâs recent nomination and this probably didnât hurt A Beautiful Mindâs chances. Itâs an ancient twist even for 2001 but it couldâve worked with a better film constructed around it. Unfortunately, itâs the unpleasantly chewy centre of an overfamiliar, tasteless confection.â¨â¨
Itâs probably best, as I did on my original viewing, to go into A Beautiful Mind knowing as little as possible about its subject (in which case, stop reading at this point if youâve not seen it yet). This is partly because if you happen to know that John Nash suffered from schizophrenia, youâll guess almost immediately what is coming. Further reading about Nashâs life also reveals just how many aspects of his story have been eliminated to create neater, more palatable Oscar fodder, including his complex relationship with his own sexuality, his arrest for indecent exposure, his impregnation of a woman whom he left when he heard the news, his abusive behaviour towards his wife Alicia and their subsequent divorce in 1963. Though Iâm often lenient on certain fudged details in biopics provided they help to tell the story better, A Beautiful Mind would clearly have been a more compelling film if it had incorporated at least some of these elements. The only consideration that led to them not being included seems to have been a determination to make Nash a more likeable protagonist. When likability becomes so important that details that would enhance a story are removed, the film starts to feel more like a deception. We ought to have been trusted as an audience to make up our minds about Nash given all the mitigating details but the filmmakers went after something far softer and more patronising. Thereâs a terrific film to be made from Nashâs life but A Beautiful Mind emphatically isnât it.
â¨â¨Though there are plenty of recognisable faces in the cast, from Christopher Plummer and Judd Hirsch to Ed Harris and Paul Bettany, A Beautiful Mind largely hinges on the performances of its two leads, Russell Crowe and Jennifer Connelly. As Alicia, Connelly is quite good, making some pretty goofy dialogue sound natural before sealing her Oscar win by hysterically throwing a glass at a wall and screaming (the Academyâs preferred form of emotional expression). But Crowe, also nominated, has always seemed wrong for this role to me. Despite the unlikability of the man himself, Iâm not averse to Crowe given the right role, but mentally ill mathematician is up there with singing French policeman among his most miscast moments. A few years later, A Beautiful Mindâs director Ron Howard and screenwriter Akiva Goldsman reunited with Crowe for the less lauded but far superior Cinderella Man, which used the same widely-palatable, Oscar-friendly style to tell a much more convincing tale of heavyweight boxer James J. Braddock, a role which Crowe essayed with sensitivity and heart, and without having to stare off into the middle distance quite so much as he does here.â¨â¨
Iâm not being snobbish (or at least not purposefully) when I say that A Beautiful Mind is perhaps best enjoyed by those just starting to develop a taste for cinema. If youâve never seen this kind of story told this way, itâll probably wow you top to bottom. And if it plays this sort of significant role in your cinematic journey then hopefully youâll hang onto that nostalgia on subsequent watches. Back when it came out I was lucky enough to see A Beautiful Mind without knowing the twist and I think I enjoyed it more that first time because, having not known what was coming, this felt like a whole new beginning midway through the film. But, as many initial fans have since stated, once the element of surprise is removed the returns diminish rapidly. There are plenty of films with twists that are still infinitely rewatchable but coming into A Beautiful Mind knowing about the midpoint upheaval, I found myself reluctantly staring down the barrel of a predictable and rather depressing second hour filled with âoh no, heâs stopped taking the medicationâ hokiness.
83. THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE RETURN OF THE KING
Watched 8 July 2022
Iâve not been looking forward to The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King coming up. In fact, when Iâve considered doing a full Best Picture rewatch in the past, this has always been one of the films that put me off pursuing that challenge. Itâs not that I think Peter Jacksonâs epic trilogy of Tolkein adaptations are bad films. They are very clearly quite monumental achievements in many ways. Itâs just that this kind of sprawling, self-serious, grim fantasy is not my cup of tea at all so thereâs a problem from the get-go. The kind of review I can offer is of very little value because it is just down to personal preferences. So I can only say, for instance, I really donât find huge battle scenes entertaining. I canât criticise or applaud the battle scenes here because my dislike for them pretty much across the board makes me useless in differentiating between good ones and bad ones. Iâm sure these are well done battle scenes but it all just plays as unengaging chaos to me. â¨â¨
Likewise, Iâm sure there are some good characters in The Return of the King but they spend so much of their time making serious, overwrought and doomy pronouncements that I struggle to see it. Andy Serkisâs Gollum is an exception, expertly played and brilliantly rendered in a way that hasnât yet aged a day. And Ian McKellen strikes the right authoritative but human note as Gandalf. I often think of the Lord of the Rings films as largely humourless but they do have flashes of wit and in this film they mostly come from the charmingly wearied-grandparent relationship Gandalf has with Pippin. Thereâs an actual funny joke at one point, in which Gandalf compiles an ever growing list of things Pippin should refrain from mentioning at a crucial moment, before giving in and just advising him to keep his Hobbity trap shut altogether. But elsewhere I have a problem with the performance style. In particular, Elijah Wood as Frodo and Sean Astin as Sam just seem like the best actors at their school who have somehow accidentally ended up in an international blockbuster. Like Shakespeare, it can be hard to find an appropriately naturalistic tone for this material but the one most of the cast have settled on just amps up the artifice in a way I struggle to assimilate while trying to lose myself in a world I find unconvincing anyway.â¨â¨
Iâll try not to waffle on too much about what I perceive as The Return of the Kingâs shortcomings but, try as I might, I was very bored watching this. Iâve given it a begrudging 2.5 stars because I recognise that it at least deserves that recognition from a production standpoint but boy, was I ever ready for it to end. Which brings us to what I will make my final criticism and, yes, itâs that same criticism almost everyone has: the ending(s). Have you ever been trying to shoo a bee out of a window? It comes really close to flying out and youâre convinced youâve been successful but then it turns around at the last minute and comes back into the room. Undeterred, you try again only for the same thing to happen. Third time lucky, the bee flies out the open window but your celebration is cut short when it flies back in through another open window elsewhere in the room. Eventually you do get rid of the bee but by that time you are frustrated, angry and tired, and the hard-won success can never replace the satisfaction you wouldâve felt had the bee left on the first sodding attempt, which, letâs face it, wouldâve been better for you, the bee and everyone else involved. That is the experience of watching the final 20 minutes of The Return of the King.
82. BRAVEHEART
Watched 12 June 2023
The first thing youâre likely to hear in most discussions about Mel Gibsonâs Braveheart is accusations of historical inaccuracy. If thereâs one thing Braveheart has never passed for, itâs an authentic record of the life of 13th century Scottish warrior William Wallace. Screenwriter Randy Wallace (no relation) said his work was inspired by a 15th century poem by Blind Harry, which presumably took some level of poetic licence, although by all accounts there are many liberties taken even with this material. The opening voiceover, attributed here to Robert the Bruce, begins âI shall tell you of William Wallace. Historians from England will say I am a liar, but history is written by those who have hanged heroes.â Unfortunately for Randy Wallace, those historians didnât only come from England. Ultimately, while thereâs a debate to be had about showing the proper respect for national heroes, what I was most interested in when coming to Braveheart was whether it entertained me. And the answer to that question is no or, perhaps more accurately, not sufficiently for a three hour film.â¨â¨
A big part of whether you like Braveheart or not will hinge on whether you like large scale battle scenes. I do not, and yet even I can see that Gibson knows how to stage an effective one. I actually quite enjoyed the first battle but the muddy, bloody brutality eventually becomes repetitive. The 90s Best Picture list is big on Epics, with Braveheart coming right in the middle of a run of 2-and-a-half to 3 hour plus winners that includes Forrest Gump, Titanic and The English Patient. But the sense of spectacle that carried those films to an extent is drowned in Braveheartâs dour palette of browns and greys. There are some shots of amazing highland scenery but the overall experience feels like rolling in a sludgy puddle, the fresh air tainted with flecks of dirt and splattering gore. Films donât owe it to us to be pretty but I found Braveheartâs overcast skies and grey stone walls depressing over the course of a runtime equal to that of two football matches (I have no idea why a film featuring a victory for Scotland should put me in mind of that comparison!).â¨â¨
Thereâs not much point in me harping on why I didnât like Braveheart for too long because the major reason is that itâs just not my kind of film (thus no surprise in that respect that Iâve ranked it right next to The Return of the King) and, as Iâve said already, I can see some of it is well realised. I really enjoyed the scene in which William Wallace fights off a group of English soldiers single-handed and I even think Mel Gibson, miscast as he is, has the charisma to just about get away with playing this part. But there is much that I donât like too. The doomy tone is depressing but the humour with which Gibson attempts to leaven the film is distractingly broad and corny. It reminds me of John Fordâs similarly clunky attempts to introduce lighthearted asides to his films, usually resulting in scenes with the moral âReal men show their love by punching each other in the faceâ. This celebration of toxic masculinity is especially problematic when coupled with Braveheartâs depiction of Prince Edward. As played by Peter Hanly, Edwardâs homosexuality is clearly touted as being linked to weakness and buffoonery. Right from the off, with his tentative rejection of his new wife, Gibson and Randy Wallace have made Edward a clown-like figure⌠at this point I should note that by Randy Wallace, I refer to the screenwriter of that name, not the reaction William Wallace has to Edwardâs wife. You see, it is Braveheartâs contention that William Wallace stepped in to satisfy the princessâs needs, making his secret offspring the eventual heir to the throne. Though that historically iffy suggestion is in keeping with Braveheartâs record of wanton inaccuracy, it is also clearly a jibe about a âreal manâ rising to the challenge when he was needed.â¨â¨
So yes, thereâs a lot of problematic stuff in Braveheart and, while Iâd be lying if I said any of it sits well (especially given Gibsonâs well-documented later antics), the major factor in the film being so low in my rankings is that it bored me. If Braveheartâs particular brand of rabble-rousing, Epic 90s filmmaking appeals to you then youâll probably eat this up. Certainly, it is a film that has maintained public affection more easily than critical plaudits. But for me it remains more of an example of how the Academy in that decade generally deferred to the big, long, expensive one. If that sounds at all reductive, just call it poetic licence. That, or the bitter grumblings of a man who has already sat through Forrest Gump, Dances with Wolves, Titanic and The English Patient in the name of this experiment. One more 90s Epic and Iâll be crying out for freedom too.
81. TERMS OF ENDEARMENT
Watched 26 April 2023
James L. Brooks is a filmmaker who I like the idea of more than I actually like. As a big fan of TV comedy, Brooksâ exceptional work in this field cannot be ignored and the idea of a director bringing those expertise learned on sitcom sets to the big screen is a tantalisingly exciting prospect. In one case it paid off handsomely, with Brooksâ masterpiece Broadcast News, which remains one of my favourite films of the 80s. But Iâve found Brooksâ subsequent work, including the acclaimed As Good As It Gets, frustratingly patchy. Sometimes, as with the slightly underrated Spanglish, he comes close to bringing together something great, only to scupper it with a handful of dreadful scenes that disastrously puncture the whole. But sometimes nothing at all seems to be coming together, with the characters feeling completely unreal, moved like gameboard pieces through uninspired events that result in a tedious lack of engagement. This was certainly an acknowledged issue with Brooksâ last film, the saggy How Do You Know, but Iâve always felt it was also true of his acclaimed, Best Picture winning debut, Terms of Endearment.â¨â¨
Based on Larry McMurtyâs novel, Terms of Endearment charts thirty years in the lives of mother and daughter Aurora and Emma. Aurora is a widow with many suitors who she cruelly keeps hanging on with a mild disinterest. Her relationship with Emma is controlling but close, and when Emma marries and moves across the country they keep in touch via regular phone calls. These calls punctuate the events of their romantic lives, notably Auroraâs farcical relationship with her boozy neighbour, retired astronaut Garrett Breedlove, and Emmaâs family melodrama as she juggles a growing number of children with a neglectful husband, a potential affair and, ultimately, a devastating diagnosis. This is the sort of rambling family saga that often works better on the page than it does on the screen and that certainly feels like the case with Terms of Endearment. The film moves swiftly through elapsing years, keeping the audience aware of how much time has passed by way of ageing children and changing hairstyles, but this feels like all that is changing. To pull off a tale told over such a lengthy time period, there has to be a sense of what has happened offscreen as well as on it. As it leaps from year to year, thereâs no feel for how events have been influenced by that trickling hourglass sand. Instead, itâs just time in the narrative for that marriage breakdown, never mind how we got there. With such an emotional disconnect, it feels as if Brooks is trying to wring tears from his cinema audience in the same way he did laughs from his TV audience. If you didnât like that one, donât worry, thereâll be another along in a minute.â¨â¨
A major problem with Terms of Endearment for me is the performances. The one exception is the wonderful Debra Winger, who makes Emma into a vibrant, hilarious, believably flawed but basically sympathetic character who actually seems to change according to more than the demands of the narrative. She is the saving grace of Terms of Endearment for me. Not only is she as convincing as an impulsive teen as she is as a harried mother, but you can see elements of each phase throughout the performance, either waiting to blossom or refusing to be snuffed out. Iâd go as far as to say this is one of the great performances of the era and I just desperately wish it was part of a better film. Winger was Oscar-nominated but was overshadowed by her co-stars Shirley MacLaine and Jack Nicholson, who both won Oscars for their roles as Aurora and Garrett respectively. MacLaine was particularly lauded for her performance but itâs always felt empty to me. Her character is so volatile that it is often hard to discern the motivations for her actions and MacLaine pitches the whole turn with the same mid-level neuroses, never displaying the range that Winger seems to effortlessly exude. Itâs no surprise that MacLaineâs best scenes are those with Winger, but the emotional heart with which their relationship is supposed to imbue the film never quite convinces. Nicholson, meanwhile, seems to be playing a goofy self-parody and his personality shifts are likewise undersold. The tragedy of the final act pulls all these characters together but, in this case, it feels like a cheat to get to the moist-eyed finale without the necessary emotional progression.
â¨â¨Although Terms of Endearment made TV legend Brooks the toast of cinema screens too, in retrospect it feels more televisual than it does cinematic. Andrzej Bartkowiakâs horribly washed out cinematography has the look of a cheap TV movie but, combined with Michael Goreâs incredibly intrusive, syrupy score (Oscar nominated score, no less), the overall feel becomes that of daytime soap opera. Iâm not one to sneer at the undeniable pleasures of soaps and this aesthetic has sometimes worked for me in the past but Terms of Endearment just lacks everything that makes such entertainments relatable. The buzz around the film, generated by plentiful weeping audiences who felt differently from me, seemed to create one of those flurries of Academy overreaction when it came to nominees. Aside from Goreâs horrendous score, I have no idea how John Lithgow bagged a Supporting Actor nomination for his ten minutes of unremarkable screentime. I love Lithgow but he is largely wasted here, as is a completely superfluous Danny DeVito as one of Auroraâs suitors.â¨â¨
Iâve always been suspicious of films referred to as Weepies. When it comes to sentimentality, Iâm an easy mark but nothing causes my tear ducts to dry up faster than the feeling Iâm being prompted by the narrative equivalent of a âPlease Cry Nowâ intertitle. To be fair, I get the impression that Terms of Endearment sincerely wanted to grapple with the cruelty and sadness of the tragic hands life abruptly deals us but it feels like thereâs a tonal disconnect between Brooksâ intermittently smart dialogue and the events of McMurtryâs story. This results in a screen full of ciphers orbiting an impeccable Winger and the film feels alternately confusing and unsatisfactory.
80. GOING MY WAY
Watched 10 March 2023
Going My Way now feels like a relic of a different Hollywood but when it won the Best Picture Oscar, as well as six others, in 1944 it was just the sort of feelgood fare that wartime audiences were understandably gravitating towards. Itâs easy to question its victory from a modern standpoint, especially since it beat Billy Wilderâs Double Indemnity to the top award, but Wilderâs seminal Noir, though popular, was probably the sort of downbeat film the Academy felt less like honouring in the face of contemporary events. And so we got an episodic, pious-but-progressive tale that combines elements of the most escapist genres (the Musical, the Comedy and the sentimental Drama) with a religiosity that was surely crucial to the outlook of many 40s viewers, even if it seems a tad crusty and overbearing to an increasingly secular modern audience. Going My Way probably still resonates with a certain type of viewer and it is refreshing to see an unashamedly religious film that is willing to turn its critical sights on the outdated conservatism of the church as much as on the sinners to be saved. Make no mistake, Going My Way wants the viewer to go its way when it comes to spiritual matters, but in spotlighting the clash between Bing Crosbyâs forward-thinking young priest Father Chuck OâMalley and Barry Fitzgeraldâs rigid fire-and-brimstone traditionalist Father Fitzgibbon, itâs a film that recognises the requirement to meet aspiring young Catholics halfway, even if that means playing (gasp!) Popular music on church instruments.
â¨â¨The main context in which Going My Way is discussed now is the strange quirk which saw Barry Fitzgerald nominated in both the Best Actor and Best Supporting Actor categories for the same role. I often think he shouldâve been nominated in a third category too as a symbolic representation of the holy trinity, but only Best Actress and Best Supporting Actress remained and you know the Catholic churchâs view on female nominees in the priesthood! Fitzgerald ultimately took the Supporting Actor trophy, with his co-star Crosby walking away with the Best Actor award. While Iâm not sure either of them deserved their wins, it is probably fair to say that they are the reason Going My Way works as well as it does. They manage to convincingly portray an awkward relationship between two characters who share broadly the same beliefs but differ on how to promote them. While it has some characters who act as mild antagonists, Going My Way consciously avoids the sort of major conflict that could upend its gentleness. But in attempting to maintain this amiability, the film becomes aimless and unable to convincingly sustain its two hour runtime.â¨â¨
Going My Way is very much the kind of film that needs to utterly charm the viewer to achieve its desired effect and, unfortunately, it falls short on the charm front for me. Crosbyâs affable performance is its strongest suit and the character of Father OâMalley was popular enough to return in the following yearâs The Bells of St. Maryâs, which was also nominated for multiple Oscars. For many, his major strength is the musical element he brings to the film but Iâve always felt the modest soundtrack falls a bit short and that the songs feel a bit crowbarred into the narrative. Certainly, the title song is too forgettable to have a film named after it, while the standard Swinging on a Star is a goofy confection for which Iâve never cared, even though Iâve known it since childhood, long before I saw its Oscar-winning appearance here. Opera star RisĂŤ Stevens is good in her role as OâMalleyâs old flame but as someone who is far from a fan of opera, adding operatic numbers into the film was always just going to slow it down even more for me.â¨â¨
While for many Going My Way probably coasts by on charm, I had to make do with its good intentions alone. Though it carefully avoids being offensive in any way, this feels like a woefully dated picture in many respects and its good nature fails to compensate for its lack of energy. The final scenes are movingly realised but itâs too little too late after two hours of vague, uninspired moralising and the mildest of conflicts. This may be some peopleâs idea of a cosy film but I was jiffling in my seat after about 45 minutes. For an old agnostic like me, thereâs little peace to be found in a film like this.
79. A MAN FOR ALL SEASONS
Watched 12 February 2023
There was a period in the 60s when the British Historical Drama became a regular fixture in the Best Picture Oscar nominations. Becket, The Lion in Winter and Anne of the Thousand Days all capitalised on American Anglophilia to get their names in the running, but only one of their kind actually took home the most coveted award: A Man for All Seasons. The story of the final days of Lord Chancellor Sir Thomas More as he resolutely sticks to his refusal to support the annulment of King Henry VIIIâs marriage or to sign an Oath of Supremacy, A Man for All Seasons leans strongly on an eloquent screenplay by Robert Bolt, based on his own play of the same name, and an audienceâs level of enjoyment will depend on the extent with which they engage with Boltâs rich but occasionally stodgy dialogue. Unfortunately, for my part, this couldnât overcome the filmâs other shortcomings.â¨â¨
Fred Zinnemann was nominated for the Best Director Oscar seven times across his career but Iâve always found his style rather flat. Although he won the Oscar for his work on A Man for All Seasons, the film feels distinctly and detrimentally televisual in its claustrophobic insularity. Even when weâre looking at large courtyards or lush gardens, the film suffers from a strange pokiness that undermines its larger themes of moral courage. This isnât helped by the performances. Thereâs an impressive roster of big names here but the determination to include familiar faces like Orson Welles and Vanessa Redgrave in smaller roles works against the film, ending up making it feel like a group of luvvies playing dress-up. The acting style here is very stagey, to the extent that you can almost imagine each player being hit by a spotlight as they step forward for their big speech. Paul Scofield holds his own in his dignified, if still rather mannered, Oscar-winning lead performance as More, while at the other end of the scale Robert Shaw is embarrassingly over-the-top as the childish King. Itâs a big performance that might have worked on stage but which screams âBASED ON A PLAYâ when seen on screen.
â¨â¨A Man for All Seasons will likely benefit from some pre-existing interest in the history on which its story is based and may prove hard to follow for those coming to it completely cold. But the filmâs major appeal is not in its unfurling of events but in the advocation of maintaining your morality in the face of corrupting influences, a message that must have chimed with 60s radicals in a way that may have overcome their aversion to the more conservative aspects of its stuffy aesthetic. A Man for All Seasons was a hit at the time but it hasnât aged particularly well. Like The Kingâs Speech, it feels like a film that capitalised on its own fleeting phenomenon, after which its Best Picture win quickly began to feel mystifying. While still an intelligent and thematically resonant piece of work, A Man for All Seasons feels extremely dry to modern eyes, in a way that its more tonally adventurous cousin The Lion in Winter does not.
78. TOM JONES
Watched 21 June 2023
Despite having carved out a reputation as one of the finest purveyors of kitchen sink dramas, director Tony Richardson was not about to let his groundbreaking production company Woodfall Film Productions stagnate and his next project took a step in a different direction. While all the studioâs films until this point had been based on the work of contemporary writers, with Tom Jones Richardson looked instead to classic eighteenth-century literature for inspiration. The hero of Henry Fieldingâs bawdy picaresque novel does seem in many ways like a precursor to the pleasure-seeking Arthur Seaton of Woodfallâs earlier hit Saturday Night and Sunday Morning, and accordingly Albert Finney was cast in the role, while Look Back in Anger and The Entertainerâs author John Osborne was engaged to write the arch screenplay. Also in keeping with Woodfallâs previous outings, Richardson peppered his cast of young actors with old-hands like Edith Evans, Hugh Griffith and Joan Greenwood. â¨â¨
The stage seemed set for an exciting new take on the epic costume drama and Tom Jones does indeed bring many new angles to the often creaky sub-genre. The film has, however, aged somewhat poorly and what felt new and exciting at the time of its release too often seems hackneyed and even desperate to modern eyes.â¨A major problem with Tom Jones is that it feels more like a box of tricks than a film. In attempting to capture the winking nature of the saucy material, Richardson throws everything he can think of into the mix from a silent film style prologue to freeze frames, speeded up footage and frequent fourth wall breaking. Sometimes it works, with the cheeky turns to camera (something I loathe when done clumsily) giving the film a devilish charm but ultimately the constant prestidigitation becomes severely distancing. At over two hours in length, Tom Jones is an exhausting experience as there is little engagement to be had with these characters and what begins as playful merriment eventually feels like tired frolicking. Oddly, for a film whose characters seem almost secondary and are played with an affectionate but one-dimensional staginess, Tom Jones received five Oscar nominations in the acting categories. It remains the only film to achieve three Best Supporting Actress nominations (although the award went to another British actress, Margaret Rutherford, in Anthony Asquithâs largely forgotten The V.I.P.s) and it won several other high profile Oscars including Richardson for Best Director, Osborne for Best Adapted Screenplay, John Addison for Best Original Score and, amazingly enough, Best Picture.
â¨â¨The Best Picture Oscar win for Tom Jones is less shocking with a little context. 1963 was a particularly poor year and the film found itself up against weak fare like Ralph Nelsonâs Lilies of the Field and laboured epics like How the West Was Won and Cleopatra. In the face of these desperately creaking remnants of old Hollywood, Tom Jones looked positively vivacious. International Anglophiles also found much to delight them in the filmâs sweeping images of rural Britain and the heritage film trappings which so delight the Academy and which Tom Jones partially subverts but ultimately also relies strongly upon. Decades later, Tom Jones is one of the most regularly forgotten and least praised Best Picture winners, its gluttonous food-gobbling seduction scene being its sole well-remembered moment. But in its desire to innovate and its impish energy, it is also infinitely preferable to other dour British adaptations of classic literature like John Schlesingerâs Far From the Madding Crowd, the British New Waveâs other big period piece. It canât sustain its charms for 128 minutes but Tom Jones is an article of genuine fascination with glimpses of brilliance amongst its many trying-too-hard moments.
77. SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE
Watched 8 November 2022
Danny Boyleâs Slumdog Millionaire was a film that seemed to surge up out of nowhere to become not just a hit but a phenomenon. It was a film that seemingly everyone had seen, that everyone was talking about and that the majority of them loved. It entered the culture to the extent that people started rather annoyingly referring to it as just âSlumdogâ and it was around this time that, having initially enjoyed it, I began to go off the film. As a younger, more arrogant man, I undoubtedly had a tendency towards churlishly rejecting things that were embraced on such a huge scale and I initially put my renunciation of Slumdog Millionaire down to that. But, while that snobbish tendency has thankfully waned over the years, I do think my issues with the film run deeper than my own insecurities. While Slumdog Millionaire spent months as the film on everyoneâs lips, it quickly became the film in every retailerâs bargain bin, its saturation coverage eventually overwhelming its longevity.
â¨â¨Itâs fair to say plenty of people still love this film and it is easy to see why. On the surface, it is a ripping yarn told with an original twist: the story of Jamal, a child of the Mumbai slums whose victory on the game show Who Wants to Be a Millionaire is unpicked through an examination of his life story and how his experiences helped him answer each question. The game show framing device immediately made Slumdog Millionaire stand out, with Who Wants to Be a Millionaire being an even bigger phenomenon at the time the film came out. But the interesting structure of the film begins to pale on subsequent viewings when it becomes apparent that the story it helps to tell is a pretty bog-standard one. At first, it appears it will be enlivened by the interjection of a wider range of tangential anecdotes but almost immediately the questions start to improbably follow a largely linear tale that has clearly and sometimes awkwardly been reverse engineered. The final question Jamal faces is preposterously easy, fulfilling an ironic plot point with no concession to the realism of the game show angle.
â¨â¨At this point, however, itâs important to note that I still enjoyed Slumdog Millionaire to a sufficient extent. Itâs necessary to embrace the film as a sort of fantasy in order to do so, a fact that is underlined by the ridiculous Bollywood dance number coda that Boyle awkwardly tacks on. The fantasy can sit unconvincingly alongside brutal details of the slums, including child prostitution and the blinding of street children, but what Western audiences embraced as authentic details of the tough existence in Indian slums were widely rejected as stereotypical and harmful by Indian audiences. While I admittedly donât know enough about the realities of the situation to judge the film on this level, I did feel uncomfortable with the broadly negative depiction of those living in the slums even before I read of the controversy. If accepted as an exaggeration that is part of the fantasy you can just about swallow it but that doesnât feel like enough to overlook these concerns completely.â¨â¨
The themes of class in Slumdog Millionaire, though examined with broad simplicity, are its most rewarding, perhaps because they feel more universal than specific or stereotypical. For all its vicious, gun-toting gangsters and brutal bent-coppers, the filmâs most effective villain is Anil Kapoorâs condescending game show host Prem Kumar. Premâs consistent needling of Jamal over his lack of status shows his prejudiced inability to believe a kid from the slums could outstrip doctors and lawyers who had formerly appeared on the show. Kapoorâs performance is a fine balance between pantomime villain and a real man whose foundational values are being rocked by what is happening in front of him. Balancing his own incredulity with the need to entertain the audience and affect enthusiasm for Jamalâs victories, Premâs antagonism eventually spills over into outright manipulation and sabotage. In one of the filmâs most interesting moments, it is revealed that Prem himself may come from less-than-salubrious origins and his aversion to Jamal stems from jealously guarding his own rags-to-riches story as unique, lest it be undermined as the exception that proves the rule in the class structure that he has so easily bought into. Kapoorâs performance is the one Oscar-worthy turn amongst an adequate cast, although Slumdog Millionaire ultimately became one of only a dozen Best Picture winners to receive no acting nominations at all.â¨â¨
One of the biggest turn-offs for me even on initial viewings of Slumdog Millionaire was its focus on fate and destiny. Iâve always been averse to this notion of predestination, which seems to me a narcissistic emphasis of peopleâs own self-importance which ignores the millions of people who the inexplicably fickle Fate chooses not to shepherd towards prosperity. This is clear in Slumdog Millionaire, which prods us to see this extra significance in Jamalâs story while peripheral characters suffer unendingly around him. Jamalâs firm belief that âIt is writtenâ couldâve plausibly been played as his view alone, but such ambiguity is sacrificed in favour of heavy-handed opening and closing captions which prod us to accept and applaud the idea of outside forces taking a hand in events; a hand, incidentally, that chooses to intervene in order to bring together two lovers and financially reward one specific slum child but presumably has an unavoidable previous engagement when other children are being raped and blinded. I suppose you could say this romantic notion of fate fits with the fantasy that underscores Slumdog Millionaire but I just find the whole premise so vapid, blinkered and entitled that I canât get past its promotion as something of great spiritual significance.â¨â¨
Thereâs definite value in a film as superficially entertaining as Slumdog Millionaire and it does its job efficiently enough that I came away considering giving it a solid 3.5 stars. But the more Iâve thought about it, the more its surface attractions have seemed inadequate to compensate for a hollow centre. It deals in the sort of short term fulfilment that regularly sees inferior films ride that initial flush of excitement to Oscar glory, only for long term critical support to subsequently falter. Watching it today, it is obvious why its descent into the bargain basement was almost as swift as Jamalâs ascent to affluence.
76. CODA
Watched 24 June 2022
Have you ever been watching a film and desperately wanted a character to take a certain action, not because it makes narrative sense but because youâre emotionally involved and want things to turn out for the best for them. Then it happens. Exactly what you wanted. And in the moment it feels absolutely great. Youâre really happy. You go to bed happy, thinking you loved the film. Then you wake up in the morning and think Wait, that didnât make narrative sense. And in retrospect you start to lose your love for the film that sacrificed credibility for a feelgood flourish. This is the only way I can think of to describe the difference between my first and second watch of Sian Hederâs CODA.â¨â¨Iâm not saying CODA doesnât make narrative sense. Its feelgood tale of Ruby, the only hearing member of a deaf family who struggles to balance her dream of becoming a singer with her job in the familyâs fishing business and role as their interpreter, hits all its emotional beats with great sincerity and a well-paced forward motion. Itâs a film with a lot of heart but itâs also a film with a lot of clichĂŠs. Whether one balances out the other will depend on the viewer. The first time I watched CODA I loved it, even though the clichĂŠs were so abundant and undeniable that it eventually made me start laughing. I was just so delighted that this story was panning out exactly as I thought it would and exactly how I hoped it would for these characters. It was comfortable and uplifting and left me smiling. I had gone into CODA not knowing what to expect and was delighted that it had left me feeling so good. But the second time round I did know what to expect. I knew the clichĂŠs were there waiting for me, only this time I was less inclined to laugh and more inclined to roll my eyes. The film that so charmed me first time round had quite effortlessly triggered my cynical side on a rewatch.â¨â¨
Before we go too far the other way, I should say that I still liked CODA the second time. But this time it felt like a good TV movie rather than a Best Picture contender. Watching its apparent quest to fulfil every single narrative expectation, it particularly struck me how completely unnecessary and poorly realised the romance is. CODA wisely keeps its focus on the family dynamics above all else, but this just makes Rubyâs developing relationship with her singing partner (Sing Streetâs Ferdia Walsh-Peelo, sadly showing none of the charisma he had in that film) feel even weaker. Itâs a superfluous distraction, all the more conspicuous in an age where the tacked-on romance has finally started to fall by the wayside. I also had a problem with the choir plot, specifically those scenes featuring Eugenio Derbezâs teacher Mr. V. For all his eye-rolling sass and passionate rhetoric, Mr. V. doesnât actually appear to do much. This fact is covered up through the time-honoured use of montage but the only influence we really see him exert on Rubyâs singing ability is some light mockery, some stern refusals to take her family issues into account, and a couple of raucous breathing exercises. Neither Hederâs writing nor Derbezâs bold but superficial performance elevates the character beyond a stock mentor figure.
â¨â¨CODA is much better when it is spending time with Rubyâs family. Much was made of Troy Kotsurâs Oscar-winning turn as the brash but soft-hearted Frank and his performance is worthy of the hype, although Iâd say that Marlee Matlin as mother Jackie is at least as good. Matlin already has her Oscar for the pretty terrible Children of a Lesser God but I thought it was a shame she didnât get some recognition for CODA too. In particular, her scenes with Kotsur are warm and sometimes very funny. They convince as a loving couple with a still-vibrant sexual appetite for each other. Thereâs a moment where they share a covert, impish laugh together and you can feel the years of companionship shining through. Both Kotsur and Matlin also score big in their pivotal emotional scenes with Emilia Jonesâs Ruby. While Kotsurâs silent serenade may be the showier of the two, Matlinâs confession of how she hoped Ruby would be deaf at birth is equally and differently affecting. It is intimate moments like these in which CODA really comes to life, and while they may expose its shortcomings in other areas that doesnât lessen their considerable impact.â¨â¨
Although Hederâs adapted screenplay garnered much attention, including both an Oscar and a BAFTA win, it is clearly the actors that bring to life the largely safe material, and in this respect it is English actress Emilia Jones who is the biggest asset. While Kotsur garnered more attention, Jones arguably has the harder role, having to learn to sing, learn American Sign Language and master an American accent. She is completely convincing in every one of these respects, as well as emotionally engaging, likeable and layered. It may have been controversial to pick out the only hearing member of the largely deaf main cast for special mention, but for me it was Jones who most deserved recognition (she got a BAFTA nomination but sadly not an Oscar one).â¨â¨
Despite its pile of clichĂŠs, CODA does manage to subvert a few of them. The family argument scenes cover familiar ground of one member trying to break free but the use of sign language instead of raised voices renders them fresh. Likewise, the big concert performance to which CODA is building totally wrong foots the audience by switching to the perspective of the deaf family just as the song starts to build. Though the audience is deprived of hearing the performance that the film has been touting as its big moment, we are instead reminded of themes that are more important to the plot. This is one of a series of crescendos that start out extremely well and peak with an audition scene with a moment that made me blub both times. Unfortunately, this emotional highpoint isnât given time to fully play out. Instead it segues into a climactic montage in which the worst clichĂŠs of all tumble out: the pretend-to-have-bad-news switcheroo and the last-minute-run-back-and-hug. Even on my delirious first watch, I sat there with a mixture of âtheyâre not going to do this are they?â disbelief and an absolute certainty that, given what had come before, they were definitely going to do this. It was at this point that I started laughing and, while the emotion was enough to carry me through the first time, the second time the laughter had been replaced by eye-rolls. I hate rolling my eyes. Itâs patronising and cynical. This is the level to which CODA had reduced me on a second watch and a lot of the feelgood was negated by feeling bad about that side of me coming out. But the film must share a little of the blame.
â¨â¨I havenât seen La Famille BĂŠlier, the French film of which CODA is a remake, so I canât say how many of CODAâs worst excesses originate there but either way the BAFTA and Oscar success for Hederâs adapted screenplay feels like an overreaction. That said, there is a laudable skill to the way CODA hits all its emotional beats, even if it crashes down on many of them far too hard. While it overplays its hand then, CODA is still a film I enjoy. While some have compared it unfavourably with the previous yearâs Sound of Metal, that was a film with which I had several big problems. In terms of representation and intention, CODA feels like the better film to me and, for all its flaws, I could easily watch it again in the future.
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