The Cause

The Master, the latest film by American ingénue Paul Thomas Anderson, is a demanding and frustrating film. I have no problem with it being demanding, but the film needs to meet its audience somehow, and that’s where The Master reveals its Achilles heel. Anderson’s major works to date, Magnolia and There Will Be Blood, hum with a dynamic tension that makes the films’ three hour running times fly by and present the viewer with a point of entry into the film unvierse, usually through a sympathetic character. Both of these films represent some of the best American filmmaking of the past twenty years, so expectations were high for The Master. But Anderson also made Punch Drunk Love, the oddly ineffectual drama with Adam Sandler; this film plodded onward driven by Sandler’s solid performance.

With The Master, it’s once more the performances that drive the film. For most part, the electricity that flowed from every frame of There Will Be Blood has been replaced by scenes that seem strangely static. Not all of the film has this problem; there are moments, such as the “informal processing” scene and a power-establishing scene between the titular character and his wife, that make the film come alive. Still, these scenes are few and far between. Another problem is that the film’s main character is a simple-minded and offensive WWII Navy veteran, Freddie Quell. Quell is a fevered character thoroughly rooted in all sorts of conflict, yet is the single most boring character in the film. He likes sex, liquor and farting. He is an all surface character in a complex film, and it doesn’t fit. Some will argue that Quell holds a mirror up to the far more intelligent Lancaster Dodd, and even so Quell is not nearly as compelling as Dodd.

We are introduced to Freddie (Joaquin Phoenix) while he’s still in the Navy, and Anderson makes it clear that the man is somewhat sex focused and has little social skills. To his credit, he is a master distiller. Back in the States, Freddie has a hard time holding on to jobs and one evening he slips onto a boat where a lavish party is being held. His choices have brought him into the company of Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman), often simply referred to as the Master, the author of the worldview-challenging The Cause and currently working on its long awaited follow-up. For reasons that are hard to pinpoint, the sophisticated Dodd takes the intellectually limited Freddie under his wing. There is a third party in this power relationship, Dodd’s wife (Amy Adams), whose crucial role becomes clear only later on and had me wishing to spend more time with her than with Quell.

The three main performances in this film are all worth savouring; Adams seemingly has little to do but she is a force of nature when required, while Hoffman presents another fascinating, rather walled-off character. But it is Phoenix who completely embodies Freddie as a broken man who goes through life without any idea where he’s going. As much as I have issues with the character, Phoenix cannot be faulted; he surrenders himself to a challenging role.

The Master is far from a failure. The cinematography is superb, as one can expect from an Anderson film, and there are parts of the film that are inspired and enthralling (Quell’s hallucination at a Cause get-together). As a whole, though, Anderson’s film doesn’t quite come together. Additional viewings may change this perception, but for now, The Master lacks the compelling character ensembles and rhythm of previous Anderson films.

Note: much has been made of The Master as based on the life of L. Ron Hubbard and Scientology, but don't expect anything salacious. It's simply not Anderson's nature. 

A boy and his tiger

Yann Martel’s novel Life of Pi reaches the screen in spectacular fashion thanks to Ang Lee (Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon; Brokeback Mountain). The largest part of the film features two characters – one human, one animal – adrift at sea, and Lee makes sure to provide some breath-taking ocean-bound imagery as the film unfolds. From the star covered skies mirrored in a flat ocean surface to phosphorous night-time aquatic visitations, Life of Pi is, if nothing else, visually tantalizing viewing. Even the 3D is functional; I could hear audience members gasp for breath during a storm sequence and also where Lee allows us to enter a frame in a comic book.

Life of Pi tells the story of Pi Patel who leaves India for Canada after his father decides to relocate the family to the West for financial reasons. Along for the boat ride are all of the family’s animals that they acquired while running a zoo, including a Bengal tiger called Richard Parker after a name registration mishap. A savage storm hits, and Pi (Suraj Sharma) finds himself on a lifeboat with the tiger, a hyena and a zebra. The film details Pi’s attempts to stay alive and not lose hope while caught between the pitiless if beautiful sea and a hungry carnivore. Throughout, Pi finds his faith in God tested as sharks circle the boat and the sun beats down relentlessly. The story is framed by a journalist interviewing the adult Pi (Irrfan Khan) on his extraordinary adventure, a tale that, according to Pi’s uncle, will make a man believe in God.

But it’s best to not think too much of the film’s religious dimensions, which get increasingly fluffy towards the film’s end. Pi’s initial interest in various religions is entertaining and sympathetic, and once he is out to sea, his faith is a necessity for survival. As an adventure based on the relationship between a boy and a tiger and as a psychological drama the film works like a charm, but as a spiritual film, it’s a real meringue. The final explanation of how the story makes one believe in God is a horrible theological cop-out. 

Yet I remain in awe of the film’s visual effects, and with how much emotional heft Lee invests Pi’s relationship with Richard Parker. Lee establishes the animal as predator kept alive by instinct, but as Pi explains, there’s more to animals, and to the tiger in particular, than just basic instincts.It's a gripping story of survival and resilience; don't be too put off by the design-your-own-brand approach to religion.

Capsules: The horse, the fish & the cult

As can be expected from Spielberg, War Horse is relentlessly sentimental. I fell for every lavishly lit and shot second. By the end of the film, I was properly doused in Spielberg’s particular brand of saccharine, and I savoured every moment. Spielberg is superb at historical drama (Schindler’s List, Munich), but here his focus is less on history and more on humanity. Based on the novel by Michael Morpurgo, Steven Spielberg’s latest epic is a family drama set against the backdrop of the World War I. It’s a stunning looking film, shot as usual by Spielberg’s right hand man Janusz Kaminsi, and scored by the legendary John Williams. Again Spielberg explores a favourite theme, the return home, but this time he anchors the narrative around a noble horse instead of a human character. That said, in the figure of Albert (Jeremy Irvine) the recurrent character of the young male innocent returns, as does the father who cannot be trusted (Peter Mullan) and the sensitive mother (Emily Watson). The film also has Tom Hiddleston, Benedict Cumberbatch and Niels Arestrup in smaller but important roles.

So it’s the familiar Spielberg film of virtuous youthful faith and belief, but told from the position of Joey the horse. War Horse follows Joey as he leaves his home and becomes a participant in World War I as he moves from owner to owner. The film builds to an ending that depends so much on coincidence and chance that it can only happen in a Spielberg film, and he’s a master at emotion for those susceptible to it. I’m sure that some thorough psychoanalysis can shed light on my readiness to be exhilarated by the infamous filmmaker, but for the moment I’ll say that the masterful final images are perfectly constructed moments of affect as well as tributes to another classical master in cinema history.

With references to A Nightmare on Elm Street, an opening scene-setter featuring Gary Busey and bringing David Hasselhoff in for support, Piranha 3DD, the sequel to last year’s moderate hit 3D horror, has fewer stars, a lower budget and a less competent director who doesn’t allow things to go completely off the rails during the bloody climax (admittedly, this could be due to budget constraints). Set in a water park no that the lake from the first film has become a quarantined wasteland, Piranha 3DD has a bunch of horny teenagers up their genitals in blood and mayhem when the prehistoric piranha make a return. Mercifully clocking in at only 79 minutes, Piranha 3DD is exploitative and gratuitous, and not in a good way. The film gets most of the nudity out of the way its opening minutes, and from there on there are many budget-restoring underwater piranha POV shots as the aquatic critters go for heels, hands, breasts and, once again, penises. While the film has enough gore for horror hounds, it is devoid of ideas. In other words, it’s pretty much what you expect from a film called Piranha 3DD. It has a heart of cash and a mind of silicone.  

 

Writer-actor Brit Marling, so impressive in Another Earth, stars in The Sound of My Voice as Maggie, a sickly woman claiming to be from the future where living in America is a daily struggle for food and survival. She presents herself as someone who can train people to prepare for this dark future. So convincing is her story that she’s become nothing less than a minor cult leader. A teacher (Christopher Denham) and his girlfriend (Nicole Vicius) enter the cult with the prerogative to film a documentary expose on Maggie and her clan. The Sound of my Voice plays with the absurdity of Maggie’s tales of time travel and what future America looks like, and as can be expected draws you in to believe some of her stories only to have you later shake your head at the impossibility of it all. The science fiction element (the possibility of time travel) is even less prevalent here than in Another Earth (literally another Earth appearing close to our own), and The Sound of my Voice seems more prone to actively avoid spectacle. The result is a quiet, claustrophobic drama that is far more successful in exploring cult psychology than the over hyped Martha Marcy May Marlene. 

Capsules: the ghost, the bear, the MMA champ

James Watkins’s The Woman in Black is an old fashioned ghost story unconcerned with the post-adolescent thirst for bloody carnage, putting atmosphere above gore and playing with tragedy rather than troublesome suburban poltergeists. Daniel Radcliffe carries most of the film alone as a young lawyer, Arthur, recently widowed, who treks to a remote part of the English country to settle the affairs of an estate. But he’s not alone in the old deserted mansion where no-one else is willing to set foot, and how is it that so many children have died in the nearby village? This is a horror for audiences who understand horror to be about tragedy coated with the supernatural, not drowned in blood. As a remake of a Hammer studios classic, Watkins succeeds in evoking a sense of dread and grave inevitability as the young lawyer, ably performed by post-Potter Radcliffe, comes to fear for his own safety. It’s an atmospheric, quiet, satisfying horror.

Here we have another film that seems more concerned with other films than with telling a story itself. Instead of telling an involving and funny story, Ted steadies itself upon other movies, propped up on pop references and cues to make things funny when there’s very little happening on screen. I’d rather watch Flash Gordon again than watch Ted again. Between the Saturday Night Fever reference (or rather an Airplane! reference) and many other winks at better films, the film plods along with an odd and misguided stalking subplot thrown in featuring Giovanni Ribisi. I’ve seen Ted described as transgressive and subversive, but the film is the same-old-same-old story about friendship that we’ve seen a hundred times, even if the titular character is a marijuana smoking foul mouthed teddy bear. Indeed, contemporary American cinema’s celebration of the persistence of adolescence has become quite tedious, and despite a few genuine laughs – including an inspired jab at a Twilight cast member – and excellent visual effects, Ted is neither refreshing not intelligent comedy entertainment. Creator Seth McFarlane’s television work, mainly Family Guy, provide better material.

Haywire, Steven Soderbergh’s first foray into mainstream action (accepting that his Oceans movies are lightweight capers, not action films) is a sombre, yellow-hued affair with MMA star Gina Carano starring as Mallory Kane, an employee of a company contracted by the United States government to address sensitive international situations by way of assassination. While Carano is clearly not a strong actor, her physicality more than makes up for often clunky line delivery. Haywire is a female driven Bourne but stripped of spectacle and with Soderbergh’s trademark restrained editing. As a result, the combat scenes are exciting without being exaggerated or indulgent. Haywire tells a simple story but in Soderbergh’s hands it becomes (momentarily) cerebral. The film features Ewan MacGregor, Michael Fassbender, Channing Tatum, Antonio Banderas, Michael Douglas and Bill Paxton. Fans of The Expendables 2 need not apply.

The new word in redundancy

While the first film had its retro-charms by paying homage to the conservative political simplicity of 1980s action cinema, The Expendables 2 is a rambling mess. It’s even more self-aware than the first film, with even worse CGI visual effects, and without Mickey Rourke to add some redneck gravitas. Instead, we have painful-to-watch scenes where Dolph Lundgren’s Gunnar Jensen attempts to flirt with sole female addition Maggie (Nan Yu); paternal bonding between Sylvester Stallone’s Barney and newcomer Liam Hemsworth’s sniper Bill the Kid; and villainous Jean-Clade van Damme looking, in one particular close-up, like he belongs in formaldehyde in Roswell.

Back in slightly larger roles this time are Bruce Willis and Arnold Schwarzenegger, which sees them quoting each other’s movies. Instead of knowing and funny, it comes across as sad and desperate. Jet Li disappears after the action front loaded opening scenes, but Chuck Norris pops up (literally) once or twice at opportune moments, a familiar piece of music indicating his presence. The decision to play the theme from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly to introduce Norris is a mystery – he’s no Clint Eastwood, and no Man With No Name either.

Norris looks so cheerful in the midst of the tedious mayhem that he makes the rest of cast seem comatose, especially Jason Statham’s Lee Christmas, who often speaks to his love interest over the phone, much to the irritation of both Barney and the viewer. There seems to be a suggestion that something will come of Barney’s notion that Christmas should not become involved with someone who’s been unfaithful to him, but all it does is serve as an indication of male insecurity in matters where grenades and mortar attacks aren’t helpful. While machismo and testosterone-driven male banter was at the centre of much of the first film, at least it never distracted one from the main plot. 

Speaking of which: The Expendables are on a mission that goes wrong, and then they want revenge on those involved. Something like that. It’s a simple set-up for action overload, but much of the action is badly staged, and CGI blood has seldom seemed more obvious. The Expendables 2 continues the American Saviour motif present in 1980s action cinema but doesn’t have the decency to have ironic fun with the notion. On the good side: Terry Crews’s Hale Caeser returns with more to do this time, as does Randy Couture, who has the good sense to keep his mouth shut for nearly the entire film. Between the blood, smoke, stiff limbs and aging egos, The Expendables 2 is a grating bore.

Return of the Ring

Note: I saw The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey projected at 24 fps in 3D. The 24 fps was fine, the 3D superfluous.

Peter Jackson’s return to Middle Earth is delightful. Where Lord of the Rings told a major story with nothing less than the fate of the known world at stake, The Hobbit recounts a tale much smaller in scale. This gives Jackson, Philippa Booyens, Fran Walsh and Guillermo del Toro (who ceded directing duties to Jackson) the opportunity to play with and expand Tolkien’s universe. While The Hobbit is not the ground-breaking fantasy epic Lord of the Rings was, Jackson clothes the story with whimsy and populates it with endearing heroes. Actually, just seeing Gandalf and Gollum back on screen are alone certainly worth the effort both in terms of revisiting major fantasy characters as well as the visual effects and make-up used for each.

That’s what’s going to make the crucial difference between joy and disappointment: whether or not one accepts The Hobbit as a delightful three-hour indulgence in glorious fantasy for the filmmakers and the audience. Anyone looking for something to top Lord of the Rings in terms of scope and sheer adventure will come away disappointed. The Hobbit is best seen as a family friendly companion piece to Jackson’s magnum opus from the previous decade. Seen in this way, there’s nothing frivolous about the film, and then the long exposition will enthral, not infuriate, as peace-loving hobbit Bilbo Baggins (Martin Freeman) is called to adventure by wizard Gandalf the Grey (Ian McKellen) in a quest to join a selection of dwarves headed by Aragorn-substitute Thorin Oakenshield (Richard Armitage) as they set off to reclaim their ancestral home and heritage from the dragon Smaug.

It’s a basic story, then, and Jackson and co stretch a single novel into another nine-hour epic, with parts two and three coming out in 2013 and 2014. Many have accused the film of being unnecessarily bloated and overlong, but I found myself won over by the film’s charms, from a beautiful rendition of the “Song of the Misty Mountains” that becomes a key motif in Howard Shore’s score, to touching moments between Gandalf and Galadriel (the eternally luminous Cate Blanchett) and spectacular flashbacks that flesh out characters’ backgrounds. The story also introduces another wizard, the fauna and flaura loving Radagast the Brown who adds another dimension to the story and makes it seem a little less contained. In addition, Gollum has never looked better, and once again Andy Serkis makes the character homicidal and sympathetic. 

Speaking of villainous characters: the film cleverly avoids any revealing views of Smaug but manages to establish the dragon as a figure of immense power. The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey will frustrate those looking for fast action, and the film is far less dark than its predecessors, opting instead for a familiar sense of questing and derring do. The film falters slightly with a clumsily conceived troll scene and there’s a bit of pandering to younger viewers, but The Hobbit manages enough excitement – especially in its final hour – to make up for some occasional and minor missteps.

PTSD

British filmmaker Ben Wheatley’s second film opens as a domestic drama located in the financial insecurity of the recession-struck UK. An ostensibly upper middle-class couple bicker about how to spend the money they have left; he spends their cash on wine, and she reminds him that he didn’t even remember to pick up some toilet paper. By the start of the third act of the film, Kill List has completely become a horror film, with every image drenched in despair. This is one of those films that you know from early on cannot end well for some of those involved.

Jay (Neill Maskell), a former soldier still bitter about his tour of duty in Iraq, is now a contract killer. With this kind of profession, it helps that his wife Shel (MyAnna Buring) did a stint of her own in the Swedish army. With financial pressures being what they are Jay agrees to join his mate Gal (Michael Smiley) on his next job. They get a kill list with three individuals indicated as targets; each is introduced with large white latters splashed across a black screen. The money they get paid to take out these individuals is considerable, and their need for financial security is pressing. When Jay’s credit card is declined at a hotel, this point is underscored. Gal is increasingly concerned about this particular contract – why, for instance, does a victim thank them before he is killed? ­- whereas Jay, enraged by what he sees in the home of one target, becomes irrationally driven to complete the contract.

What happens after signals a considerable shift in expectations, if not in tone. Even from the opening scenes depicting the day-to-day and the tensions in Jay and Shels marriage, there’s a discomforting sense of foreboding which later translates into terror. Wheatley makes the family’s domestic existence seem as hostile as the contract killers’ work environment. The film’s leap from suspense drama to hard thriller and horror is entirely justifiable. In its final act, the film pays homage to specific thrillers and horrors that inspired it, and to elaborate on how Wheatley uses those texts to inform his own would spoil too much of the plot.

In telling the story of the two hit men with dark pasts and darker futures, Kill List is at once an exploration of the psychological tension experienced by those involved in warfare, tensions that don’t stay on the battlefield, and a brutal genre film that ranks as one of the year’s most uncomfortable viewing experiences.

Not to go off on a tangent, but I’m sometimes asked why one would watch and recommend “uncomfortable” viewing experiences. While I agree that one has to be cautious what one exposes oneself to – I will probably never watch A Serbian Film, for example – a film like Kill List is worth seeing because it does what it does without resorting to gratuity. It’s a disturbing film because of a committed cast, a writer-director who knows his genre heritage and cinematography by Laurie Rose that makes random night skies into harbingers of doom. The film succeeds on its own merits, and when it indeed becomes uncomfortable, it’s well earned. Kill List is not for sensitive viewers, but if you can get through the long exposition and appreciate the character rich first act, genre fans will not be disappointed. Everyone else should steer clear.

Capsules: the spider, the suit, the white girl

Some capsule reviews: The Amazing Spider-Man, Men in Black III and Snow White and the Huntsman.

Coming barely ten years after the release of the first Sam Raimi-directed Spider-Man with Tobey Maguire, Marc Webb’s (500 Days of Summer) more focused and less corny reboot casts Andrew Garfield as the webslinger/Peter Parker and Emma Stone as love interest Gwen Stacey. The usually comedic Rhys Ifans co-stars as the villainous Dr Curt Connors, a colleague of Peter’s late father who busies himself with controversial cross-species biological research. While I had no issue with Maguire’s Parker, Garfield is more adept at being socially awkward, and Webb doesn’t pile on the close-ups like Raimi did. While the new film lacks iconic imagery (consider the first trilogy’s upside down kiss in the rain), as a whole it is dramatic enough and sufficiently humorous to stand as an equal to the earlier films. While I cannot comment on its cinematic showing, The Amazing Spider-Man looks incredible in Blu-Ray, with the main creature effects surprisingly convincing. Despite their familiarity, the characters don’t feel worn out and even the obligatory swinging sequences have a freshness to them. Rumours about the film’s lack of ingenuity are definitely exaggerated.

There’s always been something cute about the Men in Black universe. The series offers numerous interesting and repulsive aliens secreting all sorts of oozes and juices, and the very existence of planet Earth is always in the balance, yet it’s all so light and breezy that one can only smile at the entire endeavour. Between wanton destruction and ludicrous human-alien interaction, the films have always felt, appropriately, like a pre-Ben 10 era Saturday morning cartoon. For those who still find this rather science-less science fiction universe appealing, Men in Black 3 is a highly enjoyable comedic romp again featuring Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones as J and K (returning with director Barry Sonnenfield). With some time travel thrown in for good measure, MIB 3 brings the series to a satisfying end by addressing a recurring theme while delivering the usual mix of one-liners and alien designs. The highlight of the film, though, is Josh Brolin’s young Agent K; Brolin does a perfect version of a younger Tommy Lee Jones. For fans of the series only.

Director Rupert Sanders’s retelling of the fairy tale in Snow White and the Huntsman makes its heroine into a feisty, battle-ready female (played by a decidedly alive Kristen Stewart) as Snow White joins forces with the good natured dwarves (including, to my eternal delight, Ian McShane) to overthrow the rule of the evil queen, played by Charlize Theron. The beautiful Oscar winning actress makes the queen-cum-stepmother creature of vanity, desperation and despair, and it’s the highlight of the film. Chris Hemsworth co-stars as the titular Huntsman, and just when it looks like it’s going to become a romantic epic, Sanders keeps things unexpectedly sombre, keeping the emphasis on moody fantasy rather than glittering heroes and their chins. 

Snow White and the Huntsman is a dark (isn’t everything these days?) version of the tale that benefits mostly from Theron’s presence, an array of impressive visual effects and a lively pace that make for an exciting if somewhat familiar adventure. I have to say though, if I have to see one more shot of a VFX monsters opening its jaws and screaming into the camera I will not be able to stifle the yawn.

Liberation across the ages

A film of great ambition and scope, Cloud Atlas, an adaptation of David Mitchell’s popular novel, is a rousing tale of love, kindness, and the greater good. Didn’t like the book? Then stay away: the film amplifies the novel’s themes of love and (im)mortality tenfold. If you didn’t buy it in the book, you won’t buy it in the film. This is a story so big that it took two directorial forces to oversee the project. On the one hand, the Wachowskis (brother Andy and sister Lana, best known for their Matrix movies) bring their particular SF aesthetic to the film, while Germany’s Tom Tykwer (Run Lola Run, Heaven) injects his parts of the story with alternately pleasant frivolity and dramatic weight, as appropriate. Altogether the film makes for a sensory journey across time and space that is at times very funny and at others devastating.

As those who have read the book will know, Cloud Atlas is much concerned with various intersecting plotlines. The film does the same, but does not follow the book’s order and structure to a point; for instance, the film introduces a bookending device that is not in the book, and, for the film, it works. The cast – mainly Tom Hanks, Halle Berry, Jim Broadbent, Ben Whishaw, Doona Bae and Hugh Grant – reappear in different shapes and guises throughout the film. Hanks, for example, is a physician on a ship exploring the Pacific islands in one story, but a gangster-turned-writer in another and later again he’s a post-apocalyptic island inhabitant. There is no attempt to disguise the actors; they appear in make-up as different characters, but it’s mostly always clear who we are looking at. Depending on whether you’re fine with this set-up, the film either works or becomes ridiculous. I align myself with the former position.

Cloud Atlas tells the stories of Adam Ewing (Jim Sturgess) who bears witness to inequality and exploitation in the Pacific and of an elderly publisher (Jim Broadbent) with bad debt who ends up in his worst nightmare. There is also futuristic tale set in consumer-driven Neo-Seoul, where a fabricant (Doona Bae) comes to consciousness. And in the 1970s, a reporter (Halle Berry) investigates large-scale corporate criminal activity that threatens her life. A personal favourite is the story of a young composer, Frobischer (Ben Whishaw), who as the assistant to acclaimed Scottish composer Vyvyan Ayrs (Broadbent again) begins to develop his own piece of music, which he calls the “Cloud Atlas Sextet”. It is a musical motif that accompanies much of the film.

With its emphasis on a collective humanity throughout the ages, I wasn’t bowled over by the film's spiritual truths, but I was overwhelmed by the characters’ commitment to these truths. In the end, Cloud Atlas – its very existence logistically and industrially mind boggling – is bold, theme driven storytelling that flat-out ignores the often popular cynical disdain for cinematic depictions of sentiment and goodness. Indeed, Cloud Atlas shows the latter forces as integral for the continuation of the species. Also, acts of revolution can be brought about through kindness and human engagement much more so than statistical analysis and mind-numbing Powerpoint presentations.

The Bond Identity

With Skyfall, the Craig-era reinvention of the infamous British spy James Bond has come to a full. The grittier, more grounded and eventually wounded Bond that was introduced in the electric Casino Royale and remained committed to his search for international terrorists in Quantum of Solace has matured into Skyfall, an intelligent Bond film that points to the character’s past as much as it establishes what lies ahead for Bond in future iterations. At the crux of the events in the film stands M (Judi Dench), Bond’s aide across the years. After a rousing opening scene which sets off the events to come, M is held accountable for a major lapse in international security when a list of undercover NATO agents ends up in the hands of a terrorist.

This terrorist goes by the name of Silva and is played by a blonde-haired and terrifying (for a Bond villain) Javier Bardem. Bardem is well known for his turn as the agent of order, Anton Chigurgh, in No Country for Old Men, and here he creates another memorable antagonist. There seems to be a personal vendetta at play here, as if Bond is caught in the middle between a dangerous Silva and vulnerable M. Complicating matters is government representative Mallory (Ralph Fiennes) and another intelligence agent (Naomie Harris) who has a hand in steering Bond’s life in a particular direction. As the new Q, Ben Whishaw (Cloud Atlas) doesn’t have much screen time but he makes the most of it; his banter with 007 in an art gallery is highly amusing.

Skyfall sometimes looks like an art film, as if the acclaimed director Sam Mendes is committed to aesthetically reinvigorating Bond. Casino Royale was tropical, colourful; Quantum was filled with browns, greys and blacks. Skyfall has a more balanced colour template until the second half heralds an increase in darker, muted colours. Mendes, who garnered critical acclaim for his films American Beauty, Road to Perdition and Revolutionary Road, gives us Bond at his most introspective yet. It’s as far removed from Roger Moore’s Bond as can be imagined as Craig plays Bond with a weight equal to Timothy Dalton. As filmed by legendary cinematographer Roger Deakins, some scenes from Skyfall take on a life of their own: Silva against an illuminated background in the dead of night; M’s sense of isolation at a crucial moment; an ocean of lanterns.

But my favourite scene of all is a fight scene that is symptomatic of the film’s overall aesthetic success: a compact hand-to-hand fight scene with Bond and his opponent etched in silhouette against a changing wall of colour in Shanghai, their movements framed and flanked by sheets of glass. In a scene like that – in many ways the opposite of the spectacular opening scene - the fighting becomes more than that just two men grappling. This scene is shot in a single take for most part; there are no quick cutaways to elbows and knees to frustrate the viewer. Everything happens in front of our eyes in a fluid, clear and bracing manner. This stands in contrast to the norm for action cinema today, for instance, in the hyperkinetic and self-conscious editing found in the Bourne movies.

As I pointed out above, Skyfall differs in some way from most contemporary action cinema, and it’s also different from most Bonds. For one thing, there is the notable absence of a proper Bond girl, though Naomie Harris comes close. For another, the film feels contained. While the film features exotic locations (Shanghai, Macau) the brunt of the film is located in the UK. It’s as if the entire franchise, not just Bond, sought to reconsider and re-establish its relationship with queen and country. It makes sense that its climax would concern only a specific group of characters and be located in a very specific, significant place. As for the film’s preoccupation with age and aging (the redundancy of old technology and the shelf life of active field agents are addressed), Skyfall acknowledges the past by bringing it into perfect alignment with Bond’s future; the film’s closing scenes should have Bond fans applauding.

Skyfall is a superb Bond entry. I'm not yet certain that it is the best of the series, as many have hyperbolically claimed, but it is certainly in the ranks of Casino Royale and Goldfinger.

Of bongs and bear traps

Written by fanboy favourite Joss Whedon and directed by Drew Goddard, Cabin in the Woods is a halfway successful unravelling of horror film conventions. By the end, it’s three movies in one (survival horror; postmodernist horror; apocalyptic horror), and not one of those really gets its due. While certainly one of the better recent horrors of recent times – and certainly one of the funniest – it’s not nearly the genre reconstruction its rabid fans make it out to be. Please note that for reasons of spoiler sensitivity I will provide only the most basic plot set-ups, basically recounting what happens during the film’s opening scenes.

The film opens with a stroke of genius: Sitterson (Richard Jenkins) and Hadley (Bradley Whitford), dressed like two mid-level businessmen, have an important job to do. They like their job, which consists of various administrative responsibilities, and take pride in doing it well. Meanwhile, four teenagers (including Chris Hemsworth, Kristen Connolly and Fran Kranz) set off to a cabin in the woods for some post-adolescent debauchery. Soon after their arrival, they realise that all is not well at the cabin, and that their lives might be at stake.

So far, so horror formula, but Whedon’s take on what happens but also how it happens is rather refreshing. Cabin in the Woods is considerably meta; not only does the film explicitly foreground the beat-by-beat mechanics of the genre, it implicates the audience in what’s happening on screen. It’s no coincidence that the opening titles reference Haneke’s Funny Games (the Austrian’s film is far more terrifying and sophisticated). There is one scene in particular that succeeds in creating exquisite discomfort in the viewer, as a moment of celebration and a moment of bloody murder occurring simultaneously in the same frame. 

To be sure, Cabin in the Woods has its highlights: there’s a tense game of truth or dare that ends in a cross-species flirtation; the wonderful use of a marijuana bong; some inventive creatures appear in the third act. By the climax, though, the story goes much too big, and the ending is best described as deafeningly anticlimactic. As good as the film is, it cannot help but collapse under its own weight, and the final shot should never have made it past the editing room. Cabin in the Woods has been described as a game changer, but it isn’t. Despite its initial silliness and eventual gore overload (both of which are entirely appropriate for the genre), the film overplays its hand and overstays its welcome.

Iranian tour de force

In a behind-the-scenes interview on the Artificial Eye DVD, Iranian writer-director Asghar Farhadi says that the camera sees not only the face, but also what goes on behind it, inside the mind. Farhadi’s tense drama A Separation, winner of this year’s Oscar for Best Foreign Film, shows and reveals what it has to in its characters' faces while keeping the viewer in the dark as to what route events will take. This is a film without grand gestures and rousing speeches about the importance of truth, yet the entire film asks exactly what the nature of truth is.

Nader (Peyman Mooadi) and Simin (Leila Hatami) agree to separate in the film’s opening scene. From there we see them make arrangements for living separately, she at her mother’s while he remains in his apartment where he takes care of his Alzheimer’s afflicted father. Their 11-year old daughter Termeh (Sarina Farhadi) stays with Nader for the time being, hoping that Simin will return sooner rather than later. Soon we are introduced to another mother, Razieh (Sareh Bayat), who will act as caretaker of Nader’s father while the son’s at work. Simin permits Razieh to bring her young daughter to the apartment when she’s there; maybe the two young girls will keep each other company.

That is the basic set-up. What ensues is both expected and surprising, and occurs in scenes of quiet, restraint and anger. When I refer to the film as a tense drama, do not make the mistake of anticipating plot twists and character reversals. The film is so tense because the odds are so high and the characters equally compromised. The actors, adults and children, are superb. As Simin, Hatami has a stunning beauty and dramatic weight reminiscent of Juliette Binoche. The verbal face-offs between her and Mooadi are vivid, compelling, discomforting. For all the cultural differences, they could be my neighbours.

I mentioned that the film is about truth. Simin makes certain accusations of Nader. He does not take her seriously. Who is right, and, more importantly, in what way are they right? When a marriage begins disintegrating after 14 years, who is responsible for what, and can the initial point of deterioration be pinpointed?

Then something sad happens. Who is to blame? None of the characters here are inherently bad. Life isn’t easy, and all of them are desperate in different ways. How did one individual cause something to happen to someone else? How does one go about proving that such causality was deliberate or not? Privileging the female position, Simin and Termeh, as well as the viewers, attempt to piece together what may pass as truth, some sort of distillation of versions of a single event. 

In this regard, A Separation recalls not only Rashomon but also John Patrick Shanley’s Doubt. In that film, Sister Aloysius (Meryl Streep) observes that simply being certain of something is a sure indicator of truth. That is the way of danger. In A Separation, there is not a scene or shot that does not serve the whole. The film does eventually arrive at a point of truth, but by then we are far more concerned with the complex dynamic that has been established between the characters than with a causal chain. In a controlled manner, the last two scenes are devastating. Only considered, deliberate filmmaking can seem so natural and effortless.

Level Up

Stop me if this sounds familiar: Tama (Ray Sahetapy), a crime lord, has based himself in a run-down, 30-storey building in inner city Jakarta. A police task team is dispatched to take out this man, who in the film’s opening minutes executes a handful of men with such detachments that we cannot help but align with the police. The team is headed by Jaka (Joe Taslim), but the film’s focus is mainly on the physically unimposing Rama (Iko Kuwais), a rookie member of the team. Getting inside the criminal’s hideout is easy, but then bodies start to pile up on both sides and it seems that the job isn’t a simple takedown after all. Even if they get to Tama, he’s guarded by two much feared men, one of whom is appropriately called Mad Dog (Yayan Ruhian).

To say that The Raid is the new pinnacle of Asian action cinema is to say that it takes a familiar set-up (reminiscent of Die Hard, for example), clothes it with the minimum plot and story and then sets out to reconstitute our expectations of what action films can viscerally achieve. The last time physical combat alone elevated a film to near awe-inspired breathlessness, it was Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon. But The Raid and Crouching Tiger are worlds apart; while the latter laces its intrigue with mythology and romance, The Raid has one relentless drive: invigorating action set in closed and confined spaces. What happens in The Raid makes combat choreography in most other genre films seem positively geriatric by example, and the film had me scratching my head, wondering “how did they do that?”, on a number of occasions.

The film’s detractors will point to the film’s lack of story, and they are not entirely wrong; Rama has a personal motivation for getting this particular job done, but that’s about it. Plus, the twist towards the end is entirely expected. Yet the film is so frenetic and so focused on delivering visceral combat – much like some video games – that the lack of depth is forgivable. Importantly, the action never reaches the level of tedium that has in the past torpedoed many other action films; think of the Ong Bak movies, which have more developed stories than The Raid but are far less memorable.

Director Gareth Evans, a Welshman, has with The Raid presented an exhilarating entry into contemporary action cinema by taking the genre back to its fist-to-fist basics and injecting it with silat, an Indonesian martial art so fluid and fast it seems to remap the possibilities of the body in violent motion. With its seamless combination of CGI and astounding physical stunt work, The Raid left me breathless. An American remake is already underway.

Birdy

Johnnie To can be such a delicate, precise action filmmaker. Consider the ballet on shattered mirrors in Mad Detective; the operatic shootouts in Vengeance that puts Woo to shame. In Sparrow, the filmmaker's most lightweight film in a long time, the uber-prolific To approaches the film with a near lack of gravity. As a result, the stylised film, essentially a crime caper of sorts, is so light - thematically, character wise - it seems to float before your eyes, and I mean that as a compliment.

Being a small time crook doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. Kei (Simon Yam) leads a pleasant life, often meeting with his criminal cohorts in a Hong Kong diner to discuss the day’s activities – a stolen wallet here, a lifted mobile phone there. Often tourists are the most visible, easiest targets. Kei is such a pleasant guy that when a sparrow flies into his apartment, he simply puts his fists in his hips and shakes his head, smiling. But when the beautiful, mysterious Chun Chun Lei (Kelly Lin) shows up, Kei’s world is shaken to its surface (there’s not much of a core). One by one, she coincidentally meets up with each of Kei’s colleagues, which invariably leads to trouble. Then Kei finds out about Chun Chun Lei’s secret, and he has no choice but to get involved in her private life.Kei is a bicycle riding, laid back, reluctant hero; Chun Chun Lei is a stunningly beautiful romantic foil.

To orchestrates some beautiful scenes: Kei’s infatuation with Chun Lei, initially caputred through a lense; a chase sequence that undermines what one expects from chase sequences; a delightful invocation of The Umbrellas of Cherbourg in a rainy showdown. In this film, unlike in many of To’s other, far more brutal films, the villains are as simultaneously weightless and grounded. Towards the film’s end, one cannot help but think of the main villain as an old man whose time has come, and not as a violent killer. To seems to endow Sparrow with a sense of inconsequentiality: for many of the characters, things will remains as they have for a very long time, regardless of what happens. 

This is To’s playground, and he’s surprisingly gentle; once we know the players, he directs them towards moments of playful deception and even physical comedy. There’s a romantic subplot but not in the way one might think. Between cleverly choreographed set pieces and some light character work, Sparrow is an eminently rewatchable old school crime flick.

Paternity Matters

I could write a combo-review of Saak van Geloof ("A Matter of Faith") and Jakhalsdans. Both are Afrikaans dramas set in sparsely populated, small South African towns. Jakhalsdans, about a reclusive musician who comes out of hiding in support of a school fundraiser, is set in Loxton and directed by Darrell James Roodt (Yesterday, Faith’s Corner). Saak van Geloof, a religious drama about faith and family, is set in Prins Albert and directed by Diony Kempen, who produced Jakhalsdans. Both films are shot by Andrew Tolmay. Both films represent some of the worst that Afrikaans drama has to offer.

One the one hand, there’s very little to say about Jakhalsdans. It stars Theuns Jordaan and is, to my eternal shock and disbelief, written by well-regarded crime novelist Deon Meyer. It has one of the worst endings in recent memory, a slap in the face of everyone who came to see the film based on its musical promise. It’s all build-up and no pay-off. It took me three attempts to finish the film. It is tedious, badly written, cheap looking and insulting to moviegoers as well as Afrikaans music lovers. The dialogue is as solid as a Karoo rock, by which I mean that it’s heavy, lacking in colour, and that it sinks.

There’s a little more to say about Saak van Geloof, though not necessarily in a good way. Lelia Etsebeth stars as Marietjie Naude, the daughter of Kallie (Robbie Wessels) and Ella (Riana Nel). Shortly before Christmas, Marietjie tells her parents that she’s pregnant, and that the father is none other than the Holy Spirit. Soon the entire town is gossiping about their own immaculate conception while the Calvinist minister (Niekie van den Berg) attempts an intervention.

Due to their similar ages, the three main actors look like siblings; whoever cast this film must suffer from a sight impediment. Also, Nel’s performance is the worst – the worst – performance by a female actor in an Afrikaans film I have ever seen. At least Lika Berning got to occasionally look cute in Liefling, and Jakhalsdans’s Elizma Theron, while robotic, at least delivered her lines with a modicum of intent. Granted, the dialogue in Saak van Geloof is horrid. Much of it sounds made-up on the spot.

I pity the actors for having to wrestle with such bad writing, uninspired plotting and shallow characterisation. The scene where Kallie, having struggled with his faith for a while now, receives an affirmative sign from above is an unintentionally bizarre and funny scene. Miscast and misdirected, the actors stumble from scene to scene aiming at moments of serenity and profundity but arriving at absurdity and foolishness instead. Etsebeth is the only one who delivers something close to a heartfelt performance in spite of how stilted her character often comes across. And Van den Berg’s minister Botha is a clichéd mess prone to over delivery: “This … is a matter… of faith!” Spelling out its themes in capital letters, the film is too simple-minded to offend or stimulate.

I welcome any film that engages religious discourse in a serious minded, informed manner. Bringing Christian discourse into more contemporary settings can be thought provoking (see Pialat’s Under Satan’s Sun) and fascinating (Dornford-May’s Son of Man), not to mention Denys Arcand's superlative Jesus of Montreal. Anyone venturing into evangelical filmmaking surely knows the company they are in, so why produce such a bland drama? Measured against similarly themed films, Saak van Geloof, with its superficial spiritual veneer and misguided messiah motif, is plain ridiculous.

(Note: a fun way of watching a movie is to play a drinking game where you take shot of mampoer – and it has to be mampoer - whenever an extra looks into the camera.)

Dawn is intended literally

Given the saturation with Stephanie Meyer’s young adult franchise, what’s the point of a plot synopsis? Either you know the story and you’re maybe interested in seeing for yourself where things go, or you don’t and you aren’t. For my part, I remain mystified by the franchise’s continued success given as how only two (!) major events happen in this entire film (mild spoiler warning, even though everything was pointed out in the trailer): Bella and Edward’s wedding, and Bella’s surprise pregnancy.

At least Breaking Dawn Part 1 is the best directed entry in the series; credit to Bill Condon in this regard, who provides some spooky imagery, even though the wolves still look far too computer generated to be convincing. Then again, so does Taylor Lautner, who plays the mostly quiet (or verbally stunted) Jacob. Quiet, that is, unless he’s screaming at Bella for what awaits her or threatening the perpetually waxy Edward (Robert Pattinson) for loving Bella. Not even Condon (Gods & Monsters) can completely salvage the vacuous narrative.

In their fourth film together, these characters still define themselves solely by their relationships with one another. Sure, there are social ripples in their own circles – vampires, werewolves – but you get the feeling that if one of the three main characters were to spontaneously evaporate, the other two would shortly follow. The wedding scene is perfectly fine in an adolescent-fantasy-forest-tree-princess kind of way, while the pregnancy is simply tedious. The child (“It’s a monster!”) is making Bella increasingly ill, and that’s all we see: Bella looking thin and frail like a Tim Burton stop motion character.

Bella remains on the road to vampiredom as her lamentably tired and depressing character arc still positions her as one who despises her species. I’m still amazed at how one shot of Carlisle (Peter Facinelli) can out-camp Rocky Horror. In this sense, the Twilight movies are not without their pleasures, but none of the four films so far has managed to be even the slightest bit exciting. Having read the novel, I’m also disappointed that this film didn’t translate all the gore from the book into corresponding blood drenched imagery. The Twilight films continue to fail as character dramas as well as supernatural narratives. At least this one has the dubious honour of introducing the worst character name yet though it sacrifices the homoerotic tension from Eclipse for some more preaching on the dangers of sex (have sex once and CARRY YOUR DEMON SPAWN!).

Artificial sweetener

Semi-Soet is South Africa’s very first post-transitional Afrikaans romantic comedy in the most Hollywood sense of the word. The leads are attractive, the story improbable, the humour often forced; the locations are breathtakingly beautiful; mistaken identities and misunderstandings abound. The formula is as old as classical cinema itself. Director Joshua Rous does not seek to undermine the formula in any way - the film even has a "wild animal" moment - but his command of the Hollywood romcom form is sure and confident. It's a lightweight mix of A Walk in the Clouds meets The Proposal.

Jaci van Jaarsveld (Anel Alexander) works for the ad company Mojo. To her boss’s (Corine du Toit) concern, a corporate cannibal nicknamed The Jackal (Nico Panagio) has indicated that he wants to buy out the company, which leads to large scale retrenchment. When The Jackal arrives for a meeting with Mojo, Jaci mistakes him for someone else and before you know it, Jaci and her corporate nemesis are on their way to a romantic business weekend (!) at Vrede & Rust wine estate. 

In tow are the obligatory supporting characters, with Sandra Vaughn as Jaci’s chirpy sidekick and Louw Venter as Hertjie, The Jackal’s lawyer colleague who here poses as a gay stylist. 7de Laan’s Diaan Lawrenson also appears as Jaci’s ex-boyfriend’s (Paul du Toit) current squeeze, the dim Chadrie. Although her character has little to do, seeing as she plays the consummate blonde bimbo, Lawrenson has one of the film’s best timed comic reactions.

Speaking of stereotypes: how unfortunate that Semi-Soet would resort to so many of them, especially of the gay variety. Surely there’s a romantic comedy that can work without indulging redundant gender stereotypes? So much of the film offers a viable Afrikaans complement to American romcoms that such a major misstep is indeed disheartening. Jodi Abrahams is a fine actor (he was one of the highlights in the TV series Hard Copy), and his talents are wasted as he prances around as an camp model agent.

If you’ve seen a couple of American romcoms you know what to expect, but to their credit the creative team keeps the film engaging for most of its running time (starting with some inventive opening credits). As the film nears its end, things get too farfetched and simultaneously old fashioned as the film utilises the type of plot developments that characterised much of 1990s sitcom fare. Regardless, the film puts some of its American contemporaries to shame; it beats genre prototypical drivel like How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days with ease.

Verlange

Katinka Heyns’s first film in well over a decade, Die Wonderwerker (The Miracle Worker), is an engaging character drama built around a specific period in the life of South African poet and naturalist Eugene Marais (1871-1936), played here by Dawid Minnaar in one of the best performances of his career. Die Wonderwerker also provides Eliza Cawood with some powerful scenes where she mostly underplays much of the character Maria’s anxieties, and while many have complained about Anneke Weideman’s Jane, I have to admit that I was neither blown away nor offended by her performance. The way some people talk about her you’d swear the character is expected to be an essayist whose tour de force on Darwin got published at puberty instead of the immature 19-year old farm girl the film gives us.

En route to Nylstroom, Marais arrives on the Van Rooyen farm with malaria and the family take him in to see to his recovery. Marais’s presence intensifies tensions that are already present: Maria and her husband Gys (Marius Weyers) have not seen eye to eye for a while, and their son Adriaan (Kaz McFadden) has an unhealthy interest in young Jane Brayshaw, the Van Rooyens' adopted daughter. As these characters turn to each other Marais turns mostly to himself – he is addicted to morphine – until he starts to see Jane as possibly more than just a young girl.

Koos Roets, recipient of a lifetime achievement award at this year’s Cape Winelands Film Festival, remains a consummate cinematographer; Die Wonderwerker looks great, with a deeper colour depth than many other Afrikaans films. And how refreshing to see an Afrikaans film that does not feature that annoying sped-up day-to-darkness shots to indicate the passage of time.

I have major issues with Heyns’s previous work, and this film isn’t flawless, but it’s as if all of her films have lead to this moment: while the earlier films tick most of the features of old fashioned classical filmmaking, Die Wonderwerker is superb classical filmmaking. This film is far more successful at mastering this approach to storytelling than Roepman. Between all the formulaic storytelling and moments of indulgent exposition, Heyns delivers a memorable portrait of Marais constructed around her favourite theme: the outsider who brings turmoil and change into the Afrikaans nuclear family.

It’s a very specific portrait of Marais, and listening to people’s responses to the character construction I was reminded of Roger Ebert’s lukewarm review of Iris¸ the biopic of Iris Murdoch that I quite liked. To paraphrase Ebert: Iris is a wonderful film, but it’s not about the Iris he knew and loved. I suspect the same applies to Die Wonderwerker: it’s a depiction of Marais that may not positively correspond with how many see and appreciate the historical figure. Nonetheless, even those unmoved by the film’s version of Marais should recognise that between some over manipulative moments, Die Wonderwerker has greater emotional resonance than any of Heyns’s previous films.It is one of the best Afrikaans language films of the past few years.

The Howling

Wolwedans in die Skemer, the new Afrikaans thriller directed by Jozua Malherbe, starts with an intriguing premise based on memory loss and past and present trauma but becomes increasingly dependent on genre clichés towards the end. In spite of some interesting revelations towards the climax, the film falls flat on a narrative level; on a technical level, some cinematographic flair injects the visuals with some dynamism.

(minor possible spoilers follow)

Sonja Daneel (Rolanda Marais) loses her memory in a car crash. The management of the local Hotel Njala take her in, given that she was on her way to start working there as receptionist when the accident occurred. Of the hotel staff, Adele (Desire Gardiner) is cold and corporate; her sister Maggie (Lelia Etsebeth) is a sensitive, quiet counter; their father Jan (Andre Roothman) is strangely distanced and estranged from the mother (Riana Wilkens). The tour guide Ryno (David Louw) is a bit of a player; girls seem to clamour for his attention. He has eye on Adele, but Sonja’s arrival provides a new point of interest. In addition to Sonja, a red-hooded, axe-wielding figure also makes his appearance at Hotel Njala.

The film looks good, has an attractive cast and a beautiful Hazyview setting. I don’t feel qualified in commenting on the acting except to say that the actors do what they can with thinly drawn characters: Adele is Cold, Jan is Eccentric, Maggie is Soft, and Sonja is Absent. We never really get to align ourselves with Sonja since she is such a passive character. For someone who repeatedly states that she doesn't know who she is, she does not seem too focused on finding out. Paradoxically, Ryno is the most rounded character, yet there is no clear reason why numerous girls would be so interested in him. He’s amiable enough, but the motivation behind Adele's evident infatuation remains a bit of a mystery.

Given how Wolwedans is framed as a thriller the film is bizarrely inert, balancing romance (an attempted love triangle), family drama and thriller conventions. It's the latter that causes some problems: for example, the hooded killer suddenly appears in front of the camera and is accompanied every time by an explosion of musical cues. (In his heyday, M. Night Shyamalan as well as Spanish filmmakers Alejandro Amenabar and JS Bayona demonstrated the power of musical restraint in scenes of tension.)

Such reliance on overly familiar genre conventions make the film seem somewhat dated and compromises its suspense. Indeed, the film could have worked as a powerful period thriller – think Red Riding Trilogy – with Sonja’s amnesia and the killings set against the backdrop of politically tumultuous South Africa. Why, after all the self-aware genre commentary of Scream and other titles from the pre-torture porn 1990s  thriller-horror revival, and also in the aftermath of The Descent, Wolwedans still uses some of the same visual and narrative devices that those films decried.

To illustrate: thrillers often feature the damsel in distress running away from her killer. To the exasperation of the audience, two things happen. Firstly, the fleeing girl runs to the least safe place available (that is, away from light, away from crowds) instead of to somewhere safe and populated. Secondly, the girl’s pursuer walks while the intended victim runs. Finally, both end up in the same place within seconds of one another. Then, having cornered the intended victim, the killer does not proceed to just kill the victim but first engages the victim in some expository conversation; Roger Ebert refers to this as the fallacy of the talking killer.

Wolwedans is too reliant on such conventions in creating tension, and it undermines the impact of the revelations accompanying the ending. That said, the ending is unpredictable enough and delivers exciting moments that demonstrates some considerable acting skills.  

All in all, as a locally produced genre film, the polished Wolwedans in die Skemer is a vast improvement on Night Drive even if it too does not invigorate the thriller genre.