Okay, first up a film I videoed on Film Four months ago and took me ages to watch and then I forgot that I'd seen, so I'll take it now. One of the only regrets I have doing this blog is that I didn't start it two years before as it was 2006 when I first started using online rental and abused it to rape through dozens of Ingmar Bergman films (this is before he died and they actually bothered to show his films on tv x_x). As such now I'm only left by (even by his standard) very obscure ones, which Dreams (or Journey into Autumn) certainly is.

Having his usual mid-50s trio of Harriet Andersson, Eva Dahlbeck and Gunnar Björnstrand it'll always have some appeal. It's about a fashion model (Andersson), who is taken by her boss (Dahlbeck) to the city for a shoot but misses the appointment after being approached by a man on the street (Björnstrand) who has the money and inclination to buy her expensive things. It's a tad uneven, the Andersson/Björnstrand strand doesn't hold up to too much scrutiny, but the Dahlbeck subplot of her being involved with a married man does have a few genuinely insightful and moving moments. Decent film, but only really worthwhile for Bergman completionists.

The other night in a state of physical exhaustion I flicked up the info pane on the tv for Year of the Dog on Sky Indie and the prospect of Molly Shannon in a cute-sounding indie seemed absolutely fine. Co-produced by Brad Pitt's Plan B (immediately before he did Ocean's Thirteen) it sets up the life of a sweet, single secretary named Peggy whose main joy in life is her pet beagle Pencil. By the end of the first reel Pencil gets rubbed out (*duh dum tss* - sorry, I really couldn't resist :P ) and thereafter it shows Peggy (Shannon) "moving on", with her obsession about animal rights being inversely proportional to how much of a grasp on reality she has.

There are a couple of really first rate performances in this, with Shannon obviously being one. A staple of US TV comedies (she's guested on everything from Sex & the City to Will & Grace and Scrubs to Pushing Daisies), writer/director Mike White (her "brother" on Pushing Daisies :D ) gives her a chance in a lead role and she really delivers. She has Peggy's joy in that insanely toothy, ridiculously wide, yet realistic smile, she brings her craziness out without going anywhere near over the top and brings the drama and pathos when she needs to. The best of a very large and well known supporting cast though is Regina King who is flat out hysterical as her matchmaking friend at work. It's everything a cracking little turn should be - get in, slay it, then leave - King is a silent assassin in this film, she's hilarious. The film does peter out a touch the longer it goes and doesn't hit the riotous moments as consistently as it does early on, but it has a point to make and makes it fairly well.

Lastly a film which I'd considered seeing in the cinema this year, but skipped it upon reading a review which described the ending in a way that highlighted something I always dislike about films (which I now can't remember what exactly that was) so I decided to wait. The film was Tôkyô sonata and it was on Film Four last night. For the opening third or so the film is tolerable, it's about a Japanese family with various problems. The father is made redundant and then decides to hide this from his family, the eldest son wants to join the American military and has taken the written test without telling anyone and the younger son is spending his lunch money on piano lessons after his dad refused to pay for them. Secrets and lies.

Unfortunately this is a truly exasperating film, the lack of communication between the characters becomes increasingly grating and some of the drama is frustratingly obvious. Where the film utterly falls apart though is the final third where there's a tonal shift (this might be what was in that review that put me off seeing it) and out of nowhere there's a "three hours earlier" flashback, then mass cross-cutting for the whole of the third act, with three of the characters having their dark night of the soul. The trouble is that the tone has been mishandled severely and it's laughable in parts. What then follows from this turgid limp to the finish is a staggeringly pretentious final scene, using a piece of music to skate over the lack of character development or detailed exploration and try to emptily tie everything together on an emotional level. At least the end of Four Minutes spoke to character, this is just a cheap, arctic cop-out, using the beauty of the music to mask the lack of depth in the two hours that have preceeded it and hope people just think it's pretty. Now the Debussy is pretty, but the cynical conceit behind its inclusion is anything but.

Okay a few films on tv to blast through. I caught W. when it was on Sky Premiere, Oliver Stone is someone I used to have a great deal of time for as a filmmaker but sadly he's been irrelevant for about a decade and a half. I was mildly tempted to see this when it was released but I just couldn't be bothered. Seeing it now, it's such a strange film that I have no idea what on earth Stone was attempting to do, much less if he succeeded. The cast is all over the shop, ranging from wildly miscast (Scott Glenn as Rumsfeld, Jeffrey Wright as Colin Powell), to flat out embarrassing (Thandie Newton). Essentially though the only one that counts is Josh Brolin and he does a fine job. The major problems the film has are tone and focus; Oliver Stone films are at their best when they have a point to make and go to any lengths to make it, here though it tries to be balanced, not too offensive to anyone, but in the process it's limp and toothless. You'd get more entertainment coupled with insight into the man's presidency in the average episode of The Daily Show with Jon Stewart.

As more frequent viewers may have picked up, I do like American football and so seeing that The Express was on, I flicked up the info on it and upon seeing it was a biopic of Ernie Davis (who I knew as the first black Heisman Trophy winner, but nothing else) I gave it a go. The only real name actor in the film is Dennis Quaid, playing Davis' Syracuse head coach and he's customarily solid. Rob Brown is the youngster in the lead and he does a decent job doing everything required of him. The editing of the matches makes it interesting visually and while the civil rights backdrop does seem a bit tacked on it does reinforce the basic story of him becoming a success in a prejudiced society. I didn't know what ended up happening to Davis and as such the final reel or two of the film was news to me. It does play fast and loose with the truth a bit (sometimes you're sat there thinking "really?" and you go online and find out "no" :P ) but it's entertaining and evocative enough if you're into this kind of sports drama.

So from a biopic of an incredibly talented person to a real life story of a far less deserving subject in How to Lose Friends and Alienate People. Based on Toby Young's failed stint at Vanity Fair (before his failed attempt at being a screenwriter and currently failing to make me even want to read his reviews in the Times, not that I disagree with the sentiments necessarily, but the reasoning used is so ...  x_x) it's about a caustic soul who rubs everyone up the wrong way and embarrasses himself endlessly.

His current colleague at the Times, the superb Wendy Ide (who like Manohla Dargis is effortlessly readable even when slating a film I love, or vice versa), once wrote about a film (Cheri) "The problem comes when the writing fails to elevate an unlikeable character into a fascinating one" and that sums up this effort perfectly. He isn't an interesting character, his shenanigans aren't terribly amusing and with his only "redeeming" feature being if a woman is distraught and in a very emotional state *then* he won't be a complete git, it's not really worth the time. Doesn't work as a satire, not funny enough to be a decent comedy and tacking on an unconvincing romance does nothing for the drama. Simon Pegg can't do much with what he's given in the lead and Kirsten Dunst really needs a better agent because she doesn't work that much and even as pay-cheque films go she can do far better.

Lastly a couple I couldn't get through so I'll be brief. I started watching Deception because I thought with Ewan McGregor, Hugh Jackman and Michelle Williams, that's a very decent cast. Unfortunately it's just so trashy and dull. Even Charlotte Rampling popping up (which initially made me go wild as I had no clue she was in it) couldn't sustain my interest and after about half an hour of going nowhere I decided to ditch it for a Ewan film that's actually good and slapped on Big Fish instead. Whilst in Leeds for the film festival I caught the middle 45 minutes of Say Anything... (and I've already seen the opening half hour) because even though I hate John Cusack, I do love Singles so I'll always have time for Cameron Crowe. I don't like either of the leads, I didn't find it funny, so I passed on staying up so late to see it all the way through. Has a reputation for being romantic but I don't know, Cusack kills any of that for me. Probably didn't help I had someone I was watching it with saying "this is so bad, why are we watching this?" every five minutes, but then again I've given up on it before.

Right, I wondered whether to do this like last year and just do the films with normal reviews or go with the sort of thing I did in Venice or use my round-up style and given the circumstances I'll do a combination of the latter two I think. I went up to Leeds planning on seeing three films, La Tigra, Chaco on the Saturday (http://www.leedsfilm.com/films.aspx?id=244) then Ander (http://www.leedsfilm.com/films.aspx?id=118) and Slovenian Girl (http://www.leedsfilm.com/films.aspx?id=447) on the Sunday. I was toying with the idea of Wolfy (http://www.leedsfilm.com/films.aspx?id=660) but three films back to back was pushing it plus I was staying with friends from University I don't see too often and wanted to be around in case we were doing anything at lunchtime so I just went with the two later in the day.

So Sutton Coldfield to Leeds, depending on traffic/how fast you drive takes anywhere between 90 minutes-2 hours, but despite La Tigra, Chaco starting at 4.30pm and my leaving at 1.15pm fate had no intention of allowing me to see the film. Everything was going normally until I got on the M1 at junction 28 as it was closed from 29-30. It took 55 minutes to crawl from 28 to 29, 50 minutes to go the 6 miles into Chesterfield down a dual carraigeway and then another 70 minutes with the whole of the M1's northbound traffic going through villages down a single carriageway to get back to the motorway. The two junctions on the motorway had taken 3 hours to navigate and my film had long since started with me still 45 miles away. I eventually got there (following being further detained in and around Elland Road due to the England/Australia rugby league match) at 5.55pm and settled for the plans we already had for the night.

Which meant when I got to the cinema on the Sunday it didn't really feel like I was doing the festival at all, as in the past I've always done it on multiple days and this felt more like a normal going up to Leeds to see friends, with some films on top of that. The first was Ander and boy did they mis-sell this. I'm sorry but deliberately making no reference to the film's homosexual content (this is the first time I've ever heard the word "healing" be a synonym for having sex in the toilets ) in the marketing and calling it "surprising" when in the opening minute of the titles a gay and lesbian organisation is credited is just cynical from the organisers. It's a good job I've never had a problem with that kind of material but at least be honest enough to let people make an informed decision on what they're watching.

When "gay cinema" is at its best, the gay aspect is almost irrelevant, Wong Kar Wai's Happy Together is just a damn good film, it isn't reliant on the gay aspect to give the film an inherent interest and it would be just as powerful were it a heterosexual story. Brokeback Mountain is another example, being a tale of a love unacceptable to society which has been done in different ways in films like Far From Heaven. This though really exploits the subject matter as it is not a very interesting film in and of itself. Sparsely paced, but without a single performance to really excite or grab hold of the film, the acting ranges from pretty good (Mamen Rivera's estranged whore) to completely wooden (Christian Esquivel as the farm-hand who tempts the eponymous character) and fails to elevate the material or inject it with any vitality. As such it chugs along at its pedestrian pace, unfolds, but doesn't engage at all in the unfolding. The festival sold the film by saying "Wonderfully understated acting makes this a must-see for all admirers of subtlety. Prepare to be impressed!" I am an admirer of subtlety, but I certainly wasn't too impressed. It's okay but without the intrigue of the gay content there wouldn't be much to write home about at all.

Slovenka (Slovenian Girl), which for some reason the festival organisers felt comfortable in saying was about someone whoring herself around (wonder why that is, young female prostitutes sell but gay farm hands don't? x_x), had a lot of potential as usually films about the sex industry at least give an opportunity for a cracking central performance and have the potential to be staggeringly moving (think Lilya 4-ever). In those terms, the lead actress Nina Ivanisin does give a good turn at the heart of the film, but overall it's much closer to something like Irina Palm in terms of overall quality as the dramatic potential is distilled and unfocused.

It starts off rather promisingly as we see our girl witness the death of a client having a heart attack following a viagra overdose (this sounds like it could almost be a comedy, it's not ) and have to juggle her family, studying and living situation with the way she funds her lifestyle and being wanted for questioning by the police. About half an hour in it begins to lose focus, bringing in pimps who try to force her to work for them, which coupled with owing money to an ex-boyfriend, the bank, the police being after her, etc. just tries to pack too much in. Another example of this is that it is set during the 6 months that Slovenia had the rotating EU Presidency, which the victim at the beginning was a delegate of, but thereafter it's solely in the film to have sirens go off when a train of diplomats drive past every 10 minutes or so. It's quite literally pretentious as it adds nothing dramatically to the film and is only there for the sake of it as they've deliberately chosen to put this story in the recent past to use this, but fail to address at all.

The problem with it all is that they bring so much in but fail to satisfactorily tie any of it together, by the end the police and pimp angles have both been completely dropped, as has the intrigue over her studies, and the drama over whether or not her family will find out is a mess. There's some lazy coincidence thrown in with the writing too, which is such a shame because it's well put together and honestly acted. Sadly this needed another draft or two to get down to the heart of the matter, as it stands it's a decent watch but there's so much wrong with it and most importantly it cannot engage on an emotional level due to the characterisation (the point is more the cost of what she's doing, but doesn't address what a cow she's been and just makes other characters more hateful to make her seem okay in comparison). So an opportunity wasted indeed, it could have been so much better with just any kind of craft to the storytelling at the screenplay-level.

Something a bit different here, but something I've been mulling over the past week or so. After watching Bright Star last week I was looking over what I've been watching this year and I realised the three pieces of direction I think are the best so far have all been by women - Jane Campion for Bright Star, then a couple from Venice, Francesca Comencini (White Space) and Shirin Neshat (Women Without Men). Going further down the line if I went as far as ten achievements in direction, half of my current list would be female directors, with Lone Scherfig and Andrea Arnold as well for really elevating and being the best parts of their films (An Education and Fish Tank, respectively). Now I didn't think too much of it and just thought "huh, weird", but I've been seeing a few comments here and there about women directors (even in interviews with Campion) and started to think of the lack of acclaim from the industry, particularly the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences: the oscars.

Now the oscars famously have only ever nominated three women for best director - Lina Wertmuller for Seven Beauties (x_x), Campion for The Piano and Sofia Coppola for Lost in Translation. The BAFTAs are the same, also only with three, Coppola, Campion and Valerie Faris, who co-directed Little Miss Sunshine. Throughout the years people have always used the lack of nominees as evidence of bias (and that was always the case with similar accusations from everything from black performers to foreign language films). Sexism, racism, xenophobia, well they do say that all any award or poll does is tell you who voted for them .

That of all people it should be me to play apologist for the oscars does rather go against my sensibilities, I do think their aversion to embracing foreign language films as anything other than a token gesture is narrow-minded and self-important (BAFTA at least shows how an awards giver can balance out domestic bias, coupled with an international flavour that is not basically restricted to a common language) but on the race issue, nowadays it would actually be unthinkable for AMPAS to not nominate at least one black performer (the last time that happened was 2000). Which leads on to the more problematic question of why women can't.

On first glance, it seems to simply be the fact that the numbers are against them. Every year thousands of members are sent dvd screeners of the films and it is impossible to get nominated without them (At the BAFTAs Million Dollar Baby relied on 3 theatrical screenings and became not only the only Oscar winner this decade not to get Best Picture nominated, but it didn't get a *single* nomination). Somewhere between 50-70 films try their hand and are sent to voters each year, but less than 10% of those films are by female directors so right off the bat the odds have been shrunk.

Yet the problem with that is it applies as well on the race issue and even in years where it seems as if they're under-represented, there's nothing really of quality or there's too much competition people like Terrence Howard (2005) and Ruby Dee (2007) manage to find a following and get major attention. Also, while AMPAS may severely underlook foreign language films when you look at how many actually bother to send dvds the amount of ones with nominations, and major ones isn't too discouraging. With the women's films though it's not the case as since Coppola's nomination the vast majority get nothing at all, and less than one in five even get two nominations from the oscars. The way their voting system works (requiring not just sending the films out but aggressively campaigning and advertising them) obviously doesn't help but why does it hurt the womens' films more than anything else? Is the sexism that deep?

At the voting level, I'd suggest not - to get a best director nomination, usually you have to have made a film that they have nominated in best picture (at the oscars the rule of thumb is 4/5 best picture nominees will have their corresponding directors nominated, then one wildcard, usually either foreign, arty or technically brilliant snaps up the final spot) and they seem to not really care who made the film as long as they liked it that much. But what kind of films do the oscars go for at this level? There's a sliding scale, going from Hollywood prestige pieces, to low budget films from the "indie" branches of the major studios, to other English language films (usually British), then and only if all of those have been exhausted comes the foreign language fare and then comes the *real* independent films. You don't get nominations without studio backing at some stage down the line and the sexism comes right at the heart in that as Christopher Doyle once said "the only thing they do in the U.S. is look at the box office. It’s not a film industry anymore, it’s an accounting department".

It's no surprise that the three women who did get oscar nominations did so with films outside the Hollywood box which naturally dominates the oscars. Seven Beauties is an Italian production, The Piano an international co-production and Lost in Translation was produced by Coppola's father's company so their opportunities to shine were not given through Hollywood and succeeded within that community in spite of it. They also *all* wrote their own scripts, as did Courtney Hunt, Sarah Polley and Tamara Jenkins, the only women whose films received acting nominations in the last two years. Therein lies the problem, Steven Spielberg doesn't write his own scripts, Clint Eastwood doesn't, Martin Scorsese does a lot of work on them but most of the time gets given something meaty to work on and doesn't have to create it all himself.

Until the powers that be in the major studios start trusting women with their investment and give them a chance to tackle the best material then that will cut their awards chances off at the knees more than the system which gives them does. When did a woman last get, say, a Ron Harwood script, or a Charlie Kaufman screenplay to sink her teeth into? Last year all the academy had to go on from women was Frozen River, Then She Found Me, Mamma Mia and The Black Balloon. Elegy and Wendy & Lucy could only afford to screener the acting branch for a hopeless outside shot at a nomination. Put in those terms, it's no wonder AMPAS only has three female directorial nominees. I nominate Céline Sciamma for Water Lilies in 2007, I give Andrea Arnold the win for Red Road in 2006, what do these two films have in common? Neither are American and neither had any kind of presence at the oscars because they weren't campaigned. For these awards, the studio is king, and it doesn't even have to be in the original financing of the project, but in the distribution and marketing. As long as Hollywood shuts the women out and make women seemingly only fit for rom-coms, or the deliberately anti-feminist types like Kathryn Bigelow, then it doesn't matter how they come to vote for awards, too many doors have already been shut.

Jane Campion has been a worldwide name in cinema for a decade and a half, having burst onto the scene in 1993 winning the Palme d'Or and getting nominated for everything under the sun with The Piano. If anything has defined her work from that, through the adaptation of Henry James' The Portrait of a Lady on to Holy Smoke and In the Cut, it is austere beauty: her films look lovely but have an aloofness at their core. That of all filmmakers it should be her to bring to the screen the story of John Keats and Fanny Brawne might appear at first to be an ill-suited match, but the deep pathos of the legendary poet's doomed romance provides the perfect material to underpin Campion's visual style with a depth of feeling.

Bright Star is a lyrical, delicate evocation of this pair (played by Ben Whishaw and Abbie Cornish)'s love affair. After their initial meetings, Fanny's mother succinctly sums up their situation as being devoid of fame and fortune, "Mr. Keats knows he cannot like you: he has no living and no income". Initially neighbours, eventually the Brawnes move in to the house in which Keats is staying and his attachment to Fanny grows with their increased proximity. Their match is disapproved on both sides, with Fanny's mother and Keats' best friend Brown (Paul Schneider) both having differing objections even before Keats' health strains the couple's budding relationship to the limit.

There are some achingly gorgeous scenes and moments etched by Campion throughout; notably the letter pressed up against the glass of the window in the rain, the couple's first kiss and the return to the house that follows, the reading of his first letter, and the room of butterflies thereafter. Alongside those are deeply poignant scenes, particularly their farewell and the reaction to the news of his fate. These are accentuated by unfussy cinematography (it is not as obviously accomplished as, say, The Portrait of a Lady, but it is invisible and is in service of telling the story in the most direct way possible) and a reserved approach to the placement of music.

Of course being not only foreign, but from a different hemisphere, there are some cultural aspects to Bright Star which lack authenticity; some of the dialogue has too modern a feel to ring true, Schneider's scottish brogue is all over the shop and even Cornish slips occasionally. Her casting in particular seems more to satisfy the vagaries of international co-productions than anything else. This is not to say she does not deliver a good performance, quite the contrary in fact, but this is the type of film where the actors are the director's putty, being moulded to suit her end. Rather than relying on the actors to elevate the material, Campion simply ensures that they suit it. The final scene of the film is emblematic of that as it is a scene that fails to be as moving as previous ones because it is one of the few in the film that relies on Cornish the actress rather than Campion the director to nail it.

What Campion does nail however, which renders the questions of the accuracy of the world created almost moot, is the emotional authenticity, which is present in abundance from first frame to last. Their relationship is drawn expertly and is painfully real, which immerses the viewer in the situation these two souls find themselves in. Campion has taken a story which stems from one of the participants' letters (his), which are full of intensity and despair and jealousy and by treating Fanny as an equal in this tale rather than the object of obsession has smoothed it out to achieve an emotionally real balance, crafting a genuinely touching and arresting work. The inventions on her part are what lends the film its verity and as a result its vitality. She may not completely know the nuances of their environment, but she fundamentally knows the nuances of their hearts, and in depicting the beauty of their time together finds her way to the truth. As a result, it is difficult to envision that even the most die-hard fans of Keats could fail to be moved, for it is a lovingly made film in the image of the man and his work.

Peter Strickland's debut film, Katalin Varga, has a very unusual history. Having been shown at the Berlin Film Festival this year, prior to that it had been on the shelf for the best part of two years in need of completion funds to finish the sound in post-production. On top of that, this is a British film which was shot in Romania, in Romanian and Hungarian, and needed local financing to eventually bail out the film. As with many independent films it has received money from the National Lottery-financed UK Film Council to fund its release, however modest it has been.

The story is difficult to explain without spoiling 95% of the plot and it would probably be best to go into the film knowing as little as possible about it as it is actually the latest entry in a very tired, overdone genre: the revenge flick. As such, having this british director merely transport the kind of story it is across cultures and into a different language is at-best stilted and at worst incredibly pretentious. Strickland's filmmaking smacks of a novice, never settling on a visual style that is either consistent or fluid. There are individual moments of striking talent, but it does not string together to create truly satisfactory cohesive storytelling.

Essentially, the film is a performance piece for its star Hilda Péter. Showing her journey into the sticks following a break up with her husband, for the opening third of the film not a tremendous amount happens but once it becomes clear what she's doing the intrigue picks up. The finest scene in the film is when Péter recounts the details of what happened to her to prompt the revenge. On paper it could be quite dull but visually it is handled interestingly and she absolutely knocks the monologue out of the park.

In Berlin this took home an award for the sound, which is rather strange as the annoyingly cacophonous sound design and the poor quality of the recording couple to create one of the film's major weaknesses. It gives the film a genuine Eastern European feel to it (reminiscent of something like Marketa Lazarova) but is both intrusive and overbearing. By the end, through all the jumbled techniques and game turns, some interesting points are obliquely made, and this remains a glimpse of possible great things in the future rather than a tremendously accomplished piece of work at present.

Pixar are, Will Smith aside, seemingly the only bulletproof people in the film industry today, with all of their films apparantly untouchable at the box office. Their latest offering, Up, has continued the streak and garnered as impeccable a critical reception as the two previous Pixars that preceeded it (Ratatouille and WALL·E).

The story follows a widower who, following an altercation with a workman is going to be sent off to a retirement home. Rather than face that "death" he blows up thousands of balloons and lifts his house off the ground, preferring instead to fulfill his wife's lifelong ambition of living in a remote part of South America. A local boy scout (well ... "Wilderness explorer") is unwittingly taken along for the ride and when they arrive they encounter everything from rare birds to a pack of talking dogs.

On many occasions this is an extremely amusing film, a lot of stuff is aimed way over the kids' heads at the adults (for example a shot of some of the dogs playing poker) and it does shift quite freely. Unfortunately the main child character is the most annoying Pixar have created in many a year although the script has enough skillfully drawn situations to smooth that over. The most friendly of the dogs, Dug, steals the show and has some of the funniest lines. A lot of the humour here is extremely silly, which is a stark contrast to the recent films they've done, the height of which being the "evil" dog having a helium-style voice.

Like WALL·E, there is a bravura wordless section early on (albeit 10 times as short), here recounting the main character's marriage. If there is a problem with the film it's that it has touches of brilliance that recall previous works but does not go on to surpass them. The marriage montage is pure cinema and effortlessly moving, but the rest of the film, whilst very entertaining for the most part does not live up to the promise of its best moments. In a way it is rather unfair to judge a Pixar film as the bar has been raised so high, so consistently. This isn't quite the case of a Yelena Isinbayeva crashing out without recording a height at the World Championships this year, but it's more like her delivering an easy win without ever attempting to go for the world record she has so often broken before.

Lone Scherfig is one of the finest directors in Europe, bursting on to the international scene with her delightful Dogme film Italian for Beginners the best part of a decade ago. Since then she's branched out into English language cinema with the very quirky Wilbur Wants to Kill Himself, and pushed the boundaries of the process with the experimental Hjemve, which wasn't a success in her home country. So this film, her return to the British scene, is her international reply to a domestic disappointment.

The story follows a 16 year old schoolgirl who is befriended by a man more than twice her age who starts charming her parents and taking her out around all the fashionable places in London. Sadly, the result is as unsettling as it sounds as having Peter Sarsgaard creepily groom a "teenage" Carey Mulligan (who couldn't really pass for 16 four years ago in Pride and Prejudice) is not exactly a relationship to engender much sympathy.

On top of that, the characterisation adds to this as Mulligan is referred to by her schoolfriends as "a stuck up cow", and having this type of person ushered into a sexual awakening doesn't give any emotional investment in their fate. This is true of the film as a whole, the only character who sees her for the pretentious snob that she is (played by a very game Rosamund Pike) is regularly ridiculed for being stupid. If you don't share this "stuck up cow"'s naive blind adoration of all things arty and worthwhile then you clearly must be so unintelligent as to be laughed at.

All of this comes from Nick Hornby's smugly assembled screenplay (and presumably the memoir on which it's based) and very simply there's little Scherfig can do about it. As ever with her the film looks lovely and the attention to detail is refreshing, but Mulligan isn't given much to do, Sarsgaard can't escape/adds to the creepiness of the situation, Dominic Cooper is his usual bland self, and Alfred Molina tries with a rather 2D character (which in all fairness most of the cast are saddled with). That the script at the end tries to shift the blame onto his character is the ultimate conceit and contradiction. This is a well put together film with some competent turns and a killer soundtrack, but intellectually and philosophically it's rather repellent.

Right, so yesterday I sat down to have tea in front of the tv and had a flick round to see if there was anything worth watching. I came across the second half of The Last of the Mohicans (which I've seen far too many times over the years) and having recently seen Jodhi May in the BBC's adaptation of Emma I kept it on. Within 20 mins of it finishing I'd gone upstairs, found my copy of The Age of Innocence and completed an impromtu Daniel Day Lewis double bill. I'm always surprised by how much I like The Age of Innocence, I don't think it's Scorsese's best film but it could easily be my favourite and definitely has one of the most beautiful shots/moments I've ever seen with Michelle Pfeiffer on the jetty with the sunset glistening off the waves while Day Lewis wills her to turn around. What the hell, the blog isn't letting me link to pictures so I'll just upload this screencap - here it is :)

Whilst researching on wikipedia and imdb (i.e. finding out precisely HOW BADLY IT WAS SNUBBED DAMMIT!!! :D by the oscars) I came across the fact that there had been a couple of adaptations in the 20s and 30s, and the divine Irene Dunne had played Madame Olenska in RKO's version. Now this immediately leapt out at me as a particularly inspired piece of casting and I frantically, to no avail sadly, hunted the search engines to see if I could find it online. What that failure did though is make me dig for an Irene Dunne film I hadn't seen and knew I could find, namely Love Affair.

It took me a little while, but as soon as Dunne and Charles Boyer (who I'm very hit and miss on) turn up at his grandmother's house, I realised that this was an earlier version of An Affair to Remember (and it turns out Leo McCarey directed both), which is quite fitting seeing as I very recently saw Sleepless in Seattle and it plays such a big role in that film. 1939 was a truly vintage year for Hollywood and this got nominated all over the shop at the oscars that year. In a way I can see why because it's a very appealing film. I think the remake spoiled Maria Ouspenskaya's performance for me because I preferred Cathleen Nesbitt so much more. Indeed a classic, I probably prefer the remake because I'm a big fan of Cary Grant's and only a bit more of Dunne's than Kerr's, but I still haven't seen the 50s version all the way through so for now, this is ahead in my mind.

After seeing that I moved straight on to Mourning Becomes Electra, because the same person had uploaded both and I'd wanted to see it for years, being infamous for the biggest oscar shock ever, with Rosalind Russell so sure she'd win she'd got out of her seat before Loretta Young's name was read out. This is the newly extended cut and boy does it drag, I really wish, rather like Fanny & Alexander that I'd seen the original theatrical shorter version. The acting was good but I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a bit disappointing given the reputation of both Russell's and Michael Redgrave's performances. Raymond Massey and Katina Paxinou come to play, but it's such a stagey, turgid drag of a film I couldn't recommend it outside of the curiosity value.

Which brings me on to another extended version, Untitled, which is Cameron Crowe's director's cut of Almost Famous (with about 40 minutes added to it) which was on tv tonight. I've always found the original version to be so overrated, mainly because for me Kate Hudson was so annoying, fake and charmless and the whole soul of the film is her character and her relationships, so if you don't like her you're on to a loser with the film. I was extremely underwhelmed when I first saw it because I'm such a fan of rock music and Crowe's Singles is easily my favourite film on the subject and given the critical (if not financial, it bombed) reception it didn't live up to the hype.

Despite having the same feelings about Hudson (the character is so well written I almost cry when I think that as stunningly soulful an actress as Sarah Polley turned it down) I did find this version more watchable. There are more genuine laugh-out-loud moments than I remembered and even if there are some dodgy lines in there ("let's deflower the kid!" :S) it is a film with its heart in the right place. I think the new cut fleshes out some of the relationships more and I do think it's improved in pacing despite the added length. The trouble is though most people who love this film have Hudson and the Tiny Dancer scene as their highlights, whereas I can't stand Elton John and Hudson will always be the reason I'll never take this film to my heart, even though it hits on so many areas that ostensibly appeal to me that I'll equally always feel that I should.

Terry Gilliam is one of the most visionary directors working today, and seemingly only someone of his level of talent would be able to rescue a film from the brink of disaster as he has here. When David Lynch revived his unbought pilot for Mulholland Dr. he could do his patch-up job with the original actors (as Naomi Watts and Laura Harring were nowhere near stars), but following the death of Heath Ledger GIlliam didn't have such a luxury, instead turning to Johnny Depp, Colin Farrell and Jude Law, and some rewrites to salvage the film.

Sadly it will always be mentioned with reference to Ledger's death, but the concept of the three extra acotrs works rather well. The plot is basically that of a group of travelling performers, the immortal Dr. Parnassus (Christopher Plummer), his daughter (Lily Cole) and hangers on (Andrew Garfield and Verne Troyer). They have a magic mirror, which once inside the punter's imagination is brought to life, before being faced with a choice which will determine the fate of their soul. The clever part of the triple-casting is they go to the guys every time Ledger goes through the mirror so it's nowhere near as distracting as it could have been.

Being a Gilliam film, the visuals and general quirkiness are of the most concern. That said though if anything holds this film together it's the characters created and the situations they are put in rather than the style. Plummer is his most interesting in a decade, Cole shows some natural talent even if she is pushed a bit too far towards the end and Garfield finally has a role to fully exploit his natural sweetness and charm (the guy should be the British Michael Cera but instead he's been in some very gritty tv films). Tom Waits as the devil resembles a poor man's John Malkovich, Ledger is fine, but of the three replacements Depp comes to play the most.

The set-up is rather convoluted which makes it a film which isn't the easiest to follow, but it does retain an inherent likeability. Here Gilliam assembles the misfits in vintage fashion, Cole is a very odd looking girl, Troyer is the latest in a line of "vertically challenged" people he's used and the story has a sufficient charm amongst the madness. If there's a problem it's that beneath the surface there's not actually that much on offer and it probably won't stand up to too much intellectual scrutiny. That said though the cast are all very game and the dance between Cole and Waits is one of the most visually arresting scenes in recent years and worth the price of admission alone. In a way it's a shame this will always be the film Heath Ledger died doing, because really he's one of the least interesting things about it, yet that is where the curiosity will naturally come from both now and in the future. Other films of Gilliam's might have deserved the extra attention more.