Matthew McConaughey plays Arthur, an American professor who books a one-way ticket to Japan in order to end his life at the suicide hotspot, Aokigahara Forest. As he prepares his final moments in the woodland, he’s interrupted by the distressed and bloodied form of Takumi Nakamura (Ken Watanbe), a businessman who appears to have changed his mind about his own suicide. Begrudgingly deciding to help the man, Arthur tries to find his way out of the forest, becoming lost in the process himself.
Rather than a wilderness picture that sees two suicidal men rediscovering a purpose in life, Sea Of Trees becomes a cinematic join-the-dots puzzle where, through flashbacks, we learn the reasons why Arthur has decided to call it a day. Back in America, Arthur was in a loveless marriage with his alcoholic wife, Joan (Naomi Watts), who resents him for giving up on his dreams. When a tumour is found in her brain, the two try to rebuild their relationship before it’s too late. You may think that you know where this is going, but nothing can prepare you for the misfire that is the final act of Sea Of Trees.
Beautifully shot and poetic at the beginning, with an emotional performance by McConaughey, Sea Of Trees trades it all in for a twist that is so risible that the film could be mistaken for a parody of Nicholas Sparks’ melodramas. In a final act of narrative gymnastics, it also manages to take away any agency from the characters of Joan and Takumi to ensure that we are under no illusion that everything is about Arthur and how it affects him. Sea Of Trees could have been a reflection of how grief can claw its way through a person, but instead is a baffling exercise in navel gazing.
Jill (Bethany Orr) is average in every way from her height, her looks to her weight. There’s a chance that Jill could live a fairly average life, free from drama, if it wasn’t for her flatmate Jennifer (Mary Loveless). Jennifer works in the fashion industry; she’s hot, she’s sexy and she can eat whatever she wants without putting on weight. Jill idolises her and she knows it, calling out Jennifer on the slightest things and immediately apologising and bending the frumpy flatmate to her will. When Jennifer’s putdowns become too much, Jill snaps and holds the model hostage, putting her through a series of humiliating exercises centred around her eating and good looks.
This feature length debut from Patrick Kennelly follows in the same footprints of Jimmy Webber’s Eat; being a body horror that hangs its narrative off eating disorders and the people who develop them through trying to establish some sort of control. Jill gorges on pop tarts and corn chips, much like Jennifer. Both women purge themselves of their ‘sins’ through vomiting, and yet it is Jill who always comes out the worst. Jennifer gets the men she wants, she gets the clothes she wants, she has the friends she wants. Jill’s trophy cabinet includes a nosey neighbour, and a potential lover who scurries off between Jennifer’s legs eventually.
It’s a common complaint that women are bombarded with perfection on a daily/weekly/minute-to-minute basis by images hawking the ‘perfect’ look. Jennifer is a personification of this trend, screaming and spitting in Jill’s face constantly to fornicate off but also be her friend. The metaphor is obvious but Kennelly doesn’t seem to want to hide behind symbolism. He wants you to understand in simple terms where he’s coming from and his eventual destination. At least, he does at the beginning. After a deliberately slow start that allows the viewer to settle down into the world of Jill and Jennifer, with it’s parties, sex and burritos filled with corn chips, Kennelly leads them into a room where food is god and the believer’s flesh is weak.
This is a very angry film that vomits flames at society. Through stylised camerawork and lighting, Kennelly’s paints a world where consumption of all kinds is the key to happiness. Witness Jill vomiting in slow motion before ending in a moment of orgasmic pleasure. Listen as Kennelly ramps up the sound so you hear every bite of red velvet cake. It’s a horrific blend of sight and sound. And yet, at times, the film gets too caught up in its own vitriol and the narrative drag at times. It’s a minor complaint, but Excess Flesh could do with losing the occasional dream sequence to speed things along.
Excess Flesh is a fetid example of body horror; whose message is obvious but it’s intentions are good. It’s squalid and vicious and guaranteed to make you feel nauseous. If you’ve ever watched Girls and prayed there would be an episode when Hannah finally snapped, this is that episode.
This review was originally in earlybirdfilm.wordpress.com.
In what feels like seven decades in the making, two of DC’s mightiest heroes go toe to toe in an all-out no holds barred smack down. This, we’re assured by Jesse Eisenberg’s Lex Luthor several times, will be the gladiatorial fight of the century. Is it though?
Don’t let the action figures and pint sized pyjamas on sale in Kmart fool you. Batman v Supermanis not a kid’s film. Nor is it even a family film. This cinematic interpretation is aimed squarely at the adults who want, nay demand, that their childhood obsessions grow up with them. This is translated into a cinematic universe where Batman tackles paedophiles and sex traffickers by branding them with a hot bat symbol, where Superman’s deeds in Man of Steel resulted in the deaths of thousands and Lex Luthor waxes lyrical about the abuse he suffered at the hands of his father and sends jars of urine to his enemies before blowing them up. This is a DC comic filtered through the lens of a bad fan fiction. This not a universe I want to live in.
It may be an old fashioned way of thinking, but superhero movies need to show their heroes being, well, super. In Batman v Superman – a title bout that doesn’t happen till around the two-hour mark – both of our heroes are rarely seen doing anything remotely so.
As Bruce Wayne/Batman, Ben Affleck is in danger of tripping over his brow due to how furrowed it is. He lives in a modern condo down river from a desolate Wayne Manor. He spends his nights with literally faceless women and having violent visions about Henry Cavill’s Superman. Having seen the blue tighted one effectively turn Metropolis to dust two years previously, the playboy millionaire is concerned for the welfare of America at the hands of aliens. In a sense, he’s the Donald Trump of superheroes.
Meanwhile, Clark Kent (Henry Cavill) struggles with his work life balance as the media slowly becomes obsessed with Superman and the untold damage his heroics have caused over the years. Would it have hurt the film to have a simple scene of Clark enjoying being a superhero? Evidently so. If you enjoyed moody space Jesus in Man of Steel, you’re going to get a kick out of watching him crying in the aftermath of a terrorist attack.
Perhaps the brightest spot in the whole murky affair – and director Zack Snyder has really gone out of his way to drain this comic book movie of most hues – is Gal Gadot as Wonder Woman. Though even then, it’s hard not to feel her appearance would have had more effect had it not been spread thinly across every trailer in the last six months.
Later this year, Marvel will throw their own one on one into the cinema with Captain America: Civil War. It’s important to mention this, because with ten films down, Marvel has earned the right to have Captain America and Iron Man square off. This only the second film of the DC Cinematic Universe, and quite frankly everyone needs to be given time to breathe and think about what they really want to do. Sony’s aborted Amazing Spider-Man trilogy shows that trying to capture the same lightening as Marvel is going to be hard. DC can pull it off if they stop trying to rush everything and overstuff the film; spending close to three hours throwing everything at the screen in the hopes that something sticks.
There are several cameos, and (so. many.) dream sequences, that obviously hint at future adventures, which is fine. However, when a certain Justice League member turns up from the future to warn Batman about the past, and who is never referred to again for the rest of the film, its evident that DC comics doesn’t care for the casual viewer. They want the fans. They want the fan’s money. It’s marketing at it’s most cynical.
Overlong, dull and pretentious, Batman v Superman is the superhero movie that dyes its hair black, plays Lana Del Rey songs repeatedly and refuses to call Mum’s new lover Dad no matter how much Steve insists.
This review originally appeared at earlybirdfilm.wordpress.com
Barbara Nedeljáková is perhaps best known to Eli Roth purists as one half of the seductive duo in Roth’s Hostel. In Just One Drink, a short psychological thriller from Andrew de Burgh, she applies herself to a different kind of seduction.
Two recent college graduates, Steve (de Burgh) and Derek (Isaac Urden), seem to content getting stoned and waxing lyrical about the evolution of man. When Steve is invited to to a Hollywood New Year’s Eve party by a woman called Tamara (Nedeljáková), they decide to chance it. After all, who wouldn’t want to get messy in Hollywood, right? Does it matter that Steve has no recollection of Tamara, despite her insistence they’ve met before? Well, not to these guys. Things get even stranger when they arrive at Tamara’s and she offers them a drink laced with more than alcohol.
From this point onwards, Just One Drink mutates from a potential Dear Penthouse letter into a sort of Hostel-lite situation as the two men discover what Tamara is really up to. De Burgh has a firm grasp of tension, allowing it to simmer as the story progresses. Equally, he manages to pull off a few twist and turns along the way that don’t overstuff the film’s short running time. Given time and a budget, it’ll be interesting to see what else he has up his sleeve.
If you want to see the full film, you can check it out here.
This review originally appeared at earlybirdfilm.wordpress.com
John Noonan 