The Lobster – a review

Should've gone to Specsavers...

Should’ve gone to Specsavers…

The Lobster‘s opening scene is that of a woman driving in a car through remote countryside. She stops the car, in the pouring rain, gets out and shoots a donkey dead with a pistol. Thus the stage is set perfectly for this darkly twisted fable to begin.

And this is one of those pleasant, but sadly few and far between, experiences whereby the story/concept is strong enough to do just that: begin. No need here for delving into the cinematic library of convention to establish such obvious elements as character, motivation, relation etc, life’s not like that so why should film be, just plunge straight in and be good about it too.

The film’s celebrated director, Yorgos Lanthimos, is certainly that; creating a melange of allegorical violence and brutality underpinned by utterly black satire, washed down with a very healthy slosh of sparkling originality. And it’s those bubbles of invention, flashing throughout, that grab your attention and don’t let it go.

The Lobster presents a genuine dystopia, not just the world it depicts but the film in itself, a pseudo-reality pervading all with our players speaking in stilted, jerky, sentences expressing only the most banal of sentiments. Everyone seems in fear, so they say as little about themselves as possible. The trepidation of its ‘guests’ made tangible by the ‘hotel’ itself, the very edifice of this totalitarian control. Interchange the words ‘inmate’ and ‘prison’ respectively and you’ll be on the way to understanding the set up.

Colin Farrell plays a man, recently single, who is ‘checked-in’ to one of these hotels and serves as the vehicle which carries us through this most unusual of stories. Farrell definitely performs better in more restrained roles where the independent flavour is the driving force (eg. In Bruges, Seven Psychopaths), as opposed to the bigger nonsense roles of unnecessary remakes such as 2012’s Total Recall. Here, as the timid and flabby David his comedic timing is slap-bang on point and he delivers an understated performance of rare excellence.

It’s the sort of macabre bleakness one would expect from the 21st Century new wave of Greek cinema, loaded with thinly veiled acerbic commentary on government control and the current state of their union. Fitting that the first nation of academics and great thinkers, who essentially founded modern western society and intelligent thought as we know it, should end up producing artists so able and willing to throw their hats into the ring of social commentary; creating this terrifyingly believable, if hyper-surreal, version of a malfunctioning civilisation.

Sex and inter-human relationships are the focus of the state’s control here; one charming example being that if you’re caught engaging in solo sexual gratification then your hand is burnt in a toaster at breakfast in front of all the other hotel guests. However, the ‘powers that be’ are not totally without consideration, the maid will provide a limited sexual stimulation service at a designated time to help improve your psychological well-being and aid your chances in the pursuit of finding a partner. Which is the end goal of the hotel as an institution. If, after your allotted time staying in the hotel, you haven’t found a partner then you are, of course, turned into an animal.

Careful here not to confuse the, albeit undoubtedly treacle thick, comedy as the defining factor. Although it’s devilishly dark and freshly delivered, it risks deflecting the far darker message lurking beneath its surreal veil.

Farrell is more than ably supported by his ensemble players, Ben Whishaw, John C. Reilly, Olivia Colman, Angeliki Papoulia, Ariane Labed and Ashley Jensen, all bringing a delightful nuance to their contribution with the latter combining her authentic charm with an air of dejected desperation, culminating in, perhaps, the film’s darkest and yet concurrently funniest moment. Listen for her cries and if your blood isn’t curdled then the chances are you’re running dry.

Act two sees our hero, for want of a better word to describe Farrell’s fantastically flawed character,  go firmly from the frying pan (or toaster) into the fire. The fire of feral justice, that is, equally unforgiving, at the hands of Léa Seydoux‘s rebel leader, showing the welcome raw side to her acting repertoire. No immaculately manicured Bond girl here. Although, by way of tenuous link and in reverence of the impending Spectre looming over us all, Daniel Craig‘s wife Rachel Weisz turns up, giving a solid fulcrum from which Farrell pathetically swings away. Her comedy bones may not be as large as some of her counterparts but she imbues a much needed sincerity without which the entire narrative could have descended into farce. Her communications with Farrell in the forest being particularly charming and romantic, whilst remaining very funny, they give a welcome offset to the darker side of the film, actually serving to emphasise both faces of Janus rather than detracting from either. The balancing act is superb.

All in all, The Lobster is absolutely bonkers but in a brilliantly necessary way. It conjures genuine laughter, shock, not a little awe and certainly gives you something to think about concerning the nature of relationships, love itself and maybe just a little more about the wider world in which we live today. Or, possibly, tomorrow…



Macbeth – a review

Should've brought a coat...

Should’ve brought a coat…

When decorating a new build house, one would be well advised to take into account each element of design in an attempt to find homogeneity, conveying the overall intended theme. Now, imagine that modern new build is instead a 17th Century stately home known the world over and visited by millions upon millions over the years. How could one possibly try to reinvigorate such a well known national treasure for a contemporary audience without offending its innate sense of history?

Director Justin Kurzel (an integral part of the recent Australian cinematic renaissance and this only his second feature) reopens his Macbeth Hall with walls adorned in rain-swept, war-torn, antagonistic panoramas of Scottish Highlands, furnished in an old-fashioned rugged realism and at each end of the grand antique dining table are seated the human embodiment of his theme, Michael Fassbender and Marion Cottilard, as Macbeth and his Lady. Begin the fall from grace…

The decision to have the cast adopt Scottish accents detracts little from the universal appeal of Shakespeare’s emotional core, notably Cottilard’s authenticity is never questioned as she delivers a hauntingly chilled Lady Macbeth. Hers is the chiaroscuro which Fassbender’s Macbeth perhaps lacks in places. However, not every word is always heard, not every complex nuance of the source material’s iambic pentameter can be discerned, but it’s a powerful and soaring testament that over four hundred years later Shakespeare’s philosophic and tonal genius can still resonate through a motion picture made in 2015.

And ‘tone’ is very much the word that engulfs each and every minute of the 112 duration here; solidifying the sadness, grounding the guilt and ultimately deepening the despair, made palpable, of our titular anti-hero. This emphatic and inescapably dark tone makes Kurzel’s incarnation of Macbeth hard to access at times, as there’s really nowhere else to go apart from the intensely stylised darkness. Although that limits the film to only operate within that one area then there’s nothing inherently wrong in that. Do what you want to do and do it well. This is certainly done well, with stunning visuals maintained from the first to the very final frame; rich, dark, erotic colours and beautifully captured slow-motion allowing the chaos of Macbeth’s mind time to ferment and engulf.

Sex/gender roles feel particularly relevant for a modern audience with Lady Macbeth questioning her husband’s manhood on a couple of occasions as the manipulative motivation for coercing him to do what must be done. And, again, when Macduff is told his entire family have just been murdered and breaks down, he is counselled by Malcolm to face it like a man but he replies, ‘I will but I’ll also feel it as a man’. There is a nice contrast in male gender roles there, highlighted in 1606 by Shakespeare: to kill one must be a man but to cry one must also be a man.

The moral message is clear: what’s done can’t be undone. The unstoppable power-hungry ambition of Macbeth is an obvious lesson from which to learn: don’t listen to weird women in the fog. Or, be careful what you wish for. The clichéd platitudes could roll on forever but that doesn’t diminish the power of Shakespeare’s point: achieving anything at the expense of anyone else can only bring bad things to those that achieved them and the world within which they reside or, worse, that they govern. A message still not heeded today…

A certain theatrical feel has been maintained throughout – perhaps because of the director’s proximity to the Scottish play, which his wife, actress Essie Davis, starred in before he took on the project – with the soliloquies in particular feeling nicely innovative. The infamous, ‘Is this a dagger I see before me’ conjures a vision of a fallen comrade offering Macbeth the weapon that will seal his fate. Likewise, Lady Macbeth encounters an apparition of their dead daughter to focus her attentions on when delivering one of her key speeches. This calls back to an interesting prologue that Kurzel and co. added to the text, that of the Macbeth’s daughter’s unexplained funeral at the very outset of the film. Perhaps in an attempt to contextualise their otherwise blindly selfish and greedy machinations; they substitute their grief for insatiable ambition. Power becomes their child, that which they can share and will keep them together.

Sean Harris is a worthy Macduff, silent for the most part but ultimately serving as justice and the closest thing to a hero on offer. Paddy Considine lends pathos and gravitas, as one would expect, to his limited Banquo, Macbeth’s friend and battle-wearied companion, bringing the straw-that-broke-the-camels-back moment for our protagonist’s mental demise into shattered insanity.

Powerful, raw and visually arresting, this is a dark and menacing Macbeth but then what else would you expect from Kurzel (just watch his previous feature Snowtown). The only potential criticism being the constant and unflinching tone but then you just need look at the source material and realise this is a modern imagining of a classic tragic play with integrity and great vision at its heart. Enjoyable it may not be but its message is clear and powerfully realised in such a way to make it still resonant today. An achievement worth considerable praise. Macbeth is reopened, go and visit.