Review: The Departed

There may be bigger films this year, but there isn't going to be one as big as The Departed. From the opening minutes when almost all the main star cast are introduced, you know that there's going to be a lot on screen from Martin Scorcese.

Leonardo DiCaprio gives a tense performance as seconded trainee Boston cop Billy Costigan, sent undercover as a mole in the city's major Irish-American crime gang, led by a crackling Frank Costello (Jack Nicholson) with muscle from Ray Winstone's Mr. French.

Meawhile, brilliant but bent cop Colin Sullivan (Matt Damon) is also playing mole within Martin Sheen and Mark Whalberg's Special Investigations Unit, helping Frank stay one step ahead of plod. So the race is on for each side to uncover the traitor in their midst, whatever it takes.

Scorcese plays the story for all its cinematic worth, with huge performances, acres of eyeball-to-eyeball stand-offs and tense moments, not to mention more than the odd flash of extreme violence and bloodshedding.

If there's any criticism, it's that not all of the complicated plot turns are fully tied up (at least on first watch) and it's a little overlong. It also seems that all villians in Boston study the Penguin Dictionary of Classic Quotations, ever ready to drop in a bit of Freud or Wilde when the occasion demands it- normally before, during or after giving someone a damn good going-over or shooting them in the head.

But you're never not watching, wondering who'll make it to the end and who'll get whacked. Big, brutal and bloody brilliant.

Review: Little Miss Sunshine

After 'Crank' (below), Little Miss Sunshine is exactly that - a warm ray to restore your faith that there is someone up there making positive, life-affirming films.

The blue-collar Hoover family of misfits take their daughter from Alberquerque to California to perform in the Little Miss Sunshine contest, and learn more about themselves and each other on the journey.

Although pitched as an indie film, the cast has a solid A-list of actors, rather than stars. led by frazzled mum Sheryl Toni Collette, who has yet to turn in a bad performance in a film, whether playing Aussies (Muriel's Wedding), Americans (The Sixth Sense) or Brits (About a Boy). Then there's dad Richard (Greg Kinnear), who believes he's struck gold to market his shonky nine-step positive thinking programme. Sulky big brother Dwayne hasn't spoken for nine months, but perfers to communicate through scribbled messages such as 'I HATE EVERYONE'.

Meanwhile Granpa Edwin (Alan Arkin) is quite content to see out his days smoking heroin and cursing like a trooper to anyone who tries to cross his path. That means on-the-brink depressive brother Frank (Steve Farell), who is left under his big sister Sheryl's supervision. And of course the family is completed by Little Miss Sunshine Olive herself.

What follows on their journey is a series of mishaps, disasters and general bottoming out for everyone in the custard yellow VW Camper van they ride in, which is as temperamental as the rest of them. Directors Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Farris frame the whole trip very matter of fact with natural direction and long pauses, showing us Arizonan gas stations, the LA fringes and Californian costal concrete intersections with the same love and affection. In all but a couple of scenes they keep what could have been a nudge-wink farce or engineered tearjerker into a piercing thoughtful image of a very unnormal, normal family learning to rub along together and appreciate the little things in life.

Review: Crank

First of all, apologies that this review is so late. If i thought that a single other soul had been hard at work, then decided to spend some of that hard-earned money on going to see this film, then may a thousand misfortunes plague me for eternity.

I can't remember that last time I really felt like walking out of a cinema- in fact, i don't think I ever have. After all, how can you criticise a film you've not seen all the way through? But two-thirds of the way through 'Crank', the latest with gruff whispering shorthouse Jason Statham, I was so gasping for daylight and real human contact that i almost- almost - did.

But let's be fair- Jason Statham's only mistake was saying 'Yes' to this film. After all, Transporter I and II weren't bad. Fun even. The real criminal prosecution should surely be served upon writers/directors Mark Neveldine and Brian Taylor, previously ad men who clearly have issues.

But what can be so bad, you're asking? Well, the plot is simple: JS has been injected with a lethal cocktail that will mean he will die if his adrenaline level drops. So far, so Speed. But what could have been a clever, real-time race against town starts off that way, then suddely decide it would be more fun to shock and offend everyone who might be watching.

Statham's character quickly shows himself to be really not very nice at all. Yes, he's a hitman but he crashes through a hospital knocking patients out the way and pointing guns at doctors. He then steals an Arab man's cab and to distract passers-by, throws him to the ground and yells "Al-Quaida!". And then, when his girlfriend doesn't believe his story, he decides the best way to prove it would be to basically to rape her outside in front of hundreds of people.

But when the directors aren't trying to make the teenage Beavis and Buttheads in the audience grunt with laughter, their style is so frenetic it makes your head spin. But all the handheld camera shots, 80's Nintendo graphics and use of Google maps just try and disguise the unrelenting awfulness of this film. And the 80's straight to Betamax finale and poorly CGI'd final scene feels like a huge 'gotcha' to the audience- 'ha ha, we made you watch it all!'

You can wash, but after watching this film, you won't be clean.

Review: Volver

There's a lot said and written about Pedro Almodovar, with praise heaped on him with every new film, to the extent that he's become a sort of Iberian Woody Allen who can virtually do no wrong.

But with 'Volver', he's really onto something special. Instead of elaborate and flamboyant but often unbelieveable characters , in 'Volver' we have a warm, funny and achingly touching portrayl of real, rounded and caring people.

The story is the 'volver'- return - of the mother of Raimunda (Penelope Cruz) and Sole (Lola Duenas), who had both believed she was dead. Living hidden away in a Castillian village and keeping a family secret, Sole at first believes she is an apparition and hides her in her flat, telling visitors she is a Russian immigrant.

But Volver is the return of much more as well. In the case of Raimunda, it is the return to her childhood village and the discovery of family secrets, but also the return of her passion for life. After her oppressive husband dies, she re-opens the barrio restaurant to great acclaim, and finds again a passion for singing that even she had forgotten about.

As is typical Almodovar, (straight) men play a fleeting, and often negative, role in this film. But in Volver, this allows the female characters to breathe and develop, in such as way that suggests Pedro as a writer director is finding a much more confident, personal and human voice than ever before.

Review: A Scanner Darkly

Director Richard Linklater ('Before Sunrise'/'Sunset', 'School Of Rock', 'Fast Food Nation') has tackled Philip K. Dick's famous novel of substance abuse and paranoia 'A Scanner Darkly' and, from what I can tell, has done a pretty good job.

I say from what I can tell for two reasons: first, I haven't read the book, and second because if his intention was to create the feeling of being drug-induced while watching a film, he's done a pretty good job.

Keanu Reeves plays Bob Arctor, a cop who is so undercover he wears a scramble suit, a cloaking device that constantly changes to disguise his appearance. But when Bob is assigned to investigate a suspected high-level dealer of an addictive drug called Substance 'D', he finds he's spying on himself. So far, so trippy.

But it's the rotscoping animation overlayed on all the actors that really messes with your mind, forever ebbing and shifting. Add to that the petty, confused babblings of the characters Bob lives with- played by Woody Harleson, Winona Ryder, Rory Cochrane and, best of all, Robert Downey Jr.- and you can feel both the film and your head going sideways very quickly.

Towards the end, the film shifts tone and alludes that the private company controlling the public's rehabilitation from Substance D may actually also be the ones making and peddling it. But this feels a little rushed given the rest of the film's stoned tone, like spending 15 minutes discusing how a second-hand bike seems to have had half of its 18 gears "stolen".

But overall, a trip worth taking.

Review: Snakes On A Plane

'Snakes on a Plane' was always going to be a hit because all the online hype, and the following offline hype about the online hype. But is it actually any good?

Well, it's basically it's one melon-farming missed opportunity. Even from the name, fan boys are sat waiting for the barrage of funny quips from Samuel L Jackson, the characters you just know are going to die in inventive ways and perhaps a twist at the end to show it's not all over.

But what you get is a very straight, flat done-on-a-budget disaster movie. Plane takes off, snakes get loose, snakes attack, people fight back, Sam Jackson loses his rag, plane lands, most folk make it.

What is well known about the film is that lots of scenes were added on the suggestions of movie fans on internet message boards. And my God, do they stand out. Look out for any scene where there's extra gore, or one actor is stood against a strangely plain background. Check the close-up of one guy who suddenly starts foaming at the mouth, then in the long shot its all gone; Sam's famous "no more motherfucking snakes on my motherfucking planes" line, and even the pointless surfer ending.

But without these scenes of extra gore, nudity or potty mouthing, you do wonder what sort of film this might have been. Who would have wanted to be basically stuck on a two-hour plane journey with some fairly unpleasant and irritating people, who get cleanly picked off by some polite reptiles? Aside from Sam, ER's Julianna Margulies is the only one who even holds any sympathy from the audience.

This film should have had a life of multiple drunken midnight viewings at the multiplex, followed by cult worship for evermore on DVD. But instead, it will probably spawn a thousand similar lazy copies. Everyone involved should be made to sit and watch 'Tremors' and 'Lake Placid' one hundred times each.

Review: Nacho Libre

Jack Black is back, in the film I've been waiting to see this summer more than any other. After the flaming ginger quirk-fest that was 'Napoleon Dynamite', the idea of Jared Hess directing JB as a Mexican luchador sounds like a guaranteed slice of fried box office gold.

And on many levels, Nacho Libre doesn't disappoint. Hess's flat direction leaves lots of pauses for Jack Black's face to fill, whether it's seducing the new nun at the orphanage or about to get low-kicked in the wrestling ring by a couple of feral werewolf midgets twins.

What falls short - at least on first viewing - is the sense of place that Hess gave to Napoleon Dynamite's high school world. Although set in Mexico, there's hardly any actual Mexicans in the film, apart from fulfilling a few cliche roles like troop of wandering mariachis. It goes no further than the same 'ay ay ay' view of Mexico as Bumblebee Man from 'The Simpsons'.

Jack Black's accent can be quote offputting, which wanders through Mexican, Spanish, English and even a sort of 'mama mia' Italian at several points. I'm sure this is intentional, but does snap you out of the mood of the film when he breaks from his friar character into his snarling 'School of Rock' face and voice now and then.

But really - what's not to love about Jack Black in stretchy pants? He really does take to the role, and the limited supporting cast do too. The wrestling scenes are great fun and much more full-on that you might expect. And while Jess's direction could leave you not connected with the characters, there's real warmth in the ending.

Jack's next up in the Tenacious D movie - rock on.

Kermode on FiveLive

Still continuing to enjoy (the good Dr.) Mark Kermode's weekly movie review podcast from BBC Radio FiveLive.

One of the few reviewers I regularly agree with, particularly about just how long, tedious and overblown Pirates of the Caribbean II was and, oh, the death of narrative cinema as we know it.

Find it via iTunes or here.

Review: Miami Vice

Even though I'm a child of the 80's , I never really caught the original TV series of 'Miami Vice', so all I know about is all the usual references about neon, rolled up jacket sleeves and slip-on white Espadrilles.

But that fashion disaster is nothing compared with Michael Mann's latest, in which he finally gets to over-indulge his career-long fetish for blue lighting, sunsets and beachfront homes.

Jamie Foxxoxxoxx and Colin Feral play Crockett and Tubbs, going deep undercover (man) to bust a Columbian drug baron or something.

There's just so. Much. Male posturing. Foxxoxxooxx and Feral look less like partners, and more like semi-finalists facing each other off in the town brooding contest. They barely speak to each other, or anyone else - in fact, the whole script must have looked like an itemised supermarket till reciept.

And Colin, Colin, Colin... when he wasn't stroking his hillbilly 'tash/goatee non-combo, or trying out a new Trans-Atlantic-American-Southern-Irish accent, he was dancing- which drew more than a few giggles from people in the cinema. Foxx at least carries his part, and his love scene, with some credibility.

And this is very much a male film, in the worst sense. The two main women characters - one Foxx's professional and personal partner, and Feral's Asian drug baron squeeze - are there purely to get in the way and put our besuited male leads in harm's way.

There are some great open cinematic shots- of both personal jets and powerboats in flight- but the hazy night-time city feel that worked so well for 'Collateral' just becomes like permanent insomnia here. Almost everything seems to take place at night, spot lit by arc lights, in the same way Bruckenheimer/Bay action pics seem stuck on permanent sunset.

Miami Vice is unashamedly all about the visuals, and obviously a pet project for Michael Mann- let's just hope he's got it out of his system and gets back to making movies with stories.

Great Scott!

Walking along in Bristol , you see lots of cars. Old hippy vans, flash city motors, and lots with wing mirrors hanging off.

But it's not everyday you actually see Marty McFly, or at least a bloke with a Back to the Future-style DeLorean and waaay to much time on his hands. Hats off though, it looks good- particularly loving the Mr. Fusion chute at the back.

It was stuck in roadworks, but couldn't see if Einstein was in the back and definitely not doing 88mph.