Reviews

Attending the Sydney Film Festival, I had been waiting all Festival for that piece of cinematic magic that just leaves you breathless and desperate to run out of the theatre so that you can share it with everyone you know. I found that with director Jennifer Peedom's impassioned documentary Sherpa.

Initially envisioned as an exploration of the deteriorating relationship between Sherpas and foreign climbers from the Sherpas perspective - particularly after the highly publicised 2013 Base Camp 1 brawl between European climbers and Sherpas - Sherpa quickly becomes a real-time chronicle of the worst loss of human life on Mt Everest in a single day.

Beginning with a series of majestic perspectives and time-lapse shots of the mother mountain, high-altitude cinematographers Renan Ozturk, Hugh Miller and Ken Saul – globally renown mountaineers in their own right – manage to capture the formidable, yet poetic beauty of Everest's peak as jet stream winds billow across it's dangerous edges. It's a wondrous sight, juxtaposed by crunching crampons and ice shifts that remind you of Everest's dangerously fragile environment.

So too does Peedom's thoughtful and oft times, entertaining introduction to Himalayan Experience's Sirdar Phurba Tashi Sherpa and his family. The current world record holder for the most total ascents of peaks above 8,000, and joint record holder for the most ascents (21) of Mt Everest, Phurba and his family are all too aware of Everest's rising exigency both on and off the peak. 'My brother died on Everest last year' Phurba's wife Karma Dopa Sherpa shares as she fights back tears on screen 'he went because he needed the money'.

Phurba understands his wife's concerns and knows culturally that it is wrong to climb the mountain they call Chomolungma but he also enjoys what he does. The income generated by the most dangerous job in the word not only financially benefits Sherpas families but it also benefits their entire community for the whole year. Humorously, Phurba's mother fails to agree with her son stating 'if he was a famous Monk, at least he would get blessings. But the fame he gets from the mountain is useless'.

Writer and journalist Ed Douglas shares this opinion as he presents throughout the film, a clear picture of the growing divide between the Sherpas cultural integrity and intrusive western commercialisation that one can't help but be appalled by. So too is the disproportionate contributions and risks Sherpas shoulder compared to their clients. Whilst wealthy westerners pay up to $75,000 to conquer their ultimate bucket list challenge, Sherpas earn a meager $5,000 to risk their lives up to 30 times per season for their clients, are rarely acknowledged or thanked publicly for their contribution to the climbers ascent, nor often respected for their cultural beliefs.

Early in the film, as Sherpas set up Everest base camp from scratch in anticipation of their western clients, Peedom gives audiences subtle glimpses of outrageous and shameful western excess and expectation: flat screen TV's, portable showers, bar areas, and an equipped library. There's a scene following the tent village preparations where two Sherpas are offering coffee to clients as they cheerily wish them good morning at their tent. After serving the first client who returns the Sherpas greetings and thanks them for the coffee, the following client responds by asking for sugar and no milk as if they are at their local Costa rather than over 5,000 m above sea level. It's truly a head shaking moment.

So too is the client meeting held between Himalayan veteran Russell Brice of Himalayan Experience and his commercial expedition group following the avalanche. As one of the last expedition groups to cancel their summit bids, not all of Brice's clients were happy. One American climber suggests Brice seek out 'the owner' of the unruly Sherpas and have them removed from the camp and later compares the cancellation of the season due to the Sherpas respect for their lost friends, their families and the mountain to a terrorist attack like 9/11 since America knows all about that. Boy did that incredulous statement make the audience laugh!

At certain points in the film, it's hard to find sympathy for the expedition operators and climbers bemoaning the loss of their ascent attempt and revenue as Sherpas mourn the 16 Sherpas who died but Peedom manages to find a respectful balance between the parties during and following the tragedy on screen. You can feel the raw emotions of expedition operators and their crews, medical staff, Sherpas and concerned climbers as they traverse from casualty and body recovery to confusion and frustration following the tragedy and finally, the Sherpas evaluation of their role on Everest and the increasing dangers on the mountain due to climate change.

Whilst Sherpa documents a horrific tragedy in real-time, it also acts as the dramatic backdrop for industrial dispute that's been simmering under the surface sky for a long time. Douglas concurs 'Tenzing gave the name Sherpa a currency that will never be exhausted and they are now finally beginning to take advantage of that'.

I couldn't agree more.

Sherpa is an extraordinary and soulful documentary, where there's death in beauty and beauty in death. As Tenzing Norgay says 'you don't conquer these mountains, you know; you just crawl up, as a child crawling onto your mothers lap'.

The credits have just started rolling for Mr Holmes and the first words that come to mind are 'Well, that was melancholic wasn't it'. Don't get me wrong – I enjoyed this unique and interesting reinvention of Britain's most famous detective – it's just that it feels reminiscent in theme and dynamics to Bill Condon's 1998 Oscar winning Gods and Monsters.

A faithful adaption of Mitch Cullin's A Slight Trick of the Mind, Jeffrey Hatcher's Sherlock Holmes (played by Sir Ian McKellen) is a rich and poignant re-imagination that is far from Sidney Paget's iconicised pipe-smoking, deerstalker wearing sleuth of yesteryear or the dashing, crime-solving action hero of modern cinema. He's the mystery in this film: a case where we discover the real man behind the Holmesian notoriety.

A cantankerous nonagenarian in failing health – both in mental and physical acuity – Condon's Holmes is a real person forced to acknowledge the realities of mortality and dementia and learning to find solace in new friendships with people in the prime of life.

The film begins with Holmes; now an old man aged 93, returning home to Cuckmere Haven from his journey to Japan to visit Tamiki Umezaki (Hiroyuki Sanada) in order to acquire Prickly Ash, a rare plant with powerful restorative qualities. No longer surrounded by Conan Doyle's supporting characters, Holmes whiles away his days in Sussex tending to his bees and indulging his passion for Botany all under the watchful eyes of his widowed housekeeper Mrs Munro (Laura Linney) and her young son Roger (Milo Parker) who is intrigued with the fallen hero.

Shown glimpses of his fading memory, we soon learn that Holmes remains haunted by his final case involving an aggrieved husband Thomas Kelmot (Patrick Kennedy) who is concerned for his depressed wife Ann (Hattie Morahan) – a case that forced him into retirement some 30 years earlier. Following a through line of temporal shifts between true Holmes pastiche in 1919 and the forgotten hero in present day 1947, Holmes puts pen to paper in an attempt to recall the events in 1919 that led to him getting something devastatingly wrong. If only he could remember what it was in 1947.

The filmmakers make great use of the shifting times to pay homage to early cinematic representations of the popular cult figure of Baker Street juxtaposed by the elderly man at the end of his life who is embarrassingly aware of his fictionalised self. Sharply written and oft times entertaining, Holmes unravels the myth claiming he never wore a deerstalker hat or nor liked to smoke a pipe. He even finds himself in a cinema watching his self portrayed in a Basil Rathbone-esque B-movie.

The exposition has a certain frailty to it thanks to McKellen's outstanding performance and cinematographer Tobias Schliessler's incredible camera work. From the exquisite wide- angled, intimately framed shot of McKellen walking up a hill with the White Cliffs of Dover in the rear plane to his tracking of Mrs Kelmot through the streets of Holmesian London in bursts of crisp, 15 second tracking and panning shots that are far from simple to construct, this film has award season nominee all over it.

It's wistful and witty – a real delight that may leave you a little bereft at its end.

As the First World War rapidly approaches Theeb's forgotten corner of the Ottoman Empire, a Bedouin tribe is slowly adjusting to the changes brought upon them following the death of their respected Sheikh. It's a subdued, yet tightly framed portrait of tribal life seen through the youthful eyes of the Sheikh's youngest and ignorantly unskillful son, Theeb (Jacir Eid Al- Hwietat).

Turning to his middle brother Hussein (Hussein Salameh Al-Sweilhiyeen) for guidance and attention, Cinematographer Wolfgang Thaler paints an exquisitely beautiful image of Bedouin culture as Hussein patiently teaches Theeb the nuances of nomadic life: tracking, hunting, finding water and the duty of Dakheel. The images are heightened by the natural, intimate relationship between Hussein and Theeb, no doubt in part due to, their real-life familial relationship as cousins.

The quiet beauty conjured by Thaler's wide-angled shots of barren landscapes and director Naji Abu Nowar's limited palette of pale sandy hues, unhurried exposition and exotic musical score is hypnotic. The tranquility is palpable until Nowar rudely interrupts the façade with clever transition shots that unnerve the peace.

The first transition encourages audiences to proceed with caution as Theeb's eldest brother and new Sheikh Hmoud, hears unfamiliar sounds whispered in the darkness. It's a gorgeous shot watching Hmoud disappear into the night before returning like an apparition with British soldier Edward (Jack Fox) and his guide Marji (Marji Audeh) following behind him.

Requesting a guide to lead them through dangerous terrain roaming with Ottoman mercenaries and raiders to an ancient water well on the road to Mecca, Hmoud is forced into honoring Dakheel law and volunteer his Hussein to guide the strangers.

Fearful of losing his favourite brother, Theeb mischievously sets out to following Hussein before finding himself in an unforgiving predicament. Too young to track and without the necessary Bedouin survival skills, Theeb soon becomes lost and begins wandering aimlessly across the desert. Finding the safety of the group by chance, Hussein is forced to bring Theeb on his perilous journey when Edward refuses to delay his mission.

The second change in tone arrives violently as the group comes face to face with a band of murderous Bedouin raiders that leaves Theeb as the lone survivor. Forced into immediate adulthood, Theeb soon discovers the great importance of his name as he learns to survive through cunning and impossible feats.

Nowar's decision to use non-actors in his feature film debut was a ballsy move that proves to be spell-bindingly spot-on. Eid Al-Hwietat is outstanding as the precocious Theeb whilst Hassan Mutlag Al-Maraiyeh is all sorts of menacing as the ruthless Stranger. I readily admit that I was also mesmerised by Jerry Lane's score of pulsating rhythms and haunting chants so reminiscent of the Silk Road. It's also a fabulous juxtaposition to its east/west setting and its Lawrence of Arabia time period.

Nowar's inclusion of Mdallah Al-Manajah's ode about life is another inspiring selection. You can't help but be moved by its homage to Bedouin tradition of oral story telling and poetry and its words of wisdom from father to son. The meaningful words spoken in voice over drive the emotion in the establishing shot and set a powerful tone for the story that follows.

Theeb is truly a cinematic delight that you must keep your eye out for. It's exquisite, intriguing and downright thought provoking.

In his feature debut, musician and filmmaker John McCann has created a perspective of the American frontier that is as refreshingly entertaining as the violent degenerates who inhabit this new, vibrant and majestic landscape. With blurring convention subversions and inversions, a slow but fast tempo, and unexpected flashes of absurdity and violence, it's a fantastical world meticulously designed to surprise you when you least expect whilst simultaneously reminding you of its unforgiving desolation and desperation.

Even if you're not a fan of Westerns, you'll be a fan of this one.

Scottish aristocrat Jay Cavendish (Kodi Smit-McPhee) is in the midst of first love; so bewitched that he decides to abandon his birth right and all that he knows (at the tender of 16) in search of his Rose (Caren Pistorius) who has fled to the American frontier with her crofter father (Rory McCann) after a deadly accident on the Cavendish estate.

The film begins with stargazing as a voice-over by one Silas Selleck (Michael Fassbender), imparts the basics of an amplified and unrequited love story between Jay and Rose. He's an inscrutable and mysterious frontiersman with an agenda that so happens to coincide with the plans of the young Scottish aristocrat of whom he speaks - well sort of. What he fails to reveal in a stilted manner that would have made John Wayne proud, is the news that a bounty has been issued for Rose and her father to the tune of $2,000 dead or alive and that a number of iniquitous opportunists are also hot on the trail.

Set during the end of the 19th Century and with naïve determination, an over-laden horse, trusty teapot and a guidebook to surviving the west in hand, Jay embarks on his ill-fated journey alone until he is quickly confronted by a showdown between Indian hunters and their prey. Saved by Silas who then goes on to tell Jay that he has agreed to protect him on his journey - for a price of course – the two team up and continue the slow journey to Colorado. McCann inverts the protagonist/slapstick sidekick convention here to comedic effect. Where Jay is submissive and fanciful, waxing poetically of love, Silas is monosyllabic sharp-witted and dangerously efficient. Jay cares whilst Silas couldn't care less. Jay devises alternate clotheslines; Silas treats wounds and speaks plainly. 'You haven't bedded her yet have you?' he says in response to Jay's talk of Rose.

And the pendulum of humorous violence and violent humour steps up each time new characters reveal themselves on screen. The kind of sick humour that I absolutely love when such occasions present themselves like during the hold-up at the general store in the middle of nowhere. It's perfectly triangulated to include all parties in the violent fray and preceded by poignant words from the shopkeeper 'You know, if you take my money, this is the only place you could spend it'. Good point.

Not to be outdone in any shape or form, Ben Mendelsohn (who plays Payne) makes his presence known, swaggering into the fray as the party starter with his bottle of absinthe, wearing his 'I've been in Game of Thrones' behemoth coat, and chomping on his robusto cigars. His performance, as well as the performance of Fassbender and Smit-McPhee, is excellent with each character playing off well against and with each other without feeling forced or overdone.

But the true standout is the film's visual style. DP Robbie Ryan opts for a smaller, tighter frame that restricts viewing and forces viewers into an intimacy with the characters and the landscapes whilst the shots of on screen violence linger just enough to exploit the cruelty and intense violence. Filmed in the stunning Mackenzie Country region on the New Zealand's South Island, the shots of colourful vistas with Russell Lupins in the frame give the environment a vibrancy that doesn't detract from the barrenness of the plains and balances out the yellow tones of the tussocks reminiscent of American Westerns.

SLOW WEST is wickedly funny delight with a deliciously violent end.

Jamie Dornan's Christian Grey summarised Fifty Shades better than I ever could when he snarled on screen that he's 'Fifty shades of f**ked up!' Damn right Jamie – although I was thinking more along the lines of the film's 'Fifty shades of f**king boring'. Yeah, folks. It's disappointingly underwhelming although, it's not all doom and gloom thanks to the injection of a little humour - but I'll get to that in a minute.

It also makes you wonder to what extent and in what ways did the 'logger-heading' between Fifty Shades of Grey author E. L. James and the film's entire entourage (everyone from the production house to screenwriter Kelly Marcel and director Sam Taylor-Johnson), affect the final outcome of certain scenes and to the film as a whole. For example, if you pay close attention to the film's dialogue, you'll quickly notice that there's two diametrically opposing writing styles that effect a kind of discordant rhythm.

James and Taylor-Johnson have readily admitted to contentions on-set particularly, in regards to the sex scenes. If truth be told, I'm really curious to know who was responsible for those insipidly lackluster scenes because if that's their idea of kink… their vanilla must be rigidly puritanical! Plus, it's an impressive feat to have single-handedly pre-ejaculated all the semi-curious sexuals back out of that luxuriously enticing Red Room and right back in to their pulpy vanilla playpens.

Despite saying all this, Taylor-Johnson's caning scene just inside the entry of David Wasco's super-luxurious Red Room is deliciously titillating and beautifully crafted. It epitomises the ethos that the submissive (even whilst naked and in the waiting position) controls the power – to wield and submit – within the dynamic of their BDSM relationship. Likewise, the suspended hanky-spanky scene with the riding crop is also nicely executed, though I wish artist Taylor-Johnson had gone one step further and used the film as an opportunity to introduce viewers to the intricately beautiful art of Shibari.

Taylor-Johnson's sleek and elegant adaption of E. L. James' 'holy craptastic' Harlequinesque porn-oh-story Fifty Shades of Grey follows the sexual awakening of English-literature ingénue Anastasia 'Ana' Steele (Dakota Johnson). As a favour to her sick roommate Kate (played by Eloise Mumford), Ana agrees to cover an interview with billionaire entrepreneur and University benefactor Christian Grey for their college newspaper. On entering Grey's austere office, Ana and Christian are immediately intrigued by the other: she, by his punctilious aloofness and he, by her unaffected innocence and youthful beauty. Ana wants romance and a loving relationship; Christian wants her… to f**k. But only with a contract of course.

Intrigue soon turns to infatuation as Grey creates right-place-right-time encounters with Ana such as bumping into her at the hardware store where she works. The ensuing tête-à- tête cleverly crafted by Marcel, is playfully humorous and witty as wide-eyed Ana helps Christian locate cable ties, duct tape and lengths of rope. 'You're the complete serial killer,' Ana quips to Christian, a reference that also alludes to Dornan's previous role as a stalking serial killer in the BBC's The Fall.

Following unannounced visits at Ana's home, her work and her mother's home in Florida, their mutual obsession culminates in Christian whisking Ana away for the weekend in his helicopter to his Seattle apartment. Ana's anticipation of a 'romantic' weekend turns to intellectual curiosity when Christian reveals his singular proclivities, before asking the sexually inexperienced Ana if she would agree (contractually), to become his submissive followed closely by a showing of his play room.

Johnson is magnetic as the quietly confident and not so naive virgin who contemplates letting go of traditional conventions to explore her sexuality. You can't help but follow every fluid (and awkward) movement she males on screen and be entranced by the way she manages to conveys every new experience and psyche layer so openly. She also succeeds in embracing the absurdity of the text and her butt-plugging control freak by playing the player with tongue-in-cheek barbs and quick-as-a-whip deliveries. The contract negotiation scene is particularly entertaining.

On the other hand, Dornan the poor soul is a cardboard cutout up sh*t creek without a paddle. There's nowhere he could go with his two-dimensional, all brawn / no brain character no matter how hard he tried to humanise the body-bot. And with Razzie worthy lines like 'I f**k…hard', 'Me' and 'I'm fifty shades of f**ked up', I'm impressed Dornan managed to remain so stoic and not inadvertently introduce water sports to the BDSM table.

In a nutshell, FIFTY SHADES OF GREY is an intricately carved chessboard in need of a Grand Master. It's well directed, decadently constructed, and exquisitely shot, not to mention built around a tantalising premise that explores an erotic practice very few people truly understand or practice. The film also addresses unhinging traditional norms and personal sexploration. Unfortunately, the script fails to capitalise on its golden opportunity to demystify and educate the masses about BDSM. And let's not mention (again) that the inchoate script exposes the discord within the script writing department.

Perhaps they should have watched Disney's FROZEN beforehand. That way they would have known to let it go, let it go and preferably to a Bergman-esque art house in France, Sweden or Poland.

Premiering during a special presentation at the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF), October GALE is a dramatic thriller that's too devoid of tension to be considered thrilling and far short of emotional and relatable characters to be considered dramatic.

It's a shame because the opening sequence of sweeping Parry Sound long shots and Steadicam shots of Helen (Patricia Clarkson) opening and cleaning the family's vacation cottage offered a promising segue into what appears to be (on the surface), a study in normative bereavement with a murderous twist. Likewise, the film's setting is a beautiful contradiction of comfortable isolation that quickly dissipates as the story's nonsensical and improbable choices become too incredulous to be believable.

Grieving the loss of her husband (played in silent flashbacks by Callum Keith Rennie) in a wild storm the previous year, Toronto doctor Helen Matthews (Clarkson) decides to return to her family's isolated cottage in an effort to move on. After single-handedly opening up the warm and comforting home in Georgian Bay, Helen begins the arduous task of sifting through and removing some of the mementos accumulated during their 32-year marriage.

The visual and aural planes of this transition from acceptance to perseverance are well crafted; the non-diegetic musical score gives way to diegetic empathetic sounds of the bay that feel crisp and renewing. Fortuitously so considering Helen shortly thereafter comes face-to-face with an unexpected and mysterious gentleman (Scott Speedman) crawling and bleeding on her floor with a gunshot wound. After treating his wound and grabbing her rifle, Helen waits for the stranger to wake up and when he does, Will is vague about the attack and about his life thus far until local handyman Al (Aidan Devine) decides to pay Helen an unexpected visit. Will relents and reveals that he had spent time in prison for manslaughter after a bar-fight and that the guy's father 'is not going to stop until he's killed me'.

As the storm gains momentum outside, Helen agrees (stupidly I might add) to allow Will to stay in her home as they lazily prepare themselves for Al and the gunman to return. The script here is utter wish-wash: writer/director Ruba Nadda (INESCAPABLE) fails to build any suspense and tension for the ensuing action causing it to fall flat, it fails to explain how Helen's appears to be a survivalist doctor who's also a crack shot, nor the circumstances of Will's incarceration and Helen's inconceivable trust in a man she just met.

Clarkson and Speedman should however, be applauded for their performances: extracting every nuance they could from their two-dimensional characters to at least be creditable. Overall, if 'it's OK' are the only two words I can come up with after 91 minutes, it's probably safe to say you might want to wait to watch it on video.

You can catch me on my handle @TheSachaHall or at The Hollywood News.

As the cyber-hack attack on Sony Pictures played out (coincidently) in the media in the lead up to THE INTERVIEW's Christmas Day release amid speculation of North Korean involvement, I recall having one recurring thought. That the 'attack' was either an unfortunate event fortuitously timed (for the film that is) or the most outlandishly clever marketing campaign ever orchestrated. Cause let's face it – THE INTERVIEW is a stinker of dieg(rrh)etic proportions - destined for tanking glory had Sony's hyperbole not bolstered it.

It's a shame really because Seth Rogen and James Franco have an undeniable comedic chemistry that just resonates from the screen. It makes you want to hang out with them knowing, all the while, that it'll be one of the most entertaining nights out ever, tritely clichéd gag lines be damned.

If you look at THE INTERVIEW as a farcical screwball comedy rather than a political satire, the film is more palatable to take. You're expectant of the outrageous and over the top antics and fast-paced repartee of the yin yang central figures –elements you absolutely garner from Rogen and Franco's performances.

Rogan plays Skylark Tonight producer Aaron Rapaport who, whilst out celebrating the thousandth episode of his good buddy Dave Skylark's celebritoid show, begins to question his journalistic legitimacy after an industry colleague discredits his professional achievements as a 'sell-out'.

In an effort to cheer Aaron up, shallow celebrity tabloid show host and good buddy Dave (Franco), manages to land himself an exclusive interview in Pyongyang with the elusive Supreme Leader of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea, Kim Jong-un (superbly performed by Randall Park), a super-fan of Skylarks' TMZesque show and of America's superficial celebritydom.

When news of the coup comes to the attention of the American Government, they send CIA Agents Lacey (played by Lizzy Caplan) and Botwin (played by Reese Alexander) to recruit the slapstick duo and have them assassinate the North Korean leader using a slow- administering poison device.

The story gets a bit clunky mid-way particularly, the superfluous scene on the 38th parallel but thankfully, it manages to reorient itself when Skylark meets and develops a bromance with the North Korean leader during their 'one night in Pyongyang' celebration. Props need to go to Park who manages to humanise his brattish and scheming totalitarian character whilst skewering him at the same time.

No phallic connotation has gone unturned as THE INTERVIEW comes to its predictable end in a slow-motioned blaze of machismo glory: a manstravaganza of military hardware, bullets, missiles and take that cock thrusting.

Although most of us don't mind a bit of bawdiness and potty humour, THE INTERVIEW's homo-erotic comedy sadly, just falls flat. The gags are predictable, lack originality and feel contrived. Sure, you may get a few laughs in but they won't be the belly-hugging guffaws you had on Bakalakadaka Street in TEAM America: WORLD POLICE, at Franco's house in THIS IS THE END, and sexy time with BORAT – now they're bad ass crass at their very best.

After suffering through this overrated overrated nonsense, all I can say is 'Intelligence is down. I repeat. We have lost out intelligence'.

MARGIN CALL's J.C Chandor continues to prove how masterful he is at balancing understated boldness with restrained menace in his latest film A MOST VIOLENT YEAR. The film's metaphoric contradictions will have you transfixed from the get go: attentively attuned to the thrilling, fast-paced action one second and then… BAM! You're frustrated beyond belief because the pace of this gripping film is so sluggishly steady it'll have you begging the screen 'C'mon – give me something'! It's THE GODFATHER in warm yellow tones, but not. It's about principled capitalism, unscrupulous greed, and veiled menace but it's also about family and respect. It's beautifully drab and uncomplicatedly shot. It's a most 'emotionally' violent year indeed.

It's 1981 and New York is in the midst of one of the most violent and deadly crime waves in its history: murders and assaults are reported upon in every broadcast, corruption is rife, and businesses are at risk, testing the fortitude of the city's businessmen including Standard Heating Oil owner Abel Morales (Isaac).

An honourable immigrant who worked his way up through the company before taking over the business from his father-in-law, Morales thought he was living the American dream: his business is doing well despite the city's hardships, their family recently moved into a new palatial home, and he successfully negotiated the purchase of a prime port property that will secure the business' future and its domination of the market. With contracts signed and deposits paid, Morales has 30 days in which to secure enough investor funding to pay the balance in full and close the transaction, otherwise he (and the business) will go broke.

The story follows Morales and his wife Anna (Chastain) as they take steps to secure investment funding and save their business. Their gamble begins to unravel when Morales and his lawyer Andrew (Brooks) approach the D.A. (Oyelowo) and ask for help in regards to the violent hijackings of their trucks and assaults on their employees. Instead of providing assistance, the D.A. informs Morales that he and Standard Heating Oil are under investigation for fraudulent practices and that an indictment is imminent within days. Shortly after the indictments are served, the bank loses faith and subsequently reneges on their agreement to finance the deal. In addition, one or more of his competitors continue to intimidate and scare his drivers and hijack their fuel trucks at gunpoint. As the time frame narrows down to mere days, Morales is forced to weigh the morality of continuing to run 'a fair and clean business' against his single-minded determination for success. 'If I were you, I'd treat us with a little more respect, or I guarantee, he will make it his mission in life to ruin you' Anna tells the D.A. as the Police search their house.

The dynamic between Isaac and Chastain as they confide and ally with each another on screen is intense and mesmerising to watch. Isaac, with his perfectly coiffed hair and serious businessman attire, is arresting as he skulks around the city determined to hold on to his American Dream ideology whilst Chastain, the ball-busting mobsters daughter, commandeers their shadowy world 'doing the things Abel didn't want to know about' ruthlessly. His ying to her bang.

Chandor's exceptional film is a tightly wound coil, tensioned to pop but doggedly determined to never get there.

Go see it! It's frustratingly good, and sometimes, just plain frustrating. Dammit, now I'm frustrated.

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Snowploughing Citizen of the Year Nils Dickmann (Stellan Skarsgård) is proof that 'Norwegian kids shouldn't disappear because of obnoxious parents looking for them' in Hans Petter Moland's latest film, IN ORDER OF DISAPPEARANCE.

Set amidst Norway's mountainous winter-scape, Moland and Skarsgård's fourth collaboration is a noirish 'PULP FICTION went to FARGO' comedy that sadly fails to measure up to the wit, violent humour, and humorous violence of Tarantino and the Coen Brothers.

Don't get me wrong – I actually enjoyed this film…a lot, and was disappointed when I missed its screening at the Sydney Film Festival back in June, 2014. Kim Fupz Aakeson's screenplay contains numerous moments of brilliance like Nils' showdown with Striker (Kristofer Hivju), the Police's tête-a- tête on Scandinavia's partiality to welfare when compared to warmer nations ('There's no warm country with welfare' one officer says to the other), and the Serbian criminals discussion on the benefits of Norwegian incarceration. Additionally, Philip Ogaard's moving images are uncomplicatedly shot, allowing the incredible beauty and grandeur of the landscape to set the film's tone. The opening image is just exquisite.

IN ORDER OF DISAPPEARANCE tells the story of stoic Swedish snow plougher and Citizen of the Year Nils Dickmann (Skarsgård) who finds himself embroiled in the middle of a drug war, after his son Ingvar is mistakenly murdered with an 'apparent' overdose by a couple of lowmen gangsters.

Despite being unconvinced his son was just another young junkie destroying himself, Nils' initial reaction is to put a gun in his mouth. His suicidal moment is interrupted when Ingvar's friend (and the actual culprit) Finn appears and confirms that it was he who was involved with the local drug boss known as 'The Count' (Pal Sverre Hagen) and that Ingvar was just an innocent bystander.

With his suspicions confirmed, Nils sets off with a sawn-off shotgun (and the occasional snowplough) to find his son's murderers and seek vengeance. With apparent ease for a novice and thanks to Jeppe's (one of Ingvar's murderers) smartphone contact list, the body count slowly rises towards Greven a.k.a 'The Count': a petulant, eurotrash dandy who likes to bemoan how difficult it is to be him and to complain about immoral business ethics. 'The Chinese, the Jews of Asia' he cries, disgusted at Danish/Japanese hit-man, 'Chinaman's' offer to not ice him in exchange for additional payment.

Concerned that his authority is being undermined by the Serbian 'Albanians' led by Papa (played by Bruno Ganz), Greven ignorantly starts a crime war that sees the body count increase exponentially as shown by the increased frequency of title card epitaphs detailing the deceased's name, their criminal alias and religious symbol (different crosses for Christian and Serbian Orthodox, a Star of David for the Judaist, and a non-descript sign for the token atheist).

As the violence and suspense increases from snowplough to skidoo speed and the parties come together for their inevitable showdown, be prepared for Moland and Aakeson to leave you with very few characters alive in an already small Norwegian village.

This is a decidedly blokey film, full of masculine bravado, man-codes, and strength found in familial bonds. Comparatively, the female characters have very little depth reminiscent of John Wayne western conventions. Even the intimate relationship between Greven's wingmen, Aron and Geir, is more emotionally compelling than Nils' relationship with Gudrun (Hildegard Riise) and Greven's own acrimonious relationship with ex-wife Marit (Birgitte Hjort Sørensen).

Overall, Moland's black comedy is a great film and will certainly show you that a bloody good time can often be had in the Norwegian boondocks.

When asked about my 20s, I tell people it's a decade-long roller-coaster of mayhem, mistakes, memories and maturity. The decade where you learn about the real world, learn from one's actions and its consequences. Oh, and learning that ex-boyfriends don't really pine over you for the rest of their lives.

This is where we find Donna Stern (Jenny Slate) in OBVIOUS CHILD. Fidgeting at the gates of the dirty thirties, Donna's in an emotional crisis right now. Her boyfriend just dumped her for her girlfriend (whom he had been seeing behind her back). The bookstore where she works is closing down, placing her in the unemployment line and she's worried about not being able to afford her rent. In addition, the relationship with her mother Nancy (Polly Draper) is still complex but luckily, Donna's relationship with her dad Jacob (Richard Kind) keeps her balanced. And last but not least, Donna's recently discovered she's pregnant. With Max's (played by Jake Lacy) baby. He's the one-night-stand 'piss-farter' she met at the bar where she's performs her stand-up comedy routine.

As a way to figuring out everything in her life right now, Donna talks about these relationship issues with her friends both on and off stage. And like any irrational, insecure woman who has recently been dumped, Donna also tortures herself by drunk dialing her ex-boyfriend and 'stalking' his house to see if he'll exit with her ex-friend. 'Just one more sip' she says after each sip of her coffee until Ryan (Paul Briganti) emerges with said friend in tow.

Donna finally turns the maturity corner after inadvertently meeting preppy nice guy Max following her disastrous stage performance, and subsequently falls pregnant from their one- night-stand. The surprise pregnancy steers the film in a more controversial direction when, after carefully considering her circumstances, responsibility and readiness to be a mother, Donna decides to abort her pregnancy.

Don't think this subversive rom-com makes a mockery of abortion. It doesn't. In fact, first feature director Gillian Robespierre handles the abortion plot point with finesse: placing it in a relatable context that seriously considers the consequences of the protagonist's actions whilst weighing it against the reality of responsibility and unstable circumstances. And despite the stigma surrounding such a decision, Slate's character remains resolute in her choice throughout the rest of the film. It strengthens the ideal that it is okay to make such difficult decisions particularly when it's in one's own best interest.

It's not often one has an opportunity to watch a film about abortion that is so refreshingly candid, yet comically relatable, that you can't help but praise Robespierre and her perspective of a late 20s woman whose life so far, isn't turning out quite the way she thought it would. Literally. And like Donna's temporary spiral out of control in OBVIOUS CHILD, that's okay because eventually, you'll manage to steer yourself back on track.

In a nutshell, OBVIOUS CHILD is a sharply written comedy that unashamedly addresses real life issues with a walk down memory lane moment in there for everyone.

Gia Coppola, the sixth director to emerge from the creative Coppola family, paints a realistic portrait of adolescence mired in insecurities and bored indulgence in her debut film PALO ALTO.

A filmmaker more in the vein of cousin Sofia rather than her grandfather Francis, Coppola's written and directed adaption of James Franco's collection of linked short stories titled Palo Alto, comes across on-screen like an evocation of old memories and moments. And just like the artless simplicity of youth, Coppola has opted to show Palo Alto with a societal veneer rather than delve further into her characters' underlying problems and relationships with unobservant and irresponsible parental figures. Cinematographer Autumn Durald's highlights and deflects these highs and lows nicely with the use of selective focus and soft lighting, coupled with lingering close-ups and textured Palo Alto cityscapes.

The story itself, weaves in and out and round and round like the veritable teenage merry- go-round of experimentation, hormones and angst that it is. Teddy (played by Jack Kilmer, son of Val Kilmer who incidentally has an interesting cameo as video-game stoner step dad to April) likes sweet, virginal soccer player April (Emma Roberts) but doesn't know how to tell her how he feels. Instead, he chooses to get a blow-job from Emily (Levin) who has never been in love before. Because of this inexperience, she also offers herself to Teddy's friend Fred (superbly played by Nat Wolff), who is also struggling emotionally but channels these emotions into reckless and illegal pursuits. With an irresponsible, pot-smoking father at home who propositions Teddy, Fred also uses Teddy's naiveté to his advantage by getting him in to trouble with the law and keeping him away April. April likes Teddy but doesn't know how to tell him of her affection. She also has a crush on her soccer coach Mr B. (played by James Franco) who takes advantage of inexperience and vulnerability. Phew.

What it boils down to is a sophomoric story of drunken experimentations and escapades interspersed with teenage angst, all wrapped up in an unpretentious bow. There's a couple of moments in the film that will make you question 'What was that for?/What's the point of that inclusion in the film?', but the performances by it's relatively unknown cast are definitely worth viewing.

You can read more at my Twitter handle or at The Hollywood News.

Once in a while a film comes along that is so unbelievably gripping and thought provoking that you can't help but be stunned by the knowledge and changed by the experience. Add in to that, a true story whereby the events unfold in real time and with accurate precognition, and you have yourself one hell of a documentary.

Titled after the pseudonym used by NSA whistleblower Edward Snowden, CITIZENFOUR is that story and it's all that and more. So much more.

Documented around the eight days political filmmaker Laura Poitras (MY COUNTRY, MY COUNTRY) spent filming Snowden's June 2013 interviews with journalists Glenn Greenwald and Ewen MacAskill, CITIZENFOUR is a front row seat to the NSA's cat-and-mouse hunt for Snowden after he divulges evidence of the NSA's covert global surveillance programs in his Hong Kong hotel.

Poitras was already working on the third instalment of her post 9/11 documentaries when she was emailed anonymously in January 2013 by a whistleblower known as CitizenFour who wished to provide her with documented evidence of the NSA's secret mass data surveillance programs that circumvented citizenry civil liberties. 'You asked why I picked you? I didn't. You did', CitizenFour told Poitras.

With the NSA as an adversary, CitizenFour maintained encrypted online communication with Poitras and Greenwald (a political and legal journalist who had come on board after being contacted by both CitizenFour and Poitras around the same time), until it was safe to meet face-to-face. Although Greenwald had yet experienced the unlimited reach of the NSA, Poitras was no stranger to harassment, intimidation and privacy invasion by the US government (approximately 40 times since 2006) and documents an example of this experience in the film's opening montage sequence.

In her Cinéma vérité style, the documentary centres itself as an observer to the meetings between CitizenFour, Greenwald, and MacAskill, as they discuss how to disclose to the public the NSA's metadata collection programs and its invasion of citizens' civil liberties veiled under the guise of national security.

It is these meetings, held intimately in Snowden's Mira hotel room, that are so unbelievably mesmerising to watch that you feel as if you are an integral part of this thrillingly dangerous enterprise against a powerful enemy with infinite reach. What is also striking (and humbling to see) is how poised Edward Snowden is throughout the film. Thoughtful and articulate, he knows exactly what he has done and that his actions may not lead to any consequences or outcome for the NSA and other intelligence organisations such as the GCHQ. He willingly accepts the risks and consequences of his actions stating 'I am more willing to risk imprisonment, or any other negative outcome personally, than I am to risk the curtailment of my intellectual freedom and that of those around me, whom I care for equally as I do for myself'.

His one regret, which you can't help but feel and empathise with from his words and tone, is the fact that his partner of ten years, Lindsay Mills, was completely unaware of Snowden's actions or whereabouts and that she would face government interrogation and intimidation alone when the NSA inevitably arrives (which occurs when Mills interrupts a HR representative and police officer from the NSA trying to gain access to their home).

As the first story brakes regarding the NSA's program PRISM (a court approved program that gives front door access to all users' accounts communications from Google and Yahoo) in The Guardian and The Washington Post two days after their initial meeting on 3rd June 2014, the US government immediately goes on the defensive as media outlets around the globe gain traction and mediate the revelations. From 'urging' outlets to not disclose companies involved in their programs to secret felony charges filed against Snowden on 14th June 2014 (including two under the Espionage Act of 1917) and Snowden's allusion on the 21st July 2014 that he received communications stating that the US government has told other nations to seek out people working with him and to use any pressure necessary to get to him, the US government wanted the revelations suppressed.

What is amazing about the ensuing events that occur as Snowden makes preparations for political asylum is that each event unravels just as Snowden predicted on screen, giving credence to the heroisms of his motivations and actions.

As the story comes to its temporary conclusion (Snowden's revelations are still unravelling even today) on screen, the viewer is included in a final intimate hotel room moment with Greenwald and Snowden (this time in Moscow), as Greenwald reveals in hand written notes, that another whistleblower has come forward. And they're ready to blow the lid with explosive evidence that names names all the way to the top. The President of the United States (POTUS) top.

This is a must see film absolutely worthy of your time. Not even Le Carré or Ludlum can compare to this thrill ride!

I have to admit that the mere mention of words like Catholicism and Stations of the Cross, particularly in the same sentence, makes me want to turn heel and run in the opposite direction. As a catholic, I spent my early childhood at church every Sunday morning, praying up and down on my knees (hurting) on old wooden kneeling benches, hearing service in English (and Latin) all whilst staring at 14 paintings of…you guessed it… the Stations of the Cross, positioned equidistant from each other along both sides of the church. I was taught (*coughed* 'indoctrinated') by old school nuns in habits and remember making up the strangest sins to confess at confession (I failed to share Milo with my brother…a lot).

And yet, one can't help but be drawn in by the form, technique and understated beauty of Dietrich Brüggemann's (MOVE, NEUN SZENEN) moving painting STATIONS OF THE CROSS. Powerfully constructed into 14 fixed angled long shots, 12 of which are static (meaning the camera stays in a single position), each shot is its own chef d'oeuvre. The setting within each frame along The Way from 'Jesus is Condemned to Death' to 'Jesus us Laid in the Tomb' exude pious restraint, allowing the actions and catechistical dialogue to convey Maria's (Lea van Acken) youthful conflictions regarding her love for God, her family's fundamentalist beliefs and its place in modern society.

In the week leading up to her confirmation in the puritanical 'Society of St Paul', protagonist Maria finds herself increasingly anxious and examining as she tries to find a balance between living up to the mature expectations of her extremist faith, pressures emanating from home, and the ridicule she endures from classmates over her religion. She decides to follow the path Jesus took and give up her life for her three year old brother Johannes who has never spoken a word.

As she traverses her Way, she 'Falls for the First Time' when she meets fellow school student Christian (Moritz Knapp) who invites her to attend his choir practice at a different congregation. Flattered by his attentions, Maria decides to withhold certain details from her controlling and virtuous mother (Franziska Weisz) who would be aghast over the singing of soul and gospel music that she believes contains 'Devil rhythms'. Becoming increasingly burdened by her wrongdoing, Maria confesses her transgression to her priest who relieves her of her venial sins, due to her innocent mind and unknowledgeable heart.

Instilled with the dogma sin – confess - repent, Maria returns to her enlightened path, eschewing Christian's attempts at friendship and the use of 'Devil Rhythms' in her gym class (this particular scene is an entertaining relief in an otherwise austere and reflective film).

I won't enlighten you on the rest of her journey in the hope that you engage yourself in this complex yet rewarding story. The film takes a realistic position in its observations of fundamentalist religion and the devastating affects it could have on innocent minds if left unguarded. Van Acken is compelling as Maria whilst Weisz is particularly thrilling in 'Jesus' Clothes are Taken Away' when Maria's doctor challenges her maternal competencies.

STATIONS OF THE CROSS is a hidden gem worthy of much greater traction than what it will undoubtedly receive. An art-house film at its finest.

You can catch more at my Twitter handle theSachaHall and The Hollywood News.

Wow! I'm still scratching my head as to how I can articulate MOOD INDIGO in a way that neither discourages you from the experience nor encourages you enough to take the plunge into a fantastical world of stop motion animation, digital special effects and mechanical effects that you will detest (and me) afterwards. In a nutshell, MOOD INDIGO is like THE WIZARD OF OZ met the Monty Python comedy group somewhere on the yellow brick road and decided to rewrite 'Wolly Winker and the Focolate Chactory' with Michael Gondry (ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND) in Saint-Germain-des-Prés.

Gondry's adaption of Boris Vian's cult novel 'L'Ecume des Jours' is an exhaustive tale filled with tant d'indulgence that it struggles to deliver a tone and tempo that allows the viewer to find a balance between what is seen and heard on screen and the story expressed. And that therein, lies the problem: the non-stop whimsical flights-of-fancy such as the pianocktail, walking doorbell, mini mouse-man and the curved dining table on skates distract too much from the emotion of this tragic romance.

MOOD INDIGO tells the story of wealthy, bohemian inventor Colin (Romain Duris) who lives in a rooftop, trailer-esque apartment overlooking Paris with roommate, chef and lawyer, Nicolas (Omar Sy). Bemoaning the lack of a lover with Nicolas and 'Patre' fanatic pal Chick (Gad Elmaleh) over lunch, Colin decides to attend a party at Isis' (Charlotte Le Bon) house where he meets 'a girl like a Duke Ellington tune' named Chloé (Audrey Tautou). After wooing her with dancing, ice-skating and a trip across Paris in a floating cloud car, the two fall madly in love and get married.

The honeymoon, filmed in split-screen with sunshine on one side and rain on the other acts as a transitional point to a more sombre, monochromatic setting as Chloé becomes afflicted by a dangerous lung condition after swallowing a water lily. Again, Gondry fails to connect the audience emotionally to the denouement, preferring to use evolving set designs to represent fluctuating character moods and a 'six month later' title card to fast forward their declining situation.

In order to pay for the ongoing and expensive medical treatments and surgery proposed by Chloé's doctor (played by Gondry himself), Colin (who is now broke), is forced to give up his bohemian lifestyle and take on a number of jobs to save his dying wife including one in a munitions factory. This symbolic metaphor for Chloé's death knell is also heightened visually by the muting of colour to monochrome.

Although MOOD INDIGO was a struggle from the get go, it definitely has an appeal attractive to selective audiences. That audience however, just happens to not include me.

You can catch more at my Twitter handle theSachaHall and The Hollywood News.

As I write this with a resounding sigh and head shake, I can't decide whether the aptly titled Transformers 'reboot' is a clever jest at superficialism veiled in Baynal oxymora or an attempt by me to make sense of a whole lot of nonsense. In a nutshell, TRANSFORMERS: AGE OF EXTINCTION is your typical Bayfecta: a visual and aural extravaganza designed to distract one from the vapid dialogue, a plot with more bullet holes than the Gaza Strip, and such overt sexualisation of nubile females that I learnt a new selfie angle #ColdWaterAirDryPlease. Throw in a running time equivalent to the entire Mesozoic period and you have a film that will satiate all manner of booms, boobs and blows for the viewer and a billion dollar bonanza for the box office.

After inadvertently stumbling upon Cemetery Wind's primary target (and the film's moral compass), Optimus Prime, hapless inventor Cade Yeager (Mark Wahlberg) becomes embroiled in a power struggle between paranoid CIA agent Harold Attinger (Kelsey Grammar) and egomaniacal visionary Joshua Joyce (Stanley Tucci) to possess the coveted metal transformium. Accompanied by temporary slapstick sidekick Lucas Flannery (T.J Miller), Cade's 'prosti-teen' daughter Tessa (Nicola Peltz), and her not so secret, secret boyfriend Shane (Jack Reynor), Cade flounces alongside the Autobots leader to thwart Attinger's and Joyce's machinations and save the world by defeating the reincarnated Megatron a.k.a Galvatron.

And just as you're ready to mock Michael Bay (TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES) and his 'bigger in Texas' filmmaking style one last time, he's beaten you to the punch by slyly introducing the Dinobots at the same extinction point as their cartoon counterparts booyah! Which made me think… has Bay been subverting this entire movie? Why yes, yes he has. From the thematic subtext of zealotic American patriotism to its over-the-top story and dialogue, Bay is definitely having the last laugh through nearly three hours of intentionally exaggerated drivel. Since when did story and dialogue take precedence over physical action in this genre? That would be never, which is why Ehren Kruger (TRANSFORMERS: DARK SIDE OF THE MOON) should at least be applauded for coming up with so many cringe-worthy lines including "This alien gun can really kick ass".

And let's face it, the regurgitated plot lines may be as inane as they are predictable, but that's not why you want to see it. You want to watch your childhood robots kick the ever- living daylights out of each other whilst Bay annihilates another US city in all its explosive 3D glory. And Stanley. You definitely want to watch the oracle of one-liners 'how do you say, "get the **** out of my way" in Chinese' Tucci. Touché Tucché – I should have thought of that one myself.

Well people, Bay delivers that and so much more in spades. So go blast your senses, be stupefied by the boobs or blow your brains, either way, you can be guaranteed to leave with a smile on your face. And if not, remember this Joshua humdinger…"I may have caused the apocalypse, but you brought your family to it"!

You can catch me at my handle and at The Hollywood News.

Despite having a deliciously naughty and marketable premise to work with and an equally engaging lead in Cameron Diaz (THE OTHER WOMAN), it was a disappointment to discover that Jake Kasdan's SEX TAPE is a 'nostracockass' bore. With its predictable mélange of post marriage clichés and forced one-liners, the film's humour is about as funny as realising as an impressionable teenager that the dog-eared copy of The Joy of Sex shelved in plain sight on the family room bookcase was not placed there by you.

Yet as eye bleaching as that memory remains, it's also a subtle reminder that once that proverbial cherry is popped; sex continues to be an integral and evolutionary part of our adult lives. And on rare (or numerous) occasions, it generates such passion that it impels us to consider crazy things – like making home movies… with props like roller-skates.

Striving to bring their own sexy back, Annie (Cameron Diaz) and Jay (Jason Segel) decide to do just that; a 70's style shag-a-thon with a modern edge thanks to the new and improved Apple iPad. Jay's post-coital decision to save their 3 hour video leads them on an inevitable erasure chase when it's discovered that the kept file synched to his cloud enabled devices; most of which, Jay no longer owns.

After deleting the file from Annie's mother, Linda's iPad, Diaz and Segel head to Robby (Rob Corddry) and Tess' (Ellie Kemper) house who, excited by this turn of event, decide to tag along to the home of Piper Brother's CEO Hank Rosenbaum (Rob Lowe). The ensuing sequence is a strange, mish-mash of ridiculous actions that are neither funny nor entertaining. At least Lowe appears to be having fun from the other side of the fence as Ned Flanders with a wild side. But who wouldn't have fun if your partner in crime were Ms Diaz.

Unsurprisingly, the film continues to disappoint as the writers introduce a blackmailing plot. The only saving grace at this point is the uncredited appearance of Jack Black as an Internet porn king and owner of porn streaming site YouPorn. The 60-second throw down of absurd porn site names is hilarious, worth waiting for, and pretty much sums up the feeling that you just have to laugh at how bad it really is.

Overall, you can take SEX TAPE like the The Joy of Sex's suggestion regarding wearing spiked boots whilst in flagrante. While it may sound titillating in its ideal, the actuality of the experience might cause you unintended pain.

You can catch me at my handle and at The Hollywood News.

The longer I cogitate on Michael Cuesta's KILL THE MESSENGER, the more I realise just how unobtrusively compelling this film truly is.

Inspired by the life of Pulitzer prize-winning journalist Gary Webb (Jeremy Renner) and his 'Dark Alliance' exposé on the explosion of crack cocaine in the United States (which inevitably ruined his career), the film draws attention to the power and reach of fourth and fifth estate journalism and to the subjective objectivism of its gatekeepers.

Having said all that, if you take the time to reach beyond this controversial surface story and embrace Sean Bobbitt's intimate framing and selective foci, you'll discover Gary; a doggedly passionate and humanly flawed individual whose good intention to report a story 'just too true to tell' results in an overwhelmingly biased and unfair challenge on his credibility and integrity with devastating consequences.

Renner's (THE HURT LOCK, THE BOURNE LEGACY) performance is captivating in its subtlety; allowing momentary characters including Norwin Meneses (Andy Garcia), Fred Weil (Michael Sheen) and Jerry Ceppos (Oliver Platt) to drive the story's factual elements in a similar manner experienced by Webb. The use of medium and close-up shots and oscillating lighting gives you a bird's eye view to Renner's struggles as the voraciously shocking professional and personal smear campaign takes its toll. Renner becomes more unashamedly haggard with dwindling moments of indignation on screen at each roadblock. It may also explain why Cuesta opted to gloss over the pivotal points of this sad story and tie it up in Webb's panegyric acceptance speech and closing title card.

Overall, I quite enjoyed this film and would recommend that you take some time out to see it. Sure it has its flaws –but so does Gary Webb and the story itself - but that's why it works. As Webb said on reflection 'The reason I'd enjoyed such smooth sailing for so long hadn't been, as I'd assumed, because I was careful and diligent and good at my job. The truth was that, in all those years, I hadn't written anything important enough to suppress'.

You can catch me at my handle and at The Hollywood News.

Have you ever volunteered a response to a raised question and then wished you had just kept quiet and drank your coffee instead? What about suffering a complete mental blank with no hope of a quick recovery? Apparently I haven't learned from the former nor recovered from the latter after seeing Fredrik Bond's debut film CHARLIE COUNTRYMAN.

Emboldened by the sixth sense encounter with his recently deceased mother Katie (Melissa Leo) to visit Bucharest, lost soul Charlie Countryman (Shia LaBeouf) embarks on a trip of self-discovery after meeting Romanian taxi driver Victor (Ion Caramitru) mid-flight. Touched by the Grim Reaper before returning home to daughter Gabi (Evan Rachel Wood), Victor instructs Charlie to seek out Gabi and hand her the crazy hat he purchased for her in Chicago. With his improbable encounters and love-at-first-sight with a deadly twist romance with the tortured soul Gabi, Charlie begins to spiral out of control amidst a bevy of interesting characters including pill pusher Luc (James Buckley), wannabe porn star Karl (Rupert Grint), and local gangsters Nigel (Mads Mikkelsen) and Darko (Til Schweiger).

Despite the modes of discourse's vacuity, the score is exquisite. From the pianissimo of piano keys to the haunting sounds of Roma music and Moby electronica, it is wonderful to hear Christophe Beck and DeadMono get it right when everything else is so very wrong.

Overall, I found the film to be just okay and not worth the price of admission although, I can see it's appeal for very selective audiences. Having said that, dropping THE NECESSARY DEATH from the original film title kind of says it all really.

You can catch me at my handle and at The Hollywood News.