Reviews

The final scenes in United 93 have to be some of the most harrowing in cinema. What you witness is a frantic desire to live conflict with an insane desire to die. People become animals – rational thought gives way to instinct and barbarism, resulting in tragedy.

One of the most despairing images in this magnificent film has to be that of the passengers desperately pushing and driving one of their number towards the cockpit. The guy they're manoeuvring is a pilot of single engine planes and represents their one small hope of making it out of this alive. Knowing full well what happened to the passengers of United 93, the desperation is gut wrenching. You know they're not going to make it and that these are the death throes of those on board.

The agony of the final moments is amplified by the way that the pilot briefly manages to get his hands on the controls. Whether this happened in real life, no one knows, but it perfectly illustrates the conflict that occurred and the conflict that is happening now. Both sides desperately want to be in the driving seat but all the time things are spiralling out of control. In the end, everyone loses and nothing is gained.

Something else I like about the final moments is the disturbing catharsis when the passengers overwhelm the hijackers. This is probably the last time in the 'war on terror' where things will be black and white. The hijackers are wrong and deserve the brutal response of their captives. After this, though, everything becomes hazy and muddy. The tragedy gets twisted and it becomes the fuel for political greed.

But in that moment where the first hijacker gets overwhelmed and killed, there's a feeling of joy and exaltation that is primal. You're put in the position of the passengers and you feel the excitement they must have felt – maybe we can get out of this; maybe we can regain control. But it's a mass delusion. There's no turning back now. Things will never be the same.

But what's also great about the film is that there's no flag waving. This film isn't a call to arms. It isn't a rallying cry. Instead it's a grimly realistic depiction of the chaos that ensues when barbarism overwhelms normality. When something this audacious and unexpected occurs, all the controls that keep the world in check go flying out the window.

Some of the loons out there who want to believe in ridiculous conspiracy theories will point out that the response to the tragedy was too patchy and that communication couldn't be that bad. They've obviously never had a job. Sometimes it's hard enough to communicate clearly with someone downstairs in the same office as you, let alone in an office hundreds of miles away. Plus communication between governmental departments and agencies is notoriously poor. Therefore I can well believe that the response would be so impotent.

But the tale that unfolds in air traffic control centres and at NORAD is just as engrossing as the one in the plane. Like the passengers in United 93, they're wrestling with the enormity of the situation. No one can quite believe that this is happening and the sheer scale of the attack is beyond their comprehension. As a consequence people continually try and come to more realistic conclusions.

A clear, fast response also isn't helped by inaccurate information. When a plane hits the first tower, it's said that a small civil aircraft hit it. And then NORAD are told that American Airlines 11 is heading for Washington when it's actually hit the World Trade Centre. Yes technology is better these days, but we still don't live in a world where we have accurate information available at our fingertips the very second it happens. And it's galling to know that even the government has to get its updates from CNN.

A chilling moment that occurs in the film is when air traffic control are trying to communicate with American Airlines 11. The plane is over New York and they're desperately trying to talk to the pilot. But then the plane disappears off the screen. But even though we know it's hit the tower you can still understand the confusion. Even though the flight has disappeared, who can imagine such a thing?

Things only start to become clear when the second plane nears Manhattan. And then it's too late. People watching the smoking tower see the second plane crash into the other building. The attack is almost over before people can understand what's going on.

And the only reason that the fourth plane didn't hit the Capitol Building is because United 93 was delayed. Sure some imbeciles can question why the passengers of that flight didn't take the plane sooner, but they didn't know what was going on. When you don't know what's going on, you're powerless. But once they hear about the other flights, they decide to act. And the one bright spot in that miserable day is that these passengers fought back and prevented further loss of life.

But I really can't overstress how great this film is. There are no attempts to demonise. There are no attempts to play for false emotion. You're just dropped in this hellish situation and expected to deal with it. It just feels real.

And very often it feels painfully real. The build-up constantly had me on edge. The tension is palpable. And then there's the heartbreak of people phoning home and the desperation of the attack on the cockpit. Paul Greengrass has fashioned a masterpiece here. He's made a film that is visceral and heartbreaking and that makes no concessions to the audience. It's one of the greatest films of the last few years.

Troy Duffy is an idiot. Just watch Overnight. In it he bullies film executives, record producers, band members and friends. But even worse than this, he thinks he's some sort of genius. He thinks he's a great musician and filmmaker.

Validating Duffy's delusion is the fact that Miramax buys his script for The Boondock Saints. Thinking he's the next Tarantino, they give him $300,000 for the script, they hand him the reigns to direct the movie (with a $15m budget), they allow him to produce the soundtrack with his band, he gets to approve casting and is allowed final cut, and the final part of the deal is that Miramax will buy his bar (prior to getting into film, he's a bartender and bouncer). It's a great deal. It's an amazing deal. It's a deal that's out of this world. Only a moron could screw it up.

Well, Troy Duffy is that moron. Given this great deal, he proceeds to abuse and alienate everyone around him. So much so that a film that initially starts out as a loving document to his talents ends up being a character assassination.

One of the first things we hear from Duffy's lips is that friendship is the most important thing in the world to him. Therefore one could assume that, despite the rough edges, he's an honourable guy. Nothing could be further from the truth. In one ball-shriving scene he refuses to pay his friends who had operated for a long time as the managers of his band. He says they don't deserve any money. His friends then point out all the time they spent managing the band – all the effort they put into it. Duffy then changes his mind and says that they do deserve the money. But at the same time he says he's still not going to give it to them. This he says to people who are in financial problems because of him. People who have broken their back for him.

But this actually isn't the first record deal that the band receives. Earlier on Maverick Records sign them up sight unseen. But just when you're slapping your head at the stupidity of Madonna's label, Duffy messes up and annoys them. He then rants and raves and says the label is scared. He says they're scared of how good the brood are. What the hell? If Duffy is right then he's saying that the label are scared of making lots of money? Yeah, makes perfect sense.

But eventually the band get signed to Atlantic Records, which leads to the argument over money with the former band managers (who, incidentally, are the makers of this documentary). The moment when the band is signing their contract and receiving their money in cash is pathetic. They're like dogs begging for scraps.

But thankfully the album has a happy ending. They only sell 690 copies…after being in stores for six months.

And yet earlier in the film, when they're recording, Duffy wonders why his fellow band members haven't been coming up to him and shaking his hand for securing the deal. He even says that the album isn't a group effort. He says it's all down to him – without him, there's nothing. So surely that means that the album's failure is his and his alone? Maybe his fellow band members should line up and take turns punching him in the face.

But Duffy's film fares just as well as his album. It's dumped in five theatres for one week and makes $25,000. It's pathetic even for him.

However, I'm sure Duffy would have lots of explanations for this. You see, after getting a great deal with Miramax, he proceeds to alienate them to such an extent with his bitching and moaning that they pull out. Therefore the film is financed independently. Of course this doesn't concern Duffy, who says that when the film is made and Miramax want back in, they can pay their way back in. But when it comes to selling the film, nobody wants a part of it. Most of the time I'd be appalled that a filmmaker could be blacklisted and that the industry would conspire against him, but here it makes me happy. Duffy is man who was given a great chance to prove himself. All he had to do was shut his mouth and get on with things. Instead he acted like a child and tried to throw his weight around. Hell, at one point, before he's even shot a foot of film or recorded one note of his album, he says that he's gone straight from a bartender and surpassed everyone – he's already right at the top. Only an idiot could think that way – don't you have to have produced something first to be at the top? Therefore the film's awful distribution deal had me grinning like a loon.

I'm also kind of amused by the way the makers of the documentary try and screw Duffy over. In one scene we see Duffy bemoan his ability to find a decent girl – he just wants to find a nice girl he can settle down with. We then cut to some sleazy footage of a drunk Duffy getting girls to show him their breasts. The film never tries to be objective and is all the more entertaining for it.

Unfortunately, though, there is a black cloud that hangs over me. The Boondock Saints became a cult hit. There are many people who love it. But just when I feel low I remember that Duffy isn't a profit participant in the cable and DVD sales – he just got a lump sum of money. Therefore Duffy doesn't make a cent out of the film's success in the home market. How brilliant is that?

I Am Legend suffered because the vampires from the novel were turned into badly rendered CGI zombie-type things. The Omega Man, on the other hand, suffers because the vampires are turned into albino Luddites. Yeah, that's right. Albino Luddites.

Maybe the image of white-faced, sunglass wearing monks sounds scary on paper, but on film it's somewhat humorous. Oh no, please spare me from the pasty-faced hoodies. Oh how they terrify me. But it also doesn't help that these so-called psychopaths (Heston's words) act like the Keystone Cops.

The Family, as they're called, first appear after Robert Neville (Heston) struggles to get home before nightfall. There he is parking his car when a hooded individual throws a lighted torch at him and drops down into his car. But no sooner do these clowns manage to mount a dirty sneak attack than they're being riddled with machine gun fire. They're incompetent.

The best example of The Family's incompetence is during the sequence when they try to burn Neville at Dodger Stadium. Somehow he gets free and escapes via motorbike. Cue The Family trying to stop him and then being blinded by flares and smoke bombs. It burns! It burns! But the scene where Heston is going to be burnt at the stake is a good example of the heavy-handed Christian imagery that permeates the film. You see, germ warfare wipes out mankind during a conflict between China and Russia. All that's left are Heston (the last man on Earth), the albino Luddites who are infected and dying, and infected humans who appear normal but will eventually become albino Luddites. So therefore The Family takes it upon itself to burn Neville for mankind's sins. He'll sacrifice himself for a purer world, one free of the evils of technology. But would you believe it, even though he's tied to a cross like Jesus, he gets free.

Then there's the film's final image. At the end, the head of The Family spears Neville and he slowly dies in a fountain, soaking in his own blood. And he dies while in the crucifixion pose. Neville is the world's saviour. With the vaccination he makes, he promises to resurrect mankind, thus making him a divine figure.

In one scene an infected but still normally functioning girl even asks Neville whether he's god. He laughs it off. But to all intents and purposes, he is. He's the one who has the power over life and death. He chooses who lives and who doesn't. He's both saviour and destroyer, much like the Christian god of the Old Testament.

But although it's nice that all of this stuff is included in the film, it doesn't rescue it from mediocrity. Sure it has some good ideas, but a lot of the film is uninspired or just poorly made.

The opening sequence, for instance, which sees Neville driving around a deserted city is rendered laughable by the ridiculously cheery music. Here we have the end of the world and it's...jazzy. There's no threat. There's no feeling of despair or doom. It just indicates that this is going to be a jaunty, run of the mill 70s B-movie adventure. The score dates the film horribly.

And then in the opening there's a moment when Neville gets himself a new car. He goes into a dealership, and after removing the calendar that taunts him with the promise of female flesh, we see the rotting skeleton of someone who worked in this place. It should be a jarring moment. It should be scary. But the film merrily goes on about its way, reassuring us that this is just going to be a bit of fluff.

The only real moment of terror in the film is the existential terror Neville feels when he suddenly hears every payphone ringing as he wanders the lonely streets. This is the sort of thing I wish the film would focus on – Neville is losing his mind and he's hearing things that aren't there. But although there are a few nice little details in the film, the feeling of desperation and isolation is immediately lost when The Family turn up so quickly. Plus they're far too human. Yeah they're a bit mad, talking like religious zealots, but you see worse on the Tube.

Also detracting from the feeling of dread are the infected people who haven't gone mad yet. They pretty quickly relieve Neville of his loneliness. And the scene where Neville first encounters another normal person is unintentionally amusing. Neville walks around a clothes shop full of mannequins and then begins to hear something. When he turns around a new mannequin has arrived – there's a black girl with a large afro pretending to be still. I guess if it were done right it could be quite creepy, but instead with the girl not being very good at keeping still it looks like the end of every Police Squad episode.

Another disappointing element is Neville's relationship with The Family. When he kills three of them he talks of an 'end game' and of them losing three pawns. Therefore you get the feeling that the whole thing is a game to Neville – The Family might be trying to kill him, but he needs them in order to remain functional; even though they attack his house every night and even though he has a huge machine gun on the roof, to kill the whole Family would finally render his life pointless and aimless. But although all of this is there, it soon gives way to goofy action scenes and a tedious love story – no sooner have Chuck and the black girl escaped a deadly Luddite attack than they're rolling on the floor with Heston joking that he might have forgotten how to make love. Interesting plot elements continually and repeatedly make way for the familiar action/adventure beats.

Raiders of the Lost Ark is an action masterpiece. There's not one bit of fat on its bones. There's not one wasted moment. It flows exactly like an adventure movie should – it continually moves forward, breathlessly driving you towards the conclusion; it's incredible fun.

The reason why the film works so well is because the script is so tight. The exposition is clear and well delivered, meaning that you know precisely what's at stake, small character details are set up early on and paid off later and the dialogue is incredibly pithy. It's a masterclass in film writing.

However, this would mean nothing if all the other elements didn't come together. Thankfully they do. Spielberg's direction is superb, Harrison Ford is perfect as the hero, Karen Allen is wonderful as the heroine and the music is out of this world. Plus the action is kick ass.

My favourite action scene is the fight with Pat Roach by the plane. Quite unusually for a film hero, Indy doesn't mind fighting dirty. He kicks Roach in the balls, he throws sand in his face and he even bites him. Indy doesn't have to win a fight fairly. And it's also unusual for a film hero to be so vulnerable. We rarely see anyone get a scratch or put in any real jeopardy. But here Indy gets his arse handed to him. The only reason he survives is because he's so wily – after getting beaten and bruised for a while he leads Roach into getting chopped up by the plane's rotor blades.

My second favourite action sequence is when Indy chases after the Ark and recovers it by hijacking a Nazi truck. After the CGI mess of Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, it's great to see old-fashioned stunts. It's a much better way of letting you get absorbed by the action – even though you know it's a film, you know someone actually had to do this, making everything much more impressive to watch. The best stunt is when Indy is thrown through the front window and has to pull himself along the bottom of the truck. He manages to do this and then hooks his whip under the bottom so that he's dragged along the ground. He then manages to get back on the truck and back in the cabin. It's a joy to behold and allows you to immerse yourself in the action.

Another great thing about the sequence is that once again we're shown Indy's vulnerability. As he's driving he gets shot in the arm. And then later a guy punches him in his injured arm and throws him out of the truck. Therefore when Indy comes back and beats the crap out of this guy, it's doubly satisfying, because not only is the guy a damn Nazi, but he also had the audacity to try and injure our hero. And the blood and guts reminds me of how gritty the film is. Not only do we have Indy getting shot in the arm and then having the wound beaten, but earlier on a guy gets shot in the face – lots of blood pours down from the hole in his skull. Oh, and he's also on fire. Excellent.

But as well as this there's also stuff that is just plain over the top. The melting faces for instance and Belloq's head exploding. This scared the hell out of me as a kid and I'm still amazed that stuff like this was included in a 'kids' film.

However, the scene that terrified me the most as a kid was the scene where Marion gets mugged by skeletons and we then see a large snake oozing from a skull's mouth. I was so traumatised I refused to watch the film for years. But now the vague horror element is another reason I adore the movie. It sets it apart from almost every action/adventure film that came before it and nothing else has managed to better it, even subsequent Indiana Jones films.

But watching the film now it's quite unusual to note that Indy doesn't kill any of the three main villains. They're all killed by the Ark. Indy instead just closes his eyes and lets 'god' do the rest. It's a strange ending but one that works perfectly. Indy isn't a killing machine. He's someone trying to do the right thing. And at the end he's rewarded by, well, not having his face melted off.

Another reason why Raiders stands out is because of its heroine. She's one of the best in modern cinema – a tough woman who constantly shows her toughness without having to resort to ridiculous feats of physicality. We don't see her pummel men who are twice her size, but we do see her out smart them and drink them under the table. As well as this she has great chemistry with Indy. For instance, there's the marvellous scene where she tries to look after our injured hero and he cries like a girl every time she touches him. He then points out a few places where it doesn't hurt, which she kisses. It's a lovely scene. And I also like the bit of slapstick humour earlier where Indy gets a mirror smashed in his face when Marion turns it over.

This leads me to another reason why Raiders is brilliant. It's very funny. You have a monkey giving a Nazi salute, Indy nonchalantly shooting a swordsman, Sallah's cowardly reactions at the Well of Souls and the Gestapo man plunging his hand in the snow after he gets it burnt while trying to grab an extremely hot bronze medallion. The humour is great.

And on top of all of this cinematic goodness – the humour, the action, the adventure – you have one of the best opening sequences in film. It's a bravura piece of film-making – everything clicks perfectly.

There's no doubt that a dead singer will do wonders for a band's reputation. Just take Joy Division. Yes, they produced some excellent music, but quite a bit of it was incredibly mediocre. But because their lead singer killed himself they've obtained a glamour and an allure that they never would have possessed had they continued to make music under that banner.

And part of the reason why Joy Division are so well regarded is because people can claim Ian Curtis as an example of the tortured artist. He's a man who suffered so much in life that death was the only answer. But that would be an incredibly shallow way of looking at things. Curtis was certainly a talented artist, but he wasn't peerless. And for all of people's romantic notions about Curtis, his suicide could have a rather simple explanation – maybe he had a negative reaction to the medication he took for his epilepsy.

And I think that would make his story more tragic. To have someone's life and career wasted because of something as banal as a chronic condition or a combination of pills is a lot sadder than someone taking their life because they were selfish and self-absorbed. Because that's what Curtis is. He's a man who marries his childhood sweetheart, who fronts a successful band and who later has an affair with an attractive Belgian artist. If he wanted to grab it, he could have everything. But instead he wallows in self-pity. He feels like his band is getting too big. He loves his wife but she stifles him. And he loves his girlfriend but she's too adoring. Therefore it's kind of hard to feel sorry for this man. But despite his cruelty, there's still a part of you that feels for him. Life is never as simple as 'you should be happy with what you've got' and people's feelings are often beyond their control. And with Curtis this is made worse when he has to suffer from seizures and the side-effects of his medication. He's a bastard, but deep down you feel there's a decent guy struggling to get out.

The end of the film suggests that it was Curtis' epilepsy that pushed him over the edge. We see him have a seizure and then he wakes up and kills himself, apparently unable to deal with his condition. But of course we'll never know what exactly happened that day. And we also never really know what Curtis is thinking. But this isn't a fault of the film. It's mainly to do with the man. For all his songs and all his writing, you get the feeling that nobody is ever really able to penetrate the surface.

But although you can't fault the film for not providing more answers, it can certainly be faulted for being too timid. The film doesn't tell us that Curtis briefly flirted with fascism, that he took his first overdose at 15, that he dictated to his wife what she could and couldn't wear and that he threw wine over her when she danced with another man at their engagement party. It's a watered down version of Ian Curtis.

The film can also be faulted for never really capturing the excitement of the band's performances. The film is beautifully shot, but the musical sequences never really take flight. And this can't be attributed to the actors, who do a great job. Instead it's a fault of the direction. It's too static.

But while the filming style doesn't benefit the musical sequences, it works for the rest of the film. It makes you feel like you're looking at images in a magazine. You're part of this world and part of this story, but you're removed from it too. It's real but it's unreal as well. After all, Macclesfield only looks this beautiful on film. And that's the way we want it. We don't really want reality to conflict with the images in our head – we want some part of the myth to remain; that our heroes come from a different world, a world we can see but that we can't really touch.

My favourite image in the film is the one at the end. We see smoke rising out of a chimney in a graveyard – Curtis is being cremated. He's being liberated from the life he felt he couldn't deal with. And although it maybe romanticises his death too much, it finally provides a level of emotion that was lacking elsewhere in the film. The man who existed in real life wasn't a particularly nice person, a man who sometimes treated his wife abysmally, but he was also a man occasionally capable of scaling heights of creativity. And it's that talent that you end up mourning more than the man.

However, although the subject matter would suggest that the film makes for grim viewing, it's also quite funny in places. In particular I like the scene where the Crispy Ambulance frontman has to replace Curtis and face the wrath of the crowd. And that reminds me of how much I like the band's manager, Rob Gretton. When he introduces himself to the band he plays it big. But then in the next scene we see him in his underwear, answering a payphone by saying, 'Rob's Records'. It's a nice way of showing how ramshackle the whole scene was. And of course you have Tony Wilson signing his contract with Joy Division in blood. But although all of this is great, it did remind me of how much better 24 Hour Party People is. Yes they're different stories, but Winterbottom's film, even in the brief amount of time Curtis gets in that movie, manages to scale higher levels of emotion and invention. I just think Control, as good as it is, is a little too conservative, something Curtis wasn't...even if he briefly was a Tory voter.