Wah-Wah

Richard E. Grant is one of those charming actors who makes everyone and everything around him look good. Who could forget his exuberant performance as Withnail in 1987’s cult classic Withnail & I ? (“I must have some booze!”) At the other end of the scale, he was quite possibly the best thing in 1997’s Spiceworld, as the now-defunct girl band’s manager. So I was interested to see if his infectious talent would spread to Wah-Wah, his first outing as a writer/director – and I’m pleased to report it certainly does.

Based on his own childhood experiences, Wah-Wah is set in the south-west African nation of Swaziland, as it approaches independence from its colonial mistress Great Britain at the end of the 1960s. The film opens with young protagonist (and Grant’s alter-ego) Ralph Compton witnessing his mother’s adultery, and goes on to show the devastating alcoholism that grips his father in her wake. The film also follows several other characters within the small expatriate community the Comptons inhabit, where the British stiff upper lip fails to completely hide the heated passions and cloying hypocrisy.

Zachary Fox and Nicholas Hoult play Ralph at 12 and 15 years respectively, and both do a fine job. Discovering your parents aren’t infallible is a journey every child takes, and Ralph’s is a sweet one to watch. Both actors convincingly convey the devastating loss of Ralph’s mother, and the growing up he has to do to deal with his father. Ralph’s inner rage manifests in a puppet-like grimace, but as director Grant never lets the character sink into self-pity.

Gabriel Byrne gives a stellar performance as Ralph’s father Harry, a top education official who’s all easygoing charm during the day, but turns into a beast once his begins his daily bottle of scotch. Some of his drunk scenes tend towards melodrama, but or the most part his portrayal of two men inside the one body is hauntingly real. Miranda Richardson as Ralph’s selfish but desperate mother Lauren is marvelous – but then she very rarely puts a foot wrong, especially in character pieces like this. Julie Walters also gives a delightful performance as Gwen, who finds herself having to start all over again when her husband dumps her.

But the star is Emily Watson as Ruby, an American flight attendant that Harry meets and marries in six weeks. It’s a cliché, but she really is a breath of fresh air compared to the staid British ex-pats. It’s Ruby who coins the phrase “wah-wah”, referring to the posh baby talk the Brits use to communicate (“hush-hush”, “hubbly-jubbly”, “toodle pip”). Watson plays her with just the right mix of bravado and sensitivity, and Ruby’s relationships with Harry and Ralph are truly touching.

The only disappointing aspect of Wah-Wah is its forgettable soundtrack, but it’s a minor quibble. It’s a credit to Grant that he got his story to screen in the first place (especially if you read some of the incredible hassles he outlines in his latest book, The Wah-Wah Diaries), and even more so that he managed to do so in such a touching and believable way.

The Break-Up

Important disclaimer re: The Break-Up : This movie is not a romantic comedy. Do not let any of the marketing convince you otherwise. You will only end up feeling awkward because you were expecting some sort of hilarious hybrid of The Wedding Crashers and Friends. Do not see it if you're more interested in what Jennifer Aniston and Vince Vaughn are doing offscreen, rather than on. Do not take a first date to this film. Do not take your current partner to this film. In fact, don't go at all.

Well, OK, that's not entirely fair. The Break-Up is a half-decent attempt to realistically depict a relationship in its death-throes, managing to avoid for the most part feel-good-rom-com-required hints at reconcilation. It's also got half decent performances from its leads - even if they are largely stuck in the realm of cliches (she's a classy and caring modern woman; he's a selfish slob).

However, it's suffering from the same condition as Jennifer Aniston's character Brooke - a crisis of conscience. It doesn't really have the chutzpah to go all out as a serious relationship drama, preferring instead to throw in wacky comedic turns to justify the advertising campaign, which was obviously planned before the film itself was written.

The story begins with Brooke (Aniston) and Gary (Vaughn) meeting at a baseball match. We're not sure why they got together, but their relationship is documented in snapshots throughout the title sequence. After a brief explanation of what they do (she's an art dealer; he runs bus tours of Chicago), the film gets right into the argument that sees them break up. Trouble is, they've bought a snazzy condo together (Americans can't just have "flats", can they?) and neither wants to give up their half. What follows is territorial warfare, with hijinks and shenanigans from both sides - but it becomes apparent they're fighting for different reasons.

As mentioned earlier, the two leads turn in reasonable performances. Vaughn is set up early as "the bad guy", and plays his easy-going schtick well. His vehemence in some of the fight scenes is what really impresses though - in fact, some of those fights are so realistic, fought over petty things, often in front of friends, that you almost feel like you're watching people you know have a spat. Aniston is set up as "the good woman" - with the filmmakers attempting to get across the fact that sometimes you try to save a relationship simply because you love the person no matter what their flaws. This is supposed to make Aniston's character sympathetic to the audience, but unfortunately we just end up wondering what she saw in him in the first place and to just dump the slacker already.

The supporting cast is of stellar quality (including Vincent D'Onofrio, Jason Bateman and even a brief glimpse of Ann-Margret), but their roles are reduced to a series of incidental appearances ranging from the dull (Joey Lauren Adams as Brooke's helpful advice-giving best friend) to the unrealistic (John Michael Higgins as Brooke's metrosexual all-singing brother). The stand-out is Judy Davis as Brooke's self-obsessed boss - more worried about the effect Brooke's relationship woes has on her business than on Brooke herself.

The Break Up thankfully avoids too much of a cliched Hollywood ending; but ultimately its take on the male/female dynamic doesn't go much deeper than "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus". It certainly is different to your average rom-com, but it's a shame it didn't have the intestinal fortitude to push the envelope further.

Colour Me Kubrick

Few film directors are as iconic as Stanley Kubrick. Perhaps only Alfred Hitchcock eclipses him in the instant-recognition stakes. But while a simple silhouette of Hitchcock's portly physique is enough to conjure up thoughts of James Stewart's wheelchair-bound voyerism, Cary Grant dodging bi-planes or Tippi Hedren being stalked by some wayward seagulls - it's Kubrick's name alone that brings to mind his innovative and confronting films. For Kubrick, especially in his later years, shunned the limelight - preferring to remain at his English country estate with his kids and pets rather than flashing his credentials all over Hollywood (take that George Lucas).

So with that in mind, in the late 90s, an English conman named Alan Conway began getting round London passing himself off as Stanley Kubrick. Colour Me Kubrick is the "true...ish" story of this man, and while it's in the "out there" category, it's a great little film with a marvellously indulgent performance by John Malkovich in the central role.

There's not much of a story to Colour Me Kubrick. The film is essentially a series of cons that Alan Conway/Stanley Kubrick pulls - some quick and mercenary, others drawn out and complicated. The film obviously embellishes Conway's story, but if he got away with merely half of what his screen counterpart does, it's breathtaking. Malkovich takes great delight in wallowing in the character of Conway/Kubrick - donning effeminate and eccentric clothing (who says paisley and plaid with terry cloth boxers, fingerless gloves and a headscarf doesn't work?) - and shuffling messily around town. He virtually smells unwashed. (They should have just called it "Being Stanley Kubrick", or "Being Alan Conway"). As Kubrick, Conway adopts different accents almost every time he meets someone new, as if his bold exterior and constant name-dropping will cover-up his lack of credibility and his surprisingly poor knowledge of Kubrick's life and work. The telling part is though, that it does.

Colour Me Kubrick offers a nice comment on the nature of celebrity, and just what we ordinary plebs will do to please someone we think is famous. We'd all like to think we're bullshit-proof, but blimey, we're not. While some of those conned in the film are idiots, most are just naive, with goals and dreams that Conway plays on (preys on?) to his advantage. So the wannabe fashion designer, the up-and-coming band, the chemist with a screenplay at home all fall victim. There, but for the Grace of God....well, you know the rest.

Aside from the huge presence of Malkovich, the film's strength is in its obvious reverence for the work of the real Stanley Kubrick. It's peppered with visual but more particularly musical references to his films - Conway taking his dirty clothes to the laundromat to the dum-dum-dum-dum of "Dawn" from Strauss' Zarathustra, or being thrown off a pier to the unsettling electronica featured in A Clockwork Orange. It also has a roll call of British actors in cameo roles - the stand-out being Richard E. Grant as a gushing bar owner. "Oh, Stanley!"

The history and motivation of Conway himself is not delved into in any real detail - like the mysterious monoliths in 2001: A Space Odyssey, he himself seems to appear out of nowhere. He's obviously a lonely and desperate man, but his final and biggest con proves he's not crazy.

This is definitely not a mainstream film, and may confuse some people. But it has its own charm, and devotees of either Kubrick or Malkovich will definitely get a kick out of it.

The Chumscrubber

If films truly reflect reality, then boy, do we need to get out of the suburbs. The lifestyle for so many in the Western world appears by all accounts to be driving us slowly insane. Taken seriously, a film like The Chumscrubber is another warning bell, about the perils of sacrificing our inner selves to conform to society's demand for an immaculate veneer of perfection and happiness. Taken not so seriously, The Chumscrubber is a mildly satirical take on previous films of that ilk - think The Ice Storm or American Beauty. The trouble is, it's not quite sure which one of these it wants to be. So while it has a magnificent cast, with some nice performances and interesting moments, I found myself wondering what its real purpose is.

The film is set in the southern Californian town of Hillside, one of those centrally planned communities that are supposed to be almost like resort living but somehow feel like minimum security prisons. Dean (Jamie Bell) is a classic anti-hero - the loner high school student with an addiction to feel-good pills, a psychiatrist father (William Fichtner) who just wants to mine him for material for his books, and a mother (Alison Janney) too busy selling vitamins and playing happy housewife to notice her son's pent-up rage. When his only friend and school drug dealer Troy commits suicide, three of Dean's classmates demand he find Troy's stash for them, kidnapping his brother as an incentive. Only they nab the wrong kid, whose mother Terri (Rita Wilson) is too preoccupied with her upcoming wedding to the increasingly unstable local mayor (Ralph Fiennes) to notice her son is missing. Meanwhile Troy's mother (Glenn Close) is dealing with the death of her son by magnanimously telling all her neighbours personally that she in no way blames them.

There's a few other characters and stories through the film, but to list them would take all day. And that's one of the problems with The Chumscrubber, as it often is with large ensemble cast/interweaving storyline films. Keeping track of the various storylines isn't that hard, but there's so much potential in the stories, I wonder if a better film would have jettisoned some of the lesser characters to focus more on the main ones. Then again, two hours watching Dean's white-boy angst amid the macho bravura of his fellow teens may have become somewhat tedious.

There are some nice moments and touching performances - some critics have labelled Glenn Close's performance as robotic as her turn in The Stepford Wives, but I thought she was heart-wrenching as a Mom wracked by the guilt of not truly knowing her son, and having to keep up a brave face to the neighbours. It was madness hidden behind a plastered-on smile. Similarly, I enjoyed Ralph Fiennes' as the Mayor, who after a head knock has begun seeing dolphins everywhere. He's a bit wacky to be sure, but it's a nice gear change to all the suburban angst.

There's also the issue of the Chumscrubber itself - the title of a headless videogame character that appears on posters and T-shirts throughout the film. No doubt it's a reference to Frank, the 6-foot bunny rabbit from the brilliant Donnie Darko, surely the most original take on suburban life in recent memory.The problem is, the Chumscrubber isn't scary, or even spooky. It's just a bit naff, and it's introduced too late in the film to really make an impact. It's supposed to be a common link through the stories, but it didn't work for me.

If this review sounds a bit muddled, it's because the film left my mind muddled. It didn't stand up as a serious examination of everyday suburban life, but it didn't really declare itself as a black comedy. I didn't hate it, but I wouldn't recommend it as a must-see. If you haven't seen Donnie Darko, rent that out instead.

Judith Lucy: I Failed!

Judith Lucy is one of those comedians who falls perfectly into the “love her or hate her” category. The reasons people hate her (her distinctive voice and acerbic style), are also the reasons her fans love her. Even so, anyone interested in the Australian radio scene will get something out of her new show, I Failed!

Having had some experience in commercial FM radio (although not as an announcer), I was keen to hear her take on the Austereo network. Hired in 2004 to replace Wendy Harmer in breakfast on Sydney’s 2-Day FM, Lucy was eventually unceremoniously sacked last June, after being shifted to Melbourne to do the national drive shift. And she doesn't disappoint - I Failed! is part therapy, part stinging retribution.

Lucy talks as candidly as she legally can about the revolving door of arrogant program directors; bizarre stunts and promotions (two words – “celebrity sperm”); a lack of publicity and support; having to interview precious celebrities - or worse, Big Brother evictees; the ratings dive; and last ditch attempts to shore up listeners.

This is the main thread of the show, but Lucy diverges from the path frequently to talk about other things that have been happening in her life: medical problems (including a gall bladder operation and panic attacks); her engagement; having a colonic irrigation; barbs and jabs at the usual celebrities (Gwen Stefani and Keira Knightley – watch out!) and a sharp and brilliant piece about the hypocrisy and mindlessness of women’s magazines.

Lucy began the show by pointing out she had a head cold, which may have explained an extra-strong nasally opening delivery. But she obviously relaxed as the show went on, and the audience relaxed with her. A note for potential audience members though – if you have questions you’ve always wanted to ask Lucy, make sure you commit them to memory before you go. She holds a Q&A session about halfway through, which didn’t really fire during opening night because nobody could think of anything to ask! The finale is slightly removed from the theme of her show, but entertaining nonetheless.

At the end of the day, Lucy is just too much of an original to fit the rigid formats of commercial radio. They may have dumped her – but Judith Lucy makes a welcome return to stand-up comedy with I Failed! And the ultimate prize for Lucy? She never has to listen to another Nickelback song again.

Performance seen: Thursday 8 June
I Failed!
Brisbane Powerhouse
Tues-Sun until 25 June
7:30pm
Tickets $34.90/$29.90

The Omen

Remakes are all the go in Hollywood, and the date 6/6/06 must have been just too good to pass up. Plus, the world does seem a bit apocalyptical at the moment - well it does if you play some spooky music and show slides of the September 11 attacks, the loss of the Columbia space shuttle and the Indian Ocean tsunami. Which is exactly what the remake of The Omen does, in a introductory set-piece that's the only new thing about the story of the little boy Antichrist.

It's been 30 years since Gregory Peck and Lee Remick were spooked by their devil's spawn, and the above reasons are the only two I can come up with as to why someone would remake 1976's The Omen. This version has a few jump-in-your-seat moments, but it's never truly terrifying, and the cast for the most part looks bored, or in the case of Seamus Davey-Fitzpatrick, (the new Damien) pouty and in need of a good smack.

The Omen is virtually shot-for-shot the same as its predecessor - with mobile phones, the internet and a bit of digital photography tacked on to make it 21st century. The story concerns US ambassador to Italy Robert Thorn (Liev Schreiber), who's convinced by a priest to adopt a newborn orphan boy, to save his wife Kate (Julia Stiles) the trauma of learning their own son died in childbirth. The family moves to London, where as Damien gets older, it becomes obvious he's a bit unusual. People start dying, snarling dogs take up guard around the 5-year-old, and Robert is stalked by first a priest (Pete Postlethwaite) then by a photographer (David Thewlis), intent on convincing him his son is none other than the Antichrist, here to wreak havoc and destruction yada yada yada.

I'm afraid I wasn't a fan of Liev Schreiber's performance. Gregory Peck may have been over-the-top in parts of the original, but Schreiber appears to have been doped before every scene. Stiles fares a bit better in her portrayal of a mother terrified by the unknown in her own home. As usual, the British component of the cast (Postlethwaite, Thewlis and a scene-stealing Michael Gambon) perform their roles soundly. Special mention should be made though to the casting of Mia Farrow as Mrs Baylock, the Supernanny of a Supernatural sort, who arrives without notice to protect the young Antichrist. The connotations of Rosemary herself raising the Devil's son are quite delicious, and Farrow gives the best performance of the film, all big eyes, wide smiles and dulcet tones dripping with malevolence.

As Damien, young Seamus Davey-Fitzpatrick has suitably engaging blue eyes, but honestly? I've seen more devilish children at any number of suburban shopping centres. Forget the ritual knives, Damien looks like he could be disciplined by a good talking-to ("Bad Antichrist! Be nice to your Mummy!").

The Omen has some good special effects, and as mentioned, some genuine "eek!" moments, but as far as remakes go, it's uninspired. Rent the original, dim the lounge room lights and scare yourself silly instead.

X-Men: The Last Stand

Wolverine, Magneto, Professor X, Storm, Phoenix, Mystique, Rogue, Angel, Beast, Colossus, Juggernaut...confused yet? If so, it might be a good idea to watch 2000's X-Men, and 2003's X-Men 2 before you head out to X-Men: The Last Stand, the third (and final?) film in the popular franchise. While entertaining enough if you're mutant-savvy, the film packs the story of over 10 lead characters into just an hour and a half, and those who wouldn't know the difference between an "Iceman" and a "Pyro" could get lost. It might also help to take along your own "comic geek" - as mine came in awfully handy!

The plot concerns the discovery of a so-called "cure" for mutant DNA, which worries Professor Charles Xavier (Patrick Stewart), the leader of the X-Men, who wants to promote tolerance and acceptance between mutants and humans; and downright repulses his old enemy Magneto (Ian McKellen), who believes mutants need to obliterate homo sapiens before they themselves are wiped out. It's time for the mutants to take a stand - with whom will they side?

The film's second storyline is the return of Jean Grey (Famke Janssen), apparently killed off at the end of X2, but back here as her "alternate personality" the Phoenix, with telepathic and telekinetic powers greater than any other living mutant. The fight to save her from herself occupies most of Wolverine's (Hugh Jackman) time onscreen.

The first two X-Men films were smart sassy takes on what could have been just another superhero cash-in. This had much to do with director Bryan Singer, and the inspired casting of British greats Stewart and McKellen as old-friends-turned-enemies Xavier and Magneto, and Jackman as Wolverine. Those three return in X3, but sadly Singer does not, and his absence is as plain as Halle Berry's acting (meow!). While the first two films balanced great action set-pieces with the emotional development and motivations of their characters, the third film's script just races along, and new director Brett Ratner (Rush Hour), is unable to retain that happy medium. For example, Janssen's Jean Grey/Phoenix is supposed to be a tortured psychic, but at certain points she just looks like she's dressed for a goth club and popped a couple of Mogadons. Rattner gives a cursory nod to ethical issues raised by the genetic cure - such as is it wrong to want to make yourself "normal" - but focuses most of his energy on good old-fashioned wham bam CGI effects, such as a spectacular re-positioning of the Golden Gate Bridge.

Nevertheless, a "not-quite-as-good" X-Men film is still better than much of the fare on offer at the multiplexes, and there are some great moments - most featuring Jackman and McKellen, who truly are the best two reasons for seeing these films.

X-Men: The Last Stand has been described as the last in the series, but the wonderfully open ending leaves a tantalising hint of more to come. Make sure you stay until the end of the credits!