Film Review: The World's End (2013)

I'll get the most important item out of the way first: this is the least funny of the so-called Cornetto Trilogy by the triumvirate of actors Simon Pegg and Nick Frost, and director Edgar Wright. However, that still makes it a better than average comedy. It's not as LOL funny as Shaun of the Dead or Hot Fuzz, but it's always amusing and it's hands down the raunchiest, funniest, most violent episode of Dr Who ever. The thumbnail plot description is that five old friends (sort of) reunite for a pub crawl in a small English town and have a spot of bother with some aliens. If there's a link between all three films in the trilogy it's that in each case our heroes end up in a life and death struggle with the middle-class locals. There may be a Marxist, beware-the-bourgeoisie message in there somewhere, and if so I'm all for it.

Even though The World's End isn't a great comedy, it deserves respect for being smartly written. Unlike the normal run of comedies this is a film that's trying to get its laughs with wit and wordplay. The jokes don't always work, or they just raise a smile, but it's nice to see a comedy that isn't aggressively stupid or mining the gross-out vein, which, of course, means Adam Sandler's nowhere in sight. And what does it say about the current state of action films that this middling budget comedy shows more style and flair in the running, jumping, thumping people department than most films with ten times its budget.

If there's one person who deserves special mention here it's Simon Pegg. It's no surprise he's funny, but it's becoming clearer with every film he does that he's also a fine actor. His character in the film is loud, brash and obnoxious, but the subtle way in which Pegg uses facial expressions to show thoughts and emotions is outstanding. And his vocal work is even better. This guy has a great voice; listen carefully and you hear an actor you should be taking a stab at the St. Crispin's Day speech from Henry V. In relation to this, watch the film's final scene, which features Pegg, and take note of what looks like a reference to King Arthur. The only footnote I'd add to Pegg's performance is that his character of Gary King, and even his performance, seems slightly modeled on Rik Mayall's turn as Richie Richards in the Brit sitcom Bottom. That's not a bad thing. So here's hoping the next chapter in the Cornetto cycle of films is Macbeth. Now there's a chap who had some trouble with the locals.

Book Review: Scrivener's Moon (2011) by Philip Reeve

With this, the third and concluding(?) prequel to the four volume Mortal Engines series, Philip Reeve has created what has to be the gold standard in steampunk literature. Or perhaps I should say the brass standard. One of Reeve's best attributes as a steampunk writer is that he's not self-conscious about it. The seven novels in his imagined world aren't overly barnacled with the bling of steampunk, such as quirky, Victorian-themed nomenclature; heroes and heroines who are more ripping yarn archetypes than real characters; cameos from famous individuals, both real and fictional; and an obsession with all things that produce steam and smoke and are covered in brass. Reeve reverse engineers his novels, as it were, by starting with some dazzling creative concepts, adding in clever plots, and finishing off with well-rounded characters. With those building blocks in place the steampunk elements are never made to feel like the main attraction. Too many writers make the window dressing of steampunk the entire purpose of their novel.

Scrivener's Moon, which is set in the far, post-apocalyptic future, finishes the story of Fever Crumb, a teenage girl who's witness to the birth of London as a mobile, heavily armed city. It's almost impossible to do a synopsis of the story without launching into a lengthy outline of all seven volumes, but rest assured that Reeve's skill and imagination are undiminished in what might be his final outing in this genre. What's particularly pleasing is that his sense of humor remains intact. The term "post-apocalyptic" doesn't usually go hand in hand with humor, but Reeve knows that a largely grim story needs a bit of balance, and his sharp wit provides that contrast. And bonus marks for the subtle and natural way in which he shows Fever discovering that she's gay.

And now for a word about steampunk. There are endless, geeky arguments about what steampunk is or isn't, but my simple but comprehensive theory is that a steampunk novel is always set in either an old-fashioned future or a futuristic past. So there. This unruly bastard child of SF and the traditional adventure novel has attracted a lot of top-notch writers. Reeve, Nick Harkaway, Jonathan L. Howard and Toby Frost have all produced highly original, funny and exciting novels in the genre. What they all have in common, aside from talent, is that they're all British. Coincidence? I think not. I have a theory that the present dominance of UK writers in the steampunk field can be traced to TV shows like Dr Who, The Avengers, Quatermass, and all those Supermarionation shows such as Thunderbirds. The commonality in these programs is that anything goes, imaginatively speaking. Those shows mixed and matched all kinds of plots, characters and genres in the name of adventure and humor. Dr Who and The Avengers were particularly gleeful and energetic in this regard, and both were among the most popular and long-lasting shows of the 1960s and '70s. Today's steampunk writers grew up on those shows and I think it's fair to say that their ability to synthesize disparate genres into coherent, gripping stories owes a lot to Steed, Mrs Peel, the Doctor, and Captain Scarlet.

Book Review: Angelmaker (2012) by Nick Harkaway

First off, with a name like Nick Harkaway the least you can do with your life is write a rollicking, violent, madly entertaining genre mashup of steampunk and SF about a madman's plot to destroy the world. But Harkaway should really be the fair-faced, clean-limbed commander of a frigate, or a polar explorer, or a smasher of plots to steal Britain's secrets and treasures. Instead of any of those more interesting life choices, Harkaway has given us Angelmaker. So be it. I hope he's happy with his decision.

There is simply too much going on in Angelmaker to provide a synopsis of reasonable length, so I'll stick to the highlights. The main character is Joe Spork, a thirtyish mender of clocks and automata, and son of the late and infamous Matthew Spork, a crook's crook in the London underworld. Joe receives a commission to repair a peculiar clockwork device and is thereby thrown headlong into a plot to destroy the world through the agency of the Apprehension Engine, a device that alters human consciousness so that it can always perceive the truth, thus causing, in theory, all kinds of strife. The evil genius behind this plan is Shem Shem Tsien, an ageless Asian dictator who's a charmless combination of Pol Pot and Vlad the Impaler. Tsien is aided by the Ruskinites, a priestly cult that worships John Ruskin, the Victorian art critic. Joe's allies are Edie Bannister, a retired spy who was the Modesty Blaise of WW II; a diverse group of ex-gangsters; and Polly Cradle, the woman who turns out to be the love of his life.

Like the best fantasy/steampunk writers, Harkaway doesn't let anything stand in the way of his imagination, which goes off like an oversized Catherine wheel.  Angelmaker is an excellent adventure story based solely on its imaginative energy and diversity, but Harkaway brings more to the party. Unlike most entries in this field, there's an anger and ferocity and, yes, political consciousness that sets it apart. The political sub-text to the novel isn't overplayed or blatant, but it's clear that the author, like his characters, is disgusted with the Machiavellian machinations of the Great Powers and Vested Interests that result in the existence and use of weapons of mass destruction. Looked at from this point of view, Tsien isn't just a stock villain but the distillation of the anti-human nature of realpolitik and the lust for total power.

This novel must also set some kind of record for Britishness. From its homage to P.G. Wodehouse opening (so good I'm nominating Harkaway for membership in the Drones Club) to it's Lancaster bomber finale, this novel is a feast of British cultural references; even the plot feels like it could have been one of the great Dr Who stories. Which is not to say it's some kind of Rule Britannia wet dream. Harkaway certainly doesn't present the British security services in a pleasant light, and at one or two points this begins to feel like an acidic State of Britain novel.

Harkaway's prose is another plus, shifting stylishly and effortlessly from tough to witty to psychologically acute. But this is also where Harkaway stumbles. The only real flaw in Angelmaker is that Harkaway's prose can also be maddeningly discursive, parenthetical and orotund. This type of writing is best enjoyed in small doses, but too often Harkaway can't put a brake on his rococo digressions. One example: late in the novel, as the tension and narrative momentum is building, we hit a speed bump in the form of a pointlessly lengthy description of a character's girth and sex life. This aside would almost be tolerable at the beginning of the story, but coming where it does it feels like the author is just faffing about. To put it in bald terms, Angelmaker would be significantly better if it was about ten per cent shorter. The other ninety per cent of the book is pure gold.

Film Review: Attack the Block (2011)

The expression old wine in new bottles pretty much sums up Attack the Block. The old wine is an invasion of bad-tempered aliens into a small, isolated, tight-knit community. The community's most fearless members must band together to resist and defeat the toothy visitors from space. In a nutshell, this is the plot of many alien incursion/mutant critter films from the 1950s. The new bottle is that the community is a slummy South London apartment block instead of a town in the American southwest, and the fearless locals are a feral gang of teenage muggers. There's even a stoner who doubles for the all-knowing scientist figure found in the '50s versions of Attack. The stoner's gained his knowledge from an addiction to the Discovery Channel.

The film begins on Guy Fawkes night with fireworks going off in every direction. Some of the fireworks come down from space and they contain creatures that resemble eyeless, extra-furry, extra-large chimps with glow-in-the-dark teeth. The illuminated teeth are a very nice touch. The first critter to hit the ground is savagely dispatched by Moses, the leader of a small gang of boys who are barely into their teens. The gang has just finished mugging a young nurse. It turns out the first alien was a female in heat, and her scent has attached itself to the gang, who find themselves besieged in their apartment block (the Wyndham Tower; a knowing nod to the very British alien invasion novels by John Wyndham) by a few dozen irate space chimps. Some of the gang live, some die, and the aliens get a proper kicking.

Attack is consistently entertaining simply as an Us vs. Them sci-fi thriller. The pace is good, there are some good gags, and the aliens are a pleasant change from the usual scaly, slimy visitors from space we see in this kind of movie. It's a pity, though, that Joe Cornish, doubling as director and scirptwriter, succumbs to the usual white middle-class (in Joe's case upper class) guilt when it comes to the gang. When we first meet them they seem like every urbanite's nightmare: armed, hoody-wearing visible minorities intent on relieving white people of mobile phones and cash. And, initially, that's exactly what they are. Cornish quickly shows us that underneath the cursing, thievery and threats of violence they're mostly sweet kiddos who just happen to be a bit rough around the edges. And when called upon they're brave, resourceful, and self-sacrificing. It's a pleasing myth for audiences to believe that bad guys, once you get to know them, are actually a thoroughly decent bunch of chaps. It might have been more interesting if the gang's utter ruthlessness and taste for violence was what won the day, not their innate nobleness. Imagine if the aliens had landed and encountered Alex and his droogs? Now there's a sequel I'd like to see.

Attack had a Dr Who vibe that I found enjoyable; it doesn't take itself at all seriously and it's as eager to please as a puppy. The one major flaw is the acting. The actors playing the gang members are decidedly mediocre. What's worse is that John Boyega, who plays Moses and is the hero of the story, is the poorest of the bunch. Chuck Norris has more dramatic range than Boyega. The film's energy and tension suffers noticeably due to the am-dram acting.

TV Review: Detective Montalbano

Luca Zingaretti as Commissario Montalbano

I'd heard of author Andrea Camilleri and his Commissario Montalbano mysteries, but until last week I didn't know they'd been filmed for Italian television. Twenty-two of them, no less. The library recently got the whole collection on DVD with English sub-titles and I've been working my way through them. They're excellent.

Putting aside their quality as mysteries for the moment, the thing about this series that really stands out is the craftsmanship with which they've been made. All ten episodes I've seen so far look great. The cinematography is absolutely first-rate. Two cinematographers have worked on the series and they both make great use of single-source, natural lighting for their interior shots. And an equal amount of care has been put into set design with the careful choice of colours to complement the cinematography. The locations? Let's just say you'll be booking a vacation to Sicily after seeing only a few episodes. The soundtrack also deserves praise both for its quirkiness and its unobtrusiveness. Some TV shows, notably Dr. Who, give the audience an unrelenting earbashing with bombastic scores. In sum, Montalbano looks and sounds fantastic.

As mysteries, this series relies more on characterization and pitch-perfect casting to carry the weight rather than clever, devious plotting. The stories are always interesting, often intriguing, but more for the characters they introduce than the plots. One episode, for example, "borrows" the plot from Agatha Christie's The ABC Murders. That plot is one of the most original in crime fiction, but by now it's been lifted by just about every crime writer going, and most viewers are quite familiar with it.

The actors, led by Luca Zingaretti as Montalbano, are uniformly excellent. I get the feeling that the producers have tried to use local non-professional talent, because some of the smaller roles are filled by people who have, shall we say, non-professional faces but a great deal of enthusiasm. This is all for the best because the glossy look of the shows is balanced out by cast members who look like they've been pulled off the streets and fields of Sicily. But Zingaretti is very much the star of the show. He looks and acts tough without coming across as vicious, and he's equally adept at looking foolish or awkward when the story calls for it. He's in virtually every second of every show, and it's a testament to his acting ability and appeal that he never wears out his welcome.

If you try and order the DVDs from Amazon keep in mind that for some reason they're listed as Detective Montalbano, not Inspector or Commissario. If your taste in TV cops runs to something grittier and French, check out my review of Braquo, a nasty but entertaining mini-series about some ruthless Paris cops. The trailer below is for the most recent episodes of Montalbano.

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