Singin' In The Rain

With the past decade’s remarkable film musical renaissance and with this year’s The Artist captivating audiences with its adroit study of the silent film era, the timing is perfect to revisit Gene Kelly’s exhilarating 1952 song and dance spectacular Singin’ in the Rain. Kelly, who co-directs with Stanley Donen, is irresistible as silent film star Don Lockwood, whose impressive propensity for captivating physical performance  catapults him up the 1920s Hollywood ladder, only for the arrival of ‘the Talkies’ to force him and his studio to re-evaluate everything they know.

  What follows is a wry, heart-warming look behind the scenes at this pivotal time in film history, with some quite staggering, energetic musical set-pieces that challenge you not to smile goofily. Kelly himself choreographs the film’s spectacular, colourful dance numbers and the results, particularly his famous, soggy performance of the title track, are breath-taking.

  As Lockwood, Kelly is eminently likeable, commanding scenes with an impressive physicality and a winning smile. Deft support is on hand from Donald O’Connor as sage crony and comic foil Cosmo, and Debbie Reynolds as Don’s songbird love interest whose remarkable voice may just be the key to the studio’s survival. When the three of them get together to croon and boogie through the number ‘Good Mornin’,’ the chemistry is extraordinary, the performance entrancing.

  Jean Hagen injects added comedy calibre as Lina Lamont, Don’s shallow, vindictive co-star whose struggles with new sound techniques, not to mention her own shrill, annoying voice, provide some riotous moments. The bewildered diva’s hilarious woes with the microphone also sum up rather sweetly the film’s portrayal of a cinema slowly finding its voice with dazzling style.

  Singin’ in the Rain is Kelly in his element, doing what he was born to do and clearly relishing it. And it is nigh on impossible not to get swept away in the flood. 

The Importance Of Arts Journalism

Due to rapid technological advances, journalists face a challenging, ever-changing landscape.  With fewer full-time critics, less space given to coverage in traditional print media and with the arts in Britain facing major funding cuts, the arts journalist’s responsibility has never been greater.

  The arts columnist continues to inform the public of cultural events, allowing audiences the freedom to decide how to spend their spare time. Imparting wisdom and opinion, they allow consumers to make informed decisions. Writing, interviewing, reviewing and previewing on cultural events ensures the arts stay on the agenda.

  Arts journalism matters because the arts matter – the basic way we engage with philosophies and ideas comes from discussing and dissecting art as intelligently, as publicly and as entertainingly as possible, and art does not exist in a vacuum. The best arts journalism puts its subject in context while remaining enriching, engaging and informative. It asserts a vital role in the community, guiding and inspiring audiences to discover creativity, while encouraging attentiveness and discussion.

  Exceptional writing can be critical in encouraging audiences to question the economic systems and controlling ideologies that condition everything we consume, fostering important discussion and debate. Art is a language through which the world communicates itself to itself and the skilled writer helps decipher the code, uncovering hidden meanings and highlighting revelations that have been overlooked or misunderstood.

 The proficient reviewer understands that the privilege of influencing strangers carries responsibilities and though many believe the critic’s fundamental role is to nurture and promote the arts, they have a duty to be truthful. The astute, commendable critic understands that their purpose is not to flaunt their brilliance, but to communicate balanced, sound arguments.

  Though often dismissed as trifling and superficial, arts journalists provide a vital service, advising, enlightening and entertaining with absorbing prose that can be enjoyed as art in itself. 

The Descendants

Re-evaluating his existence as his wife lies comatose following a boating accident in Hawaii, George Clooney’s land magnate Matt King ruminates that “family feels like an archipelago…separate, but part of a whole, drifting slowly apart.” This is an apt metaphor for Matt’s dilemma, with indifferent husband and father suddenly forced to reconnect with his dysfunctional family, while confronting the revelation that his catatonic wife was cheating on him.

  In this slight, yet funny and moving film, Clooney, so used to inhabiting supercool alpha males,  gives a poignant, understated career-best performance. Always content as the “back-up parent,” King struggles to relate to two confused daughters Alexandra (the impressive Shaileene Woodley) and Scottie (Amara Miller), while simultaneously trying to seal a significant land deal and also track down and confront his wife’s lover. As vulnerable and exposed as he’s ever been, Clooney is subtle and touching, emotions simmering just below the surface, communicating so much weighty inner turmoil with just his eyes.

  The Hawaii of Sideways director Alexander Payne’s latest is certainly no paradise and his characters struggle to express their muddled emotions. All except Alexandra’s hilarious, omnipresent buddy Sid (scene-stealing Nick Krause, channelling a young Keanu Reeves), who says whatever is on his weed-addled mind, no matter how offensive. The slacker’s side-splitting, inappropriate commentary on a family member’s dementia is a prime example of Payne’s talent for wringing heartwarming comedy from bleak tragedy, examining life from illuminating angles.

  Though perhaps a little more superficial than Payne’s previous work, The Descendants is a tender, emotional, rewarding pleasure. Leisurely paced, eased along by gentle, soothing Hawaiian strings, this tale of a man adrift cruises by like a warm, comforting sea breeze.

CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE FIRST AVENGER

  It's 1942, and scrawny, asthmatic everyman Steve Rogers (a convincingly CGI-reduced Chris Evans) wants to serve his country, not to kill Nazis, but because he "hates bullies." Considered ideal for eccentric scientist Stanley Tucci's Supersoldier experiment, Rogers promptly morphs into superbuff, star-spangled champion Captain America and flexes his awesome abs in a succession of wonderfully volatile set-pieces.
  The 1940s setting is inspired and director Joe Johnston (Rocketeer)  handles the action with pitch-perfect tone, infusing proceedings with a swashbuckling spirit, as Cap crashes motorcycles, chases submarines and brawls on airships. Shields fly like frisbees, the stunts are nifty and things explode spiffingly.
  Evans cuts a refreshingly likeable figure as an awkward hero just trying to do the right thing, sparking beguiling chemistry with Hayley Atwell's feisty English rose love interest, while Tommy Lee Jones' grizzled colonel brings effortless wry humour. An exceptional cast is rounded off by Dominic Cooper's enthralling, roguish inventor Howard Stark (Iron Man's dad!) and a creepy Hugo weaving as delicious, disfigured antagonist The Red Skull.
  Captain America is a satisfying superhero romp that delivers magnificent spectacle and loveable characters. More than just a set-up for next Summer's Avengers, this is the sort of picture that makes grown men hug and punch the air in triumph.
 A real American hero.

LIFE, DEATH & BAMBI

Summer 1986, Karate Kid II  was out. My first cinematic adventure could have been watching Ralph Macchio kicking blokes in the head and destroying ice with his bare hands. Instead, I was left with a crippling sadness and the sense that nothing would ever be the same again. Mummmy picked Bambi.
  I still remember the comforting whiff of fresh popcorn and the startlingly deafening 'Ba Ba Bas' of that Pearl & Dean ad. Soon, as I shovelled sweeties in my gob, charming, bright-eyed fluffy creatures, bounded through sun-kissed, flower-lined glens. And then...
A thunderous gunshot. Whoa.
"Mother...Where are you?"
Cue much disconsolate wailing.
"How about an ice-lolly?" came mum's desperate, placating offer.
No mummy. There will be no ice-lollies today. From now on, there is only darkness, psychological trauma and the harrowing inevitability of oblivion.
Expecting harmless, blissful Summer fun, I was now saddled with a haunting sense of my own fragile mortality and the knowledge that the ones we love can so easily be snatched away.
  Years later, I finally saw Karate Kid II on VHS. It was a bit naff. But at least no-one died.
Cheers, Mum.

"...For man with no forgiveness in heart, life worth punishment than death." - Mr Miyagi.

TRANSFORMERS: DARK OF THE MOON

Strap on your 3-D goggles and brace yourself, because Michael Bay's latest Transformers flick will overload your senses like a bomb going off in your eyes.  Cold War history is audaciously rewritten, Cybertron-style, before present-day humanity's battle against the dastardly Decepticons kicks into gear with the discovery of a powerful, forgotten Autobot, hibernating on the Moon.
  Again, mixed up in the mayhem is Shia LaBeouf's moderately annoying, 'alien bad news magnet' Sam Witwicky. Rosie Huntington-Whitely gamely fills the Megan Fox-shaped vacuum, fulfilling the criteria of looking good while being kidnapped, easily ensuring legions of teenage boys won't fall asleep during the bits where skyscrapers aren't being flattened by colossal robotic snakes.
    Wasting a phenomenal supporting cast (John Malkovich! Frances McDormand!) and with a nonsensical plot and bladder-challenging runtime, ...Moon really should've been a stinker. Thank the Lord, then, for Bay's aptitude for blowing things up sublimely. His camera never sits still, filling scenes with a kinetic sense of urgency, resulting in incendiary, scintillating action adventure on the grandest scale.
  An astonishing crescendo with sky-diving human heroes plummeting into the danger zone is truly exhilarating, while spectacular use of 3-D FX and seat-rumbling sound create effectively hair-raising, skull-crunching robot battles.
  Though overlong and incredibly silly, it is hard to deny that in terms of visceral, cinematic spectacle, ...Moon is a humongous achievement. Fans of dumb, sexy, explosive fun will be pleased to learn that Bay delivers some of the dumbest, sexiest, explode-iest, giant robot fun you can imagine in three dimensions.

ATTACK THE BLOCK

On TV's Adam and Joe Show, Joe Cornish spent the late nineties mucking about with toys, creating pantwettingly inspired homages to Hollywood blockbusters (Toytanic anyone?). In 2011, the toybox has been put away for the writer-director's first feature, though his demented imagination is still enjoyably manifest in this darkly playful horror, chronicling an alien invasion on a South London housing estate.

  Following a quintet of disaffected, but resourceful teenage 'hoodies,' defending their block from 'big alien gorilla wolf motherf***ers,' Attack... blisteringly mixes thrills, chills and astute social commentary.  By encouraging empathy with weed-worshipping, sweary chav hooligans, Attack... feels like an odd crossbreed of Larry Clark's Kids and Aliens, filtered through Mike Skinner's bong water. The result is an exhilarating sci-fi siege actioner with riveting action sequences, involving fireworks, mopeds, even supersoakers. An air of daftness permeates, but a tense standoff in a police van provides good scares, while a smoke-filled corridor chase is more frantically bollock-tightening than riding Nemesis with a dodgy seatbelt.

  This is accomplished, potent filmmaking, assisted by an ethereal, grimy score. The estate is lit like an eerie J-Horror nightmare, while the creatures themselves are effectively fearsome, all spiky hair and teeth.
 
A commanding performance from newcomer John Boyega as gangleader Moses impresses, with Nick Frost's amusingly befuddled skunkhead bringing laughs, while Jodie Whittaker's downtrodden nurse is spiky, kicking ass to save the day. 
 
Attack... makes apparent Cornish's affection for classics like Predator and E.T.,  and his debut is an adrenalising thrill-ride that can comfortably sit alongside them. Tremendous fun, without being too silly, Attack The Block is a refreshingly unpretentious work - he's come a long way since Saving Private Lion.