The Extra Man is the definition of what many people call ‘quirky’. It takes the formula of the films from a short lived era (the ‘indie’ era; it takes a unique person who is not only an outsider to society, but likely out of place in this time period) and exploits it in a varying sense. Think of it as a sweetener; if someone is used to a lot of it, then large doses are fine (i.e. any fan of Wes Anderson or Noah Baumbach). However, the ‘quirk’ of the characters for many people will play their sugar levels up and down with most of them often finding it just a bit too sweet for their taste.

The film starts off with the awkwardness of the main character, Louise (Played by Paul Dano) coming into full bloom. I won’t allude to the nature of the awkwardness, but I must give the filmmakers credit for the original take on it. Louis is already strange enough before the incident; he models his life after characters from the novels of F. Scott Fitzgerald and studies the works of modernist literature. The personality of the character is a bit distracting at first, but in contrast to later character that will come about in the film, he acts as a palette cleanser; allowing the viewer to reset their tastes to something regular. Louis loses his job as a teacher, Louis decides to embark on a journey to live in New York as a writer.

This is where the film goes from being quaint to being a character study. The story turns its focus toward an old, washed up playwright, and future roommate of Louis’. A staunch Catholic and philistine, Henry Harrison becomes more the focus of the picture. He tells Louis of his profession; what he calls an ‘Extra Man’. He’s not a prostitute; rather, a younger escort for 90 year old billionaires and climbing up the social ladder. From there, you meet a slew of characters that go from grossly unreal (Otto, the Swedish humpback), to the realest (Mary Powel, a vegan urbanite who works for an eco magazine), to a long-playing-and-ultimately-worthless gag (Gershon, the silent ((sort of)) handyman). It’s just not enough, however. The film dies about midway through as the character of H.H. gets repetitive and boring and the other players all seem to lack humor or dramatic arc. The quiet moments of humor have reached their trough and the sweet taste from before has left a lingering note of burned oak and disappointment. Not only that, but most of the characters seem very static and lack change. One of the best moments in the film features a character realizing their lifestyle may not be the right choice, but that moment comes fast and leaves just as quickly.

There’s little else to be said about the film and, sadly, there is absolutely nothing memorable about it either. I found myself enjoying the film as it went on, but ultimately left the theater feeling the same as when I came in. However, how much can be said of that after this past movie season is left to question. What the film did do was give me a rush of excitement for the ‘indie’ film. Remember the good old days when films were quaint and unusual? I’m sure the filmmakers did as well. It’s honestly too bad they’re no longer desired. I can’t recommend or deter you from seeing this film in theaters. It is my honest opinion, however, that The Extra Man is a good film to have in your collection and pull out on a quiet and rainy day.

[Update: When you search for 'Extra Man' on Google, you get nothing but pictures of Katie Holmes. She's in the film a whole of 20 minutes.]

I began watching this film the way I feel many of you will; not having the slightest idea what it was about. Although, rest assured, this is likely how you’ll feel mid-way through the film no matter if you knew what it was about or not. What ensued as I watched was a strange mix of poetry, imagery, gruesome violence, and absurdity. Valhalla pulls much of its influence fromgreat films before him and splicing pieces of each to create a strange poetry in motion in the film. He takes the beautiful silence of the films of Antonioni and the imagery and absurdity of Alejandro Jadorowsky and takes a bit from more recent films that give adage to those like Guy Maddin‘s Careful. Roeg stepped knee deep into a sandpit by making his film into the gin of genres; an acquired taste in shot in digital with a keen eye for landscape.

Valhalla Rising tells the story of One-Eye, a criminal and fighter enslaved by a Nordic tribe, tracelling through the Nordic hills with his companion, a small boy named Are. The tale is one of those parables of the ultra man and his ward. Mythical men, monoliths that neither speak nor swiftly move; communicating only in their very being.  He meets a band of Christians on their way to the Holy Land who are offering the promise of redemption and decides to follow suit; ward in tow. What follows is a story of redemption and doom. A simple enough story and one that doesn’t disappoint. Even if only through lack of effort.

Refn is an understated filmmaker that should get more credit, despite his short resume; much like Matthew Vaughn. These men will have some time before they can be considered ‘visionairies’, but are obvious contenders for the title. Now, when people say visionary to describe a filmmaker, they don’t just mean could mean many things. Some directors are cinematic (your Kubricks; your Bergmans), aesthetic (your Jeunets, your Singh’s), storytellers (your (not contrary to the popular belief that all filmmakers are storytellers, though some choose not to do it well), intellectual (your Tarantinos, etc). What Nicholas Windig Refn will likely be known for is shown less in this film than in a film like ‘Bronson’. He has an intimate relationship with the image and a ridiculously keen eye for framing. His direction lends his actors an intensity that is exuded as evenly in action as it does in complete silence (i.e. the character of Bronson v. that of One-Eye).

As far as aesthetic, Valhalla Rising is more of an Aguirre meets Holy Mountain in Scandanavia (alright, I’m done with the comparison I promise). The viewer will likely never finds themselves starving for imagery. The entire film is less about the words as it is about the literary aspect of the images surrounding the action. Basically, the subtext is the dialogue and it speaks loudly throughout most of the film. Still, much can be said about an image lacking context. Often times, the viewer is left wondering as to what is going on between the possibly 10-15 moments of dialogue. It is much like in the film when, after travelling across the sea for days, the men land only to find fresh water and little to no food. At times, just the beauty and somewhat visceral nature of the images is thirst quenching. Yet, we need a bit of spoken language to not go mad.

Valhalla Rising is not an entertaining film. It doesn’t want to be. By nature it cannot be. It won’t break any box office records. It probably won’t make too much money at all. But give it 15 years and they’ll be teaching it in college film theory courses.

It’s difficult to describe this latest creation from the French master filmmaker Alain Resnais (Hiroshima Mon Amour, Last Year at Marienbad). Similar to Godard’s Pierrot le Fou, there are many twists and turns with the main characters, Georges Palet (Andre Dussollier) and Marguerite Muir (Sabine Azema), that it is hard to define the film in any sort of cinematic nomenclature. I’d prefer to take the Germanic (or Joycean) route, if you prefer (though as a reader you have no choice) to suggest that Resnais’ Wild Grass is a thrillerromancecomedydrama. Why are these genres mixed together in one big French onion soup? Because this film is Resnais gift (or baby) to the medium of cinema. But you may ask your reviewer, “I watched this movie and the ending was crap.” And I would say to you, “Well, you have to look at the film for its visual aesthetics; the 80 years of cinematic craftsmanship Resnais accrued like a bottle of Dom Perignon; the lighting which gives the soft-focused and dream-like visuals; and lastly, the acting of both Dussollier and Azema.

The beginning frames of Wild Grass are quite literal shots of “wild grass” coming through the former rigidity and uniformity of an outdoor black pavement. It is tough not to notice the metaphor Resnais is trying to convey, and to a certain degree, foreshadow an unconventional story of love. But what is this metaphor? Is it bland movies? Is the blacktop a cinematic cancer of bad movies or, at least, unimaginative movies? The French have a history of romantic films not ending with a Hollywood ending, so what is Resnais trying to say?

The narrative thrust of the film centers around a missing wallet owned by Marguerite, an older redheaded woman whose hair spent too much in a.) The Eighties or b.) At the Cabbage Patch factory. Again, Resnais plays up this theme of being “wild,” unbridled, and free. Marguerite’s penchant for aviation adds fuel to Georges’ passion for his newfound inamorata. Oddly enough, George is married to a much younger woman, Suzanne Palet (Anne Consigny), and is in a loveless marriage (surprise, surprise). Being unable to tickle her man’s keys, (you’ll get this pun if you watch the film) she passively goes along with her husbands philandering. He even lays a finger or two on Marguerite’s dental practice partner, Josepha (Emmanuelle Devos), in the process.

Though this Palet guy seems like quite the ladies’ man, he’s not someone you’d like to have a coffee with. Throughout the film it is hinted at his criminal background, God knows what. He stalks and practically hunts down his beloved. In true style, the tables are turned when Marguerite does the same thing. Scenes with Mathieu Amalric (Quantum of Solace) as the town policeman really liven up the somewhat Fatal Attraction meets Basic Instinct aesthetic the film seems to hover above. Resnais, being the master craftsman that he is, does not indulge the timeworn erotic thriller genre. He, instead, gestures towards it.

The most moving scene (though tinged with a refreshing brutish awkwardness from Palet) was when Marguerite drives from her apartment across town into the Montmartre area of Paris in order to stalk Georges. The movie theatre, aglow in red neon lights that read “Le Cinema,” really induce a mental hallucinogenic in your brain. A jazz saxophone is heard in the background adding to the mystery of the evening. But more importantly, the mystery of cinema as one sees the red signs and the vintage movie posters advertising the film George watches. These dreamy sequences abound especially when Georges and Marguerite fantasize about each other as well as their thoughts. The split screen with the character driving and his/her own thoughts manifested next to them is genius. Also, it is a nice alternative compared to the soliloquies that we’ve heard again, again, and again.

So what can we say about Wild Grass? It is a visually stunning ride with fairly interesting lead

characters. The supporting characters add a color and vivacity to the otherwise weird and, perhaps, horribly unhealthy relationship between Marguerite and Georges. (The scene with Georges being interrogated by Amalric is priceless). My advice is to watch the film and transport to a world slightly off, and let the magic of cinema slowly take you up the hill and then down into the crazy, jarring, off-putting, but incredibly charming movie that Wild Grass is.

The dream, as a stroytelling device, is a filmmaker’s fantasy and worst nightmare. It is often either a cop-out or dilution to the plot and a very few times is used to further enhance the story. Somehow, Christopher Nolan has turned this double edged sword into a tool that forms the framework with limitless possibilities. Inception is an absolutely surreal and enthralling near masterpiece and it’s only fitting that the master of the thriller has now virtually reinvented it.

Many high concept films such as this fail to excite beyond premise; often losing trajectory of the initial excitement from the idea, itself. However, Nolan has taken the concept of a dream and use it over and over again with increasing surprise. The storyline for the film is actually quite basic: in an non-descriptive world where dreams are used by criminals and spies to ‘extract’ information from the minds of targets, a team of extractors is given a contract to do the impossible. That impossible task is called ‘Inception’ and involves planting an idea into the head of the target; as opposed to extracting it. Where it gets complicated is the following two hours where layer upon layer of crucial information is given to the viewer at varying pace. There was a bit of speculation about the intelligence of the audience factoring into it’s entertainment value, but what’s absent in overt subtext is obvious in the storytelling. The script as well as the camera are laden with symbolism and clues that, while possibly still leaving the irregular filmgoer confused, opens itself up for re-watch value.

The visuals of the film are nothing beyond (and I approach ‘fanboy-dom’ here) staggering. It truly is what I call a ‘pretty’ film. There is a strong focus on architecture in the film that serves as the basis of the entire dream world; where one can build anything from nothing. But it is not just the world of the film that is beautiful, it is the actual action. The story of the film lends itself to the premise quite heavily; creating beautiful moments of destruction and drama. It’s something that is rarely seen in a Summer film (or many, to be honest) and something that I cherished whilst viewing. Whole cities fall and are created in the same moment as your mind is exercised in how to view the wonder of the medium when used to its full potential.

As for the overall impression of the film, a lot of viewers and critics alike were speaking about wanting to ‘return to the world’ of a film like Avatar after it came out. It somewhat eluded me after leaving the

film and there was a bit of sadness that came about from the wanting of such a feeling. However, Nolan has allowed me to see exactly what those people meant; because, even in a world full of intrigue and danger, I finally felt their sentiments.

[Note: The night after seeing Inception, I had an eerie dream where I was in  ... ironically I remembered it all]

Cyrus, the Dupless brothers’ latest film, opens in an L.A apartment, as a very awkward encounter ensues between John (John C. Reilly) and his ex-wife Jamie (Cathrine Keener) as she walks in on him pleasuring himself.  This scene sets the tone for an enjoyable, but sometimes unrealistic film.

Cyrus chronicles the journey of John, a 40-something divorcee, as he struggles to integrate himself into the world after a seven year sabbatical from the dating scene.  Persuaded by his ex-wife and her soon to be husband, John ventures out to a party filled with awkward conversation and even stranger antics.  John’s best pick up line is “I’m a blast”.  While peeing in a bush he meets Molly (Marisa Tomei) and the two quickly fall for each other to the sounds of Human Leagues “Don’t you want me?”.

Everything is going wonderfully until the antagonist appears in the form of Cyrus (Jonah Hill), Molly’s twenty-one year old son.  Cyrus, an aspiring musician whose music likens to the pure moods soundtracks and takes turns into techno territory, seems to be a well adjusted if not naïve young man.  This is shown to be a farce as Cyrus begins to manipulate his doting mother and John in the attempts to break them up.

While the acting is well done, the plot itself is unrealistic.  The codependent relationship between Molly and Cyrus borderlines on disturbing and there is virtually no chemistry between the two main characters.  John C. Reilly portrays the awkward and oblivious older man as he does in several other films well, but there is no one actor that shines through in the movie.  It is difficult to relate to the characters as there is very little character development and relationships are not established, they simply appear.

The way in which the movie was filmed is reminiscent of Garden State in that the story is set in a realistic place and the scenes do not seem staged.  They simply seemed to miss the bar as the action only takes place in the same four or five locations.  The skewed timeline jumps around, where some events seem to happen far too fast and others take an age.

The timeline and lack of development bring the otherwise feel good movie down to a lower level that makes it difficult to follow and engage in. One thing that is notable is the soundtrack which evokes nostalgia and spans to new electronically based tunes.  From what I have heard so far the soundtrack, when released, will be very enjoyable.

After the screening, the audience was surprised by the appearance of John C. Reilly himself.  It was not disappointing to find that he was much like I expected him to be.  An engaging, laid back and funny man, Reilly even accepted a Smirnoff from an audience member trying to use his question time for an advertisement.

When asked if Marisa Tomei was really that hot in person he replied “Yes.  I saw her naked and she saw me naked unfortunately.”  One of the things I found most interesting was his response to whether it was better to improvise or use a script.  “If it’s a great script it doesn’t need to be improvised,” says Reilly.  Regardless, for Cyrus they were asked not to use the script.  Almost every scene that made it into the movie was a first take.  Realism is the aim, and performers are free to make what they will of the writing.

“As John was getting to know Molly I was getting to know Marisa” says Reilly.  Reilly also spoke of his love for documentaries and his dislike for CNN. “CNN is fully of shit”.  Also, Leo Dicaprio is apparently the only actor who can do an accurate impression of Reilly.  The questions were brought to a close by Reilly who said in relation to his acting “I just try to be as honest as I can be”.  All in all: an enjoyable movie with an entertaining front man.

By: C.M.Hutchinson

Noah Baumbach’s new film is the slow-paced story of the reluctant, romantic interplay between a mid-life crises colliding with a mid-youth crises. The eponymous Roger (played by a very stern, sad-faced Ben Stiller) is a failed, ex-musician who has been working as a carpenter and living in New York. Like many of Baumbach’s characters, he is psychologically vulnerable, and has recently had a nervous breakdown. While his brother’s family vacations in Vietnam, Greenberg travels to their unoccupied home in L.A., where he meets Florence (Greta Gerwig), the personal assistant, and the family dog, Mahler. The movie wanders, lacking a concrete plot, and concerns itself with Greenberg in various, awkward interactions as he reunites with his friend and former band mate, Ivan (Rhys Ifans), and fails to reconnect with his ex-girlfriend (Jennifer Jason Leigh).

Stiller’s character has a lot of complaints, and through out the film, many of them take the amusing form of letters written to the heads of various companies. However, even more of his grievances result in sudden, verbal lashings. Greenberg considers himself to be a funny guy, but he’s incapable of laughing at himself. He is heavily medicated, has a bad haircut, and is unable to swim. He is constantly attired in an orange, puffy vest, despite the heat of the California winter. At a barbecue, for instance, children are swimming in the background, and he is wearing his vest over a sweater, dabbing his forehead furiously with a paper napkin, while the camera pans to exaggerate his sense of isolation amidst the families, and divorcees. Somehow, his faults are endearing to Florence, who is twenty-five, mild to a fault, and seems to be in the habit of letting other people’s wills override her own. She is lovely, but not to the extent that would make her infatuation with Greenberg seem completely unreasonable. Strangely enough, it is Roger who insists that there is nothing between them, post coitus. “Besides,” he tells her, “We’re seeing other people.”
“I’m not seeing anyone,” Florence replies.
“Neither am I, but I want to.”

These and a few more moments of sudden comic outbreak relieve the otherwise bleak, thematic landscape of the film. Dissatisfaction with one’s existence is at the root of the unsolvable problem. People are living lives they didn’t plan on, still full of resentments and regrets over their wasted pasts. It’s a common scenario of unhappiness. Meanwhile, there is a mounting sense of disaster that begins with the sickness of the family dog, and then crescendos with nothing more disastrous than a dead animal fished out of the swimming pool. An ensuing argument with Ivan finally results in a moment of self-realization for Greenberg.

Another important change occurs as he ponders a decision to flee to Australia, while staring wistfully at a wacky-waving-inflatable-arm-flailing tube man (making its second appearance in the film). Suddenly, Greenberg’s ready to put a real effort into being less of an anxiety-ridden asshole.

The movie is well-shot and well acted, but it ends on an abrupt, bittersweet note that is dissatisfying and sentimental.

The word “remake” can make every critic cringe and writhe in their seats. Granted, the original was not very entertaining but that’s the point. A bad film that was bad the first time is pretty sure to be bad the second time around. While, a good film that was good does not need a second cycle to ‘update’ the feels. And yet film studios continue to shell out these abominations in the hopes that one could slip through the cracks and become a hit. So, is the Crazies such a film?

Fuck no. Not at all. Believe it or not it’s tough to say something like that; especially, because there are a lot of people who put a lot of hard work into this film and who likely hope this film may be a substantial offering into a recycled genre. Sadly, a lot of them will be disappointed; as will most of the audience. There’s absolutely no illusion about what you’re getting into when you say to yourself (or, God forbid, someone else), “I really wanna see that movie.” Nevertheless, it’s not an excuse for what you actually get to see.

The story take place in everytown, Iowa (the place has a name, but who cares?). You know: corn fields, baseball, guns, whiteness. In this wonderful cornucopia of fuck-all happens to be the home of an accidental viral outbreak that sends its victims into a frenzy, often killing or brutalizing others around them, before succumbing to the disease. For all intents and purposes, this is your standard horror film. It’s got a spooky plot, a spooky ambiance, and plenty of false scares that jolt you a degree or two out of your seat. The gore is not quite as thick as you think, but when it is gory it’s really gory. Something most people would stay far away from. The other problem with this film is that every horrific situation (save the end) seems to be extremely contrived and farfetched. You would think that an entire town taken over by blood lusty people and shoot-to-kill government cronies could make for a pretty sticky situation, but none of it comes off genuine.

If you wanna see a horror film and this is all there is, then fine; it’ll quench your thirst for blood. But if you’re anyone else on this planet, I suggest you stay far, far away.

Shutter Island has the recipe for success. It has a legendary director at the helm Martin Scorsese (Goodfellas, The Departed) and it stars his current go-to guy Leonardo DiCaprio, who might be giving his best performance to date. If it’s not Leo’s best, it’s definitely his most complex. Based on Dennis Lehane’s (Mystic River, Gone Baby Gone) novel of the same name, Marty and Leo take us on another cinematic ride. With all those ingredients, it should be a masterpiece right?

Shutter Island is an excellent film, let me say that up front. It is well acted and well directed, but times it doesn’t feel like Leonardo DiCaprio and Martin Scorsese; it felt like it could easily be Jimmy Stewart and Alfred Hitchcock. The way it’s shot is reminiscent of the 1950′s from the music to the atmosphere. But there are a lot of scenes that seem to over stay their welcome. Whether they’re in a cave or talking to a prisoner, they just stay long enough for your mind to wander. It’s not a scary film even though scary and disturbing things happen throughout. Somehow Scorsese strings it all together to make a fine piece of work.

However, there is something wrong with Shutter Island but I can’t put my finger on it. At times I think it’s pacing, but the pace of the film adds to the mental aspect, and I don’t think the film would be so successful if it were any shorter. Every time I think of something wrong with the movie, I find something to prove me wrong.

The film is set in 1954 in which federal marshals Teddy Daniels (DiCaprio) and Chuck Aule (Mark Ruffalo) are sent to Ashecliffe mental hospital on Shutter Island to investigate the disappearance of a patient. Along the way, we see into Teddy’s past concerning his wife and his duty during World War II (which makes think, “Where’s that WWII picture at Marty?”). Ben Kingsley plays Dr. Cawley, that traditional character who feeds the main character and audience the information. The ending is a predictable mind boggler but after much thought and debate, it does hold up and make sense as a great thriller.

Shutter Island is a movie that you need to soak in. It has an ending you’ll be talking about for a while after, and hopefully discovering as you do. It’s not as good as The Departed, my personal Scorsese favorite, but it’s definitely a picture you shouldn’t miss; especially with all the crap that is usually shoveled into January and February.

Valentine’s Day is, for better or worse, a film that cannot fail. Almost every aspect of this financial venture is loaded with a studio’s various and unyielding attempts at success insurance. With a wholesome message, a well timed release date and the celebrity pulling power of over sixty Boeing jet engines, it’s hard to imagine Valentine’s Day doing anything other than phenomenally well in the box office.

I can, of course, accuse Valentine’s Day of these things because I am definitely not part of its targeted demographic. There is a tendency for the camera to move away  from the action, on numerous occasions, in order to employ imagery that is quintessentially unnecessary for the progression of the film’s plot or the relaying of any kind of image that compounds or contextualises any event that may be going on within it. What we are given in these instances is cute. Just cute. At any moment you could find yourself looking at either two toddlers awkwardly kissing each other, a baby, two attractive, rich, Caucasian blondes canoodling in a park, or even a rose petal floating atop a river as a family of ducklings and their mother swim past it. As a consequence of this, I’m lead to believe that Valentine’s Day is aimed squarely at the faces of the fairer sex. It’s a chick flick, and it fulfils its brief well.

And why shouldn’t it? You signpost a product as being targeted at women and suddenly your market is half the population. Score. Aside from this, lip-service is paid to racial, sexual and gender equality throughout to widen the market. George Lopez is of particular note, playing the funny, slightly-poorer-than-the-rest-of-the-cast, world-wizened Mexican immigrant. I wouldn’t bring it up if George Lopez was simply ethnic and present, but the script is full of reminders of the fact that he is ethnic and present. We apparently have to be reminded.

This isn’t to suggest that this is a bad movie, however. For a film that juggles around as many subplots as it does given the extensive cast list, everything is tied off very neatly and satisfyingly. It also showcases a specifically modern kind of comedy. The standardised slapstick is there, but much of the dialogue is characterised by a kind of oddball social awkwardness pulled from the likes of The Office and Arrested Development. It’s slightly more contemporary in style than you might expect from something that’s advertised as a more classical kind of romantic comedy. And, more importantly, it’s quite funny, and I’m unable to claim that I didn’t enjoy it.

However, in spite of Valentine’s Day’s strengths, I must here address anyone thinking of seeing it directly: are you so lacking in imagination as to actually consider taking a loved one to a film named after the event that you are so lacklustrely and dutifully attempting to celebrate? Why not ask your partner what they want to do for the day, or even if they care to make much of a to-do over the whole affair, or, better yet, why not figure out something you’ll both get some kind of mutual enjoyment out of? Maybe you could buy them their favourite sandwich or that shiny thing you saw them eyeing up in that store last Saturday. That one they pointed to saying, “Doesn’t that look nice?” as their eyes widened as if to scream, “Purchase! Purchase it for me!”. Failing that, just give them a cuddle and tell them they’re appreciated, and don’t take them to a generically titled film, which will only serve to highlight your own laziness.

Chinese epics are all about spectacle, and John Woo’s Red Cliff is no exception. It’s just in this case it’s a John Woo kind of spectacle, i.e. less emphasis on gorgeously crafted settings and lovingly choreographed fight scenes that approach the calibre of brilliant ballets, and far more emphasis on explosions and the arbitrary saving of babies. Red Cliff is a welcome treat for anyone who misses the likes of John Woo’s earlier work; it’s a high octane, slightly cheesy, good humoured, exciting action film and it doesn’t pretend to be anything else.

Set in the latter period of the Han dynasty, the Battle of Red Cliff represented a pivotal moment in China’s history in which Prime Minister Cao Cao was defeated by Sun Quan and Liu Bei, ending his campaign to conquer the kingdoms of East Wu and Xu. Here in the West, we’ve been given a reduced version of the original two-part epic released in Asia, the first part of which defeating Titanic as being the highest grossing film upon release in cinematic history, raking in a hefty US$124 million.

Whilst you and I may only cream ourselves over what that must have been like, this version is still worthy of sharing its Asian counterpart’s success (although it probably won’t). The majority of the film is made up of ever more impressive battle sequences that showcase a characteristically visceral kind of fight scene along with grand displays of tactical excellence and wit which never cease to excite or impress. What’s interesting about these sequences is that they’re very much ensemble pieces in nature. Although focus isn’t taken away from old John Woo favourite Tony Leung as Xu General Zhou Yu and Takeshi Kaneshiro’s Zhuge Liang, Woo still gives an appropriate amount of screen time to each of the films principal arse kickers, of which there are many. The result is a varied and fast paced experience, and even in this watered down version of the original release, you’re never left with the sense that Leung and Kaneshiro’s characters haven’t come off as fully realised.

In between battles and political manoeuvring, a number of slightly cheesy romantic sequences between Zhou Yu and his wife ensue; all sentimental scores and fade shots. A cynical viewer might regard this as out of place in relation to the rest of the film, but I can’t help but think they add to its charm. This film is fun, and rarely forgets that brief. More than once I saw Red Cliff arouse laughter and heartfelt applause from its audience.

Efficiently edited, thrilling and surprisingly funny, Red Cliff has been one of the most enjoyable cinema experiences I’ve been subjected to in a long time.