Boyhood (2014)

An extraordinary look at adolescent life, Boyhood is an artistic achievement like no other; it is the coming-of-age story where we actually watch the main character come of age. Literally. Filmed over twelve years, filming only a handful of days each year, Richard Linklater creates the cinematic equivalent of a 12-year-long patchwork quilt, sewing raw, vibrant, moving moments together in the most creative and beautiful of ways. 

Boyhood's lead character is Mason (Ellar Coltrane), a boy who lives with his sister Samantha (Lorelei Linklater, the director's own daughter) and his mother Olivia (Patricia Arquette). We watch as Mason grows before our very eyes; we watch Mason and his family pack-up and move all over Texas; we watch as various characters come in and out (and back in!) of Mason's life, each doing their part to change and mature the audience's developing surrogate and focus. And it's pure, artistic magic. 

The transitions of the film are nothing short of marvellous; at each different age, we see another shade of Mason filled in, the boy turning into the young man. Each age leaves us satisfied and yet we know the story is never complete; we know this character is growing - and changing - before our eyes, never a rigid whole. There are so many distinctions between the ages, many subtle and understated, others prominent and marked, but never artificial. This is the absolute strength and power of the film; there is such a true sense of development and maturity established in both Mason and his world, and it is achieved in such a dense and layered way. Further, the changing nature of Mason's world is both fascinating but also strikingly relatable; drawing on our own world, we know exactly what Mason is witnessing. We lived through Harry Potter, we all loved our iPhones and Facebook; and yet, through these eyes, the experience is refreshingly new and unique. 

Linklater strikes gold on so many levels here; his screenplay is lucid and luminous, simple and potent, creating a story that hits the spot in a multitude of ways. There are moments in this film that you can see coming a mile off, but he tells it in such a genuine and fresh way that it never feels tried or tiresome; there are other moments that are unexpected, but they are so fluid - never jarring - and just so well-crafted that you never question them. His direction is perfect; everything is assembled in a most exceptional way, such a raw, tender approach to the story that we've seen him bring so many times before, but this time polishing it back to its most pure form. His ensemble are fantastic; his daughter is hilarious, Coltrane gives a candid and legitimate performance and Ethan Hawke is kooky and hilarious but sincere and unaffected as Mason Senior, who we see drop frequently into his children's lives (one would suspect more often captured during the film's narrative than would be the case in real time). And yet the true genius on screen is Arquette, who is absolutely astonishing in her honest and moving portrayal as mother Olivia, and she takes her scenes to another level; it is the kind of performance that should have (and has had) awards thrown at it. 

A fictional film like no other, Boyhood is one of the most overwhelmingly genuine, fresh and real cinematic experiences a viewer can have. It's a rare achievement in cinema, a film that truly captures the human condition in the most authentic and powerful of ways; it's a film that will have you laughing and one that can have you crying; I have little doubt you'll be doing both, sometimes even in the same breath. 

Mommy (2014)

There's a lot about Xavier Dolan's fifth effort, Mommy, which will remind viewers of his first piece, J'ai tué ma mère...except turned on its head; indeed, Dolan even cast the same mommy, Anne Dorval. Mommy shares so much with its predecessor, the dynamic of the mother-son relationship, the explosive histrionics and volatility between the pair; and yet the dynamic is framed in such a different perspective (and ratio). Mommy takes the focus away from Dolan's own eyes and instead focuses on the maternal figure, her struggles, her pain, her choices. If anything, Mommy almost feels like an apology for the earlier film. 

The film is set in a fictional Quebec in the near-future, where legislation has passed forcing parents to either accept responsibility for their children's own actions, or institutionalise them. We meet Dorval's character, Diane 'Die' Després, on the way to pick up her son Steve (Antoine-Olivier Pilon) from a care facility which has expelled him for poor behaviour. Die, faced with little other option, takes Steve into her own care, and leaves her job in order to home school him. It's at this point we see a fuller picture of Steve's temperament; Steve suffers from ADHD and various other behavioural issues, including (notably) an attachment disorder. It's after an episode of violent proportions that the pair become properly introduced to neighbour Kyla (Suzanne Clément); from this point, the three form a bond which becomes beautifully fulfilling for each of them. 

Mommy is typical of Dolan's visual style in many ways, various slowed takes, a vitality and vibrancy in colour that has become pivotal in his works; and yet, it's what Dolan does differently here that makes a powerful impression. The boxing of the film in a 1:1 ratio is an audacious move for he and cinematographer André Turpin; it clearly serves a purpose, which becomes most noticeable during the moments where the ratio isn't applied. These moments are incredibly moving, and the choice to box the viewer into the unique frame pays dividends and then some. Add the almost superb soundtrack choices, including a potent moment to the music of 'national treasure' Celine Dion (no, Dolan is not channeling "My Heart Will Go On") and you have yourself Dolan's greatest cinematic achievement to date. 

Dorval is phenomenal here. Her performance makes the film in so many ways; the viewer is left coping with the same struggles Die faces in every moment. There's an astounding palpability to the intensity of the situations her and Steve face; at every turn, you are left emotionally drained but wondering where the narrative is going to go next. And then Dolan just continues infecting you with his affliction again and again. Clément is also fantastic in what could have been the very bland character of Kyla, whose struggles are oft-neglected by the narrative, but whose own pain you can feel through her pained facial expressions, her oft-sad eyes. And young Pilon is brilliant as well. 

This film is emotion turned up full bawl. Heartbreaking. Gut-wrenching. And all of its players know just how loud to turn it up. A talent finally learning to refine his ability, Dolan has created a film which should easily be considered one of the year's best; Mommy is an incredibly special journey for any fan of Dolan's previous work and more. 

All the King's Men (1949)

There is this recurring image in All the King’s Men. We see it first during the film’s opening credits, and it reappears throughout; the image of a man standing between two flames. Initially it appeared to be a man seen rising from the ashes; however, it did not take long to realise that there was another interpretation of this image, far more devastating and powerful, and likely the more accurate one.

All the King’s Men was the 22^nd winner of the Oscar for Best Picture, and a tremendous winner it is. Directed, produced and written by Robert Rossen, the film details the rise of a hick from a rural county town in an unnamed US state. This hick, Willie Stark (Broderick Crawford in a magnificent, Oscar-winning turn), earns the support of journalist Jack Burden (John Ireland) by fighting against the fraud and corruption which is riddling his local community. A failed attempt at running for a local treasury office seemingly ends his political life, but soon, in an attempt to split votes, he is thrown into a governor’s race as a “wooden head decoy”. He fights tooth and nail, determined to be more than just a dummy hick running to split a few votes, and whilst he gets very close, he is narrowly defeated. This, however, does not deter him – he feels he now has learned just what he needs to win (fade to black). Four years pass and we meet very different Willie, one who is willing to do whatever it takes to win, and through a series of choices made by Crawford and Rossen, we understand that Willie has changed into the very kind of politician he was originally fighting against.

The transformation of Willie from the honourable country boy to the corrupt, womanising politician is a mighty accomplishment for the film, and Crawford must be commended for effecting the transformation so thoroughly. There’s an earnestness in the way he plays pre-governor Willie, a remarkable sincerity and substance to his character; a speech given to the crowd at one of his rallies is a powerful moment where Crawford is able to unleash and present a Willie Stark we want to cheer for. Even in the way Crawford sits offers an identity whose ambition is intricately tied in with integrity. That ambition becomes caught up in Willie’s drunken stupors and leisurely poses as the film goes on; Crawford juxtaposes his debasing dialogue with lazy posture to demonstrate what a depraved individual his Stark has become. Add to that the way in which Willie is shot (there is one moment reminiscent of a speech given by Hitler – the divide between Willie and his audience had never been so great), what he is dressed in, the situations he is thrown into, and we as the audience become so comprehensively aware of what a rotten, degrading individual Willie Stark has become.

The rest of the ensemble manage well; Mercedes McCambridge is the highlight as the cynical and biting political aide Sadie Burke, interpreting Rossen’s dialogue in such a masterful way to convey the many tiers of emotions which Sadie feels towards Willie as a politician and as a person. She is caught between a man she both detests and adores, and her struggles are the most interesting of the film; it’s no wonder she went on to win the Oscar for Actress in a Supporting Role, heavy praise considering this was her film debut. Ireland is also effective as the misled Jack, the torture and dissolution his character experiences is conveyed with such intensity. The screenplay is so intelligently written as well; there are repeated references to religion, a common motif concerning the corruption of mankind and the dialogue packs a venomous punch. It was surprising to see it failed to win the Oscar for its screenplay when so much of the brilliance of this film rests upon its layered and colourful writing. Aesthetically, the film is also unique; shot in a pictorialist style, the film has a striking visual effect on the viewer, so as to link the superficial with the morality of the film. The particular emphasis on the tones of the black and white, and the darkness which riddles various shots certainly is evocative when considered in the light of the film’s main premise.

The piece does occasionally feel slightly contrived (a subplot involving Willie’s son Tom is executed somewhat randomly), and there is a slight messiness about some of it as well, but ultimately, the film is incredibly persuasive as a piece about humanity and power.  It captures the landscape of modern politics so seamlessly – fascinatingly so; in some ways, its ability to foreshadow future events, whilst also retelling past events (the source material is heavily based on Louisiana Governor Huey Long) is most impressive. Furthermore, its discourse on corruption as well as the binary between corruption and truth is an interplay which the film masterfully constructs; this is where the true value of the film lies. All the King’s Men is the ultimate cinematic piece on corruption overcoming idealism, and is perhaps the most intellectually cynical and amongst the most critical films to win Oscar’s highest honour. A man is conceived in sin and born in corruption indeed.

Mrs Miniver (1942)

 It is 1940, and Europe is in the throws of World War II; France is being overrun by Nazis, Germany holds all the cards and Britain stands almost alone in the fight to stop Hitler and his axis of evil. The Allies are doing their best to poke America, but it, pursuing a policy of isolationism, wants European affairs to remain just that. German-born director William Wyler decides he wants to help in the effort to involve the US in this epic war occurring only an ocean away, and thus begins his involvement in the 1942 Academy Award winner for Best Picture, Mrs Miniver.

Mrs Miniver opens on Mrs Kay Miniver (Greer Garson in her Academy Award winning turn), a middle-class woman who is shopping in busy London pre-World War II. She enters a boutique store where she makes quite a fuss about the purchase of what is clearly a very precious and expensive hat. She leaves and boards the train to Balham, where her, her husband (Walter Pidgeon) and her children live. Everything seems fairly pleasant in the world of Mrs Miniver; that is until World War II begins to conquer England, and their lives will be changed forever.

It all seems rather dramatic, and it is; Mrs Miniver is the quintessential World War II propaganda film. It’s easy to see why it felt so important to its time; Presidents pushed to get the film in cinemas quickly, Prime Ministers praised the film’s importance. Contextually, the film works wonderfully; it, both literally and metaphorically, brings Nazi Germany to the doorsteps of the audience in a powerful and persuasive manner. We are forced to reckon with the idea of the world being overrun by a foreign and dangerous force, obliged to acknowledge that the beautiful rose of England may not bloom as it once did before; and I’m sure this felt very real to a Western audience in 1942.

Yet the film feels so outdated; the most nominated director in Academy Award history, William Wyler is as bland a director as they come, and there really is very little extraordinary, or even interesting, about what he does with the material. Its importance seems lost in 1942, back when the director could play on the innate fear of its audience, instead of having to establish the fear himself. The only real strength of the film is found in the performances. Garson is respectable as the virtuous titular character, bringing the requisite charm and warmth to Mrs Miniver in a way only the most able of actors could. What the role requires, she offers in spades, and it’s for that reason the film is watchable. Add to that the brilliant, Oscar-winning performance of Teresa Wright as the equally-lovable and ever-so charismatic Carol Beldon, and the hilariously cutting performance of Dame May Whitty as Carol’s grandmother Lady Beldon, and you get a fairly enjoyable female ensemble. Even the youngest son (who looks sufficiently feminine) Toby (Christopher Severn) is wonderful.

It is wonderful to find a film which was made so as to facilitate the resonance of the war with those at home. The clear focus on the lives of the female characters is indicative of the particular attempt to drive this message home to the common housewife, which is commendable for a film of its time. The unfortunate part is that, try as the film does, the strength of the female characters is laughable by modern standards, and there is even one scene where Mrs Miniver, having proven herself the equal of her husband, is slapped hard on the rear, effectively undoing the work of the writers up until that point. The lack of dimension to all the characters repeatedly undermines the film also, though Wright and Garson do so much to make up for it. Without them, this film would be lost.

Having said all this, Mrs Miniver was a hit in its day, being the biggest film of 1942 and MGM’s greatest earner at the time. The film resounded so well that Roosevelt had parts of the dialogue printed onto leaflets and dropped during the war. It earned twelve Oscar nominations, was the first film to be nominated in all four acting categories and it won in six categories all up. It served its purpose as a propaganda film, effectively summing up the feeling of its time and is a reminder of the horrors which war brings home. And the social discourse which makes its way into the film is fairly powerful, definitely one of the more effective aspects. Yet it is a shame the purpose of Mrs Miniver is so obvious and clear, because the soul of the film remains trapped in the realms of 1942 and cannot move beyond. The next Oscar winner for Best Picture would go on to show how a propaganda film can serve to be so much more…