"Clarice, the world is more interesting with you in it."

In misty woods nearby Quantico, Virginia, a small-statured lone FBI trainee is fighting her way through an obstacle course; climbing the rope, she pulls herself up and over, and on she runs, resolute on conquering each hurdle which lay ahead of her. It is her true grit which typifies this young woman; her determination is fierce, and she assures herself that this approach will help advance her from a life which has so often tested her. It is an eloquent means of introducing us to this, the most intriguing of female protagonists, and it certainly sets the tone so well for what will be Clarice M. Starling’s greatest test yet.

Historically, the sole female protagonist is an alien in the world of film, especially of the select few which have been honoured with film’s greatest prize; sure, there are plenty of examples of films where the female’s plight is so intricately combined with that of the male protagonist – we have to care about her then! – but, with the rare exception (Gone with the Wind, All About Eve, The Sound of Music), the lone female protagonist is so often neglected by Oscar. Here is another of those rare examples, a film which would be an enjoyable but fairly empty exercise if it were not for its extraordinary female lead.

Indeed, The Silence of the Lambs’ greatest accomplishment is found in its subtext, and Starling as a character is a rare gem, the perfect embodiment of that subtext. This is a film which relies so emphatically on the power of its female hero to grab its audience and allows her to explore so meticulously the position of the female in contemporary society.

The film centres on the investigation into a string of murders and the subsequent manhunt for the elusive serial killer known to the authorities as ‘Buffalo Bill’ – a nickname, we find out later, given to him because he likes to skin his humps. The FBI desperately wish to solve the murders and believe a psychopathic genius in custody has clues needed to crack the case; and yet, this incarcerated psychopath, Dr Hannibal ‘The Cannibal’ Lector (Anthony Hopkins) will not help. That is, until the FBI strategically dangle the perfect bait in front of him: the furiously determined, highly intelligent and yet incredibly precarious Starling (Jodie Foster).

Director Jonathan Demme’s love for Starling is unwavering; it’s clear she has significant hurdles to overcome in the pursuit for success and he emphasises this seamlessly. She (both literally and figuratively) runs in another direction to her colleagues in the male-dominated Bureau; where they succeed in one arena, she will make her mark in another. The relationship she shares with her mentor is particularly indicative of her solitary quality; their interaction is marked by Starling’s wariness from the start, and as her importance in the investigation heightens, she (appropriately) reprimands him for his chauvinistic handling of her. Other male contemporaries look at her in a sexually degrading manner; she is the foreign, the unknown and, in many ways, the unwanted. Oddly enough, the exception to this rule is her dealings with Lector; he is respectful, courteous, endearing. This is why their interactions are by far the most absorbing of the piece: he is the only one allowed to be her equal.

Yet Starling’s finest moments are not those where she proves herself to be an exemplary agent-in-training; instead, it is when the audience are allowed to see her vulnerability. Demme and especially Foster offer Starling as an incredibly exposed hero, and though she is in many ways extremely brilliant, she is also broken. Lector exposes Starling in a way no other character does in this piece, and their interactions are captivating and incredibly electric. Their rapport is like no other; Lector, a sociopathic killer, shows no regard for human life, though in spite of this there exists incredible awareness and care for Starling, and she is equally as captivated by him. Their exchanges are wonderfully well-written, witty and brutally honest, and in this, Ted Tally succeeds like no other. Once you add Foster’s incredible depth and Hopkins’ amazingly chilling characterisation, these moments become the best cinema has ever had to offer.

Perhaps the most ironic thing about the reputation of this film is that it almost always centres on Hopkins and the hypnotically unsettling behaviour of his exotic cannibalistic killer; yet this film is a love letter from our director to Clarice. Demme’s craving to reach Clarice’s inner core is as strong as our antagonist’s coveting of his prey; as Bill raises his arm to touch Starling during the film’s incredible climax, Demme too reaches forward through the lens, yearning to give her his love and adoration. Foster perfectly brings to life this amazingly dense creation; her understanding and insight into the role is unlike no other performance ever given, and she courageously wears her own personal vulnerabilities for everyone to see. Though Demme flawlessly guides Starling through this journey, it’s Foster who truly embodies the film’s ethos.

Hopkins also delivers an incredible performance; though not given as much screentime as Foster, he certainly is incredibly memorable as the haunting Dr Hannibal Lector. The ultimate antihero, Hopkins perfectly illustrates his character’s psychopathic tendencies while also offering us the ultimate counterpart to Foster’s Starling. He pairs her helpless ambition with his unabashed contempt and thus forms a bond so strongly forged, it becomes formidably difficult to forget. Ted Levine’s Buffalo Bill is perfectly balanced between these two, a victim just as much as a killer, each side expressed vividly; his snub is egregious.

Thomas Harris’ source material for this film can at times be incredibly dry and to-the-point, the subtext, while existing, is sometimes clandestine, and the novel itself is quite cold. Tally’s adaptation brilliantly fills in these flaws; his characters are far richer, the subtext is elucidated better without ever becoming obtrusive and the plot is better assembled. While staying true to the novel, he literally recreates Harris’ novel in a much denser fashion, and it shows. Demme flawlessly assembles all these brilliant pieces together in such a wonderfully complimentary fashion; his helming of this piece is an absolute wonder and he balances each element perfectly.

In the words of a wise woman, “it can be about the performance and not the politics”. This was a film released in February by a soon-to-be bankrupt production company. It is a dark, often brutal crime thriller with horror-like elements (it was the first, and remains the only film that can be considered ‘horror’ to win Best Picture – though whether it sits comfortably in that genre is something else worth considering). And yet here we are, twenty years later, discussing its incredible and utterly worthy win. It seems it was just too good to ignore.

Talking about Kevin (and Tilda Swinton)

It's fortunate the Academy recognised Swinton in 2007 for her performance in Michael Clayton; if her career continues the way it has been for the last three years, I can't imagine there will be many more chances for Swinton to be nominated for film's most prestigious of prizes. Despite the high calibre performances she has delivered since her Oscar win (2009's Julia, I Am Love last year), the Academy has not embraced her since giving her that little gold man. And unfortunately, I think her career-best performance as lead character Eva in this year's We Need to Talk About Kevin is destined for the same treatment.

It's not that Swinton's Eva isn't a worthy performance - quite the opposite in fact - but Kevin is confronting, draining and in many ways controversial. Given that the film is an adaptation of Lionel Shriver's award winning 2003 novel by the same name, the film was always going to attract some attention; it was inevitably going to have a much bigger profile in the US than either of Swinton's previous two films. The material (as anyone who read the novel should know) is heavy, quite often troubling the reader with difficult and somewhat taboo ideas to reconcile in one's own mind, and Kevin's director, Lynne Ramsey, certainly doesn't shy away from delivering the novel's key themes. Despite adapting the source material in such a way as to remove the key devices which Shriver uses to tell her story (the novel being written in a first person epistolary format), the film never sacrifices the heart of the story and always stays true to its main character.

Ramsey's visual mind is utilised effectively so as to translate these troubling and concerning literary elements of the novel into a visual feast; the film's opening scene, a sprawling, tomato-stained holy orgy is a foreboding entrance to Eva's story, setting the tone well for what is about to come. The film's scattered narrative may present difficulty for some, but for me it was the perfect way to understand our lead character's troubled mind; Ramsey's vision perfectly encapsulates the heavy weight on Eva's present as well as the contained trials of Eva's past, reconciling the two in tantalising agony. Throughout, violent flashes of the story's devastating climax are blasted to warn us of what is to come, and it is much a case of the audience not being able to take its eyes off the catharsis as it speedily approaches.

And yet Ramsey's greatest asset is her leading lady. Swinton is the perfect embodiment of the lead character, personifying every ordeal within to externalise a mother the audience can empathise with despite the very troubling sentiments we are left to digest. In those scenes from the past, there is a pain Eva tries to offload, and Swinton effectively shares that burden with the audience; yet in Eva’s present, an affliction even heavier remains centralised within, exposed only in a glazed emptiness behind Swinton’s eyes and the lethargy with which she staggers from place to place. Swinton’s masterful understanding of her craft allows the audience into Eva’s world, a place few would dare enter but one which Eva traps herself within. Swinton understands Eva’s plight like so few actresses could, every masochistic motion is undertaken with such subtle yet powerful emotion and her eyes are the most vivid of vessels which the audience can take this journey on.

This performance is one of the greatest I have seen in some time, certainly the best of Swinton’s career. Her empathic delivery of one of the most difficult character arcs I have seen in some time is a testament to her extremely well refined talent as well as effective directing from Ramsey. Putting together this piece in such a commanding yet controlled manner allows Swinton’s underlying appreciation of Eva’s plight to shine through. The pair’s powerful chemistry is the glue in this amazingly well-assembled adaptation, truly making the experience of Kevin precious, if difficult at times.

An adequate supporting cast, excruciatingly potent score and brilliant editing are some nice decoration on this superbly-made film; it is however unfortunate that Swinton (and the film) will likely be passed over by the Academy for a more audience-friendly performance which shows nowhere near the insight or understanding that we see here. Although disturbing at times, Kevin is truly an experience you will remember.

Martha Marcy May Marlene

Martha Marcy May Marlene is an extraordinary showpiece for the younger sibling of the infamous Olsen twins, Elizabeth. Her performance in this strange critical indie hit shows remarkable talent and insight, a glorious naturality which just shines in the lead role. A remarkably naive, lost and traumatised young woman, Olsen manages to make each moment count; from one rather terrorising incident to a simple glance towards the horizon, there's such an intense beauty to everything she does with the role and she should definitely have the young ingenue spot in the Lead Actress line-up at next year's Oscar ceremony.

John Hawkes is also menacing; it's not as large a character as I would've liked, but nonetheless every moment he has, he is just enchanting. It's considerably more enticing than his Oscar-nominated performance in Winter's Bone (which I also enjoyed), frightening at times, charismatic at others. His role really doesn't get substantiated upon too much (which is probably the most disappointing aspect of the whole film) but with everything he has, it's a fantastic performance and hopefully one which will get him a few more supporting actor nods this year.

Overall, the film is extremely intense and thoroughly exploratory, though lacking any major release of tension. Durkin shows what a great ability he has, though the film does lack in some areas. Still, Olsen is wonderful and devastating, Hawkes is powerful and all-in-all, it's a thoroughly insightful, intriguing story. Although the film itself probably isn't going to be end-of-year-best level, Olsen certainly should be, and it's great to see such incredible talent at work.

The Tree of Life

The Tree of Life clearly has some lofty aspirations, trying to depict the creation of the world and then attempting to give a sort of pseudo-philosophical discourse on creationism and evolution and life and such. It is clearly a thing of beauty; the visuals are amazing, the sequence of shots depicting the Big Bang and the beginnings of the Earth and the solar system are incredible, the score behind it is awesome, and together they are powerful, if slightly prolonged. Even the later scenes in the suburban and city environments are, if nothing else, well shot.

However, the compliments end here. The film itself is extremely tedious; the lack of direction in terms of plot may itself be very typical of Malick, but I think in this film it is very much to the detriment of the whole thing. There are three main sequences to the film: those depicting the creation of the universe, those with the family and those with Sean Penn's character lamenting on his past. Very little ties these together; the whole thing feels extremely disjointed, awkward and perplexing.

There is some depth in the narrative surrounding the family and ultimately the greatest disappointment for me was the real lack of precision in this narrative because there was clearly a great potential for this storyline. Pitt is quite good, Chastain is wonderful and the children do great jobs as well, especially the portrayal of the young Jack, by Hunter McCracken. In fact, McCracken's exploration of the identity of Jack is probably the real highlight of the film. Unfortunately, this exploration suffers because the audience's attention is constantly being drawn from Jack and onto Pitt's character, who is, for the most part, impenetrable (and that is no fault of Pitt's). There is a nice moment towards the end of the film which does allow us some insight into Pitt's character, but that insight is so fleeting, it does little to rectify the last two hours of suffering.

Then we are thrown into a sequence of shots starring Sean Penn, who really has little to do except to look empty and depressed. The latter part of his sequence is almost Bergman-esque, Seventh Sealstyle, which, although entirely pretentious, are almost fitting given that this film has pretty much been driving along on its last wheel for almost the entirety of its duration.

I'm sure fans of Malick will enjoy this, despite it certainly being far from his finest hour. The whole thing is adventurous, wrought with danger and intrigue. It certainly had grand aspirations. But it fails, quite spectacularly in my opinion. I'm sure many are bound to disagree, but for me, this is easily one film I would have been very happy not to see.

"You've done some bad things sweetie. Haven't you?"

Janine ‘Smurf’ Cody is a woman in control; her dominance, her ability to influence the world around her are what her life thrives upon. So naturally, when her grandson J calls to ask for help now that his mother, her daughter, has died from a heroin overdose, she cannot help but be happy. Happy, not because she has her grandson back, but happy because she has another planet stuck in her gravitational pull.

The brilliance about Jacki Weaver’s Academy Award nominated performance in Animal Kingdom is that this desire for control seamlessly flows throughout the whole performance, even if it is only in the latter act that her tree bears its fully-ripened fruit. In the opening act of the film, simple gestures establish a disguise for her character; the demands of a kiss (which she holds for just a little too long), pauses which linger throughout a conversation with J about his mother (again, for just a little too long). These tiny actions are meant to come across as tender, but behind them lies the beginnings of the rotten core we will soon discover.

The first flashes of a monster start to appear when the freedom of her sons is first at risk. Once her boys are first apprehended by the police, she scolds her son Pope while directing her other son Craig, her tone alternating between a false sensitivity and a threatened anger. Even in the most tragic of times, Weaver’s Smurf picks herself up remarkably quickly to ensure everything in her world remains well within her reach.

And then, in two core scenes, the monster that is Smurf fully reveals herself; two pivotal moments which Weaver manages to manoeuvre flawlessly. The quiet desperation in her voice is matched with a cold, calculated malice in her eyes, demanding attention, insisting on compliance; without batting an eyelid, she manipulates those around her to do her bidding. She ends her performance with a vibrant smugness on her face; once again, her world is in place, each piece fits just as she wanted it to…or does it?

Weaver plays each moment to perfection; there are so many small aspects of the role which most other actors would have underplayed or ignored, yet the intricacies in Weaver’s performance are what build the character. A detailed back-story for Smurf, detailing even her relationships with each of her children’s fathers, provides the ideal guide for Weaver to work within. It is this sort of minutiae which make the performance what it is: an extraordinarily complex and profound embodiment of a dark, highly intelligent sociopath, and a performance worthy of winning the Academy Award for Best Actress in a Supporting Role.

Me vs. Haters: Why 'Kramer vs. Kramer' is one of the most important films of its time

Not five minutes into Kramer vs. Kramer, the audience is introduced to Joanna Kramer (played by a gorgeous, youthful Meryl Streep in her second straight Best Picture winner), nervously waiting for her husband Ted (Dustin Hoffman) to come home. Joanna is not the repressed, impotent mother of the fifties and sixties, dinner prepared and ready to welcome her husband with a kiss on the cheek as he walks through the front door. No, Joanna is about to leave Ted and their child Billy (Justin Henry) in order to go on a journey of self-discovery. And so begins the 52^nd winner of the Oscar for Best Picture.

The film establishes itself by clearly marking out what the film is: a story about family, and, perhaps most importantly, it’s a story about the changing, modern family unit. Once Streep is out of the picture (quite the powerful scene indeed), the film is able to give us these rich, gorgeous moments between Ted and Billy, and it’s here where the film glows most sentimentally. While at first, Ted faces difficulty in integrating the traditional paternal and maternal responsibilities of parenting, with a little help from neighbour Margaret (Jane Alexander), he does develop into a loving, tender father who is far more important in his child’s life than ever before. Watching this relationship grow is something of magnificence; Henry’s and Hoffman’s talents, combined with Robert Benson’s powerful screenplay, allow for this seedling of a relationship to grow into a blossoming, lively flower.

However, as the title of this film suggests, Joanna does come back into the picture and in another emotion-riddled scene between Streep and Hoffman, she announces her intention to fight for custody of their child. This custody battle is the dominant focus of the back end of the film, and although at times it teeters ever so slightly towards melodramatic, it somehow manages to remain in the realm of reality. Furthermore, this part of the film allows for the film to make its most compelling justification as to why this film deserved cinema’s highest honour; not only is this the story of a family’s breakdown, but it is the most prominent cinematic representation of the dissolution of the nuclear family in Western society.

The film contains this complex but beautiful interplay between patriarchy (“But somebody has to bring home the bacon!”) and second-wave feminism (“I was incapable of functioning in that home”), but perhaps most significantly, it offers its audience a critique of Western society’s infatuation with the customary nuclear family. As a law student particularly interested in family law, this is very much of interest to me, in that the film illustrates the many gaping holes within society’s traditional philosophy on the family. This is most poignantly illustrated by the many conventionally-maternal qualities which Hoffman’s character grows to embody, and the neglect of society (and of the law) to appreciate this transition. Hoffman’s metamorphosis from the strict paternal role to a more contemporary illustration of ‘the parent’ is sentimental, but it is also indicative of a wider problem in our society, and that is our determination to cement strict gender roles at the centre of both the private and public sphere. Kramer vs. Kramer is so important because it helps disassemble the myths which surround this, and in many ways it is far ahead of its time by making this assessment, one which is so often underappreciated by those who choose to ridicule this film and its win in the powerful year of cinema which was 1979.

Henry gives one of the all-time great child performances as Billy, quite clearly having being taught a great deal from Hoffman during this shoot. Hoffman himself gives the greatest performance I’ve seen of his career as Ted. From the intense veracity of his emotions which are expelled frequently with such vehement passion to the quieter, tender moments he shares with Billy, the performance is criminally underrated and one of the all-time greats. Streep is often the one who is bestowed the greatest claim of praise here, and no doubt she is very good. She breathed greater life into the film by re-writing some of her character’s dialogue, giving her character even more heart than what writer and director Benson was able to create. In her courtroom scene, she shines, and the final scene is a testament to her incredible skills. However, I think when compared to Hoffman, she lacks an intensity and passion which he provides to this film so easily. That said, she still gives one of the better performances of her career here.

Benson’s screenplay is just so manifestly dense in critique and his force on the film creates such a distinct and important message, indicative of a change sweeping through society at the time this film was released, and one which remains very relevant in today’s climate. This film is one of the most disputed winners of all-time, but for me it’s quite clear why it won, and, not only that, it’s quite clear why it deserved to win. With such an important message told in such an effective way, why would you argue?

Watching with your phone? Fail.

Okay, so I've restarted this thing. Decided I need to vent my thoughts.

So last night I go to check out the Fray. Back in 2006 I became obsessed with this band, about to hit the big time...their song was all over US radio, but despite significant airplay, they were struggling to get anywhere with their debut Australian release Over My Head (Cable Car). Of course, I knew what was coming next: a powerful, hauntingly beautiful ballady type track called How to Save a Life, a song which I knew was sure to strike a cord (or many) with the listening public...anyway, their first gig was an intimate little thing at the Gaelic Club in the City, a small crowd of maybe a few hundred gathered...me being the obsessed widdle fan I was decided I would try to get their early to make sure we were right at the front. Not only did we get their early, we were the first ones there, and we got their during their sound check and man they were incredible...we actually got to watch it, and then the lead singer came out to meet and greet us and sign a few things...and I shook his hand, told him how awesome I thought their music was, and how it really struck a cord with me...I'm sure he's heard it a million times now, but I knew I was probably one of the first international fans he'd heard that from. Anyway, needless to say they were awesome and I have remained obsessed since.

Last night they were incredible. It's amazing to hear a crowd of 5000 odd fans screaming the lyrics to How to Save a Life, knowing the licks just as good as the man who performs the song night-in, night-out. But wtf is with kids nowadays, not learning to experience the music, but wanting to savour it with their mobiles? I'm as big a fan of the music as ever, but sticking your phone up ain't gonna help you remember the moment...you're more likely to hear a bunch of people around you singing the lyrics, and when you happen to get the actual vocals of the lead singer, you find yourself obsessed with remaining in frame, instead of appreciating the music and talent of the band you're paid $80 or so to see...a video phone might be great for other things, but honey, the music is only there once. Don't try to savour the moment using your phone, you've got your memories for that.

And man the memories of last night will be with me forever. Look after you indeed...