Brian Cox and Leonard Rossiter are the TV executives broadcasting Sportsex and Artsex to keep the masses lulled into passivity in Nigel Kneale's 1968 dystopian TV play. It's creaky and dated, with the production values of Dr Who, and not in the least bit erotic—but it's also prophetic (of reality TV) and strangely compelling.
A terrific Japanese rites-of-passage drama shot Dogme-style on digital cameras, this puts a fresh twist on the timeless themes of alienation, dislocation and teenage angst. Shunji Iwai's impressionistic, cutting-edge ensemble drama weaves together the lives of several emotionally wounded Tokyo teens united by their blank worship of a distant pop idol, Lily Chou-Chou. Pretentious, but still a punky new voice in Japanese cinema.
Ken Loach at his best. First-time actor Martin Compston is outstanding in the role of Liam, a teenager growing up with a mother in jail, a drug-dealing stepfather and no future to speak of. But Liam is a bright kid who dreams of a normal family life. He's determined to make enough money to rent a home for his mother for when she gets out of jail. It's heartbreaking stuff that combines a political message with real humanity and a rich strand of black comedy. Highly recommended.
One of the worst products of Hollywood's epic era stars a youthful Richard Burton as the bold conqueror, replete with fluffy blond wig. Decently performed by Burton and the likes of Frederic March, Harry Andrews, etc, Alexander The Great is beautifully shot (and nicely cleaned up on this DVD by MGM/UA) but suffers from pacing so leaden that it makes El Cid look like The Terminator. Amazing to think that, five years later, writer/director Robert Rossen would redeem himself by making The Hustler.
As producer, Ridley Scott—clearly in a good mood—leads us on a pointless trawl through the dusty dirt roads of comedy thriller territory as confused country boy Clay (a smouldering Joaquin Phoenix) gets duped into hanging loose with fast-talking rhinestone cowboy Lester Long (Vince Vaughn). Quite where we fit into this generic nonsense is something else altogether.
Anthony Hopkins completes his Hannibal Lecter set with this remake of Michael Mann's Manhunter (1986). It's more faithful to Thomas Harris' novel, but a lot less stylish, and the performances are uniformly worse: Ed Norton is merely adequate as the empathic FBI detective, while Ralph Fiennes is positively wooden as serial killer Francis Dolarhyde, and even Hopkins is below par.
Jules Dassin's 1955 heist flick is the genre's benchmark movie. The silent 28-minute set-piece robbery scene provides the film's highlight, but elsewhere there's much to admire in Jean Servais' hangdog protagonist and Dassin's pre-Nouvelle Vague documentary approach to shooting Parisian nightlife.
