That being said, I enjoyed The Hateful Eight a lot more than his usual schtick. Presented in 70 mm and with a running time of 187 minutes (because Tarantino), the film continues his love for old school cinema, right down to the three minute ‘overture’ that opens the film, something I don’t think I’ve seen since Dancer in the Dark. The plot concerns a group of misfits who take shelter in a remote cabin during a snowstorm. These cowboys, bounty hunters, criminals and retired soldiers are a suspicious lot, and for good reason.

The Hateful Eight unravels a lot like a play. This is fine, and the fact that the scenes flow from one to the other – as opposed to the off-kilter rhythms of Inglourious Basterds and Django Unchained – means that the film isn’t as tiresome to watch as one might expect. I love the confined setting, and there aren’t enough positive adjectives in the English language to accurately describe Ennio Morricone’s sublime score.

What didn’t I like? Well, I was hoping that the mystery elements of the film would be front and centre. The set-up sounded like a modern-day ‘And Then There Were None’, and yet such dips into the genre are fleeting. Instead, it’s a disparate bunch telling stories by the fire, for the most part. This is all well and good, but I can’t see myself rushing out to see the film again.

As for the 70 mm presentation…considering most of the film is shot indoors, on a single set, is it fair of me to say that it seems like a waste of the format? Sure, there are some grand landscape shots every now and again, but like I said, this is much closer to a staged play than a sweeping epic.

There are too many performers to mention them all, but the standouts for me were Walton Goggins and Tim Roth. Goggins is one of those brilliant character actors that pops up all the time, whilst Roth is having an absolute ball as Oswaldo Mobray. Seriously, the simple act of Roth pronouncing his character’s name had me in stitches.

So, in the end, this is a Tarantino film with that little bit extra for me. The premise makes it more interesting than usual, even if the script is still filled with the standard “it would be offensive if it weren’t so ridiculously hip” lines. The Hateful Eight won’t convert someone who doesn’t like the man’s films, but it’s a nice change of pace after Inglourious Basterds and Django Unchained felt like one and the same film.

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It’s abundantly clear that Disney was hoping for another Pirates of the Caribbean-type success with The Lone Ranger. So much so that they reportedly pumped $215 million (excluding marketing) into a western, something that hasn’t had mega-success with the general cinema-going public for years now. Time will tell whether the film does well enough to lead to a sequel, but at first blush it certainly seems that they’ve duplicated that which (supposedly) worked so well for pirates: here we have a perfectly entertaining yet completely forgettable cinema experience. To be more precise: whilst watching The Lone Ranger I was certainly enthralled, but the moment I stepped out of the cinema, I knew I’d never watch it again.

Armie Hammer stars John Reid, a man returning home to see his brother Dan (James Badge Dale), a Texas Ranger. Though he doesn’t know it, the train he’s travelling on also contains the outlaw Butch Cavendish (William Fichtner) and Tonto (Johnny Depp), a Native American. One thoroughly expensive explosive action set piece later and Hammer’s been co-opted as a Ranger, and he and Tonto are hot on the heels of Cavendish.

As many people may already know, I’m not the biggest fan of the Pirates franchise. The Lone Ranger is at least better than the worst of those, insofar as the story mostly makes sense. It also does a good job of explaining why John and Tonto don’t fit into their respective communities; they’re both outsiders, and for a multiplicity of reasons. The rest of the characters don’t get anywhere near as much depth, however. Butch is simply a bad guy, whilst the female characters, Rebecca Reid (Ruth Wilson) and Red Harrington (Helena Bonham Carter) do nothing more than fulfill the roles of damsel in distress and object of male affection.

The action scenes are decent without ever becoming truly thrilling. Initial trailers seemed to suggest that the film wouldn’t be too reliant on CGI. Having now seen it, I can certainly tell you that the first half of the film appears to be practical (though I’m sure it’s not) whilst the climax very quickly devolves into a chaotic CGI clusterf*ck. Sure, this film mightn’t feature krakens and undead pirates, but it still remains in the realm of the impossible. That being said, at its best moments, director Gore Verbinski et al appear to be aiming for a Buster Keaton/The General-type vibe for some of the train-bound action scenes, which is never a bad thing. The humour, however, falls flat most of the time.

At the end of the day, The Lone Ranger is an accomplished yet thoroughly unsatisfying film. It’ll kill two and half hours(!) admirably, but Verbinkski is yet to come close to the achievements of his first feature, Mousehunt.

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Ostensibly a Western, Jamie Foxx plays Django, a slave freed by German bounty hunter, Dr. King Schultz (Christoph Waltz) who sets out to free his wife from a Mississippi slave owner. There isn’t much more of a plot to speak of, and the film is filled with Tarantino’s usual standout scenes, each one lovingly crafted and effectively a short film in its own right.

Despite having second billing, it’s really Waltz that carries the film. Django’s transformation from subservient slave to kick-arse angel of retribution doesn’t feel very organic at all, whilst a scene that hints at the moral ambiguity required in the bounty hunter profession disappointingly ends before it has even begun. All the bit players get their chance to chew scenery, from Leonardo DiCaprio to Samuel L. Jackson and Don Johnson, and as you’d expect, they’re all sadistic, nasty examples of masculinity taken to extremes.

The film looks fantastic. With Tarantino, you know that every single shot has been immaculately visualised before production began, and this is to his credit. Unsurprisingly, the film is also way too long, with a runtime of 165 minutes. This may be par for the course with Tarantino, but in this case, I could actually pinpoint the section that could have been excised in order to bring the film down to a reasonable length.

The fact that the film is exploiting the history of slavery in the USA in order to make a triumphantly violent movie is no more controversial than Inglourious Basterds‘ exploitation of Nazi atrocities during World War II. It may seem strange that Tarantino manages to get away with telling such potentially provocative stories, but the fact of the matter is that slave owners and Nazis are easy targets for a revenge movie – the audience will have a hatred of them before the film has even started, so the filmmaker’s job of encouraging us to revel in their killing is that much easier. Dead Snow (Død snø) pulled a similar trick with its Nazi zombies, though was of course aiming for an almost slapstick tone.

My point isn’t to criticise Tarantino per se, but simply to point out that he last two films aren’t quite as outrageous as they appear on the surface. Tarantino’s movies all ooze style but more importantly, it’s always apparent that he’s having fun with his medium. As with Inglourious Basterds, I did enjoy Django Unchained, however don’t feel the need to watch the film more than once. Those who enjoyed Kill Bill and Inglourious Basterds will no doubt enjoy this flick also.

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The real star of True Grit is Hailee Steinfield, portraying the 14-year-old Mattie Ross, who employs a US Marshall to track down her father’s murderer. The Marshall in question is Rooster Cogburn (Jeff Bridges), an overweight, aging, cyclopean man who has a long list of men he’s killed in ‘self-defence’. The pairing of these two is priceless. Mattie is forthright and headstrong, and regularly confounds the adults she engages in conversation. Cogburn has many talents, to be sure, but is usually too drunk to stand up. Together they set out to track down the murderous Tom Chaney (Josh Brolin).

The essential third character in this tale is LaBoeuf (Matt Damon), a young Texas Ranger who’s also on Chaney’s trail. LaBoeuf is an absolute arsehole – full of himself whilst at the same time blissfully unaware of just how much of a loser he is. It’s glorious to be able to see Damon in a supporting role – something it seems he hasn’t done for years and years. He really gets stuck into his character, and must have relished the opportunity to really flex his acting muscles once more. All three of these people go through changes, however, and above all, it’s wonderful to see a film filled with wonderfully over-the-top characters, instead of having at least one person play it straight.

It should be said that, as a general rule, I don’t enjoy Westerns. I did, however, love most of this film. There are a dozen classic scenes that show the Coens are at the top of their game – wonderfully paced and directed to the nth degree. In fact, there were only two things that I didn’t love. One is Carter Burwell’s score, which feels a bit too grandiose and old-school to suit this very offbeat collection of misfits, and the second is a five minute stretch of the movie that was a combination of ugly special effects followed by pointless writing. It’s a pity that the five minutes in question are so darn important, also, since it really clouded my appreciation of the film.

Like the best of the Coens’ work, True Grit boasts a great script and truly memorable characters.

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When Shane Cooper (Ryan Kwanten) arrives in the High Country town of Red Hill for his new posting as a police officer, he brings with him a heavily pregnant wife and so many boxes of belongings that he can’t find his firearm. He is quickly introduced to a tiny town with a sense of mystery and darkness just below the surface. The news that a convicted murderer who lived in the area has escaped prison means the police and concerned townspeople will form a posse, determined to protect their town from his dreadful revenge.

If Australia is to become known for any particular type of filmmaking, it will most likely be so-called ‘genre films’: films like Wolf Creek and The Proposition have been far more successsful than straightforward dramas or romantic comedies. As a blend of western and revenge thriller, Red Hill nails the tone and atmosphere perfectly.

Red Hill is violent, challenging, unexpectedly witty, but generally unadorned. Hughes acknowledged No Country for Old Men as an inspiration during the Q&A after our screening, and his achievement in creating such a stripped down, almost barren tone is quite remarkable. The only aspect of the film that didn’t quite adhere to his vision is probably the soundtrack: to my ears, the clanging and clashing didn’t quite gel with the otherwise spare production, although the warm applause at MIFF for the sound design suggests I might be in the minority in this regard.

This may be the only minor fault in a film that gets so much right. Hughes’ story is adequate, although one could make an argument that none of the main characters is a fully fleshed out human being. Kwanten is great in the lead, and Steve Bisley reminds the world of his talents with a wicked turn as Old Bill, Shane’s new supervising officer. Tom E. Lewis gets to play the traditional ‘boogeyman’ role and for most of the film he is required to perform without any dialogue whatsoever, meaning that when he does finally speak, his words carry the import Hughes intends.

Shot in Omeo and Benambra, the film looks simply wonderful, and shows off the stunning land of the Victorian High Country brilliantly, even if it is to give the audience the desire never to visit this place of such darkness. Attention is also paid to one of the myths of the region – a story I remember being told by my grandfather with a completely straight face – and the appearance of one of the long-rumoured escapees is a particular delight.

Perhaps most impressive is Hughes’ restraint, and what appears to be single-minded determination to make the film he wanted to make. His characters are players in an epic tragedy, and one can only hope this is the first of many successes for this new local star.

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In the grand horror tradition, the opening scene shows a bunch of honest folk getting attacked by some unseen nasty. It’s unclear exactly what happened, or how many there were, but there was blood and screaming and to-be-honest-I-can’t-recall-but-it-probably-ended-with-the-opening-titles. Since several of the people are taken, a search party sets out to find them. They’re an unlikely bunch – including a child, a soldier, a bitter old man and the fiancé of one of the missing – and this makes for some neat clashes of ideals along the way.

As you may have guessed from the title, The Burrowers has a little in common with Tremors. Basically, it’s not safe to be on the ground when the beasties turn up. For the majority of the film the monsters stay hidden, which works wonderfully. When we do finally get a glimpse it’s a little silly but still effective.

This western/horror crossbreed is the prime example of the importance of a good script. The bulk of J.T. Petty’s previous writing was for computer games, but this doesn’t feel like a game in the way that, say, Eden Log did. The dialogue is perfect and though the film moves at a leisurely pace (at least by today’s standards), it keeps the intrigue and the infighting going all the way.

Clancy Brown is the only name I recognised here, though I didn’t actually realise it was him until the credits rolled. The rest of the cast is great, and together with the writing makes up for a lesser budget which subjects us to less than ideal costumes and that horrid film stock I mentioned before.

If Tremors was your kinda film, then you’ll like this one. It takes a careful and measured approach that the impatient may find tedious, but culminates in a climax that is masterfully handled – action packed and with a palpable desperation on the part of our hero.

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Simply put, this film is embarrassing.

First of all, we have Eastwood playing a parody of himself. He wears high pants and grunts, grimaces and groans his way through his scenes, seemingly having no concept of the word subtlety. He plays Walt Kowalski, a crotchety old widower and Korean War vet who thinks the neighbourhood’s gone to hell and kids simply have no respect; not to mention the fact that the country’s being taken over by foreigners. Throughout the film this racist relic of the past is bound to learn a thing or two, and it comes from the Hmong family next door. Thao (Bee Vang) and Sue (Ahney Her) are a couple of bright young things trapped between the traditions of their elders and the violent and illegal habits of their peers.

This film is about as unsubtle as a half brick to the kneecaps. The script has many of the characters explaining their actions through gratuitous dialogue, and we know Walt never got over Korea, because when he gets angry the soundtrack is overwhelmed with the echoes of marching drums (I’m not kidding).

Gran Torino is actually a Western. A geriatric, suburban Western. Unfortunately it has trouble melding such a fantastical genre with the everyday here and now. We have police these days. And ambulances. And mobile phones. But you wouldn’t know it from this film.

The narrative’s inconsistent, and isn’t quite sure what point it’s making. Christopher Carley plays Father Janovich, an awful secondary character whose contradictory actions cloud every one of his scenes. Walt’s racism is apparently funny and endearing, and whilst I appreciate that this does belittle such bigotry in its own immature manner, I can’t see it as a positive technique. The best Gran Torino seems to come up with is the idea that if everyone is racist towards everyone else, then we have nothing to worry about… This of course is bullshit because it assumes that everyone is starting on an equal playing field, which is not only unrealistic, but incongruous since racism assumes some kind of superiority.

Gran Torino gets props for having an elderly man as its main character, something we rarely see in mainstream released flicks, but overall it’s a mess. There are good moments, and there are some decent laughs to be had (some more intentional than others). If this is indeed Eastwood’s final performance, it’s a pity. Let’s hope that his next film, Changeling, is better…

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When Lady Sarah Ashley (Nicole Kidman) learns of her husband’s squandering of their fortune on a cattle station in the Northern Territory, she hitches her skirts and travels downunder to set things straight. Upon arriving in Darwin, she is to be met by The Drover (Hugh Jackman),who is tasked with escorting her to Faraway Downs. She turns up just as the world is gearing up for the start of World War II, although the entrance of Japan and (finally) the United States to the war is still some two years away. Under the corrupt management of Neil Fletcher (David Wenham), Faraway Downs has fallen into disrepair, while Lady Ashley will find Lord Ashley murdered and much of their stock missing. Her decision whether to try to save the station or cut her losses will have longstanding ramifications for them all.

The list of things wrong with this film is far longer than the corresponding list of its positive attributes, meaning the positive can probably be covered first. Jackman’s abs are impressive; Nullah is played with great charm by Brandon Walters; and the final 20 minutes or so are engaging in spite of everything that comes before – maybe due to the gradually developing awareness that this butt-numbingly long film must surely soon end.

The problems start with the overtly political nature of the film. Luhrmann clearly still has an axe to grind about the Stolen Generations, and he chooses to emphasise his points by portraying all white Australians as racist savages who would condemn mixed-race children to an island they know will be the first attacked by Japanese fighter planes. The truth of the Stolen Generations history was evidently not enough for Luhrmann and his team, as they saw fit to add in their own. Which is fine in and of itself, but when trussed up with title cards at the film’s beginning and end attaching the sense that this is all true and accepted history, Australia becomes more like self-flagellating propaganda than light entertainment. Some may feel the liberties Luhrmann takes insignificant, but one need only read the reviews of foreign film critics to see these plot points accepted as fact. (A prominent example can be found here.)

Alongside Luhrmann’s arrogance in assuming he can speak to all of a nation’s past (even the film’s title is presumptuous… who the fuck does Luhrmann think he is to entitle this drippy little love story Australia?), he seems also to have been confused about just what the film is. Commencing with traditional Western-style bar-room brawls, and intermittently attempting Epic, Romance, War film and travel infomercial, Australia ends up succeeding as none.

Kidman bears her frozen features throughout with stoicism, while Jackman is given the thankless task of being the romantic hero who clearly wishes to be otherwise. Their failure to develop any believable chemistry means the ‘romance’ component of the film falls flat. Luhrmann shoots both to emphasise their appeal, however, with one particular shot of Jackman bathing potentially laughable were it not so self-aware.

Luhrmann’s script attempts to evoke a long-forgotten dialect and comes across only as clichéd. The popularity of the late Steve Irwin with an international audience seems to have had an obvious impact, as the exclamation ‘Crikey!’ is used far more than is natural. Colourful aphorisms like ‘shut your damper-hole’ will probably be heard for the first time by many Australian viewers.

The film does provide some support to the film industry in the wider sense, giving employment to most every Australian actor or actress to have graced the screen. This may be somewhat of an exaggeration, although it is hard to escape the sense of anticipation when a new character is introduced – who will this actor be? Jack Thompson gets short-changed by a relatively shallow role, while Ben Mendelsohn is given very little to work with. Frankly, the majority of the supporting characters are nothing more than two-dimensional caricatures with an obvious expository purpose.

Australia does manage to maintain some interest throughout its obscenely long running time of 165 minutes, and its ending achieves an emotional impact that is as surprising as it is unlooked for. Audiences unfamiliar with this country and its recent history may enjoy the scenery and the story Baz has chosen to set within it, however it seems likely that local filmgoers will stay away in droves.

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Waking one night to find his barn being set alight by the hired thugs of a man he owes money, Dan Evans (Christian Bale) realises he has reached a crisis point – his family, in particular his wife and eldest son William (Logan Lerman), have lost respect for him and with his water supply cut off and the barn containing his last remaining feed alight, he is likely to lose his cattle and ranch as well. As they round up the herd the following morning, Dan, William and youngest son Mark (Ben Petry) happen across the ambush of a stagecoach by the outlaw Ben Wade (Russell Crowe) and his gang. What follows often seems outside the control of either man, as Evans agrees to convey Wade to Contention to meet the 3:10 train to Yuma prison for a price, and Wade’s gang attempts to effect his release.

Both Bale and Crowe have featured in excellent films recently released in Australia (Rescue Dawn and American Gangster respectively), and 3:10 to Yuma is another example of their talents. Crowe gets the flashier role, with Wade a skilled killer and vicious leader of evil men, inspiring loyalty from his crew in spite of his tendency to sketch birds and quote the Bible. Wade is charming and malicious, and Crowe is the perfect fit for the role. Alongside him, Bale is required to build his hero slowly, allowing his intensity to overflow only late in the piece. Their shared scenes are the best of the film, with the wait for the train in Contention particularly standing out. Testing each other with offer and counter offer, they share stories of themselves and build a bond that neither desires, which will lead each of them to behave in unexpected ways. The psychological duel between good and bad man is a frequent structural component in film scripts, yet it is rarely so well done as here.

The supporting cast is varied, with Peter Fonda playing a bounty hunter with whom Wade has previously crossed paths, and Alan Tudyk the Bisbee veterinarian who becomes an unlikely hero. The standout, however, is Ben Foster as Wade’s right-hand man Charlie Prince. Foster imbues Prince with a sense of moral vacuity that may have been more commented upon in awards discussions were it not for the incredible turn of Javier Bardem in No Country for Old Men.

Although substantially longer than the first screen version of the Elmore Leonard short story, the pacing of the narrative feels just right with action sequences scattered amongst the more contemplative scenes. Set design, costumes and cinematography combine to evoke the 19th-century setting with aplomb, providing an easy familiarity for those for whom 3:10 to Yuma is not their first Western. James Mangold’s direction is skilful, providing further evidence he may be one to watch after his wonderful Walk the Line.

While it isn’t perfect, the combination of the performances of Bale, Crowe and Foster and the dexterity with which the relationship between Evans and Wade is allowed to develop means that 3:10 to Yuma works very effectively indeed.

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While hunting in the Texan prairie Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin) sees an injured dog in the distance, and investigating where it came from leads him to find the remains of a drug deal gone bad. Dead bodies lie everywhere, there’s a bag filled with two million dollars and a car boot full of drugs. Taking the money he unwittingly becomes the prey of Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem), a psychopath who will do whatever it takes to retrieve the lost millions. Local Sheriff Ed Tom Bell (Tommy Lee Jones) is in turn hunting Chigurh, fearful of what will happen to Moss if Chigurh finds him and determined to catch the man responsible for so many deaths.

What follows shares the trademark bleakness of the Coen Brothers’ greatest previous film, Fargo, while also being a thriller and a western. There are shades of Frances McDormand’s Marge Gunderson in Sheriff Bell, as the Coens explore the effect that being a part of such violence has on the relatively innocent. As the voiceover at the beginning of the film suggests, Bell’s morals are those of another time, and he grows ever wearier of the drug culture that is just starting to become a problem in 1980s Texas. He is skillful but fatigued, nearing retirement, and struggling with his place in the world. Tommy Lee Jones is excellent, demonstrating much of this conflict with posture and tone, especially in the scenes shared with Moss’s wife, and also with his out of town colleague.

The standout performance, however, belongs to Javier Bardem as Chigurh. His assassin is ruthless and calculating, completely competent and absolutely horrifiying. Bardem is magnetic, drawing the viewer in with the power of his portrayal. Chigurh’s introductory scenes show him to possess a code of sorts, unfamiliar to any rational audience member, that allows him to kill without remorse and even occasionally to let luck decide who lives or dies. He is chilling and evil, and entirely believable thanks to the wonderful turn of Bardem, who is likely to win several major awards to add to the Best Supporting Actor awards already bestowed upon him by the New York Film Critics Circle and Boston Society of Film Critics.

The Coens’ use of the Texan landscape adds to the sense of bleakness that pervades the film, with windswept flatlands stripped of vegetation and quiet, beaten down small towns where poverty is the norm. Their eye for settings is matched by their ability to construct slow-building thrillers, and their skill at making surprising choices allows this film to feel fresh and inspired. Their only miscalculation is in the final scenes with Sheriff Bell, as a discussion featuring overt metaphoric references is handled in a somewhat clunky fashion.

No Country for Old Men is yet another reminder of the skill of truly great filmmakers to entertain. The Coen brothers’ film is sure to become a long-time favourite of many who see it, and is highly recommended.

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