Napoleon (2023)

More than half a century ago, Marlon Brando played Napoleon in Désirée (1954), a film about Napoleon’s love affair with the title character during the earlier phase of his military career. The film was dull. Worst, Brando was dull and this was during – like Napoleon himself- early stage of his career, the same year he gave his Oscar winning performance for On The Waterfront.

Cut to almost 7 decades later, Ridley Scott made a similar film, focusing on Napoleon’s relationship with Josephine, the marriage and how it fell.

This was reason for the very depressingly slow pace, taking up more than the mid section of the film, the tracing of the trials and the tribulations of their marriage. It could have been terrible if not for Joaquin Phoenix’s wonderful portrayal of one of the greatest military tactician in history.

Ridley Scott managed to get the hit seat after the likes of Stanley Kubrick and Steven Spielberg abandoned plans to make a biography of Napoleon Bonaparte.

His touches can be felt during the battle scenes, something he mastered after the excellent Gladiator (2000), and he pushes the mastery of the craft even further.

Unfortunately there was nothing much he could do with a dull script, filled with duller scenes, dull dialogues that can only spawn dull performances.

Well, not for Joaquin Phoenix though. He walked through it carrying the weight of the world. This is blasphemy, but he was even better, way more effective than Brando

His presence helped me through those scenes. I snoozed twice during Martin Scorsese’s Killer Of The Flower Moon, and that’s my favourite film director. But here the energy Phoenix brought with him reminded me of his performance in Gladiator. I recall hating him after watching that Russell Crowe starrer (also directed by Ridley Scott) only to realise that it was his character that I hated, and that was the power of Phoenix’s acting.

But this film is not Gladiator, doesn’t even have that glowing aura of a saintly hero, because here Napoleon is portrayed from the filter of Shakespearean tragedy. It's also made with a bit of prejudice against France, when the Brits started to control the climax. Scott is a Brit of course and I am not judging here.

The battle scenes, during the opening and before the climax were what we expected from Scott. Violent, brilliantly shot, putting us in the middle of the battlefield with the clarity of knowing who’s who, it was a triumphant filmaking. Alas, those were the best part of the film. I endured the long dull scenes because of Phoenix, and even to some extent Vanessa Kirby who also had to work from the boring pages.

The critics are overall not happy, with 58% rating at Rotten Tomato and meager 6.6 points in IMDB (Vijay films are luckier, with the latest outing getting 7.4…democracy). I have a feeling they might change their minds few years down the road, especially with the 4 hour version prepared for the streaming services.

Wish (2023)

My friend, childhood buddy/classmate, and “frenemy” (he likes soft ass pop shit, I like rock. He likes Roger Moore Bond, I like Connery Bond, so on so forth), invited me along to watch this flick, because his daughter wanted to. So, basically you know what to expect.

We brought along a nephew of his, so there you go, two old goats and two kids. Naturally, the kids liked the film. Not us. Well not so much. 

The story, following somewhat the similar trajectory, taste, visual style and even the euphoric moments that would remind many of Frozen and other sweet, sugary Disney treats of the past, and you can’t blame the makers. Why change the formula, the MCU is been making dozens of superhero flicks within few years using the same mould and base ingredients. They minted billions off the box office, didn’t they?

As mentioned, this flick will appeal a lot to kids and you would do the right thing to bring them to watch this, reward them or something. Otherwise, there are nothing much to surprise, to cajole or to jerk us off the comfortable zone. It’s so safe that you wish they would show, at least, a drop of blood.

Unlike Frozen, the songs are do not have those earworm quality, the animation is as dull as roadside cones and the scenes are not too painterly either – they are just off the factory stuff. 

But the kids will love it. It has enough silly fun moments and characters (many look recycled from previous Disney hits) that would look appealing to the juniors, so go for it if its still playing in the circuits or are in streaming. 

In the meantime, I am intrigued to know why Disney is offering such a lacklustre outing amidst their own financial issues threatening to crumble the house of mouse. One wonders.

War on Terror: KL Anarki (2023)

I dare say that most of the urban action thrillers on screen, the modern ones saw it’s birth in John McTiernan’s Die Hard (1989). Ever since then, there has been copies, variations, and inspired films like the recent Gerard Butler Fallen flicks.

That’s the root for this Malaysian action thriller, a well made venture that’s by the book and only beset by inconsistent onscreen performances, at least during the first act.

But by the second act, War on Terror: KL Anarki got me intrigued with the characters and their trials and tribulations, however trivial it may be.

Most appreciative are the action sequences which are pretty well shot. Sure, it’s not up to par with Hollywood outings but was credible enough especially the climax in Bukit Bintang.

There are some back stories and lead character’s personal woes that could have dragged the film, but it was necessary and did not bog down the proceeding. Other characters fill in well and dis not cry for attention, character study is not necessarily for a film of this genre, it would be awesome only it's well done and the actors are world class pedigree. The filmakera knew the limitations and worked around it.

Speaking of limitations, the pyrotechnics are quiet impressive as the shootouts are clearly picturised without the crazy editing that Hollywood itself is guilty of, where you don’t know what the hell is going on and where. The set pieces are carefully staged and let us get involved without us getting lost amidst the whizz-bang.

As mentioned the performances are inconsistent but at least not as poor as the weekly Drama Minggu Ini outings. The actors thrown themselves into the role but with by the number dialogues that at times makes the performances stiff. The baddies are caricatures and thankfully we don’t spend too much time with them.

It's a good entertaining number and worth the ticket price, and let me say this again: I’m impressed.

The Locksmith (2023)

I walked into the theatre to watch this without any clue what it is about. I just thought, “hey, why not?”. It’s post lunch, a great time to test how captivating a film can be. My favourite director, Martin Scorsese, recently failed this test when I snoozed off twice during the screening of Killers Of Flower Moon.

But this, I sat through completely involved. I haven’t watched any Chinese language(s) flick beyond some by Jackie Chan and Chow Yun Fatt for obvious reasons (Chow is one of the best onscreen performer of the Hong Kong film industry, period).

But whaddya know. Story about a former criminal having the past haunting him has been around since the cinema began most notably being the plot of many fine film noirs of the golden age of Hollywood.

Here, we stick close the locksmith protagonist, played with the perpetual haunted look by Philip Keung, as we start off with his day to day activities in Penang Island. Then, an old crime partner shows up and turns his world upside down.

The director of this Hong Kong) Malaysian production, Pei Ji, a Malaysian himself, stuck to mostly old school cinematography, never shying to show the beautiful and the gritty side of Penang, and stuck to few important characters so that we don’t get lost with the crowded backstories.

Only low point is the amateurish performances of some of the co-stars, though Keung stands out and sort of balances it out.

And towards the end, he hits you hard with that main character’s guilt. I am especially haunted myself by the little girl’s crying. Still stuck with me. But it’s important wrap up the film. Poignant, haunting, this film deserves more love than the lack of publicity it suffers from.

Jigarthanda XX (2023)

 

I haven’t seen the first Jigarthanda, already hailed as cult, like breaking into a wine bottle before it matures. I have only S.J. Surya to look forward to, him being the most original performer in that industry since Vijay Sethupathi, both whom would always bring something extra to the table.

But the leading role is Raghavendra Lawrence’s, him having another go at okayilead roles after stints as dance choreographer. He is much better here than the horrid, putrid Chandramukhi 2. Interesting that he is appearing in a sequels the second time without having been in the ounlike Chandramukhi though, he is fine here, convincing as  a chaotic illiterate tribal gangster in the middle of disputes and investigation by authority over some purported crime.

I have no clue as to why Clint Eastwood is in the middle of it all, the CGI rendering of him looks embarrassing, but if the fanboys can find some symbolism, well, so be it. I know that there’s some sort of tribute to spaghetti western is going on here, but to director Karthik Subburaj’s credit, he managed to create a world of his own.

And then there’s S.J. Suryah delivering uncharacteristically subtle performance with occasional trademark eccentricity showing up. He's supposed to be the sane voice amidst the madness that’s going on, and like the little camera he holds the entire film, somewhat posits him as the narrator.

Otherwise the film can be overlong for us to enjoy the supposed frolicking madness that ensues taking us from streets of Madurai to the luah forest where the characters colkyde with real and CGI elephants. Once the creatures are in – and here’s remembering the late producer Thevarwhois fond of casting animals in his flicks – you know that the messages are coming. There’s direct political satire at work here, as well as other messages on animal rights and tusks smuggling that has authorities dirty hands behind the nefarious activities.

It just gets messy. Balancing the sub plots with what could have been a bit of character-centric storytelling seemed not to be Tamil film directors’ forte, and Karthik Subburaj is not an exception. The performances of the lead duo has something going for it. I fine Santhosh Narayanan's background score a relief from the sonic assaults of Anirudh of recent. Also, there’s some important ambition somewhere in it, but I suppose I missed it.

Killer Of The Flower Moon (2023)

Slow burn. That’s how it felt like.

It was exactly how Martin Scorsese, my favourite Hollywood film director dealt with The Irishman (2019), though being an extension of the world that he’s already explored to an astonishing degree before, it worked.

Watching this one was a laborious affair. Perhaps that it was post lunch in a cold movie theatre which was the culprit considering I slept off during couple of the scenes.

We have to deal with the perpetual frown on Leonardo DiCaprio’s face, with only Robert de Niro giving another fantastic performance, the only bundle of energy in this rather kinetic deficient film.

There was an interesting thing though, the timing. The story about how the natives were murdered to grab their oil rich reservation land, seen to parallel what’s happening in Gaza now. It’s unintentional, of course, considering the number of Jews involved in that movie business. But it was too obvious to ignore.

It's filled with great performance, especially Lily Gladstone who plays Mollie Burkeheart, the Osage tribe woman, the central figure of this story.

This film looks more like Oliver Stone’s territory as he would have heightened the drama with every cinematographic trick in the book to keep the proceeding interesting.

That is specifically what Scorsese himself specialise in, but he opted for old school style instead and we are left to deal with long lumbering shots with boring dialogues.

I never thought I’d not like a Scorsese film, even The Irishman had moments that were pure Scorsese in presentation. Here, it looks like any by the book TV director could have pulled it off.

Very disappointed.

The Exorcist: Believer (2023)

*Spoiler Alert* Not that it matters, there are some stuff best discovered if you watch the film first before reading this.

The review

Like manysequels, or reboots, this should not have happened. The original that came out in 1973 (my birth year, a coincidence, nothing more) was one of the, if not THE most terrifying film I had ever watched. So much so that I immediately got immuned that no other horror films appeals to me.

That film was more disturbing than frightening. Using a young girl and physically transforming her, even acrobatically in some scenes was never before seen in the film world up to that time. And putting a disraught, helpless mother in the middle of it all was more than relatable for anyone. Though the religious types might think otherwise, the devil does only gets cast out here, not destroyed. Makes you question the wisdom of good triumphing over the evil, especially a man of god hadda kick the bucket in the flick.

The director apparently found success with the reboot of the Halloween flicks, and therefore was given the megaphone to revive the interest, perhaps, to another set of franchise. Only, it didn't work. The original was disturbing at all levels. It has puberty and sexual awakening allegory that can only belong to the time when the entire cinema was waking up to an honest depiction of violence and sexuality in the early 70s. It doesn't work now, not especially with the wet blanket called woke movement.

This time, two kids gets possessed and frankly we don't care. They get the same makeup and Batman growl. They do thinks that are not specifically shocking for the 21^st century world that has easy access to smut and anything shocking from all around the globe. It just didn't work.

Even the usual strong presence of religion (Catholicism) is rather muted here, and the priest sent is sent for exorcism is quickly dispatched, rather comically if I may add. Ellen Burstyn, from the original makes an extended appearance, more than a cameo as the film wants to make a connection with the original. Even Linda Blair makes an appearance right at the end. It's supposed to be nostalgic. I didn't care.

There are few jump scares here and there, and as manipulative as they are, the shtick just doesn't work. They should have left the franchise alone. The film didn't work for me, and looking at how other critics are also vomitting green peas, I don't think this time there is going to be another set of sequels. \

Mark Antony (2023)

I went to watch this film only for one reason – SJ Surya. This director turned actor has carved himself a nice name as scene stealer on screen. Though he started off directing the likes of Ajith and Vijay, he stepped in front of the camera to direct himself as a leading man. After few films, he started doing supporting roles which turned out to be a boon – birth of a great character actor.

In this film, he plays the second fiddle to the lead, Vishal, and ended up owning the entire film. The Entire Film. Here, we see overacting at its best, thanks to S.J. Surya's manic energy that brought back the glory days of not only Sivaji Ganesan, but also M.R. Radha, Asogan, Manoharan and so many colourful villains and supporting actors of the early era. S.J. Surya is a force to be reckoned with, there has never been anyone like him for a long time - the last time I saw a character so colorfully negative, and hillariously astounding was Rajini in Netrikann (1981). 

Using time travel as the premise, director Adhik Ravichandran crafted an engaging story that also deals with multi-verse (past and present) where one character can talk to the character from the past using a specially invented telephone (you float when making the call).

Skillfully moving to and fro so as to not to confuse the audience, Adhik brought a gripping and hilarious script live that never had a dull moment, chiefly thanks to S.J. Surya's scorching funny performance.

It was a huge relief for me, having still not recovered from the bitterness of watching another film that zipped to and fro past and present, Chandramukhi 2. P. Vasu should learn from the youngsters instead of making out-of-date presentation.

The film also makes no bones about showing everyone in dark light, there is no hero here. Everyone is after something or pissed of with somebody, or, in Surya's case, double crossing someone. I dread to think anyone else doing his role in this story – perhaps there were other contenders, but S.J. Surya owned this one – or two, as he plays father and son (the last time we had two characters with their own twins/triples was Bale Pandiya, a classic with which I personally like to compare this film, it's that good).

After a long time, I am extremely delighted to see a thoroughly entertaining fare to come out of the Tamil film industry. And in one scene, involving both dad and son S.J. Surya, I had never laughed that hard watching a Tamil film for a long time. It was thigh slapping-ly funny. I really dig this film. In fact, this might even be the first time I could tolerate Vishal, who was totally in S.J Surya's frequency, loud, dumb and self-deprecating. The rest of the cast all were in on the fun romp, and the only turn off was the exceedingly loud music - possibly trying to mimic the heydays of full orchestration, but G.V Prakash's ain't no M.S. Viswanathan. But its a forgivable offence. 

But it's S.J. Surya's show all the way. And I wrote in my What's App status, that S.J Surya is a national treasure and he must be protected at all cost. 

Jawaan (2023)

This is probably the only film of Shah Rukh Khan in leading role I am watching. I don't watch Hindi films, and I am not sure what's the parameters like over there when it comes to onscreen performances. But I suppose SRK has done some heavy lifting here playing dual roles, which you can't tell apart except with what looks like a bit of de-aging involved for the younger character. Heroes of the industry here have, for ages, played older and younger dual roles and I can only think of Sivaji and Kamal pulling it off, performance wise. Rajinikanth is just too much of a bundle of energy to be contained in make-up, though he can keep the characters apart with the amount of kinetic power unleashed.

This is where I gotta do the "speaking of Rajini" bit. SRK does two of the former's gimmicks involving cigar stub - homage? Tribute? Trying to attract the south Indian audience? It also helps that whoever is voicing him in Tamizh sound bit like the late, great Raghuvaran. 

But the two factors that got my bum in the theatre seat are Nayanthara and Vijay Sethupathi. Both didn't disappoint. One, Nayanthara, smitten as I was once, I have also accepted her as a versatile actress, not an award material talent, but certainly way ahead of her peers. Then, there's Vijay Sethupathi who could just be reading of the dictionary and have you entertained. Again, he's not going to headline any nominations awarding performance, but he has more presence than most of the southern Indian actors of his generation combined. He's the type who, like Rajini himself and Sathyaraj, brings something additional to the table.

Director Atlee who used to be Shankar's assistant, is the apple that has not fallen far from the tree, taking with him Shankar's disdain for corrupt authorities, love for the poor and anything else that can be scraped from MGR's cinematic legacy barrel. And off we go again in another pseudo Puratchi Thalaivar crusade with heavy dose of anti-heroism. Heavily sterilised, that is.

It's an entertaining fare with plenty of shootout, now that the industry is gifted with proper props and CGI bypassing the exploding squibs stage for realism. It's amateurish in every possible way, but not bad for an Indian film. 

And, as usual, I have issues with the background score... generic, dull and composer Anirudh (who, nowadays, gets A Musical By credit, baffling...) now steals from Ennio Morricone. That unmistakable theme from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. The nerve! You wanna steal, take from something obscure bro. Talented, yes. Brilliant? No. Original? Pu-leeeze.

This is the sort of film that gets rave review and will quickly be forgotten. But there's one thing I really appreciate, the gals. They are shown to be kick-ass types, including Nayan who is in full action mode, and believable in fight sequences. The girl deserves her own action flick. Meanwhile Vijay Sethupathi just keeps bulldozing ahead like a monstrous rhino ahead if it's heard against the sea of antelopes. The sonovagun is unstoppable.

Nostalgia Tinted Glasses: The Biased Generational Perceptions.

“You glorify the past

When the future dries up…” U2 – God Part 2 (a song from their Rattle and Hum album).

This thought came to me when I was reading up another bunch of comments (online, of course) saying that our education system is bad as if, in the past, everyone was taught by Socrates and read books by Plato. If I recall well, all the way back to the 80s someone has always been complaining that education was bad at that moment of time. 

The only time anyone remembered fondly of the great education system are my parents’ generation, and of course it is the leaders from their generation that came and revamped the system, and to quote Jim Morrison, the whole shithouse burned in flame.  

Yet, I have long refused to ride on that bandwagon. First, let’s face it, the quality had already started petering out during the time when kids from our generation hit the school, because I have seen my parent generations’ text books – as mentioned -and have been incredibly amazed. In fact, for some times, I had my mother’s, Little Women by Lousia May Alcott – a novel they studied for literature. Likewise, I am sure that my father thinks highly of the education standard of his parents which were directly under the purview of the Brits. So on, so forth. 

Yet (again) with the forever bitch-able system of our generations, we still had newspapers, limited, but many households had those. I recall going visiting relatives and friends of our parents, and finding ourselves not interested in those folks, but my brother and I (Balan, the newspaper maniac he was, and me, who only read the entertainment section) would peruse whichever newspapers were folded neatly on the undertray of the coffee table at those places. 

We had few TV stations which were our window to cultures outside of the country. Likewise, the radio. We had the usual diet of Hollywood and Asian films, TV shows, only not as excessive as now. The plantation we live in do not have easy access to cinemas, so we can only wait for it to hit the TV, usually taking years. Which is why the pirated VHS tapes proliferated and we were still pretty up to date, movie wise. Those were part of our education system.

Now, the trouble is, we always view our past with rose tinted glass, and we tend to overrate anything we import from there in discussions. But I no longer want to do that, especially when it comes to education system.

No, don’t drag me into that exclusive club that rejects education system that is not of their era, despite the fact that, borrowing a point from above, most of them are the parents of the kids directly exposed to the very so-called poor education system, and could do something about it. In fact, it is that very older generation who are in power and are responsible for that goddamned system, and they have the cheek to sneer at the resultant system festered down the youngling’s throat. 

The attitude behind looking down on education system of the younger generation also has its root to the very tradition of condescending reaction to the culture of the young, while glorifying the past. In plain language, we always have had the habit of looking down at the younger generation for ages. Here’s a long list of commentaries about certain generations in the history criticizing the young ‘uns. Take this for instance: “…Modern fashions seem to keep on growing more and more debased … The ordinary spoken language has also steadily coarsened…."

That was from 14th century Japan, mind you.  

How about this from 1771: “The free access which many young people have to romances, novels, and plays has poisoned the mind and corrupted the morals of many a promising youth…”

It has always been a thing, as you get old, you sneer at the youth belonging to others because of the bitterness that you were forced to leave your own. 

It’s already embedded in the DNA. Take this explanation for instance: 

"There is a psychological or mental trick that happens that makes it appear to each generation that the subsequent generations are objectively in decline, even though they're not," says research psychologist John Protzko from the University of California Santa Barbara."And because it's built into the way the mind works, each generation experiences it over and over again."

It also makes sense, as explained here, on how we are viewing our past with the contemporary thoughts, whichever thought process, level of intelligence or knowledge garnered over the years. 

“We are imposing our current self on the past,” John Protzko, a postdoctoral researcher at UC Santa Barbara said in this article. “We’re sort of idealizing kids of the past.”

"It's a memory tic - you take what you presently are and you impose that on your memories," explains Protzko.

That’s the point. The memory of past you have today is not 100 accurate, its heavily filtered by the person you are today, your preferences, your outlook, worldview, and often glossy when presented to others. 

And how valuable of these memories of our past are? How about jackshit? As mentioned by Nathaniel Sharping here

"First, we tend to judge others more harshly in areas where we excel. An ardent reader, then, will be more likely to deride someone else's reading habits," explains Discover's Nathaniel Scharping. But second and more interestingly "our memories of what we were like as children can't always be trusted."

Hard-boiled: A description on the act of consuming a favourite breakfast.

Yes, that’s the three half boiled eggs that I had last week. Not pigeon diarrhea as the legend proclaimed.

This article from The Sun Daily interest me deeply. I could absolutely relate to it. Half boiled egg is not only my favourite breakfast these days, but has since become almost compulsory activity for weekends, like movie watching and toe nail clipping.

As one can note from the feature there, it is about customers complaining about the need to crack the half boil eggs themselves. They are better off if the eggs come from cracked shells as presented at the eateries of choice. Well, they are not alone in this. I am with them, and by Jove, when I say I am with them, I am not actually physically with them, I have never met them.

But we are all one in agreeing the issue at hand. Get it? Hand. That handles those egg which, when handed to you, not only singes your finger but provokes your previously calm self into yelling unprintable words. All the social media stuff you posted tirelessly preaching manners, values and quotes of your favourite Swamiji goes down the drain because you feel they have handed you couple of hot coal instead of eggs.

Now, apart from Nasi Lemak Bungkus, half boiled eggs are fast becoming my favourite breakfast meal. It provides me enough energy to before my biological battery is reduced to a single bar about ten meters after I leave the table. The one I currently like the best is in Rawang, where somehow, they have the right soy sauce it; and – this is the best part - they crack the eggs for you.

Wait, let me rephrase that. They break the eggs for you. Most other outlets, especially Mamak restaurants/stalls, you hafta do it on your own. You struggle with the eggs which are usually hot enough to melt metal step ladders. Hence, I end up using the serviettes on which I place the eggs and crack it using the ceramic spoon. These Kopi Tiam spoons, by the way, are designed to dig up sloppy things like porridges or parts of bread toasts you dunk too long that have drowned themselves in the coffee. They are not for cracking egg shells.

Because, these spoons do not respond well to egg shells, they are shy that way. With force often reserved for hammering concrete nails, one can create cracks on the shells which is deemed damaging enough to be able to rip the egg apart...hopefully into two. It does not appear to be so. Well, it will never appear to be so, each bloody time. It’s not a clean crack you can split with both thumbs. No.

See, I use both hands, carefully placing thumbs nearing each other on the widest possible crack spotted, for the centre to be pulled apart only …. the eggs shells start cracking at places that I had not wished for it to start cracking, with the crack’s hairline extension spreading quickly all over the egg. Happy?

Not yet, because the cracks are held together by stubborn inner membrane layer holding on to the cracks loyally like an insurance agent during the client's dying days. In efforts to finally rip the shells apart, I break more corners and by then the white of the egg and the yolk had already leaked out, mixing onto each other, with bits of those bits of shells in it….

… and then, onto the saucer, or bowl, it goes. Then, you gotta scoop out the remaining stubborn whites and yolks clinging hard to the inner wall of the shell...where you might unintendedly crack more of the shells and they start crumbling again. Meantime, the serviette you used to hold the egg shells looks assaulted and disgraced that you might even want to throw it out on your own, secretly, because it looks like a disposed tissue paper used to cleanse the results of nightly self-persuasion.

That is why I prefer the Rawang outlet. They break it for you and the sauce is delicious as long as you use the right number of squeezes (gently) or you will end up drinking egg flavoured dark salty gruel. Also, they give a tiny spoon, instead of the kopi Tiam ceramic spoon, as you can see from the pix.

Scooping the egg in that tiny spoon, sipping that coffee (not that great, but at least better than most here, and definitely better than the filtered through fresh-from-the-field-footballers-socks coffee in Mamak shops) …. makes the weekend worth waiting for.