My Thoughts on The Invisible Man

Universal's Dark Universe was one of the most disappointing IP launches in recent memory, floundering right out of the gate with the unanimously shat-on disaster that was The Mummy. In many ways, it was a bold decision to continue with the classic monster reboots, although reframing them as self-contained stories was undoubtedly a clever move. Helmed by Upgrade's Leigh Whannell, The Invisible Man has the unenviable task of following up the one of the Cruiser's darkest hours, and that's something that it absolutely achieves. Like many Blumhouse productions, this is a film that takes studio horror and shows us what it can be, refusing to rely on lazy jumpscares and generic setups to make an easy profit. This is one of the strongest high profile horrors in years, which isn't bad when you factor in its $7 million dollar budget. Of course it helps that, like every good horror, it's actually about something, this time using the idea of the invisible man to tell the story of a toxic relationship, with Elisabeth Moss' Cecelia desperately trying to fend off her apparently dead, suddenly invisible abusive boyfriend, tech mogul Adrien Griffin

This turns out to be a great move on Whannell's part, as he mines horror from gaslighting, emotional torment and the frustrations of not being believed, and the result is something that's genuinely scary. It also takes cues from the psychological thriller, building an atmosphere of unsettling uncertainty and knowing when to puncture it with a well placed shock. Surprise is a key motif in this film, and part of its freshness comes in its unpredictability; although plot points are well telegraphed, the film excels at presenting them in a way that not only feels sudden, but also possesses an element of genuine danger. The threat always feels real in The Invisible Man, and that's down to the film's fusion of the recognisable and the alien: the grim feeling of knowing what's coming but never quite being able to stop it, or even predict how it plays out. Points to Whannell for refusing to ever show the audience the central relationship in a positive light as well. Not once is there a montage of fond memories, or even an implication that it was ever anything but toxic, and it's Whannell's refusal to rely on that kind of cheap storytelling ploy that lets him imbue the horror with so much weight.

There are genuinely shocking moments in this film (a central restaurant setpiece will surely gain notoriety), but it's the sustained sense of tension that makes each of them resonate, something only amplified by the less-is-more sensibilities that Whannell demonstrated in Upgrade. Of course, none of this means anything without an equally strong central performance, and Elisabeth Moss absolutely delivers on that front. She's the best she's ever been here, bringing so much intensity and vulnerability without ever defining Cecelia as just a victim. There is so much empathy in this performance, but it's also so visceral, taking the bone-deep horror at the centre of the story and drawing it to the surface, with a physicality that convinces even when she's acting against the air. She is the crucial ingredient in what makes this film work, the anchor that convinces even when the high-concept threatens to slide towards silliness. Her commanding presence also negates the film's only real issue, which is the breakneck pace the plot progresses at, often feeling like Whannell is forcing the plot to a conclusion. It's never a major issue, but it does feel like everything is compressed pure information, despite its considerably roomy two hour runtime, and the film feels like it's moving at a sprinter's pace for most of its run. Again, it's only a slight distraction, but the sheer concentration of information can get slightly exhausting, even if it is only noticeable when the thrills slow down

Thankfully, that's a seldom occurrence in The Invisible Man, a film that takes every opportunity to deliver a surprise and ensures that each one resonates. It's a deft reinvention of the Universal Monster film after the disappointment of The Mummy, and is proof positive that these stories can lend themselves to modernisation in the right hands. The horror feels thrillingly prescient, reframing the terror of an invisible threat in a way that is utterly unpredictable but all too familiar. Elisabeth Moss is every inch the perfect horror hero, delivering arguably her best performance ever, and it's her fearless embodiment of this character that gives this film such a sting. She makes this her own, and she easily joins the pantheon of the ace female horror leads we've seen in the last few years. It's slick, it's thrilling, it's got some really sharp ideas that linger after the credits roll, and it's tonally tight. I'll admit that I wasn't expecting much of The Invisible Man, but I'm happy to say that I was very much surprised

★ ★ ★ ★

My Thoughts on About Endlessness

Roy Andersson is back. After wrapping up his Living trilogy back in 2014 with the wonderful A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence, cinema's most singular surrealist has returned with About Endlessness, 78 minutes of his trademark philosophical comedy delivered in a series of shorts exploring the silliness, horror, tragedy and beauty of being a human being. About Endlessness is business as usual for the mischievous filmmaker, and it should go with saying that it won't make converts out of those who aren't already devout members of the church of Andersson, but it's a short, sharp shot of arthouse bliss, lacking a definite plot but packing plenty of gorgeously dry insights about the oddities of the everyday

The shorts explore the mundanities of existence; in many ways the title is the best indicator of what the film is about (endlessness, natch). Each one is rendered in Andersson's signature style: minimal camera movement, drab colour palette and a hyper-specific focus on the bizarre, but they're also playful, surprising and full of mischief, spryly bouncing along from one observation to the next with deadpan glee. Each short focuses on the vastness of existence, the emptiness of the void and what we choose to fill it with, and although stylistically the film is very much rooted in Andersson's classic tightness and austerity, there's a great amount of tonal fluidity in this film, which can pinball between a pitch-black depiction of an execution by firing squad to a spirited musical number with absolute ease. Andersson effortlessly flits between tones as he flicks through this gorgeously constructed picture book, but it's the images themselves that really resonate. The tableaux range from the blacker-than-black comedy wrung from a nightmarish crucifixion to the unfathomable beauty of a couple floating above a destroyed city, but even the seemingly minor images hold weight; my personal favourite being the hilariously unfortunate shot of a father tying his daughter's shoes in the midst of a monsoon, although special mention goes to the utterly unexpected appearance of one of the 20th century's most evil tyrants

The prevailing themes of About Endlessness are all classic Andersson, reducing the most bizarrely relatable moments of the human experience down to their most crucial elements, and the power of these vignettes echoes across the whole film. It is simultaneously powerful and ridiculous, but the greatest surprise is how it confronts the issue of faith. This is explicitly a film about the great forces of the universe and the extent to which we believe in them, but for all of his gleeful pranks, this is something that Andersson tackles with great contemplation. It's not so much that he knows when to laugh and when to stop laughing, but that he knows how to poke fun at the grander parts of the universe while still understanding their importance. Most importantly is that it isn't navel gazing nonsense: when he says something here, there is truth to it, and the final observation, in which one character openly remarks on the wonders of the universe, really does hit home even when it should feel preachy. The film very much sees Andersson work within his niche but again he proves why he carved it in the first place, showcasing just how well he's able to work out of it to deliver a true experience in the way that only he can

 How much of it works does of course depend on the person, but Andersson's sheer devotion to the offbeat is absolutely undeniable. It's early days yet, but it's fairly unlikely that About Endlessness will be usurped as the strangest film of 2020.

★ ★ ★ ★

My Thoughts on True History of the Kelly Gang

2016's Assassin's Creed was a rare misfire for Justin Kurzel, one of the true punks of modern genre cinema, which is unfortunate considering the brutality of 2011's Snowtown and the blazing reinterpretation of 2015's Macbeth. So it's exciting to see him back on form with True History of the Kelly Gang, a fiery reframing of the life of the outlaw Ned Kelly. This isn't the first film to tackle this story, with Kelly having been played by everyone from Heath Ledger to Mick Jagger, but it's certainly the most striking. Kurzel's take on Kelly is entirely from his perspective, following his life in three crucial stages. It also completely tears up the rulebook, telling Kelly's story the way he probably would have done so, a fitting move considering how vital the idea of making your own legacy is to the story

True History of the Kelly Gang is pure punk poetry, revelling in the anarchic bliss of Kelly's antics and finding haunting beauty amid the chaos. It's a hardcore film, with jolts of unrelenting violence and disarming moments of black comedy peppered throughout the film. These stylistic choices bring their own kind of brilliance, with bombastic punk music and blinding strobe lighting amplifying the soul searing fire at the heart of the story. This is cinema of the elements, drawing its bite from the stark natural imagery to propulsive effect, and the result is Werner Herzog by way of Pete Shelley, both anarchic and awe-inspiring on its journey through the inferno. True, this particular blend won't be to everyone's taste, but the fusion of arthouse and genre sensibilities is undeniably hypnotising, with Kurzel using that stinging bite to cut through to something pure and powerful. Throughout the film, Kurzel is musing on the act of telling history, using the Kelly story to meditate on the extent to which we get to choose how the world remembers us. What gives this film so much strength is that it doesn't feel like it's being told in retrospect; less of a chronicle of the past and more the story of a life told by the person living it.

The bloody, brutal brilliance is propelled by George McKay's beguiling turn as Kelly: unflinching, intense and physical, but with a deep lying vulnerability that makes his gradual destruction that much more tragic. McKay transforms the punk poetry into flesh, blood and muscle, supercharging every side of Kelly with pure electricity. His Kelly is an outlaw and a storyteller, a killer and a poet, and it's McKay's refusal to play the role in any one way that gives it so much blistering brilliance. This mesmeric lead performance is bolstered by a stunning supporting cast. Russell Crowe spits salty verse with a surprising sense of humour, while Nicolas Hoult is disarmingly brilliant as a leering constable, but it's Essie Davis who stands out as Kelly's mother, all fire and ferocity with a deep reservoir of love at the centre. Special mention also to first timer Orlando Schwerdt as young Ned Kelly, who smashes youthful naivety and blistering bravado together with unnerving ease

Kurzel's film is an act of cinematic alchemy, a fusion of elements from all across the spectrum that finds harmony in chaos. It brings together colonial horror, eloquent punk, haunting natural beauty and grindhouse pulp to make something truly special. This is Kurzel cementing himself as one of modern cinema's craftiest madmen, bringing together so many things that shouldn't work, yet absolutely do. It's as provoking as it is highly entertaining; a shocking take on the Ned Kelly story that rewrites the rules and delivers something that feels truly singular. It's familiar pop culture building blocks stacked in a way that feels fresh, pure punk bliss that reminds us that history always matters, even when the way it's told is as radical and irresponsible as this. It's also just a wildly fun time, revelling in the excitement of the Kelly gang's exploits without ever glamorising them. True History of the Kelly Gang is white hot brilliance, an undoubtedly niche but highly enjoyable treat that rings with the unmistakable tone of both poetry and entertainment
★ ★ ★ ★ 

My Thoughts on Weathering With You

After taking the world by storm with the magical Your Name, Makoto Shinkai is back with Weathering For You, another enchanting anime fantasy that looks absolutely gorgeous. Where Your Name dealt with bodyswapping, Weathering With You follows a young boy escaping to Tokyo, where he meets a girl with the ability to stop rain. Given that the city is experiencing non-stop storms, it seems only right that they use this power to help people who need good weather for various different events. From there, we see their day-to-day as they go from one job to the next, but the film always leaves crucial questions about the girl and her powers hanging over the story that suggest that maybe not everything is as it seems. To answer them here would of course rob the film of most its power, as well as ruin a viewing experience that's best had cold

Given that this is a Shinkai production, it should go without saying that Weathering With You looks absolutely stunning. The animation is gorgeous, revelling in reflective puddles and mouth-wateringly drawn food. No detail is left out here, with even the smallest crystal decoration hanging in a window absolutely shimmering off the screen. Pair that with a Radwimps score that is by turns haunting and awe-inspiring and you have a true treat for the senses, but what's crucial here is that Shinkai doesn't skimp on a satisfying story in his pursuit of screensaver-worthy imagery. It looks the part, but every frame is made all the more beautiful because the film is utterly overflowing with heart and charm. There's so much love in this story, both in the quietly moving moments of dialogue and the absolutely huge sequences of weather manipulation. By putting equal amounts of passion into the big and small, Shinkai is doing something really wonderful: bouncing deeply affecting moments of humanity off of the massive forces of the universe, and it's in this balance where the film transcends, even just for fleeting moments, and delivers some of the most stirring animation of the last ten years

If all the talk of the huge forces of the universe and the deep emotion of the heart sounds heavy, then it really should be emphasised how casual and breezy Weathering With You is for most of its run. The slice of life stuff is incredibly endearing, and each character is impossibly likeable, and following them in their day-to-day lives becomes an absolute treat. It's incredibly sweet and surprisingly hilarious, and even when there's not much happening, just spending two hours in this world feels like a privelege. This is helped by how short the scenes are, a potentially minor detail that means that Shinkai can fit that much more into the runtime. This structure of brief episodes makes it feel like so much is happening so quickly, which makes every moment feel all the more precious. The only drawback to such a perfect portrait of the everyday is that the film continually lets itself down when it leans into its thriller elements. True, the detective plot is needed as a catalyst for the dramatic climax, but with such an adept grasp on both the ordinary and the fantastical, the film doesn't really need any more. These scenes jar because they're forcing things to happen, taking something that excels when it just exists and pushing it to be something it isn't. And while this isn't enough to ruin the film, it does mean that it hits a snag as it goes into the third act, which is thankfully made up for with a gorgeous ending

The ending particularly reminded me of why I fell for this film in the first two acts: the optimism of it all. There's no denying- at least not in a logical way- that climate change is one of the most troubling issues right now, but Weathering With You faces climatic concerns with a reassuring smile. Shinkai literally ties weather to the drama of the story, but just as he promises that the lives of these characters will work out okay, so too can we face a meteorologically uncertain future. This is the exact kind of story we need about this right now, and the gorgeous animation, loveable cast of characters and heartfelt coming of age story are just the sweetest bonus. True, it doesn't offer any especially cutting insights on climate change, but that's not what it's trying to do. Instead, it provides a powerful tribute to the endlessly supportive act of just being there for the people we love that dispenses similar positivity when the future looks bleak. Shinkai has rendered every detail in Weathering With You with so much love, and the result is a true animated tonic that chimes with his uniquely soulful tune

★ ★ ★ ★