The Boat that Rocked (2009)

Richard Curtis CBE is a national treasure. His impact on British film and arts in general has been insurmountable. He founded Comic Relief for god’s sake. So there’s no issue, is there? This has been covered, right? He’s awesome. Everybody agree? Ok...moving on.

Blackadder (1983) was shit until Ben Elton came on board and Love, Actually (2003) was one of the worst films of its year. A piece of self-indulgent pretentious super-babble that was 135 minutes too long, yes, it should never have been made. Needless to say, despite making $247 million worldwide I’m right and everyone else is wrong.

So it was with apprehension, and let’s be honest significant delay (it’s been out four weeks now) that I popped along to what I thought would be the Fulham’s final screening last night. As it turns out, if you haven’t seen it already then you have another week. They’re really milking this one. Reluctantly, I admit it’s worth a trip.

For a start, it's funnier than Love, Actually and features a lot less of the Love. Not a bad start. Crucially though, Curtis has increased his pace exponentially making this feel half the length of his previous effort, even though of course, it's no shorter at all. Coming in at a whopping 127 minutes, Britain's own Cameron Crowe really must learn to use the cutting room floor. New editor Emma E. Hickox - The Edge of Love (2008) - has helped of course but huge sections of the narrative could’ve been chopped.

Halfway through minor character Simon (Chris O’Dowd) gets married. The consequences of which are numerous and undoubtedly intrinsic to the narrative. However, the temptation of a mainland stag party proved too great for Curtis. His 10 minute montage sequence of drunken revelry in our nation’s capital is the films lowest point. It looks and feels cheap. Classic clichés include Big Ben, The National Portrait Gallery and Trafalgar Square. What, didn’t they have the rights for the Abbey Road crossing? Kenneth Branagh is our contact on land. Isn’t he enough? Did we really need to get off the boat? Hitchcock didn’t in Lifeboat (1944).

Philip Seymour Hoffman’s canny ability to raise poor films to mediocrity is a growing trend in contemporary cinema (Doubt (2008), Charlie Wilson’s War (2007), and especially Before the Devil Knows you’re Dead (2007)). His role here as revamped Lester Bangs (Almost Famous (2000)) is no different. Playing chicken with Gavin (Rhys Ifans) has to be one of this year's comedic highlights.

On a final note, whilst the ending is up there with Return of the King (2003) for unforgivable longevity its worth mentioning that without the amazing soundtrack this film would have sunk long ago. Procol Harum's A Whiter Shade of Pale hasn't been used so aptly since The Commitments (1991) (also used in the closing moments of the film).

A return to form for Curtis, it seems the directing game may not be one-step-beyond after all.

Zazie dans le métro (1960)

So last night I watched my first Louis Malle film, Zazie dans le Metro. As part of the BFI’s French Nouvelle Vague season it slotted in perfectly as part of “the movement that changed film culture”. I can’t compare it to the rest of his films because I haven’t seen them but this one basically featured every visual gag conceived on celluloid – not to mention a man in a polar bear outfit shivering on top of the Eiffel Tower – hilarious! Ok, I didn’t sell it, maybe you had to be there.

Based on Raymond Queneau’s novel (1959) of the same title, the film opens with a dizzying POV shot from the front of a train on its way to Paris’ Gare de l’Est. Upon arriving 12-year-old Zazie (Catherine Demongeot) and her mother go separate ways for the duration of two days. Zazie is put into the custody of Uncle Gabriel (Philippe Noiret) whilst her mother enjoys a two day fling with a long distance lover. It is Zazie that Malle follows (almost entirely in fact) in her various escapades around Paris. All modes of transport are used except for the title referencing “metro” as workers have gone on strike – only a minute part of its satirical social commentary on Parisian lifestyle in the early 60s.

A wonderful, charming, crazy slice-of-life only slightly diminished by its fantastically long food-fight at the end. What is it with the French and their food fights? Babette's Feast (1987) anyone?