Has there been a more idiotic decision in recent cinema than Harvey Weinstein’s choice to re-release The King’s Speech as a PG-13 movie? I mean, surely The King’s Speech has been successful enough, winning Oscars galore and raking in hundreds of millions of dollars. Apparently not - now it must appeal to the kids.

And how is Harvey Scissorhands going to achieve this new rating? He’s going to achieve it by cutting out some of the swearing. Now I guess quite a few people could formulate an argument about foul language not being essential to any movie. Never mind that it provides authenticity and mirrors the way that people actually speak (have you ever tried to watch the cleaned-up version of Goodfellas on AMC - it’s fucking weird; especially when the swearing is censored but the bone-shattering violence is left intact). But here the language is also essential to the plot.

One key scene has Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush), the King’s speech therapist, proving that the King doesn’t stammer when he swears. The King then goes on to prove the point by swearing beautifully and fluently. It’s the first time in the film that Logue manages to make a dent in the King’s armour - it’s the first time that he begins to get to the core of him. So what justification can there be for altering this? Are they going to have the King say ‘Frick’ and ‘Poop’? That would be fucking ridiculous. And really, is making the film a PG-13 really going to make it any more money? It’s already made a bucketload of dosh on a very meagre budget; I don’t think that castrating it is going to attract floods of kids and teenagers. I think it’s done as well as it’s going to do.

So how do I feel about The King’s Speech winning Best Picture at the Academy Awards? Well, I feel far better now than when I hadn’t seen it. I was highly aggrieved that The Social Network didn’t win and was disappointed to see yet another film about someone overcoming adversity clearing up at the awards. But now that I’ve seen the film, I no longer have any animosity towards it. Yeah I still think that The Social Network got shafted, but The King’s Speech is a fine film.

One of my main fears at school and university was getting up in front of my class and speaking. I would literally worry about it for weeks beforehand and build the event up to colossal proportions in my mind. But I only had to speak to a few kids and a teacher. I didn’t have to get up in front of thousands. Plus I didn’t have a speech impediment. Sure my voice might have wavered as I spoke, but I didn’t have a stammer to contend with.

Another memory from school is having to listen to children with stammers perform presentations. It was always a painful experience. I’d try and be supportive but I have to admit that frustration would always creep into my mind - I’d often be thinking ‘just spit it out’ or ‘how much longer is this going to go on for?’. These aren’t particularly empathetic emotions, but they’re natural ones. So to have a King with a stammer, you’re taking this and blowing it up to a grand scale.

There’s a scene near the beginning where Prince Albert (Colin Firth), the future King, has to give a speech at the British Empire Exhibition. As you see him preparing, you can’t help but feel anxious on his behalf. You know that this is going to be a tortuous experience. And then there are all the people who offer their stupid advice - ‘make the microphone do the work’. Yeah, that’ll cure my stammer, numbnuts. But it’s the little details that help sell the terror. We’re told that the speech is going to be transmitted across the world and that when a little red light next to the microphone stops flashing, the Prince will be speaking live to the world. My sphincter tightened a little bit on his behalf when the blinking light finally turned into a solid red.

The disaster of this experience has the future King seeking help from the best doctors in England. None of them are worth a damn and they make the Prince do humiliating things like stuff marbles in his mouth. Plus they say that smoking is good for a stammer - apparently it relaxes the throat.

When the Prince and his wife end up at the door of Lionel Logue, it’s a completely different experience. His offices are almost falling apart and he doesn’t have any staff. He seems to run a ramshackle operation. But unlike the other therapists, Logue doesn’t offer crazy solutions. He tries to go deeper into the problem - he doesn’t want to just solve the mechanics.

A lot of the enjoyment of the film is watching the battle between Logue and the Prince. Angry and obstinate, the future King doesn’t want to get to the root of his problem; he just wants his affliction gone. But Logue knows that the best way to help the Prince’s problem is to treat more than the surface issue. Of course, this doesn’t always go down well. The Prince doubtlessly sees Logue as an inferior. He shouldn’t have to open himself up to him - it’s silly and undignified.

The efforts to ease the stammer sometimes resemble a battle. However, it’s a battle that’s difficult to win as the Prince’s insecurity often gets in the way. For a long time he refuses to put himself entirely in Logue’s hands. The difference in their social standing is perhaps an easy get-out clause for the King. When things get too painful or too personal he can bring the walls smashing down without lifting a finger.

The Prince illustrates this in a scene where Logue and Albert go for a walk. Logue insists that one day Albert could be King. Logue then makes the mistake of touching the Prince’s arm. Angered by this treasonous talk and this over-familiarity, not to mention the horrifying prospect of him being King, the Prince lashes out by mocking Logue’s acting aspirations and taking the piss out of his poor, working class, colonial origins. The way that the scene is filmed is quite marvelous. As the future King storms off you see Logue in the background, rooted to the spot. As the Prince walks, Logue gets smaller and smaller. His spirits are crushed and with just a few words he’s been reduced to a speck. Just when he thought he was getting close to the Prince, he’s put back in his place.

There are some things about the film that don’t work as well as they could have. King Edward (Guy Pearce) and Wallis Simpson are pretty one-dimensional. They’re shallow party fiends that don’t really seem to have a brain cell between them. It also feels that Winston Churchill (Timothy Spall) has been shoe-horned into the story because he’s a figure that everyone will recognise. Indeed, watching the film, it would be easy to miss the fact that he wasn’t the Prime Minister during the outbreak of World War Two. There has definitely been some simplification.

But simplification is often necessary in a biopic - there’s often too much detail to cram into a two hour film. The important thing is how good the core of the film is. And the core of The King’s Speech is definitely the friendship between the Prince and Logue.

There’s another great scene that occurs during the preparations for the coronation. The soon to be King confronts Logue with the fact that Logue is not a qualified doctor. Logue then points out that he never pretended to be - that the sign on his office lists him as Mister. He then points out all the soldiers that he treated for shell shock after the First World War. He speaks calmly and knowledgeably and with a complete lack of bullshit. He’s a man of experience and integrity - he’s the complete opposite of the Harvey Street quacks the King had dealt with previously. Logue will never lie or humiliate the King. He wants to meet the King on equal terms and help him solve his problem. It’s only near the end that that plea for equality is returned; that the men truly operate at the same level.

Watching this movie, you’d think the King’s first wartime speech was one of the most important events in World War Two. I say bullshit to that. If the King had stammered, little old England would have been fine. But such is the strength of the film, that the speech does indeed feel like a make or break situation. It feels like the fate of a nation is hanging on the King’s ability not to stammer. Again, like the beginning of the film, the tension is enormous.

I’d be lying if I said that the final speech wasn’t incredibly rousing. With anxious close-ups of the King and cutaways to civilians and troops, it feels like you’re walking a tightrope. If the King doesn’t stammer, we’ll have the strength to fight these Nazi bastards. If he does we’re probably going to capitulate. It’s a nonsense feeling but it’s still grimly effective. And when the King gets through the speech unscathed, it doesn’t matter that this event has been blown up into crazy proportions or that in reality the King had been speaking well since 1927 (with the help of Logue of course). You get swept up in the emotion of the piece. And of course, being an Englishman living abroad, I’m even more susceptible to the brand of patriotism contained in the film. I don’t believe in the monarchy but during this film I believed in the King.

Brian Clough was one of the most amazing managers that the footballing world has ever seen. Brash, loud and outspoken, he took not one but two provincial, second division teams and turned them into English champions (with Nottingham Forest, he even turned them into European champions!). It’s a feat that is unlikely to be repeated.

But then there’s Clough’s tenure as manager of Leeds United. Lasting just 44 days in the job, it was an unmitigated disaster. He alienated the fans, the players and turned a championship winning team into relegation candidates. It’s this blip in Clough’s illustrious career that is the focus for The Damned United.

Some context: in the late 60s, Leeds United were one of the top teams in England. Under Don Revie, they won English championships and European titles. They played a particularly brutal kind of football, but they were effective. Derby County on the other hand weren’t even in the top division; they were bringing up the rear of the second division. But in Brian Clough they had one of the best young managers in the game. Given time, he’d win them promotion and turn them into English champions.

Given that Brian Clough achieved such great things in his career, it’s interesting that the film chooses to focus on his lowest ebb. How many times have we seen films where a coach takes a bunch of nobodies and turns them into winners? It’s the story of every other sports film. But here we have a film where a manager takes a group of superstars and turns them into losers - it’s the sports movie turned inside out.

The film begins with Clough’s tenure at Derby. Don Revie’s Leeds United are visiting for a cup game and Clough is starstruck. He holds Leeds and Revie in high esteem and orders his staff to fix up the football ground so that it’s in a more appropriate condition to be visited by such illustrious guests. He orders that a sign be repainted, that the walls be cleaned and that the pitch look like a carpet (an impossible feat when it looks like a mud bath). In short, he’s like a child who is being visited by his idol.

When Leeds arrive, Don doesn’t even acknowledge Clough. And to make matters worse, Leeds are less than sporting in the game. They kick lumps out of the Derby players and then one of them dives in order to gain a penalty. And then when the game’s over, again Revie doesn’t acknowledge Clough – he shakes everyone else’s hand. A bigger fuck you, you couldn’t ask for.

Clough’s subsequent success at Derby, which includes edging out Leeds for the championship, is painted almost entirely as revenge against Revie. Aggrieved that his idol didn’t even know or care who he was, he makes sure that everyone now knows who he is.

One of the great things about The Damned United is that it realises that there’s more drama off the pitch than on. And it’s even more appealing because the off pitch drama features none of the usual football cliches - sex and booze. This is just a tale of revenge, of obsession, of friendship and of ego. It’s the story of men in dirty, smelly dressing rooms, plotting revenge against one another. It’s the story of muddy boots and rain-soaked pitches. It’s class warfare, the north/south divide and the tedious encroachment of commerce exploding in the melting pot of a football match. It’s all the little things that make England so great and so frustrating (civic pride, provincialism, passion, anger) brought to you in concentrated form. Where else but in England would the greatest English manager never be given the job of managing the national side? But where else but in England would such a big-headed loud mouth be so loved and adored (he has statues in Derby, Nottingham and Middlesbrough)?

To give you a taste of Clough’s arrogance, there’s his first training session at Leeds United. Don Revie has left to become England manager and Clough has been hired to fill in the gap. Now how does Clough try and win the players over? Does he pamper their egos? Does he say how pleased he is to be their coach? No. He tells the players that they never won a championship fairly and that they can throw all their medals in the bin because they’re meaningless. Suffice it to say, the players aren’t impressed. However, it’s for this reason and for many others that Clough is so beloved in England. He refuses to pander. He’ll only speak his mind. There’s no compromise. But even though he’s abrasive, Clough is genuine. He’s sincere. He’s the complete opposite of Revie, who always came across like a second-hand car dealer.

Revie is openly mocked by Clough’s assistant Peter Taylor, who laughs at the Leeds manager’s various superstitions. But a lot of the drama in the film actually comes from the relationship between Clough and his number two. They’re great friends, but as Clough becomes increasingly successful, so he becomes harder to deal with. He begins to attribute Derby’s success wholly to himself, lessening Taylor’s vital contribution. Clough might be an excellent motivator and tactician, but it’s Taylor who can spot potential and help bring players to the club. Both men essentially fill-in each others’ weaknesses.

Of course it doesn’t help that Clough has to deal with a tedious chairman. As his gloomy employer, Clough’s chairman is constantly worrying about money. It’s a grim reminder that in modern football money is always the bottom line. Those who have it can buy success. Those who don’t have it are forced to struggle. But back in this era, buying power had yet to determine the best teams. Yes, money was creeping in, but you could still have a team that’s in the second division one year and is then challenging for the championship the next. That’s unthinkable nowadays, but in the 70s the manager was still the boss. The club was run by him, not by foreign billionaires.

So with all of this power and all of this success, Clough does that very English thing of fucking it all up. He pisses off the Derby chairman and then writes a resignation letter on behalf of him and his assistant in a bid to strengthen his position in the club. After all, the board would never accept his resignation, would they? Not after winning them the championship.

Clough does all of this without telling Taylor. Taylor is miffed. He’s happy at Derby. It’s a home to him. And when the board accepts their resignation, they’re cast into the wilderness.

One of the strongest scenes in the film comes during a trip to Spain. Clough and Taylor have been hired by Brighton (a team in the third division!) and are relaxing on the beach. Out of nowhere comes a man in a suit. He’s Leeds United’s club secretary and he’s offering Clough the job as manager. Clough accepts and wants Taylor to join him. But Taylor is outraged. They’ve only just accepted the job at Brighton. Plus they hate Leeds. Clough says he wants to win the championship with Leeds but he wants to do it better than they did with Revie. An argument ensues and Clough calls Taylor a parasite. It’s a horrible, heartbreaking moment and you know that Clough doesn’t mean a word of what he says, but pride, passion and ambition have clouded his mind.

Without Taylor, Clough performs dismally at Leeds. The players kick him around on the training ground, they under-perform on the pitch and they even slam the dressing room door in his face. Quite what Clough expected from them, I don’t know. He openly criticised Leeds before becoming their manager and then criticised them as their manager. The whole enterprise was doomed to failure from the beginning. But it ends up being a worthy exercise as after he’s fired, Clough comes crawling back to Taylor. He literally gets on his hands and knees and begs for forgiveness, finally learning some humility. And it’s here as Clough and Taylor are reunited that the film suddenly becomes a bro-mance. It’s perhaps the only false step in an otherwise masterful film. I have nothing wrong with the way that the scene is written or acted but the musical choice is poor - some schmaltzy song plays in the background.

But this one misstep doesn’t affect the power of the film. Michael Sheen is magnificent as Brian Clough and Timothy Spall is excellent as Peter Taylor. Indeed, this makes the third British icon that Sheen has successfully played. First he played Tony Blair, then he played David Frost and here he plays Brian Clough. But his performance never feels like an imitation. He inhabits the role of ol’ big head perfectly.

Another thing that especially pleased me about the film was the use of archive footage. For some reason, it’s very difficult to accurately film a football game. It always ends up looking phoney. The Damned United gets around that by showing actual football very sparingly. And then when it does show it, most of it’s archive footage. I don’t know why, but seeing this old footage is incredibly soothing to me - a warm reminder of the country I love and the country I left behind. Sure I wasn’t even born when these games were played, but I consumed them as a teenager and as such they’re a part of who I am.

I also loved seeing the real footage of Brian Clough at the end. And to think that after the Leeds debacle Clough and Taylor took Nottingham Forest from the second division to the first division, and then not only won the championship in their first season in the top flight but then subsequently won two European Championships! These men were giants.

However, while the film ends on a high with the footage of Clough bringing the European Cup to Forest, he and Taylor later had another final falling out, one that they didn’t recover from. After this falling out they never spoke to each other again. Apparently, when Taylor died, Clough was inconsolable and turned to drink. He even dedicated his autobiography to him with the following dedication: “To Peter. Still miss you badly. You once said, ‘When you get shot of me there won’t be as much laughter in your life’. You were right.” There are victories and defeats in every life. The best we can do is to learn from them. Sadly Brian Clough didn’t learn as much as he should have. He was a glorious, tragic figure.

Side note: I didn’t realise that this was made by Tom Hooper, the same director as The King’s Speech. So that means that I’ve watched Hooper films back to back. However, as much as I enjoyed The King’s Speech, I think The Damned United was even better.

One film immediately sprang to mind while I was watching Black Swan: The Piano Teacher. Both films are about performers trapped in claustrophobic relationships with their mother. Both films are about self-destruction. And both films are about the sacrifices people make for their art, often to the detriment of their well-being.

Another film that sprang to mind was Darren Aronofsky’s previous movie The Wrestler. One of the themes of that film was the way the way the main character destroyed his body for the enjoyment of others. The more he performed, the more he gave to the audience, the less he had for himself. And so it is with Black Swan. Here’s a woman who, like Mickey Rourke’s wrestler, is slowly destroying her body and her soul for other people’s entertainment and amusement.

One of the main bones of contention when I discussed Black Swan with my wife was our differing responses to the mother/daughter relationship portrayed in the film. I sensed a very subtle sexual element. My wife didn’t see it at all.

It’s by no means overt, but there are a couple of hints that there’s some sexual abuse going on in this claustrophobic, co-dependant relationship. There’s one scene where the mother, happy that her daughter Nina (Portman) got the main part in ‘Swan Lake’, gives her a cake. She then puts some of the cream on her finger and insists that her daughter lick it. The aggression is such that you know that she’s not going to take no for an answer. And then there’s another moment when the mother just invites herself into her daughter’s bedroom, and like there’s nothing wrong with this at all, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, says that she’s going to spend the night with her. It’s under the pretext of getting her daughter up early the next morning but this just seems like an excuse – the mother just wants any excuse to invade her daughter’s personal space.

Yes these aren’t overt signs of sexual abuse, but even if nothing physical has ever taken place, there’s at least psycho-sexual abuse going on here. The mother is needy, clingy and demanding, and as such she has ensured that her daughter lives in a state of arrested development. The daughter’s room looks like it belongs to a twelve-year-old. There’s pink everywhere and there are lots of childish knick-knacks. The mother has wrapped her baby up in cotton wool and as such the daughter is ill-prepared to deal with the harsh realities of real life.

But going back to the sexual undertones in the mother/daughter relationship, there’s a scene where Nina masturbates in her room. Before this, the sleazy ballet director that cast the daughter in the lead role in ‘Swan Lake’ encourages her to masturbate so that she can loosen up. He also asks her if she’s a virgin. She says that she isn’t but the true nature of her previous sexual encounters is never explained. They certainly didn’t seem like happy liaisons. Could they possibly have been with her mother? Is this why she’s so uptight? And then when the daughter finally gives in to desire, her wanking session is interrupted when she sees that her mother is sleeping in the corner of her room. The daughter’s sexual identity seems to be strongly tied to her mother – she can’t free herself from her mum’s suffocating grasp.

And it’s this search for liberation that is the main thrust of the film. Portman’s character is told time and time again that her dancing is technically perfect. However, in order to play the lead in ‘Swan Lake’, she must play both the White Swan and the Black Swan. And in order to play the Black Swan she must embrace her dark side: she must lose some of her inhibitions and give in to her emotions.

Needless to say, this is more difficult for Nina than you might imagine. All her life she’s been building a wall. She’s been resisting her emotions – keeping them at bay. And her desire to become a ballerina is a desire to achieve the perfection she can’t obtain in her real life. Therefore it’s always going to be difficult for her to perform with reckless abandon.

However, Portman’s character definitely has demons. The opening sequence superbly illustrates this as we see her dancing with the demon from Swan Lake. Nina is a troubled soul, desperately tying to keep a grip.

As Nina gets closer to the opening night, so she becomes more and more unhinged. There are some excellent visual touches that display her paranoia. One of my favourites was the shot where her reflection turns to look at her as she looks away. The direction is very casual and doesn’t draw attention to itself, but it’s rather beautiful and unsettling.

There are also some nice visual flourishes when Nina goes to a nightclub. As she dances under some strobe lights we briefly get flashes of the Black Swan. She’s finally embracing the darkness inside her.

Nina even goes so far as to take Lily, a rival dancer, home and have sex with her. But as we later find out, this is pure fantasy. Nina is beginning to unravel – her perceptions are becoming skewed.

The shit hits the fan when Nina finds Lily in her dressing room, dressed as the Black Swan and apparently ready to take her part. A struggle ensues and Lily turns into Nina. Nina then ends up stabbing and killing her duplicate. The passion, the energy and the emotion that she previously lacked comes out like a volcano – she’s ready to be the Black Swan.

The final performance is quite breathtaking and the sequence where she actually performs as the Black Swan is a fantastic piece of cinema. It’s wild and it’s loose, and there’s a magnificent visual flourish as Portman grows black feathers and wings burst out of her back. All of the time she’s been seeking perfection in her dancing and now she finally has it. She has everyone at her feet – the audience, her fellow performers and even the ballet director; they’re all in her thrall.

However, when Nina gets back to the dressing room she discovers that she didn’t stab her competitor at all – she stabbed herself and is bleeding to death. Somehow Nina manages to continue and gives it her all in the final act. As the White Swan lays there dying (and as she herself lays there dying), she says that she was perfect. Some performers say that they have to kill themselves for their audience. Well, Nina literally does that. And she also ends up being an echo of the character she portrays. She starts off innocent, looking for the freedom that a perfect performance will bring. But then she’s tricked by her demons and ends up destroying herself. But through this destruction she finally finds liberation – finally achieving perfection and finally receiving recognition from her peers and her audience, she can give up the ghost, knowing that nothing will ever supplant this moment.

I first saw The Talented Mr Ripley during its original theatrical run. It got decent reviews and looked like an intriguing film. However, I didn’t quite expect it to be as good as it was. For my money, it was one of the best films of the year.

Since then, The Talented Mr Ripley has kind of fallen off the radar a little. It’s still a respected film, but I think it’s perceived as only a modest success - a film that is perhaps too controlled, too mannered and generally lacking in the thrills and spills associated with the thriller genre. And this is a huge shame, as the film works on many levels and deserves to be recognised as one of the best films of the 90s.

What’s so remarkable about the film, looking at it from 2011, is Matt Damon. I associate him so acutely with the Bourne films that it’s surprising to remember that he played Tom Ripley, and that he played him so well. Completely dispensing with the macho meathead persona he cultivated in the risible Good Will Hunting, he plays a gay sociopath who gets irrevocably tangled in his own web of lies.

It’s this laxity with the truth that is fundamental to Ripley. Tom is a young man who is ashamed of himself. He’s ashamed that he lives in a basement and that he works as a toilet attendant. He knows that he’s capable of much more. And it’s this shame that leads him to tell his first lie of the movie - while chatting to some people at a party, he tells them that he went to Princeton (he never went; he’s only borrowing a jacket from a friend). It’s a small untruth, but the consequences of this one lie are severe.

Lies often have a way of taking a life of their own. They grow, they develop and soon they have you trapped, which, perversely enough, is the complete opposite intention of the lie. Usually small lies are told to protect - to protect people from pain, humiliation or ridicule. In effect, they’re supposed to liberate you from your humdrum existence - to keep brutal reality at bay.

And at the beginning of the film, this is what happens to Tom. He lies about being from Princeton and all of a sudden he’s being sent to Italy by the rich shipping merchant Herbet Greenleaf to bring his wayward son Dickie Greenleaf (Jude Law) back to America. The wonder of this mission is beautifully visualised by the way that Ripley ascends from his wretched basement apartment to a waiting limousine on the street. This is what Ripley has been waiting for - the good life.

Now this one little lie need not damn Ripley forever more. But the trouble with lies is that they grow like weeds. Everything that is good gets obliterated by this hostile force.

Ripley’s second lie is the one that comes back to haunt him. Upon arrival in Italy, he bumps into Meredith Logue (Cate Blanchett), a wealthy textiles heiress. She tells him how impressed she is at how light he’s travelling - he has a couple of bags while she seems to have an entire boatload. Immediately Ripley’s inferiority complex rises to the surface and he tells her that he’s Dickie Greenleaf (even though his bags are in the ‘R’ section), keeping the humiliation of his poverty and poor social standing at bay. But what makes Tom a truly talented individual is the way that he can roll with his lies. Meredith saw him retrieving his luggage from the ‘R’ stand and she also knows who the Greenleafs are. So Tom spins her a charming story about travelling under a false name in a bid to try and remain anonymous - he’s a sensitive rich type, not a braggart. This wins over Meredith, who’s also travelling under a false name - he’s already made his first friend in Italy.

Despite his penchant for lies, Ripley is also capable of making some incredibly honest insights. When Ripley sets up an ‘accidental’ meeting on a beach, Dickie is aghast at how white he is - he actually calls him grey. Ripley replies by saying it’s only an undercoat - he wants to paint over his real self; he wants to be reborn.

Ripley manages to ingratiate himself with Dickie and proceeds to add layers to his dull undercoat. Lacking any real identity of his own, or ashamed of the one he actually has, he pretends to be a lover of jazz (Dickie is a big fan) and becomes a confidant for Marge (Gwyneth Paltrow), Dickie’s long suffering girlfriend. In short, he eventually becomes one of the family. They go to bars (Ripley is beside himself with joy when Dickie asks him to help perform a jazz song at a Naples club), they go sailing and they plan holidays together. Ripley even helps to hide Dickie’s affairs from Marge. They’re like brothers.

The only thing complicating matters is Ripley’s sexual attraction to Dickie. Ripley grows obsessed with him and their relationship begins to corrode. One excellent scene has the two playing chess together in the bathroom. Dickie’s bathing and Ripley is sitting by his side. Ripley then decides to make a risky move and says that he’s cold and asks if he can get in the bath. Dickie says no and Tom sheepishly replies that he didn’t mean that he wanted to get in the bath with Dickie still in there, even though this is totally what he wanted. And then Ripley ogles Dickie’s naked form in the mirror. From here their relationship sours - Dickie isn’t going to give Ripley the warmth he needs.

To make matters worse, Dickie’s friend Freddie (Philip Seymour Hoffman) turns up. He’s one of those annoying friends of a friend that can immediately see right through you - they can see your foibles, your weakness and your bullshit. All of the magic that you used on your mutual friend doesn’t work and you’re naked.

Ripley’s most humiliating exposure comes during a trip to a record store. Ripley acts like Dickie’s nagging wife and keeps telling him not to miss their train. Freddie and Dickie can only laugh at him and Ripley’s security is gone - he no longer feels like part of a family; he feels like a fool. And there’s one hilarious moment when Freddie literally dances at Ripley - with the look he gives Tom, you know that there’s only going to be one winner in this duel.

Things come to a head between Dickie and Ripley during a ride on a small boat. Ripley is mortified that Dickie is finally going to marry Marge, saying that Dickie loves him. The writing in this scene is excellent. Ripley lays himself bare but reveals himself to be jealous and clingy. He also reads far too much into certain things. Dickie is a sax player but later in the film expresses a desire to learn the drums. Of course this takes on a sexual connotation and Ripley asks Dickie to make his mind up - does he want to play sax or drums. A scuffle then ensues and Ripley ends up killing Dickie with an oar. The first strike is an attack but everything else is out of protection - Dickie is literally going to throttle him. So the murder has a strange disorientating feeling. And there’s an excellent touch at the end when, from above, you see Ripley lying with Dickie’s arm draped over him. For a brief few moments he can pretend that he has what he wants.

Jude Law is such a force in the film that it’s hard not to miss him once his character is killed off. Immediately following Dickie’s death, the film begins to drag ever so slightly. It’s still highly entertaining, but as Ripley’s web becomes more and more tangled, so the plot begins to stretch plausibility. You see, after Greenleaf’s death, Ripley pretends to be Dickie and lots of the scenes revolve around him either imitating Greenleaf or trying to convince people that he’s still alive. In a weird way Ripley becomes almost like a Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent type. Tom is the real him while Dickie is his superhero alter-ego.

As Dickie, Ripley gets to indulge in all of his deepest fantasies. These mainly revolve around him playing the piano and furnishing his overly fussy apartment. Freddie Miles actually gets things right when he turns up out of nowhere on Tom’s doorstep. He says the flat is horrible. Sure Tom might like the finer things in life but his taste borders on the Liberace. Which is kind of amusing when you consider how stylish Dickie is - it’s like Tom learned nothing from him. But then again, Dickie and Ripley are like chalk and cheese. Dickie’s style and taste is very forward thinking, while Tom harks back to the past - he’s old before his time.

Going back to Ripley’s split personality, though, there’s an excellent piece of imagery that perfectly illustrates what Minghella is trying to get across. In the reflection of a piano lid we see Ripley split in two. The further he indulges in his fantasies of being Dickie, the more he loses himself.

And strangely enough, the film actually picks up once Tom decides to permanently return to being Ripley. In the form of a man called Peter-Smith Kingsley, Ripley sees the chance of happiness. With Peter, Tom can almost be himself. The only thing that gets in the way is Tom’s secret. Ripley even says himself that he wants to give Tom the key to the basement and let him know everything, but because he knows the truth would kill the relationship, he’s damned - he’ll never be truly free.

The end to the film is darkly ironic. On a boat trip with his lover, Ripley bumps into Meredith again. Suddenly the impulsive lie he told at the beginning of the film - the one about being Dickie Greenleaf - comes back to bite him. He has two options: he can either kill Meredith or he can kill his lover - he can’t leave them both on board; the truth would eventually come out. Killing Meredith is the most obvious solution but she’s travelling with her family. Therefore, he has to kill Peter. You can see the light being snuffed out of Tom. At one point Meredith even asks him if he’s alone. He wasn’t before but he is now.

The final scene has Tom returning to his cabin, knowing he has to kill his lover. Even though Ripley is a rather wretched individual, he does always have my sympathies. He does monstrous things but he doesn’t kill because he enjoys it. He’s a slave to emotion and impulse. He’s always trying to protect himself - he’s always fighting for survival. Yes he’s to blame for digging a hole but he’s always trying to reach for the light. And then just when he sees it, it’s gone.

Before he kills him, Ripley asks Peter to tell some good things about Tom Ripley. Peter rattles off a long list and then the dialogue merges into the sounds of murder. Ripley is killing his happiness just so that he can survive; a miserable future awaits.

The final shots are a couple of masterstrokes. After the murder the camera turns around Ripley’s face. At first it’s light, but then it gradually darkens and is cast in shadow. And then from a long shot somewhere in the cabin we see a door closing on Ripley and Tom disappears. He’s going to be locked in the basement forever. His last way out has been slammed shut.

Good old reliable Robin Hood. You can always count on him for a rollicking adventure. Whether it’s Errol Flynn or that Yank from Prince of Thieves or that fat bastard from the recent BBC series, he always tries his best to entertain. Sure he may not always succeed but at least he has a go.

Oh wait, who’s this coming round the corner? Why it’s Russell Crowe and Ridley Scott, riding a pair of steeds like constipated badgers. Ah look at them; so serious, so earnest, so dull. They’re like a married couple that’s sucked the life out of one another. Sure it was fun at the start but now they’re far too comfortable in each other’s company. Gladiator seems like another life ago.

This is the fifth collaboration between Scott and Crowe, and with the exception of Gladiator, none of their films have set the world on fire. Yet they still insist on making movies together. Maybe it’s the irresistible urge of two curmudgeons getting to eat bagels, smoke cigars and admire one another’s beards for a few months, or maybe it’s the allure of churning out another mediocre flick. This pair really doesn’t bring the best out of each other.

The concept for this iteration of Robin Hood originally focused on the Sheriff of Nottingham. Apparently it painted him in a more sympathetic light and Robin Hood was something of a wanker. Had the filmmakers had the balls to stick with that concept, they might have produced an interesting film. Instead they decided to produce this mish-mash of crap. It’s not faithful to the story we know, but it’s not different enough to shake things up. As a result it straddles an uncomfortable middle ground, making certain choices seem more than a little puzzling.

For instance, Maid Marian. In this film she’s Lady Marian. She was married for a few days and then her husband went off to the Crusades where he promptly died (well, on the way back). Is the idea of a forty-year old maid too horrible to consider (although I think the character is actually supposed to be younger)? Would it make everyone queasy to see Robin Hood de-flowering a spinster? Are people really that delicate?

In reality, the decision to have Maid Marian become Lady Marian is to support the ill-thought out plot. Robin witnesses the murder of Marian’s husband Robert Loxley at the hands of the evil traitor Sir Godfrey and then assumes the identity of Marian’s husband so that he can sneak back into England. He then enters into an arrangement with Loxley’s father Sir Walter to continue impersonating Loxley so that Sir Walter doesn’t lose his land. Okay, I can understand the thinking behind this plan, but this ends up being queasier than having Marian be a virgin. Sure the old man isn’t literally pimping his daughter-in-law out, but he is making her pretend to be in love with a complete stranger - this guy could be capable of anything. Dirty old man.

There’s also a really stupid decision to have Marian take part in the final battle. Really, is this the only way to show that the character has strength - to have her literally battle the French with sword in hand? Of course, Scott also tries to show Marian’s strength in other ways. There’s a scene where some French soldiers are going to burn some English villagers (fucking Frogs!). Marian leads the effort to free them. But these big moments do nothing to hide the fact that the character is painted in broad, spazzy strokes.

Speaking of the final battle, there’s another moment that makes it even more risible. Not only do we have Marian taking part in the fight, but we also see Friar Tuck kicking arse. Nothing else in the film suggests that he would excel in battle. After all, he’s a fat inebriate who cares more about honey than people. But no, there he is, running through Frenchies with his sword. Love a duck.

Even more criminal than all of this, though, is how colourless the villains are. Mark Strong as Sir Godfrey is a shocking non-entity. He doesn’t exude any menace or danger. And King John is just a petulant retch. He’s like a child who’s never heard the word ‘no’ and therefore feels free to double cross his loyal subjects and lounge all day in bed with his French slut.

Then you have the Sheriff of Nottingham, surely one of the most memorable characters in the Robin Hood legend. Here, though, he’s only in a few scenes and comes across as nothing more than a buffoon. It was also a shockingly poor decision to have him played by Matthew Macfadyen, who must possibly be one of the blandest actors working today. He doesn’t have an objectionable screen presence but that’s only because you rarely notice that he’s there. He’s kind of like the lettuce in a burger. He looks okay but he adds absolutely nothing to the experience - he’s screen garnish.

Doubtless Ridley Scott envisaged an amazing character arc from the Sheriff but it’s unlikely that a sequel will get made for this festering piece of poo. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with telling a story that will span more than one film, but at least make each film entertaining. Robin Hood fails miserably on that score and ends up feeling rather cynical - yeah, let’s stretch this story out and milk the public for all their worth; oh fuck, we forgot to make the film watchable.

Something else that depressed me was the visuals. Usually you can count on Ridley for some nice photography. But no, everything was dark and dingy - it was like a layer of sludge had been smeared across the lens. Despite this, I’ve heard people praise the photography, which leads me to wonder if I received a bum copy. Or maybe studios now are being complete wankers and are purposely making ordinary DVDs look like shit so that they can hawk more Blu-Rays. Anyone have any ideas? But certainly the unrelenting dinginess of the print has made me wonder.

But really, don’t waste your time on this film. Watch the one with the mullets instead. Somehow I find the soppy American more endearing than the Aussie who tries to talk and act like Michael Parkinson. I mean, Robin Hood isn’t supposed to be a gruff dullard. If you wanted that you should have just got Ridley Scott to play the part.

It seems like a hell of a long time since Mark Romanek directed his last feature film, One Hour Photo. One of my favourite films of the last ten years, the bar was set high for his follow-up, Never Let Me Go. Based on the novel by Kazuo Ishiguro, the movie has a fine pedigree but it falls short of expectations.

The main issue for me is that a lot of it feels lifeless. It’s a story that doesn’t have any action but it has lots of emotions to contend with. It should be bubbling with energy. Instead it feels cold and detached. It’s far too clinical. It’s only at the end that it sparks into life.

The opening section of the film revolves around Halisham public school. The children in this school are told how special there are. They’re also told that if they venture beyond the perimeter of the property that they’re going to get murderised by ne’er-do-wells. Hmm. This is a bit weird - aggressive fear-mongering from teachers. And why do the kids have electronic tags? Prisoners should be wearing those kinds of things, not children.

If you’ve read the book and already know the premise of the film there’s a lot of fun to be had noting the small details. For instance, there’s a scene where the teachers make a big deal about finding some cigarettes and they lecture the children on the health issues - their precious lungs could be damaged if they smoke the nasty fags. Then you have the fastidious way that bottles of milk are lined up for all the kids to drink. Sure enough this isn’t too odd - I used to have milk at school. But the kids also have a batch of pills to take. Yep, got to keep the little ones healthy. Got to keep those lungs clear and got to make sure that they have proper nutrition. Wouldn’t want them to develop any nasty diseases. After all, what would they do with those lovely organs?

One of the most disappointing things for me in the opening sequence was the way that one of the major scenes was fluffed. There’s a budding romance between a couple of the Halisham children - Tommy and Kathy - and in one scene Tommy buys Kathy a cassette tape. The song that Kathy listens to is called ‘Never Let Me Go’. It should be a huge moment in the film but instead it passes by with barely a whimper.

I was also disappointed with Sally Hawkins’ performance as the kids teacher. I don’t know why but she seems to be getting worse and worse as an actor. She’s developed a jarring range of tics that she’s begun repeating in each role. Her performances don’t feel natural - they feel artificial and mannered. She was even less believable here than she was in Happy Go Lucky and I was mentally shooing her off the screen every time she turned up.

Thankfully Hawkins disappears from the film early on. She makes the mistake of having a conscience and tells the children that they’re clones and that they’re going to have their organs harvested later in life. Again this is another scene that doesn’t really work. The children sit there quietly alarmed and Hawkins overacts like crazy, trying too hard to convey her horror. In order for a scene like this to work you need to believe that there is some inner life to the characters - that under the surface, things are happening. Instead the scene is icily detached.

The second part of the film is dedicated to the characters’ life in The Cottages. Here the characters finally have some sort of interaction with society. However, it’s very limited. There’s one amusing scene where they all go to a cafe and none of them know how to order food. So they all end up ordering the same thing - sausage and chips (yummy!).

A relationship also begins between Tommy and Ruth (played by Keira Knightley). Ruth had stolen Tommy away from Kathy while they were still at Halisham and the springs of their bed get a good pounding - Ruth is fucking Tommy pretty much just to spite Kathy; that and the fact she can’t tolerate the idea that a boy would like anyone more than her. The relationship is very immature but this is entirely appropriate considering the character’s sheltered existence. It’s almost like they’re playing at being adults - they don’t quite understand what it’s all about.

One of the most crushing things about the film is the passivity of the characters. They put up no resistance and like children they put their faith in whispers and gossip - there are rumours that any clones that prove that they’re in love will have their donations deferred for a while. Instead of actually doing anything - running away, attacking those that kill them - they go along with everything like lambs to the slaughter.

The strongest scenes are the ones at the end. Tommy leaves Ruth and finally begins a relationship with Kathy, his one true love. Buoyed by the rumour that couples in love will have their donations deferred, they try and prove their feelings for one another - Tommy takes some of his artwork to the mysterious Madame (a woman who used to visit Halisham to judge the children’s artwork to see if it was good enough to be displayed at ‘The Gallery’). Upon visiting the woman they also encounter their former headmistress. They’re very coldly informed that there are no deferrals and that The Gallery was a failed attempt to prove that clones have souls. One of the women then calls them poor creatures.

The lack of feeling is quite brutal. And considering that it’s heavily implied that the Madam and the headmistress are in a same sex relationship, it’s even more amazing that they’re quick to dismiss people as less than human. As people who are part of a group that’s faced a lot of prejudice, you’d like to assume that their thinking would be a little more enlightened. Surely it’s more than clear that these kids have souls - they think, they feel, they love; they’re human. What does it matter how they came to be on this planet? Is a ‘test tube’ child less human than one that was ‘naturally’ conceived? Instead they’re coldly dismissed as trash. It’s a horrible echo of modern society - in the not too distant wake of civil rights abuses, it’s chilling that so many ethnic minorities can march against gay marriage and gay rights.

The most powerful scene in the film is the one where Tommy finally realises he has no hope and collapses on the ground, screaming. Could anyone doubt that anyone who reacts in such a way doesn’t have a soul? Tommy realises how precious life is and all that he’ll lose - this isn’t the reaction of an animal or a piece of meat.

In the end we get to see Tommy give his last donation and ‘complete’. Speaking to a friend of mine about the scene, we both agreed that the most disturbing thing was the way that Tommy is mistreated once the anaesthesia kicks in. While he’s conscious, he’s treated with respect but once he’s asleep he’s treated like cattle - his head is roughly grabbed and his body is pulled about. Even in a situation as shitty as this, you’d hope the medical staff would have the humanity to treat their subject with respect - they’re professionals after all. Instead Tommy has to suffer one final indignity.

I think the film missed a trick in not ending the film with the song ‘Never Let Me Go’. In its place the film ends with a piece from the rather unremarkable score. I think the song would have given the ending another layer of emotion - it’s our destiny that we’ll lose our loved ones, but we shouldn’t have to let them go prematurely.

Facebook: a presence so pervasive that even I’ve jumped on the bandwagon, dropped my kecks and presented myself to all and sundry. Yeah, look to the right of this page. Look at the purity of my site obliterated by my massive Facebook widget (and my Amazon links and my Twitter feed and my sad, desperate plea for money - give me some money you ungrateful fuckers!). Like me. Please like me. Only thirteen people like me at the moment. How pathetic is that? Add to my numbers. Add to my glory! I’m a whore.

I guess lots of great ideas have been driven by ego or revenge or the need to impress girls. The creation of Facebook seems to follow all of these lines. As told in The Social Network, Mark Zuckerberg is a talented but friendless loser. Yes he’s a smart bastard and yes he’s studying at Harvard, but if success is judged by the amount of people you know and the number of friends you have, and in lots of circles it is, then Zuckerberg is at the bottom of the heap. He has one friend and he loses his girlfriend in the opening scene.

To show how clueless Zuckerberg is when it comes to inter-personal relationships you just have to watch the film’s opening exchange. Boastful and dismissive of his girlfriend, he pisses her off to the extent that she leaves him. He’s not too concerned until he realises that she’s serious. Only then does he apologise and he does it with a complete lack of sincerity. He knows that these are the words that he’s supposed to say and the script he’s supposed to follow but there’s no feeling at all - even the biggest idiot would know that he’s not really sorry; he just desperately wants to cling onto this ornament, this decoration that shows that he’s not as big a loser as he seems. But it doesn’t work. His girlfriend still leaves him.

Subsequent to this, Zuckerberg, in a fit of drunken pique, creates a website called Facemash. It features every girl at Harvard and has them lined up in a ‘Hot or Not’-style women-as-meat contest. It successfully degrades every woman on campus and briefly entertains the male half of the university - it gets so many hits that it brings the school network to its knees. Revenge successfully achieved, Mark then has to face the music. But at his hearing Zuckerberg doesn’t display any remorse. He feels that he’s provided the university with a useful lesson - he’s highlighted the flaws in their security.

With Facemash as his first success, Zuckerberg then uses his petulant streak to achieve even greater notoriety. Hired by the Winklevoss twins (who are seamlessly portrayed by one actor) to create a kind of Harvard dating site, Mark decides to plunder their idea and create The Facebook (as it’s known then). As he’s working on it, he manages to avoid meeting his bosses by sending them texts and emails with various excuses. He gives them the runaround for six weeks before finally revealing The Facebook. The Winklevoss’ are understandably pissed off.

One of the many things I like about The Social Network is the ambiguity. It’s never made entirely clear why Zuckerberg decides to screw over the Winklevoss twins. They’re a few of the only people on campus that will actually speak to him and they give him a decent opportunity. But for many reasons Zuckerberg decides to take the offer the wrong way.

The first reason is the fact that the Winklevoss’s only allow him into the bike room of the Porcellian Club (the final club they’re a member of). The Winklevoss’s think they’re being incredibly generous by allowing Zuckerberg on such hallowed ground, but Zuckerberg takes it as a slight. He’s well aware that Jews are still treated like second class citizens in such places and his limited admittance only confirms his suspicions. Secondly, the Winklevoss’s are exactly the kind of people he wishes he could be - rich, good-looking, physically fit; they’re almost Aryan. Mark, on the other hand, is a misfit - a social reject, which makes it beautifully ironic that he goes on to create the most successful social networking site in the world. Thirdly, Mark does it because he thinks that he’s better than everyone else (an arrogance that is interestingly at odds with his inferiority complex). He doesn’t want to be an employee. He wants to be a boss. He won’t tolerate being bottom of the food chain. So Mark’s creation of The Facebook is also an inspired act of petulance. He wants to prove that he can make something on his own - he doesn’t need to be part of special clubs or have powerful friends. While most people of his age would resort to writing bad poetry or indulge in chronic masturbation, he uses his anger to begin the process of making himself a billionaire.

The process has its casualties, though. Zuckerberg hires his best friend (his only friend really) Eduardo Saverin as his business manager. Saverin gives his heart and soul to the business as well as quite a bit of money, but Zuckerberg’s head is turned by Sean Parker (played by Justin Timberlake), founder of Napster. Again, Parker is the kind of person that Zuckerberg wishes he could be - good looking, confident, good with women. But unlike the Winklevoss’s, Parker will take Mark all the way.

Timberlake is excellent as Parker, even though he’s basically just playing an extension of himself. He’s a cocky superstar - the kind of guy that men want to be and women want to be with. So the part isn’t exactly a stretch for Timberlake, but he still brings lots of charm and charisma to the role.

Parker’s seduction of Zuckerberg is the saddest thing about the film. Because of Parker, Zuckerberg ruins the one real friendship he has. This element of the film actually nicely encapsulates the problem with Facebook. Facebook allows us to have the illusion of friendship without having to deal with all the complications. We can friend someone but not really have to see them or talk to them on the phone or write them long emails or letters. We can stay in touch by occasionally looking at their wall or commenting on their status. Everything is a lot more shallow - it’s all less real. And that’s what Zuckerberg chooses. He chooses a shallow friendship over one with any real meaning.

One of the best scenes in the film is when Saverin visits Facebook in its swanky new offices (they’re about to celebrate the one millionth user). He thinks he’s there to celebrate but he’s there to sign papers because his 30% share of the business has been reduced to 0.03% due to restructuring. To make matters worse, all the other main players in Facebook still have a decent share of the business - Parker even has 7%. It’s the equivalent of being defriended and Saverin is understandably pissed off. He smashes Zuckerberg’s computer and says that he’s going to sue him. The coward that he is, Zuckerberg can only tremble. Parker, though, is over the moon - he verbally attacks Saverin. Well, until Saverin pretends that he’s going to punch him - at this point, Parker almost shits himself. But after Saverin’s left, Zuckerberg tells Parker that he was too rough on him. So Zuckerberg obviously still has feelings for his ex-friend, but he’s too much of a coward to stand up for him.

Again this accurately reflects current life, where conflict is avoided at all costs. We’d rather quietly defriend someone or ease them out of our lives than actually speak our minds. We don’t even have the option of a dislike button. Facebook and other social networking sites were supposed to bring us together but if anything they’ve driven us further apart.

But while the film is very timely, is it the all-conquering masterpiece that some people think it is? I wouldn’t go that far. It’s certainly one of the best films of the year, but that isn’t really saying that much, as it’s been a very lean year for cinema so far. However, it’s nice to see David Fincher returning to form after the disappointment that was The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. That was a film that I sorely wanted to like but it fell way short of expectations. Thankfully, though, The Social Network is a film of subtle pleasures. As great as Fincher is, he sometimes gets carried away with the technique of making a film - the worst case being the unnecessarily flashy shots in Panic Room (flying through locks and such). Here he allows the film to speak for itself while still retaining his magnificent eye for visuals. The opening shots as Zuckerberg runs through Harvard are wonderful, as is the boat race at Henley (a scene that initially seems self-indulgent until you realise that it’s cleverly showing you that the Winklevoss’s are second best at everything). And the film also has an excellent score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross (going back to the boat race, the score and the slow motion makes it feel like something out of A Clockwork Orange).

The final scene has Zuckerberg using Facebook to try and friend his ex-girlfriend. After sending the friend request, he refreshes the page every few seconds to see if his request has been accepted. Maybe he’s finally trying to make up for his mistakes or maybe he’s still a slave to his impulses. We don’t know. You can only hope that he’s learnt his lesson and that he understands that all the success and all the money in the world are meaningless if you don’t have any deep, lasting attachments.

Having said all that, go back to the top of the page and click on ‘like’ in my Facebook widget. And after that, donate me some money. It’ll do my self-esteem wonders and I promise that I’ll only use the money to bring you more reviews. I won’t use it on booze or whores. You have my word. I’ll be refreshing Facebook until you like me. Thanks in advance. :)