Johnny Simmons

Friends with Benefits: directed by Will Gluck; written by Keith Merryman, David A. Newman and Will Gluck
  
After seeing Friends with Benefits I came across some interviews that director/writer Will Gluck gave in relation to the film and my attention was immediately caught when I saw him compare it to a Tracy/Hepburn scenario. More arresting, though, was his concept of the characters’ mindfulness. A significant scene in the film sees the two, until then, sex starved protagonists Dylan (Justin Timberlake) and Jamie (Mila Kunis) watching a romantic couple on screen played to anachronistic perfection by Jason Segel and the lovely Rashida Jones. Because these characters are so wise they’re able to point out the silliness of the romantic genre and the ludicrousness that has all those platitudes culminate in a happy ever after ending. The scene is delivered with a level of snark I accept, because even if I do feel badly for the genre romantic comedies tend to be embellished as of late with little to redeem them. In theory, it seems Gluck flirts with the idea of creating a response to decade and more of tired clichés – but, not quite...

A week after the fact, the occasional insularity of the film’s world gives me pause. Dylan is a mere denizen in New York, so that would explain his apparent isolation, but it’s odd that Jamie (portrayed as the poster-girl for all things New York) would have not a single friend in the city other than a man she’s met mere weeks before. The conceit of the film rests on the concept that the two, islands in the proverbial stream, are both lonely and horny and deciding that sex should be as friendly and casual as a game tennis decide to begin a game – a sports’ metaphor that’s awfully trite*. I think I’m getting lost in mixed metaphors. Naturally, the situation will go awry when one – or god forbid, both – of them realises that the situation isn’t as foolproof as it seems. Even tennis has its causalities.

More than a number of persons have credited the “success” of the film to the charisma of the two leads and Timberlake and Kunis definitely do have searing chemistry. For all his recent ubiquity, I like Justin Timberlake (although that’s more than possibly just residual appreciation from his music career) and though I’ve not seen Kunis in enough for her to move me I’m still interested in when she steps up the base line to serve (another sports’ metaphor, whoa). Still, fairly good performances hardly make fine cinema and though nothing about the film screams abysmal, the film around them doesn’t suggest priority. Patricia Clarkson shows up, as is her wont, to inject even more enthusiasm to the situation as Jamie’s kooky and somewhat loose mother. There’s a scene in the film which seems intended to mirror a similar one in Gluck’s last feature Easy A, and it doesn’t roll over the net unimpeded (ahem). It’s because Friends with Benefits spends a curiously short amount of time examining the purported issues of the characters. The film opens with respective hook-ups of Jamie and Dylan telling them that they’re emotionally undeveloped and damaged, and it’s not until well into the second half that they make up on any indication these emotional issues. Otherwise, Timberlake and Kunis prance around like any normal, good-looking young adult.
The clichéd romantic comedy within a romantic comedy which Segel and Jones star in plays on a loop at occasional parts of the film and Gluck’s intent is as subtle as a hammer to the head. The insertion is too saccharine to be condescending; it borders more on being annoyingly expedient. This, he seems to say, is the clichéd way – we’re going to be more self-aware. But, imprudently Gluck seems to think that acknowledging that a mountain is huge is as good as moving it. So, he mires his film down with a slew of witty comments on the state of affairs in the genre while resorting to the same ones to keep the film afloat, which results in an experience where the occasional pleasures are subverted by a pervading sense of confusion. I think I’d have appreciated Friends with Benefits more if it didn’t try to land its serve with a backhanded (gah, that metaphor again). It delivers in a cutesy ways of the genre, but by destroying the naive geniality of the genre it leaves me with a bitter taste in my mouth. And, for all their clichés – the last thing you want is a romantic comedy which leaves you feeling uncomfortable. Gluck shows moments of perception, but they aren’t well imbued. Gluck takes the dive, but he doesn’t stick his landing.

(*I’m done with the sports’ metaphors, I promise. See how gauche that was, with the constant use of sports’ metaphors even as I said that they’re awkward? That’s sort of how Friends with Benefits comes off.)


C

Insidious: directed by James Wan; written by Leigh Whannell

From what I could tell Insidious was being sold on the apparent strength of the Paranormal Activity series. This didn’t actually work on me, though, because I’ve not seen any of the Paranormal Activity films. I’m not a fan of horror films – I’m either too nervy to enjoy them without my imagination running away with me; or I’m so caught in up solving all the plot-points that I overanalyse it to the point that I don’t feel anything for it. Somehow, Insidious fell through the tracks and I ended up seeing it, though. And as far as set-up goes, even though I’m not a devotee of the genre I could make out the obvious particulars. A conventional family moves into a house which seems to be haunted, and the haunts follow them when they move. But more than any other genre, I’d imagine that horror depends more on the feeling than the particulars and every horror film depends on a haunting but Insidious like its name offers more.
Patrick Wilson and Rose Byrne star as our couple in distress, and it’s an immediately curious union. Both actors emanate a sort of steely grace about them so that it’s difficult to completely relish the authenticity in their performances. Even at her best Byrne always seems to be the slightest bit affected. Wilson, too, always seems to be on the wrong side of disarming often seeming more suspicious than dashing (a trait he put to good use in Little Children). And, even though they the turn in good work there's that feeling that they're oddly matched (as nice as they look together). Thus, I’m immediately moved to distrust the veneer of easiness which the film thwarts in all of ten minutes, anyhow. Before long one of the Lambert’s son Dalton enters a bizarre coma and before long the house seems to be acting up and before long a psychic, Elise, is brought in. Insidious harbours a surprisingly logical screenplay. The movement from subtle scares to larger ones is especially organic; the film isn’t interested in the most obvious of thrills.

The concept of possession has always been one that promises potential goodness and the manner in which the notion is handled here is striking. Lin Shave gives a fine performance as the psychic and in a scene (which serves as a set-up for the film’s actual climax) she sits at a table conducting some strange twist on a séance wearing a contraption that’s more ridiculous than horrific. Even if questions are left unanswered, it’s difficult to accuse the film of plot-holes and at the crux of the film as we enter a world referred to as “The Further” the dreamscape quality is beautifully rendered – it’s as much terrible as it is stunning to behold which only adds to the ramifications it unearths. Fantasy seems like such an obvious addendum to horror, and although the film seems more interested in its contemporary trappings Wan is especially adept at tying the fantastical with the horrific in the final act.
And, what an act. True, there’s a slight feeling of intertie in the last ten minutes – as if the film could have wrapped it all up more tidily. And the introduction of two...Ghostbusters ends up being more exasperating than comedic. Otherwise, though, the cast is uniformly game – Barbara Hershey in a small role is surprisingly moving. The final moments of the film live up to its title. More than granting us a visceral scare it leaves the audience with a palpable sense of unease so that at the end you’re tempted to go home and wash off all the traces of the insidiousness – as if your body was the one susceptible to the fiends.

B

The Adjustment Bureau: directed and written by George Nolfi
    
For a while I was confused between Source Code and The Adjustment Bureau. I vaguely remember seeing snippets of them at the beginning of the year and both seemed to tell a story about a dashing male lead a generally charming woman doing a lot of running holding hands. That sounds like a fairly snarky synopsis, but that IS what I remember. I’d hate to move into some bland platitude about how timing is everything and so on. The thing is, I’ve been having a terrible year movie-wise. My highest grade was the B I gave to Hanna and other than that it’s been fair, okay, and good-ish but nothing exceptional, or not even anything legitimately good. So, I wonder if that movie doldrums made me all the more anxious for something to latch on to. But, let me use my words…

I can’t help but roll my eyes when films try to take on larger than life issues and still be popcorn friendly and in theory that’s what The Adjustment Bureau aims to do. It’s about the age-old philosophy of Determinism. That, right there, is the impetus for thousands – perhaps millions – of literary pieces and The Adjustment Bureau immediately sets itself up for something like defeat because a film more interested in its romance arc is probably not going to do as much justice to the dilatation as it deserves. The story is David Norris (no relation to Chuck), a New York senator to be who on a fateful night meets a contemporary dancer Elis (played by the lovely Emily Blunt). It’s one of those “life-defining” moments and meeting her changes his outlook on life and politics. But, things go awry when he meets her – accidentally – some time later throwing the course of his life all track and giving the members of The Adjustment Bureau (a dubious organisation which ensures that everything happens “as it should”) decide that they shouldn’t be together.

It sounds a bit silly when I put the machinations of the film into a single paragraph and I know that my annoying habit to overanalyse would make me doubt the film if I keep ruminating on it, but The Adjustment Bureau, although not a particularly riveting stylistic entry, benefits not as much from the admittedly interesting concept as it does from a difficult-to-define mood of easiness that emanates from screen each time that Emily Blunt and Matt Damon pair up. The film is billed as a romantic thriller and it’s backed by an absolutely atrocious poster (really, what IS that?) and the film doesn’t quite make good on the thrilling aspects. It’s riveting, no doubt and Anthony Mackie spends a significant amount of time looking especially dour – but, few of his contemporaries make dour look so good, so I’m more than game.

In the end, I can’t quite surrender my over analytical brain to completely LOVING The Adjustment Bureau but I have no qualms about saying that it’s a completely enjoyable film. I’d have been more willing to buy in to its conceit if those last five minutes weren’t just too…bland? It sort of subverted what went prior, capping off a movie that seemed to be devoid of any agenda with a conclusion that isn’t woeful, but just feels tonally jerky. Which, of course, returns to the point that any film which flirts with such significant concepts must be willing to do what it promises. Still, The Adjustment Bureau thrives more than it doesn’t not only because Nolfi is in control of his story (for the most part) but because in the most innocuous of moments Damon and especially Blunt make some thrilling choices as actors that make characters we have no significant knowledge of into people we root for. Maybe I didn’t fall in love with it, but I fell in like…a lot.
   
B

Larry Crowne: directed by Tom Hanks; written Tom Hanks and Nia Vardolos

I pay so little attention to general critical consensus that it was mere happenstance which led me to the Rotten Tomatoes page of Larry Crowne where I saw what a critical tongue lashing it had taken. And, in a way, I think that Larry Crowne is one of those films which exposes all that is wrong with the mob psychology tendencies that tend to overtake film criticism at times. For the record, I’d hardly intimate that it’s an excellent film but what’s interesting about Larry Crowne is that despite its cast of generally big names from Tom Hanks to Julia Roberts to Taraji P. Henson to Bryan Cranston and son on, the film is comfortable being a commendable dramedy about a man – somewhat tritely – finding “himself”. Hanks and Roberts are stars of such great megawatts that by default one demands that a film of theirs be an unbridled success, anything less is an unmitigated failure. And, Larry Crowne is far from a massive successive but I curse the black-and-white world where because it’s not a success it means that it’s a failure.

I would guess that much of the trouble comes in the way that it was advertised. The scant bits of ads I paid attention to seemed to pitch the film as some sort of zeitgeist film looking at how unemployment is affecting the middle class. And, true, the film begins with Larry getting fired but it’s as much about unemployment as Hanna is about hunting animals. It’s a showcase for Tom Hanks to play his good natured good guy as he tries to fit into college. And the film rolls ago in that sometimes too comfortable way, but it is surprisingly unwilling to pander to the most obvious of stereotypes. True, Larry will meet a group of madcap students (somewhat) and he’ll fall in love but the way in which everything comes off as not the least bit clichéd is particularly impressive, even if Hanks is nothing special.

For me, the film is about Julia Roberts. She plays an unrelentingly bitter professor and she’s not quite the leading lady, even if she’s not quite supporting and as the object of Larry’s affection she’s a bit wasted but the film cares about her (as it does about most of its characters). More importantly, she’s fun in the role. She approaches with a winning gusto and say what you will about Julia – she’s fun to watch. There’s a scene where she enters a classroom she doesn’t want to be in and for a few seconds feels she might have the luck to not have to teach them. The myriad of emotions that runs through her face at not having to have human contact is interesting to watch, and even though her trajectory from bitter to smitten is a bit too “la-de-da” – the film tries to approach it with so much honesty, I can’t hate it too much.
It would seem that my grade subverts everything I’ve said so far, but I don’t consider the actual grade a particularly bad one. It’s a passable summation, as is the entire film. Larry Crowne is nowhere bad as it’s being made out to be. True, on occasion it might approach its protagonist with a significant amount of blandness but never mistake the sometimes pervading treacly feeling for a lack of caring. Perhaps I would have liked for it to have a bit more gumption in its cabals but in the long-run it perseveres as – mostly – honest look at a middle-aged man at a turning point. Hardly riveting, but certainly not abysmal.


C+

Captain America: directed by Joe Johnston; written by Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely

In the grander scheme of things, I suppose that a current tally of seventeen reviews films for 2011 is not as abysmal as I make it out to be. But, each time I peruse the films I’ve watched this year I feel like I haven’t watched much, and maybe that’s because the films I have seen haven’t made much impact on me. I wasn’t madly excited about Captain America’s release but I couldn’t help but hear positive rumblings from people who always have interesting things to say, and the promise of the throwback to the 40s piqued my interest. It’s another Avengers prequel, and I know virtually nothing of its source material – I’m not American, so perhaps that accounts for the divide. I don’t mean to me flippant at all, but the prospect of reviewing Captain America had be feeling grossly ambivalent. Perhaps it’s not a terrible film, but almost everything ended up rubbing me the wrong way.

Like every superhero (with the exception Clark Kent, and perhaps, Thor) Captain America’s powers aren’t inherent. He begins the film as Steve Rogers, a diminutive Brooklyn boy in the forties with dreams of defending his country at war despite his incessant list of ailments. By way of a dubious scientist he ends up getting the opportunity he seeks, but it’s really to act as a guinea pig for some scientific breakthrough which sees the scrawny Rogers turning into the very buff Captain America, the prototypical image of American valour, I suppose. The muscles, apparently, aren’t essentially because Captain America’s purpose is to be a propaganda machine of sorts – a pretty face for the war. But, that wasn’t Rogers aims and eventually he puts those muscles to good use and saves a couple hundred men from Nazi capture (in a manner I’m still uncertain of).
I can’t even muster up the energy to adequately assess what my issues with the film are but essentially I find Captain America to be woefully lacking in bite. The movies looks lovely, but the movie is not very compelling. What reason do we have to follow Steve’s trajectory? His would-be relationship with Peggy Carter (Hayley Atwell)? Evan’s charisma? A band of riveting supporting players? No one all counts. Evans and Atwell have scant chemistry, and Evans lacks the drive to carry the film. And the supporting characters hardly demand your attention and it doesn't help that the film moves along for the most part in a humourless stupor.. I don’t know, maybe my general movie funk has blinded me to the good in Captain America, but I feel as if I’ve missed the bus on this one. I’d love to get the memo as to its worth, but I don’t get the reason for the fuss.
          
C/C-

The Conspirator: directed by Robert Redford; written by James D. Solomon
 
I couldn’t possibly write anything on Robert Redford period/political drama without pointing the way to Tim’s review which says everything I could possibly say with much more alacrity. So, in a way, this review suffices as something of a footnote because even though I’ve got nothing particularly new to the table I’d feel bad devoting nary a word to the film. The first I heard about The Conspirator was a post that RC of Strange Culture did before it was released, and there’s no doubt that American History is mellifluous enough to precipitate dozens of interesting tales about the Civil War era and whatnot. There is an interesting story to be told in The Conspirator, but there’s a devastatingly trite way in which it is told.

Court-room dramas are in many ways a dime a dozen on film, and even less on television but The Conspirator has a strident hook, and I’m not just talking about the fact that it’s based on a true story. The imprudence with which the trial against Mary Surratt unfolds is a fine example of the lesser aspects of the human race but Solomon’s script approaches the issue with a stifling lack of zest. The technical aspects of the film are done with the right amount of gloom necessary for the proceeding but the script itself peters between unwarranted sagacity and occasional hectoring. And Redford is the kind of director who’s obviously interested in making a “statement” so there’s a fighting tendency for his directing to encourage the script’s occasionally heavy handed nature.
              
But, the cast subverts that nature. I feel a bit annoyed with Redford that he has such a brilliant cast and fails to give them impeccable work. But, looking at the film you wouldn’t know it, well not really. It’s a good ensemble and the actors are all willing to put in credible work. I was looking forward to The Conspirator because of Robin Wright. She made my list of nominees in 2009 for her work The Private Lives of Pippa Lee a film she held down with her luminescence. She doesn’t get to do quite as much here because as much as the film is named after her titular character Solomon’s narrative seems more interested in James McAvoy Aiken, the war hero turned lawyer. And, McAvoy is fine – as is the entire cast – but it’s such a shame that Wright in particular is forced to play her role in a single register (excellently, but still). The film’s female cast – made of Wright, Evan Rachel Wood (impressive in a role that’s too small) and Alexis Bledel in a surprisingly poignant turn. Even though Wright is the de facto lead Redford is intent to leave her for the men of the narrative, sometimes to the disservice of the film. It’s a true shame that Wood and Wright never get a proper scene together.
I can’t berate Redford for trying to make a statement with his own film, but the unfortunate thing is - The Conspirator is not the type of film where entertainment needs to be sacrificed for edification. There’s enough material for his “message” to hit home. It probably won’t be remembered as the end of the year as anything seminal, and it’s not really seminal in fact but even though the film itself is imperfect it’s home for a talented cast and some fine technical work. It’s strange, the film is about the woman behind it all but it’s really about men...too many men.
       
C+

Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows II: directed by David Yates; written by Steve Kloves
          
I imagine that writing a review of the latest Harry Potter is in the technical sense akin to intellectual masturbation – I’m probably the only one getting any gratification from it. This is probably why reviewing it is wrought with so much difficulty, approaching it without taking note of its zeitgeist aspects is impractical. I’d wager that any critic – pseudo or otherwise – went into the film suspecting what they were going to think of it, what grade they’d give it. After seven films there isn’t much that can drastically change about the series, the things that you loved have endured into the aspects you look for and the things that annoy you’ve learned to contend with – and ignore, if possible.

The marked difference between this instalment and its previous encounters is the time it covers. Save for a few minutes of what functions as a prologue, and a scene of memories the film covers a few hours which makes the film seem as if it’s hurtling towards its close and it turns into more of an exercise in all things visuals than anything significant story wise. Essentially, a final two Horcruxes must be found which requires breaking into the Gringotts vault and then Hogwarts. With the particulars of the story stripped to the bare essentials the visuals aspects become principal – a sort of the medium becoming the message sort of occurrence; and it looks fabulous. It’s a battle for the ages and the film looks better than any of the previous instalments.

I always wished that the Harry Potter films had stuck to a single director over the tenure of the entire series. This sort of fantastical fare is the type that places greater emphasis on style than substance and if one were to talk into account the hours devoted to these characters prior to this one, the film surprisingly lacks that emotional profundity that you’d hope for in a final instalment. It’s probably unfair to expect Yates to manage that when previous directors have brought their own flair to project, and it’s doubly unfair because this instalment is a film in itself and not just a glorified epilogue – which, in my defence, it seemed to be at times.
It’s where I have to divide my de facto appreciation from the series from the actual worth of the entry. I’m conscious that it’s not a wholly brilliant endeavour, even though in my mind it’s as good as I could hope for. I devoured, yes devoured, those novels from the moment they came out and I’ve been following the films since they came out so in my mind the situation is probably a whole lot more majestic than it would be for a non-believer. I can point out the shortcomings like an abysmal use of every single supporting character, but I can just as easily make experiences for them because more than any other of the films this is Radcliffe’s show. It seems like such a facetious thing to criticise Radcliffe's acting, especially now when he seems to be the indelible Potter. Acting wise, I'll always say he was at his strongest in Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. It's the single installment which depended expressly on the work put in by the child-cast, but here Dumbledore's Harry's is relegated to random moments, some which work more than others. The opening at Shell Cottage isn't as searing as you'd hope, but bigger things like Harry's final walk to Voldermort manage to come off splendidly. There's a moment where Ron and Harry's eyes interlock and you can grasp the importance of the moment. You really can't can't force that sort of rapport, even if Yates places little emphasis on it overall.
Still, I just as easily don’t place as much credit in the things that the film does right like the Pensive, for example because I expect no less. In the same way that I expect nothing less than great Britons to turn up and give great performances from the sidelines in the form of Maggie Smih, HBC and Kelly MacDonald (who is shockingly effective in only a few moments). It’s one of those damning effects of being inextricably linked to a film and its source. So, when that camera panned out and we got that shot of the trio looking out from the ruined castles it wasn’t so much a sigh heaved after a thrill, but a quiet contentment. And sure, in my head I pretended that those last four minutes didn’t happen, because that’s how I wanted to remember it. It was, after all, my party.
      
B/B-

Brighton Rock: directed and written by Rowan Joffe

I feel especially novice-like sitting down to write a review of Brighton Rock. I’d heard neither of the original film nor the Graham Greene novel on which it was based on until I heard rumblings of the film late last year and it’s the type of film which I feel demands reference to the source material for thorough understanding. There’s an annoying feeling that something’s missing at every turn of the plot. It’s sometime in the sixties we’re in an English town – the kind overrun with petty gangsters. The film’s protagonist is Pinkie who seems to be the prototypical angry young man of the era. He’s the member of a petty gang and seeks revenge on a rival when his father-figure is murdered. His plot for revenge inadvertently involves Rose – a young waitress who might hold some damning information for him. The story becomes suffused when Pinkie’s target turns out to be a sporadic lover of Ida, Rose’s boss. The lines tying the cast together are indicative of a sprawling novel but Joffe eschews that sort of epic nature with his script which relegates the action to a series of serendipitous events.

I have an unfortunate tendency to forget the importance of direction, and Joffe’s work on Brighton Rock points me to the importance of the craft. I don’t feel that I miscalculate when I say that what does the film in is his erratic direction. From what I can discern, it’s a story which depends on its protagonist. Pinkie is something of a villainous degenerate and Joffe decides on directing the film showing Pinkie is little more than that. I’m wary of holding Sam Riley’s performance indictable as the reason that the character suffers, though. Even in the face of what should be one-dimensionality, there’s something magnetic about the performance he gives. His Pinkie lacks a charm that I feel the film could have done with but he manages to retain a visceral composure which works for his performance, but not for the film. Because, the crux of the film rests on Rose’s union with Pinkie. She moons around saying lines like, “I’ve never met anyone like you” and the kind and though we can believe that it doesn’t account for her attraction to him. Pinkie’s a monster, and not in the maybe-he-is/maybe-he-ain’t way of a Charles Boyer in Gaslight. He takes little pains to be any les diabolical to Rose than he is to anyone, and Joffe misses what I presume should be an important arc in telling us why Rose seems so…bizarre. Andrea Riseborough is fine but with her snivelling teenage bride and Riley’s diabolical faux-gangster it seems like the two are playing from opposite ends of the stage with different intents.
And, the supporting cast doesn’t help either. Helen Mirren, with nary a grey lock in sight, brings the prerequisite Mirren charm to Ida but she too seems to be in another movie…another movie where her actions were a bit more lucid. She’s devoted to bringing Pinkie down even as she readily admits that the man Pinkie killed was a murderer himself. Joffe can’t manage to coalesce the different registers in which these actors are playing so that ultimately even though none of them is abysmal in their roles the combination is awkward and clunky so that even though Brighton Rock looks beautiful – gorgeously shot, effusively scored and wrought with atmosphere it’s a bit limp. Pinkie says of the candy that when you bite a stick of Brighton Rock down to the centre it stays true, but this Brighton Rock doesn’t seem to have much in the middle. Joffe is content to just flirt with danger, if only he'd had the nerve to dig deeper.

C

Jane Eyre: directed by Cary Joji Fukunaga; written by Moira Buffini

My interest was piqued by the announcement of the recent film adaptation of Jane Eyre. I’ve never been a fan of Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre. Literarily it’s considered to be a bildungsroman, a subtle gothic, a romance and even a feminist novel. For me, at its best – and worse – it’s a tawdry soap opera which goes on for about 200 pages too long. But, I’ve always thought that good films don’t necessarily have to be based on good books. The two mediums are intrinsically different and as little estimation I have for the actual novel (I wrote a particularly scathing paper on it last semester) the key bits of Brontë’s novel does harness cinematic potential. And, so, I approached Jane Eyre not so much with trepidation but with anxiousness. Although Mia Wasikowska’s appeal eludes me, I’m willing to believe in her potential and Michael Fassbender is one of the most talked about actors of the time and with Sally Hawkins, Jamie Bell and Dame Judi Dench rounding out the cast my interest was, as I said, piqued.

The film opens with a scene that occurs two-thirds into the actual novel. Jane, in the midst of marshes that seem taken from a Wuthering Heights scene (written by the better Brontë) trudges along visibly shaken and on the road to being comatose it seems. She’s taken in by a group of strangers and with that we move to the beginning of her life. One of my many issues with Brontë’s novel stems from the inconsistency in Jane’s characterisation. Even though she narrates the novel it’s difficult to reconcile the random bursts of emotion with a heroine who seems essentially leaden for the most part. The first thirty minutes functions as a speedy sparknotes version of the novel’s first third. It’s a wise decision – in theory; really, the novel is so dense with potential plot-points (not all of them wisely developed) that it’s wise that Buffini accelerates the film towards the introduction of Mr Rochester.
For all its feministic ideals Jane Eyre is essentially a story of girl meets man, man is typically aloof, they fall in love, he has a secret she runs off and at the end they reconcile. It sounds bitter of me, but it is what it is. Its story is not a mellifluous study of class consciousness; it is a love-story and a basic one, at that. Buffini, though, approaches the material with what seems to be a striking reverence and doesn’t seem keen on making the material any less than Masterpiece Theatre – and it is not. I kept wishing for her to make the story her own, forgive me sounding like a platitude. Her adaptation is serviceable but it retains all the parts of the novel I find most vexing. Why IS Rochester attracted to Jane? And she to him? For a love that should be so striking wouldn’t a marriage of convenience to a woman who’s insane be such a tough hill to climb? And, if it was why does Jane set out to Rochester at the end still thinking that he’s married?
I suppose I could forgive my reservations with the actual story if everything else was flawless, but it isn’t. I know, I tend to get a bit tongue-in-cheek with my ebullient love for the Brits, and periods and I find it even more odd that I’m so reticent about this one which most seem to appreciate. But, I find Mia Wasikowska especially vexing. Again, I bear no ill-will towards the actress. I forgive her awfulness in Alice in Wonderland, but her Jane – though realistic in the sense of the novel seems too detached to be a functional leading lady and Mia’s constant Australian accent annoyed me much more than it should and it’s unfortunate because she’s flanked by two actors in particular who offer up fine performances. Mrs. Fairfax has never been a riveting character, but Judi Dench manages to find something personal in it. But, it’s Michael Fassbender who’s the real fine – it’s such a superlative performance that I kept wishing his Mr. Rochester could leave this film, and transport to another where his work would be better appreciated. It’s not that Fukunaga adaptations gets many things wrong, it just doesn’t get enough right for me to care about it. It looks beautiful, it's shot excellently and Dario Marianelli's score is falwless and true Fassbender’s brilliant, but something is lacking...

C+

          
D