An enormously silly movie. The gang is still led by Vin Diesel’s Dom, but his allegiances are placed into question by the arrival on the scene of cyberterrorist Cipher (Charlize Theron). The script still throws around the word “family” the requisite number of times, and truly my heart is warmed by seeing Jason Statham properly brought into the fold — even if he’s still somewhat an anti-hero, he is at least now aligned with the forces of good, with a rather heavy-handed Hard Boiled hommage which nevertheless plays into Statham’s established heroic character trait of protecting kids. And yet… and yet, I’m not convinced. I’m not convinced by Dom’s actions, nor by Charlize’s villain — though, incidentally, possibly the most furious thing in the film is the fingers of her and Nathalie Emmanuel’s hacktivist Ramsey (introduced in the last film), as they (ridiculously) hack and counter-hack one another. I’m also not convinced by the fate of poor Elsa Pataky, sidelined since Michelle Rodriguez returned in the sixth film. Look, I still like everyone involved and I’ll still go see number nine (can I get an early vote in for some kind of K9 pun?) but this isn’t their finest work.
Director F. Gary Gray; Writer Chris Morgan; Cinematographer Stephen F. Windon; Starring Vin Diesel, Dwayne Johnson, Jason Statham, Michelle Rodriguez, Kurt Russell, Charlize Theron; Length 136 minutes.
Seen at Odeon Holloway, London, Friday 14 April 2017.
Whatever else it might be accused of, it can’t be said that Quentin Tarantino’s latest film isn’t a coup du cinéma in its 70mm ‘roadshow’ version, harking back to a lost showmanship of printed programmes, overture fanfare, intermission and extra-wide widescreen format. There are many things indeed that I might accuse the resulting film of, yet I find it difficult to build up the necessary steam of self-righteous anger. In short, it is everything that everyone most vociferously damns it for: it is a distillation of all Tarantino’s most annoying tropes, all the abused women (Jennifer Jason Leigh) and their abusers (Kurt Russell), racist Southern rednecks (Walton Goggins) and gentlemen (Bruce Dern), noble yet weirdly homophobic black men (Samuel L. Jackson), and disarming patter of movie-literate self-reflexiveness against the backdrop of real and disturbing historical periods (the post-Civil War Reconstruction period). It sets up a beautiful wintery world using its widescreen palette, quickly drawing us into the single remote location where the eight title characters (as well as one nice guy, and some surprise late arrival characters vying for equal hatefulness, one of which is the director’s voice) spend much of the film battling for one-upmanship, but it leaves a bitter aftertaste as it descends into the usual Grand Guignol of bloodshed that you expect. However, Tarantino’s filmmaking is so desperate in its mugging for cinematic approval that even the nastiest events (with the exception of a hanging towards the end) just pass by with a shrug of my shoulders. Perhaps the title should be a hint that its protagonists are hardly likeable, but for me the film isn’t either and that’s a problem. It doesn’t seem to speak of anything so much as of all the films Tarantino has seen (so no change there). Others have enjoyed this opus, others have eviscerated it. Me, I just can’t be bothered anymore.
Director/Writer Quentin Tarantino; Cinematographer Robert Richardson; Starring Samuel L. Jackson, Kurt Russell, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Walton Goggins, Tim Roth, Bruce Dern; Length 187 minutes.
Seen at Odeon Leicester Square [70mm], London, Sunday 10 January 2016.
I was excited for this film after seeing the previous instalment, especially having watched the rest of the franchise ahead of that release (and blogged about it, of course), but the past couple of years have brought the sadness of star Paul Walker’s death and subsequent uncertainty about what might happen with the promised seventh film. Well, of course, they totted up the numbers and going ahead was probably never in doubt, but the filmmakers (including a new director) have also managed to sustain the action momentum well for the seventh instalment: all you need to know is that the baddie of the sixth film is being avenged by his brother (Jason Statham) and our team get help from some spooks (led by Kurt Russell). Certainly there are the occasional intrusions of low-angle shots on short-skirted women in glamorous exotic settings, and there remain stretches of (thankfully, not quite mawkish) sentimentality — a feature throughout the franchise. However, there’s genuine pathos in the scenes with Paul Walker near the end of the film, in ‘retirement’ with his family on the beach, and for the most part this film takes all those most hyperactive and ridiculous elements of the sixth film and amps them up (skydiving cars in the mountains! stunt car leaps between skyscrapers! the Rock working an office desk job!), such that there’s very little reprieve from relentless action-oriented silliness, so if this isn’t your thing, then (1) you are missing out on one of cinema’s true delights, and (2) maybe the Fast & Furious series isn’t for you. Still, it works for me and (box office figures suggest) much of the rest of the world’s cinema-going population, so no doubt we’ll be seeing an eighth soon enough. In the meantime, this is an excellent swansong for the always underrated (admittedly by me also) Paul Walker. Oh, and there’s also a bafflingly bonkers recurring reference to Belgian ale, as if the filmmakers, obliged to include Corona product placement, felt they also had to wink at us that there’s better beer out there… So cheers. I raise a glass of Orval to another Furious film.
Director James Wan 溫子仁; Writer Chris Morgan; Cinematographers Marc Spicer and Stephen F. Windon; Starring Vin Diesel, Paul Walker, Michelle Rodriguez, Jason Statham, Dwayne Johnson, Kurt Russell; Length 137 minutes.
Seen at Cineworld Haymarket, London, Friday 3 April 2015.