Comic Feature - Why the new Thor will give the comics industry that much needed electric shock

On July 15th, Marvel revealed to the world a project featuring an all-new female recasting of one of their most bankable characters. The popularity of Thor may well have been elevated in recent years by the current trend of Superhero cinema, but in the Marvel Universe, the Asgardian prince has been deemed no longer fit to fulfill his duties as the God of Thunder. 

“No longer is the classic male hero able to hold the mighty hammer, Mjölnir, a brand new female hero will emerge who will be worthy of the name Thor,” Marvel Comics said, making the announcement on American chat show The View. 

“The inscription on Thor’s hammer reads ‘Whosoever holds this hammer, if HE be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor.’ Well it’s time to update that inscription,” said Marvel editor Wil Moss. “The new Thor continues Marvel’s proud tradition of strong female characters like Captain Marvel, Storm, Black Widow and more. And this new Thor isn’t a temporary female substitute – she’s now the one and only Thor, and she is worthy.”

This all-new era for the God of Thunder will be written by Jason Aaron, who emphasizes that "This is not She-Thor. This is not Lady Thor. This is not Thorita. This is THOR. This is the THOR of the Marvel Universe. But it’s unlike any Thor we've ever seen before."

There's no denying that this is one of Marvel's biggest ever shake-ups and for the most part, it's been welcomed by the fans. However, as usual, there's a minority of keyboard wizards and over-protective, self-appointed snobby know-it-alls who consider such a move to be a blasphemous one. But why? After all, Marvel's Thor was adaptation of an already existing myth, free from license for the comic giant to do with it whatever they wished. 

Perhaps the reason behind such vile reaction can be traced back to Thor's origins, as Marvel's interpretation of the ancient hammer-wielding deity from Norse mythology. Unlike the genetic mutations, super soldier serum or incredible wealth that can be attributed to other Marvel superheroes, Thor is in fact a god, and thus possesses a certain amount of infallibility. However, it's important to remember that Marvel have always played fast and loose with the Norse legacy from which Thor was plucked during the early 1960's.

Created by Stan Lee, Jack Kirby and Larry Lieber, Marvel's Thor became canon in 1962, making his first appearance in Journey into Mystery #83, giving the tired short story series a much needed jolt in the arm. Ever since he's been considered one of Marvel's biggest players, using his mythological status as a protector of humankind, to eventually become one of the founders of the Avengers. His home realm of Asgard lies somewhere between mysticism and science-fiction, and over the years has succumb to attack by various mythical beings and alien races. Couple all of that with the fact that Asgardians live with a sense of honour and the concept of the original Thor stepping down doesn't seem so far fetched. 

People seem to forget that Thor once had an alter-ego - a partially disabled medical student by the name of Donald Blake. Given the memories of a mortal man by his father Odin, Blake soon discovers that the walking stick in his possession is actually the enchanted hammer Mjölnir in disguise and that beneath his frail exterior, lies the bulking physique of a god. So even Thor's comic book origins lie in the idea of transformation. The idea of a disabled man becoming one of Earth's mightiest heroes was believable back in the sixties, yet in the twenty-first century, the idea of a female Thor is, to a small closed-minded minority, totally preposterous.

Since then, the mantle of Thor has on occasion varied over the years. Beta Ray Bill was an alien who was found worthy to wield Mjölnir and almost defeated the god of thunder for rightful ownership. Similarly bizarre, after Thor was transformed into a frog by his brother Loki (more on him later), another misfortunate human who had also been frog-ified was able to acquire a proportionate amount of Thor's power thanks to finding a broken sliver of Mjölnir. Thus Throg was born, a character who resembles Thor in every way, aside from the fact he is indeed a spunky green frog. And people have the cheek to call out a female Thor as ridiculous? 

It's not the first time Marvel have dramatically altered a character. The David Hasselhoff-inspired Nick Fury appearance was killed off in 2012, only to be replaced by his African-American son in a move that coincided with Marvels' dominance on the big screen and the appeal of Samuel L. Jackson in the role. The Ultimate universe's Peter Parker died back in 2011, but Spider-Man continued on with the African-American Miles Morales stepping up as your friendly neighborhood wall-crawler. Meanwhile, the regular Spider-Man canon in recent years has seen Peter Parker's mind been replaced with that of Doctor Octopus, giving way to a more hard-edged superhero story on the path to redemption. Even Thor's brother Loki has died several times, only to be resurrected in a number of varying guises. Granted as a trickster he has the ability to shape-shift, but for a time quite recently, the Marvel universe was plagued by a female version of Loki. Nobody seemed to bat an eyelid then, why should it matter now?

Perhaps what makes the news of a female Thor so surprising is that the character is more popular than he's even been. Chris Hemsworth's bulky physique, booming voice and rugged good looks have certainly brought Thor's stock up a peg or two so for Marvel to change the character's gender is understandably confusing, but not without merit. Just because a character is considered infallible, doesn't mean from a sales perspective, they are future proof. Having starred in three films (soon to be four with the upcoming Age of Ultron), Hemsworth won't be around forever. Marvel comics are cleverly pre-empting this current cycle of undeniably successful films coming to an end and whose to say in a few years time we won't see a female Thor on the silver screen. Avengers director Joss Whedon seems to think it's possible....

The stats say it all and it seems that at last count, comic readership was split almost right down the middle. Around 47% of comic readers in America are female so it's understandable that Marvel would want to appeal to this particular market. Black Widow, Storm, and She Hulk are just some of characters who have had their status elevated in recent years but perhaps none have been quite so successful as the most recent incarnation of popular super-heroine Ms. Marvel. While the character has always been female, Kamala Khan is the first Muslim hero to be granted her own series. So far the character and the book have been received well, and the first issue sold over 50,000 copies when launched back in February. It's worth noting that the title outsold the likes of Wolverine, Captain America and even the all-mighty Thor that month so obviously Marvel know exactly what they're doing. 

It's no secret that women are grossly misrepresented in comics but over the past few years there has been a notorious shift in the roles female characters play in their respective comic canons. No longer content with keeping them in the sidelines as supporting characters, female incarnations of dominant male rosters, or worse still simply as objectified eye-candy, Marvel have taken a brave step forward by passing the powers of one of their biggest male characters onto a new female heroine and I can guarantee that when she comes crashing down like a bolt of lightening from the heavens in September, she will give the comic industry a much needed jolt, just like her predecessor did back in the sixties. 

Banterflix Cinecast - Transformers Special

I give a beginners guide to Michael Bay on this special Transformers edition of the BanterFlix CineCast. From Autobot to Decepticon, we’ve also got music from the original 1986 animated movie, performed by local musician Gareth Brown, a look back at the history of the Transformers franchise from Richard and a review of the latest installment, Transformers: Age of Extinction from Jim.

Don’t forget to follow Banterflix on Facebook and Twitter to keep up to date with what we’re getting up to, or simply check out our website for the latest movie reviews and event info.

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Film Review: Tammy

Always the bridesmaid, never the bride - Melissa McCarthy moves beyond her normally golden supporting roles and takes centre stage as the writer, producer and lead star of Tammy, a somewhat self-serving comedy directed by husband and fellow actor Ben Falcone. 

Following her break-out role in Paul Feig's hilarious Bridesmaids, McCarthy earned popularity as the stand out in underwhelming films such as The Heat, Identity Thief, and was arguably the only good thing to come out of The Hangover III. 

Her physical, obnoxious, brash comedy routine as the outspoken all-American has no doubt been her most appealing quality in certain parts of the world. 

Tammy is keen to show there's more to the actor than this, as the film begins as an over-the-top, beer and cheeseburger fuelled, slapstick road trip movie, only to turn into an unconvincing parable about dealing with low self-esteem and trying to sort your life out for the better. 

McCarthy plays Tammy, a thirty-something disheveled slob of a woman who only realizes her life is going nowhere when, in the space of one fateful day, she crashes her car into a deer, loses her job at the local fast-food joint and walks in on her husband having a romantic dinner with the next door neighbor. 

Determined to escape all of her problems, she decides to leave town and go cross-country with Pearl, her care-free, alcoholic grandmother who, in a rather bizarre casting choice, is portrayed by Susan Sarandon in a silver wig.

Casting Sarandon in the role of Grandma Pearl is confusing, given that there's only twenty-four year age gap between her and McCarthy. Stranger things have happened in real life, but even on those rare occasions when it becomes part of the gag, like when the pair meet a randy barfly (Gary Cole) and his more romantic son (Mark Duplass) in a bar, it just isn't funny. 

Perhaps her casting is deliberate, as some sort of throwback to Ridley Scott's 1991 classic road movie Thelma and Louise. Sarandon channels a care-free spirit that predictably rubs McCarthy's aggressive, pent-up Tammy the wrong way. It makes for the odd laugh, but generally many of the jokes seem all too familiar.

Sarandon isn't the only famous face McCarthy has managed to recruit. Kathy Bates, Sandra Oh, Toni Colette, Dan Ackroyd and Allison Janney all appear in minor roles throughout the film. 

However, they all manage about twelve lines between them, with Toni Colette in particular being criminally underused. Even Cole and Duplass, the only supporting characters to make it beyond more than one scene, stick to their underwritten, one-dimensional roles so as not to intrude the patented odd-couple shtick between McCarthy and Sarandon. 

As the pair get drunk, crash a jet-ski, get drunk again, wind-up in jail, attend a Fourth of July party for lesbians, and get drunk one final time, Tammy does stir-up a few laughs, but nowhere near as many as it would like to, drunkenly staggering across the not-so-fine line between farce and sentimentally. 

A scene involving the robbery of a Mc-Restaurant seems to be the one scene where we finally understand what the film is trying to do. Her face hidden under a greasy paper bag, McCarthy dishes out her trademark obnoxious ad-libbed humour, while at the same time showing she can manage a little sweetness. It makes for one of the film's funnier highlights.

At this point, it's worth noting that the film also has Will Ferrell and Adam McKay on board as producers. No wonder then that Tammy leans towards the (Ron) Burgundy end of the spectrum, although as far as quotes go, it ends up falling flat on its face. 

Desperately trying to appeal to two very different audiences, the film ultimately satisfies neither, trumping moments of schmaltzy self-discovery with cheap jokes about drinking beer and raunchy old people. 

McCarthy does show she has other talents outside of her comfort zone, but it's just a shame that no matter what the situation, her character defaults back to the whingy loudmouth. As far as developing a redeeming character arc goes, it's an unforgivable error, especially when you consider that her husband is the director.

Ultimately, if the moral of the road movie is that changing the direction of your life will always work out for the better, then Tammy does just that, only to realize that it's actually ended up on a busy roundabout with absolutely no idea which way to turn next.

Originally published on http://banterflix.com/

Itchy Fingers #19: Non-Cooperative

If this year’s Electronic Entertainment Expo is anything to go by then it seems that co-operative gameplay is about to become the next big thing in next-gen gaming. The biggest surprise however came from Ubisoft, who revealed that the biggest jewel in their gem-stuffed crown is set to include a four-player co-op campaign. But not everyone was wowed by Assassin’s Creed new multiplayer innovation however when it was revealed the game would not include playable female avatars.

Assassin’s Creed Unity moves the historical stealth series to revolutionary eighteenth century France and introduces its newest protagonist, Arno Dorian to the franchise. The entire campaign can be played with up to four players, with each player controlling Dorian on their screen, but appearing as a customized male assassin avatar on their friend’s. 

Understandably, female fans of the series are feeling rather let down. When the news broke, creative director Alex Amancio defended the decision, suggesting that such a feat would require “double the animations,” and “double the voices,” culminating in “a lot of extra production work.” 

Since these revelations, fellow developers questioned Ubisoft’s choice. Even Assassin’s Creed 3 animation director Jonathan Cooper has hit out stating that incorporating female character models would only be “a day or two’s work.” The question is why weren’t female avatars included right from the get-go? 

In what was once considered a male dominated medium, female characters have featured in some of gaming’s most treasured memories. Classic side-scrolling beat ‘em ups such as Golden Axe or Streets of Rage always featured a lady in their rosters while modern role-playing games such as Borderlands, Mass Effect or Skyrim enjoyed success amongst both sexes because they featured stories that weren’t gender specific.

Last year, the critically acclaimed Tomb Raider reboot was well received by both sexes, particularly for giving pixelated pin-up Lara Croft a proper motive and a much more mature redesign. Similarly, Naughty Dog’s The Last of Us split playable duties between the male Joel and the female Ellie, both of which helped it earn “game of the year” status from most video game publications. Yet, it still sounds quite shocking that only 4% of games in 2013 included playable female characters. 

One entry in the Assassin’s Creed series, sub-titled Liberation, actually put a female heroine in the leading role. Creole assassin Aveline de Grandpre seemed to demonstrate a step forward in gaming, by one of the industry’s leading publishers as it brought the first female playable character to a series that had since only featured men. 

What’s even more surprising is that many of Aveline’s animations were copied directly from Assassin’s Creed 3 protagonist Connor Kenway, somewhat adding further invalidity to Ubisoft’s statement that including female avatars would be too much work. 

As the spiritual successor to zombie shooter Left 4 Dead, Turtle Head Studios’ Evolve puts you in the role of one of four monster hunters as you take on a fifth player who controls an ever-evolving monster. Similarly, Lionhead Studios seek to transform the normally single player fantasy Fable into a quest fit for a fellowship in Fable Legends. Both games include female characters right from the offset. So what’s Ubisoft’s problem?

It can’t be about the sales. 48% of video game players are female. Of course, there’s more to fair representation than simply adding a few women characters. But now that I think about it, I’ve never heard a publisher actively declare they were omitting an entire gender from their game, even if it is a far too regular occurrence these days. But even if this is another shameful marketing tactic, it may just the scandal needed to put a pin in the all too obvious sexist attitudes that the gaming industry’s boys club are guilty of far too often.

Originally published in The Big List NI Issue 249 

Banterflix CineCast - Edinburgh Film Festival 2014 Special

On this episode of the BanterFlix CineCast, I take on hosting duties while Richard and Jim share their experiences as attendees at the 68th Edinburgh Film Festival.

Running from 18-29 June, the EIFF is the longest continually running film festival in the world and has developed into a key attraction for Edinburgh, and one of the world’s best -loved audience festivals. With an emphasis upon new talent, discovery and innovation, this year’s festival saw the screening of 122 new features from 47 different countries with at least 10 premieres every day. Cold in July, Coherence, Anatomy of a Paper Clip are just a few examples of the films on offer this year. 

Podcast features reviews from quite a few films, including the one film from the programme that I had seen - Bong Joon-Ho's post-apocolyptic science fiction thriller Snowpiercer, starring Chris Evans, John Hurt and Tilda Swinton.

The podcast also features interviews with Jim Mickle, Elijah Wood, Andy Goddard and Steven Mackintosh who all attended this year’s festival. We also had a chance to sit down with Empire Magazine’s Chris Hewitt and chatted about the film magazine’s 25th anniversary celebrations.

Maybe next year I'll get to go, but until then I'll just have to take the rest of the Banterflix team at their word and apply to attend next year!

Don’t forget to follow Banterflix on Facebook and Twitter to keep up to date with what we’re getting up to, or simply check out our website for the latest movie reviews and event info.

Listen below, head to the Banterflix site, or subscribe on iTunes to make sure you never miss a show.

Film Review: Oculus

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the scariest of them all? If the box-office is to be believed, it’s Blumhouse Productions. In recent years, the company has been behind the wave of micro-budgeted popcorn horror flicks such as Paranormal Activity,Sinister, and The Purge – all of which went on to be great financial successes at the box office. Directed by Mike Flanagan, Oculus seems to be next in line to join the ranks of the franchised fright fest.

Based on a short film, also written and directed by Flanagan, the film stars Karen Gillan as Kaylie, a young woman who has spent the past eleven years convinced that her parents’ death was caused by an antique mirror and the evil spirits that dwell within. 

While she has spent the last decade trying to build a case to support her theory, her brother Tim, played by Brenton Thwaites, has been trying to convince himself otherwise. Spending his teenage years in a psychiatric hospital, he’s finally released at the age of twenty-one, coming to terms with the fact that his family was extremely dysfunctional, rather than pinning the blame on a supernatural entity. 

When the two are reunited, they return to their parents old house in order put their demons to rest – whether they are of psychological or supernatural origins. 

Pitting skeptic against believer, Oculus actually has some rather interesting psychological ideas, particularly in the first half of the film. The cynic brother puts his sister’s delusions down to ‘fuzzy-trace theory’ – an idea that human memory creates false memories out of inaccurate associations. In this film, it’s used as a defense mechanism against dealing with the truth.

For a horror film, it’s not a new concept but one that’s quite unique to this current trend of casual big-screen summer horrors. As an audience of course, we want to believe, so the film uses a dual time frame to simultaneously explain what happened eleven years ago alongside what is happening in the present. 

Katee Sackhoff and Rory Cochrane play the parents who, depending on who you believe, are either on the verge of a rather bitter break-up or are being tormented by the demonic powers that lurk in the mirror. Initially, we’re given two sides of the same coin, as both the rational and the supernatural side of things are alluded to. 

Some interesting cinematography sees both past and present played out in real time, keeping the pace going at a heart-pumping speed, even if it is rattling towards an rather unsurprising conclusion. It’s at that point you realize that, for all of its good ideas, Oculus can’t help but succumb to the usual whizz bang funhouse horror rather than create something rather more unsettling. 

While there are reflections of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining, the film probably owes more to the 2003 Korean film Into The Mirror, directed by Kim Sung-Ho (or its iffy American remake Mirrors, starring Kiefer Sutherland).

But the spooky mirror plot device is underused, instead stepping to one side in favour of the usual horror tropes and unnecessary lore. It’s as if Blumhouse Productions have a certain quota of loud noises and satanic references to fulfill. 

That’s not to say there aren’t some genuine shocks. One scene in particular involving a light bulb leaves a rather bad taste in your mouth. Of course, these would be all the more shocking if we hadn’t seen them already in the trailer. 

The best horrors are the ones that leave you feeling creeped out afterwards, checking all the doors are locked before you go to bed with the lights on. Instead, Oculus undoes all of its own hard work and descends into a predictable horror that goes straight for the cheap thrills. And for that sin, it needs to take a good long hard look in the mirror.

Originally published on The Big List NI

Film Review: Grace of Monaco

Booed at Cannes, torn to pieces by critics and almost dropped by producer Harvey Weinstein – Grace of Monaco has had a bumpy ride since it premiered at this year’s Cannes film festival. But is this biopic about the late Grace Kelly really that bad? The answer is yes. In fact it’s more than bad. It’s the worst film of the year so far.

Admittedly, you can’t help but feel a little curious when a film is unanimously greeted with such vitriol and venom. You have to understand that critics don’t go out of their way to hate films. They don’t go into preview screenings with their opinion already made up nor have scathing reviews already written in their minds.

Generally, it’s quite the opposite, particularly when a film comes along that everyone else already hates. You’re hoping to be the one to find something in it than no-one else does. Deep down, you’re hoping to be the one who "gets it".

The problem is that Grace of Monaco doesn’t even know what "it" is to begin with. Part biopic, part historical drama, the film features Nicole Kidman as the Philadelphian born starlet, most famous for appearing in some of Alfred Hitchcock’s best, including Rear Window and To Catch a Thief.

But the film doesn’t bother with any of that stuff. Instead it decides to create a ridiculously pompous melodrama out of Kelly’s post-Hollywood years, which according to this plot, she spent wallowing in self-pity, trapped in a loveless marriage to the Monegasque royal, Rainier III.

She faces a dilemma. Stay in the lap of luxury as the princess of Monaco, or return to a star-studded career in Hollywood. If that wasn’t enough, her husband, played by Tim Roth with a perpetual hangover, is being badgered by a very angry Charles De Gaulle. He demands that Monaco pay their way or feel the might of a blockade by France.

It’s all smoke and no mirrors as the film makes a rather enormous, snow-covered mountain out of a relatively insignificant molehill from European history. If this film is anything to be believed, the dispute between France and Monaco seemingly brought Europe to the brink of another World War. What can the Prince and his tuxedo wearing, chain-smoking, dodgy-accented band of high rollers do to get them out of this pickle?

The correct answer of course is, we don’t care. 

As this footnote in history is amplified to gargantuan proportions, it’s hard to feel sympathy for the Monegasque cause, particularly while the film’s cast prance around like they’re living in a Ferrero Rocher advert. 

Unfortunately there isn’t a butler with a perfect pyramid of choccy-nut confectionery at hand to defuse the situation; otherwise this vile piece of self-righteous tripe would have been over a hell of a lot sooner.

Even when trying to justify their actions, the film does nothing but dig its own grave. How DO you raise money for schools and hospitals when your tax rate is 0% and most of the population is minted? It doesn’t take a genius to work that one out. 

But this film and its characters exist inside a strange bubble where somehow taking princess lessons seems to be the best course of action to try to solve your nation’s problems. Lessons in etiquette and elocution are dished out by a rather eccentric Derek Jacobi who looks like he knows better and is simply taking the piss with this role. 

Unfortunately the whole scene plays out like a Rocky montage if it were directed by Disney, except there aren't any talking creatures or catchy tunes to keep you amused. It has all the life and sole of a welly boot rather than a glass slipper. 

The dialogue is bland and often too cryptic for its own good, spewed out in patronizing stereotypical French accents that will have you spitting sacreblue in rage. It’s like watching those strange perfume commercials at Christmas, which make absolutely no sense to anyone except the strange, creative minds behind them. 

And even he doesn’t like it. Director Olivier Dahan claims that there was a better cut of the film, before Harvey Weinsten took his golden scissors to it and ruined it. But given that Grace of Monaco is stuck so far up its rear end, so demeaning, and so full of itself, I find that very hard to believe.

Itchy Fingers #18: Cover Story

The road to E3 is a minefield of misdirection and misinformation, so it’s not unusual for game publishers to tease a few titles in advance, in order to generate a bit of buzz before the main event. That’s just what Ubisoft did, teasing the cover art for the next instalment of their flagship first-person shooter series Far Cry. However, the reaction to this anticipated sequel wasn’t quite what they expected. 

This image has caused quite the uproar, with many commenting that it’s just down right racist. To make matters worse, the lack of details that accompanied the reveal have led to the belief that Ubisoft actually welcomed this sort of attention. It’s what the French refer to as Succès de scandal. After all, as long as people talking about their game then there’s no such thing as bad publicity, right?

In the 80’s, some games took the Spinal Tap approach to cover art, with a number of titles giving the original artwork for Smell the Glove a run for its money. Released in 1987, Barbarian: The Ultimate Warrior was a primitive beat ‘em up for the Commodore 64, that stylistically owed a debt of gratitude to the Schwarzenegger’s Conan the Barbarian.

The front cover featured a page three mode, covering only the bare essentials, lying at the feet of an oily Arnie wannabe, clearly overcompensating for something with that big sword. Given that games were still considered toys and aimed at children at the time, including a semi-nude busty woman as you can imagine caused an outcry. 

Surprisingly, the game was praised by critics, but in spite of this, the success of the game is largely attributed to a free poster of the racy front cover appealing to a generation of adolescent boys. It proved to be so successful that other games adopted similar tactics. 

1988’s Vixen was a technical triumph. The in-game animation was captured from moving images, thus making the movement more realistic. Nonetheless, critics couldn’t move passed the scantily glad Amazonian woman (another page three model) that dominated the front cover. Boots even refused to stock it, back when Boots sold games. It should have failed. But the promise of another poster version of the front cover was included in the box and all of a sudden, Vixen was a success. I suppose sex really does sell. 

Controversial campaigns don’t always work out though, particularly when they down right insult your target audience. As one of the creative minds behind gaming milestones such as Doom and Quake, John Romero looked as if he could do no wrong. While his long awaited, oft-delayed Daikatana underwent development hell, several teasers ads were released to keep interest in the game alive.

Bold as brass, these trash-talking ads proclaimed that “John Romero’s about to make you his bitch.” Bad move, John. Delaying a game is one thing but insulting your fans is another. The campaign has since gone down as one of the biggest blunders in gaming history. 

Since the Far Cry 4 announcement, the game’s creative director has since elaborated on the game’s cover art but still the debate goes on. If there’s one positive to take it’s that games and those who play them are definitely growing up. Whether it is sexism, racism or just childish arrogance, gone are the days where a free poster amends for any wrong doing. Instead, publishers are being put on the spot for using questionable tactics to sell their game. In the meantime, any actual in-game footage of Far Cry 4 has yet to be revealed. It will be interesting to see what sort of reaction both it and Ubisoft will receive at E3 this month.

Originally published in The Big List NI issue 248

FIlm Review: Edge of Tomorrow

For a film about repetition, Tom Cruise's latest in a long list of recent sci-fi adventurse never becomes monotonous but that’s not to say it doesn’t give us a series case of déjà vu in the process. If Groundhog Day was the rom-com you’re allowed to love, then Edge of Tomorrow is it’s gung-ho younger brother. Die-rinse-repeat are the rules set out for us in this over-the-top action flick that makes the most of its sci-fi heritage. 

Earth has been invaded by Mimics, extra-terrestrial entities that operate using hive mind to outmaneuver whatever the human race can throw at them. Tom Cruise is in full cowardly slime-ball mode as William Cage, a military spin doctor who puts on a reassuringly brave face on for the entire world to see, despite never having spent a single day in the throes of combat. As the United Defensive Force assembles everything it has to throw at the alien menace, the cowardly Cage finds himself stripped of rank and tossed onto the front lines. 

“I think there’s something wrong with your suit - there’s a dead man in it!” a fellow private taunts, and just as soon as his boots touch the ground, Cage does indeed bite the dust. However, he wakes up again, reliving the last few days of his life, finding himself in a time loop that could potentially be the key saving the human race. 

Cage runs, leaps, shoots and explodes, his way along this long road to redemption, and so too does Cruise who certainly seems to be having a lot of fun in this role. It certainly makes up for some of his recent po-faced errors, such as the bloated action thriller Jack Reacher and lackluster sci-fi Oblivion.

Bouncing off supporting players, such as Brendan Gleeson’s no-nonsense general and Bill Paxton in full drill sergeant mode, you realize just how weasely Cage is. It’s a role he knows how to handle perfectly. Plus it's rather humorous to see a million ways to kill Tom Cruise. 

Paxton’s casting is perhaps no coincidence. Aliens is just one film in a long list of influences that Edge of Tomorrow riffs on. The oorah comradery, brief glimpses of humour and chunky over-the-top battle sequences are also a nod and a wink towards Paul Verhoeven’s Starship Troopers, even though Edge of Tomorrow doesn’t quit pack the same satirical punch. 

The Matrix, Elysium and even Saving Private Ryan are all embedded in this mash up of a movie. Surprisingly, Edge of Tomorrow is actually based on an original story, Hiroshi Sakurazaka’s short, pulp novel All You Need is Kill, but you’d be forgiven for thinking that is was based on a computer game, given the trial-and-error, continuously check pointed pace of the film and it’s chunky, robotic aesthetics. 

If Edge of Tomorrow were a game, then Emily Blunt would be the main playable character. As Rita Vrataski AKA the Full Metal Bitch, she physically brings blood, sweat and tears to the role as the sword swinging heroine who is idolized by her fellow troops. The role moves Blunt well out of her comfort zone, but she thrives as Cruise’s mentor throughout, in a performance combines that demands battle hardened vigor and war weariness. 

The film itself never feels tired though, even with the familiar plot device. Director Doug Liman keeps the pace alive by juggling moments of sci-fi exposition with sheer over-the-top spectacle. It’s certainly the best we’ve had from the director since helming the first installment of the Bourne saga. 

A pic ‘n’ mix of science fiction classics come together with the fizzy chemistry between Cruise and Blunt, with the former in the most comfortable role we’ve seen him in a long time. It all makes for a surprisingly fresh and exciting thriller, with action sequences that prevail over and over and over again.

Edge of Tomorrow reviewed after a preview screening, courtesy of Movie House NI and CityBeat

Film Review: Godzilla (2014)

It’s common knowledge that Godzilla was originally born out of fear for all things nuclear. Released by the Toho Company in 1954, the giant lizard’s first appearance was a not-so-restrained, but perfectly legal, combination of fear and loathing against an American imposed media embargo that banned any criticism against the Allies or indeed the bombings themselves. So it’s unsurprising that American productions of Godzilla have never been any good. That is at least, until now. 

Sixty years old and Japan’s most famous son has gone on to become a worldwide cult smash. Featuring in 28 Toho films, the 350 ft. tall reptile has inspired a whole genre of ludicrous creature features, thanks in particular to low budget, B-Movie aesthetics. Ironic then that the biggest blip on Godzilla’s career is the $130 million, American produced film by Roland Emmerich back in 1998. 

No pressure then for Gareth Edwards, the director behind the west’s second attempt to wrestle Godzilla onto American soil. Thankfully, the British filmmaker is no stranger to creating monsters of his own. His post-modern, ultra-cheap, and low key Monsters, released in 2010, was a compelling character driven drama set in the aftermath of an alien invasion. 

The legacy of Godzilla has been retooled to fit in with modern times. The plot seems to tie the first Gojira to this new version, with obviously some degree of ret-conning. The hangover of World War II still lingers, particularly in the film’s black-ops styled opening credits, but there’s a shift in politics to give this a much more contemporised feel. 

The opening act of the film harks back to events as recent as the 2011 Fukushima nuclear meltdown. Shifting the blame from human error to natural disaster becomes a recurring theme in the film, and certain scenes become reminiscent of very real catastrophes, such as Hurricane Katrina and the 2004 Indian Ocean Tsunami. The apocalypse will come on Mother Nature’s terms, not humankind’s and wherever the story takes us, it seems like the end of the world isn't too far behind. 

The cast also provides some much needed human perspective on the monstrous rampage. Aaron Taylor-Johnson plays an American soldier caught amidst the chaos as he tries to get home to his wife, played by Elizabeth Olsen. The Kick-Ass actor’s performance is rather flat throughout, but as fates conspire to keep him apart from his family, you can’t help but get a little choked up.

Out of all the cast, however, it’s Bryan Cranston who stands the tallest, even perhaps towering over Godzilla’s. As the father to Taylor-Johnson’s character, he is transformed from nuclear physicist to conspiracy nut in the gut-wrenching, albeit predictable opening prologue. It sets up themes of complete family units for the human characters, giving them an extra dimension beyond that of simply gawking and pointing as the destruction unfolds. 

But don’t dig too deeply into the subtext of Godzilla. “Let them fight,” Ken Watanabe’s scientist character advises as the US Navy run out of options. Big monsters’ fighting is what it’s all about and when it comes to the final act of the film, it’s a no holds barred brawl fest. In the style of Jaws, Edwards employs smoke and mirrors for the majority of the film, treating us to just occasional glimpses of Godzilla’s most recognizable body parts. 

One particular scene involving a HALO (High-altitude-low-opening) gives the human characters a special effects extravaganza of their own. As they fall back to Earth, followed by a trail of red smoke, it’s like they are plummeting into the fiery depths of Hell, and it’s only then to we get a true sense of Godzilla’s impossible height. It also makes for one of the most breath-taking set-pieces to appear in film this year. 

His appearance is finally unveiled to be much more consistent with that of the Toho originals, rather than the Jurassic Park leftovers from the 1998 film. He even comes complete with his trademark nuclear breath, all powered by state-of-the-art, visually stunning special effects. It makes seeing the finished result all the worthwhile, even if it does mean less room for fighting and destruction than we’d have liked in the film’s two hour running time – perhaps the film’s biggest let down. 

The tone and action of the film can obviously compared to the likes of Jaws and Jurassic Park, but there are also few nodding references to sci-fi master classes such as Close Encounters of the Third Kind and Alien thrown into the mix. Edwards’ respect for the Toho legacy seems to work well with his heritage in Hollywood cinema. A combination of science-fiction, action and all-out disaster movie makes for not just the best American version of Godzilla to date, but perhaps the biggest, loudest, proper summer blockbuster this year.

MCM Comic Con Belfast Preview - Don't Deny Convention

Walking into a convention is both an overwhelming and mesmerising experience. I’ve seen grownups run around like little kids in a toy shop, trying to cram in every attraction available. I’ve seen people who normally wear a shirt and tie to the office casually dress up like Batman, Wolverine or Spock. But above all that, I’ve seen an unadulterated celebration of all things pop culture, where people can enjoy their hobbies together without fear or ridicule. 

This year, Belfast will get its first taste of the MCM Comic Con, as one of the top organisers of comic conventions in the UK sets up shop in the King’s Hall on the 07 - 08 June. It’s been a long time coming, especially for the hundreds of fans who normally would have to trek to Dublin for such an experience. 

To dismiss an event like this on the premise that it’s for the ‘geeky’ or ‘nerdy’ is just plain ignorant. Too often are people pigeon-holed for being particularly passionate about comic books, computer games and cult television. Ifthe Amazing Spider-Man 2 tops the box-office and Game of Thrones is the world’s most watched television show, it’s clear that on some level these unique facets of pop culture appeal to us all. 

I grew up on a steady diet of Red Dwarf and it is, was and always will be one of my favourite television shows. Created by Doug Naylor and Rob Grant back in 1988, the character driven comedy developed a cult following thanks to its hilariously unforgettable grungy sci-fi universe, filled with smegheads, simulants and space core directives.

So when I heard that Chris Barrie, Robert Llewelleyn and Hattie Hayridge, who play Rimmer, Kryten and Hollie respectively on the show, would be the special guests at Belfast’s inaugural MCM Comic Con, I admittedly and unashamedly got rather excited. 

Having met Craig Charles earlier this year (albeit briefly) at Belfast’s Aether and Echo, the prospect of meeting the rest of the people from the Dwarf could make my year. 

These conventions aren’t just about the special guests however. Writing about retro games for a number of my Itchy Fingers articles often makes me wish I had kept some of my old consoles. Thankfully, I’ll be able to indulge in a little nostalgia, with an area dedicated to retro gaming, arcade machines and pinball also available to ticket holders. Let’s hope they have the original Street Fighter II on offer.

Of course, it wouldn’t be a comic convention without comics. Whether you’re an avid fan of Marvel or DC, you’ll be glad to hear that there’s a whole village dedicated to the more literary medium. Special guests include artists such as Simon Bisley, Glenn Fabry and Belfast’s very own John McCrea who between them have illustrated some the biggest books in the industry, such as Judge Dredd, Batman, Preacher, and beyond. For those looking to break into the comics business, these are the people to talk to as many of them once stood in your shoes. 

Don’t let preconceptions get in the way. Conventions like this are meant to inspire and nurture our passion for pop culture. Even if your Darth Vader costume is away at the dry cleaners, it doesn’t mean you should miss the event. For one weekend in June, the King’s Hall will be transformed into what looks like a page from a comic strip and I for one hope that a scene as colourful as that will become an annual occurrence in this city.

http://www.mcmcomiccon.com/belfast/

Originally published in The Big List Issue #247

Film Review: Frank

How to describe Frank? That’s the quandary facing Lenny Abrahamson’s pseudo pop-flick that reaches for the far corners of offbeat black comedy. An exploration into the mental processes of the avant-garde musician, the film is inspired by memoirs of Jon Ronson, a writer and journalist who for a period in his life played keyboards for the late Frank Sidebottom.

Unmistakable for his nasal Mancunian accent, leftfield cabaret routine and of course wearing an oversized, doe-eyed papier-mâché head, Sidebottom was the bizarre alter-ego of the late Chris Sievey. Now the mantle has passed to Michael Fassbender, and while the film isn’t a biopic of Sidebottom or Sievey, it certainly doesn’t lack any of the entertainer’s anarchic spirit. 

Domnhall Gleeson steps into Ronson’s shoes as Jon, a young keyboard player with a dream of reaching stardom, but sapped of his creative drive by the monotony of his 9-to-5 job. However, all it takes is a chance meeting with the dysfunctionally experimental rock band Soronprfb and his life his changed forever. 

"Can you play C, F and G?” seems to be the only experience necessary and it isn’t long before Jon finds himself on stage alongside Soronprfb, witnessing first-hand the eccentricities of the band’s leader, Frank. Despite protests from the other members of the band, spearheaded by the delightfully wicked theremin player Clara (Maggie Gyllenhaal), Jon is invited to become the full-time keyboard player, taking him on a journey from Wicklow to Texas, as he wonders all the while what goes on inside the head inside THAT head.

Throughout the film Jon captures his experience and shares it with the world through social media. The band’s bizarre approach to finding their perfect sound is posted on Youtube, propelling them into somewhat hipstery, cult stardom while Jon finds himself a celebrity in his own right, questioning the methodology of Frank and criticizing the intentions of his fellow band-mates via Twitter, posting on screen for the audience to read.

Jon’s approach to finding fame and fortune seems to satire the music industry today. He seizes the oddity of Frank as a scheme to propel himself into the spotlight, putting gimmickry and publicity before the music itself. It’s a path that so many take, choosing to bypass creative process in favour of getting those precious fifteen minutes of fame. 

Ironically, Frank subverts all that. “He’s 100% the sanest cat I’ve ever met,” band manager Don (Scoot McNairy) tells Jon. It’s a hard truth to take at first, particularly amidst the wacky hijinks that apparently inspire Frank to write music. Some have compared the Frank story to that of other musical lunatics such as Captain Beefheart or Syd Barrett, with this incarnation of Frank acting as a poster boy for avant-garde musicians. 

But whether he’s recording sound bites from Mother Nature or singing about a little tuft of stray wool, you realize there’s innocence and purity in his music. When the band finally does record a song, it’s one of mesmerizing mayhem and enthralling anarchy, and a far cry from the ukelele parodies of Smiths and Queen singles. 

Absurdity gives way to tragedy in the film’s final act and it’s at that point you remember that there’s a truth buried somewhere in this yarn. Behind the fantasy of fame, fortune and facades masks a story about mental illness. The cartoonish head is a shield, protecting a somewhat fractured personality rather than a gimmick to propel him into the limelight. 

He comedically describes his facial expressions verbally. But just like the Mona Lisa, the head is expressionally ambiguous, eerily still providing a seemingly emotional response without moving a muscle. It’s just another weird and magical twist in this already bizarre tale. 

Ronson’s memoir can only take us so far, and the film builds upon the legend of Frank Sidebottom in order to breathe new life into a papier-mâché icon. Whimsical, sharp, funny and sweet, there’s definitely a method to Frank’s madness, and by not going down the straight-up biopic route, the film sticks to the anarchic, chaotic, alternative scheming that both Sidebottom and Sievey would have been proud of.

Film Review: Brick Mansions

Shifting the action from a Parisian banlieue to a Detroit ghetto, Brick Mansions is a typically uninspired, unnecessary remake of the superior foreign language film, District 13. Yet, unlike other stuffy American bastardisations such as Spike Lee’s recent take on Oldboy, there’s a fitting sentimentality to the sheer unapologetically absurd nature of what would be the late Paul Walker’s final finished film.

Much of the action takes place inside a walled ghetto, abandoned by the United States government, overrun with drugs and now controlled by gangsters. When the criminal kingpin manages to get his hands on dangerous device (because “bomb has such negative connotations” apparently), it’s up to (surprise, surprise) hero-cop-who-just-happens-to-hold-a-grudge Damien Coullier (Paul Walker) to go undercover and put a stop to the district’s Kingpin before the the city of Detroit is held to ransom. 

Returning from the original film is David Belle, the man who is considered to be the creator of the parkour movement. In a role identical to the original, he plays Lino, a Robin Hood type character who goes up against the over-the-top mobsters types with his impressive free-running moves partnered with his equally unimpressive acting skills. It’s the exact same role he played from District 13 so you think he’d have been able to build on that, ten years down the line. 

Walker is in familiar territory as the almost squeaky clean undercover cop who always gets results. Mansions will never be considered the actor’s swan song, and even though he phones the performance in, there is sense of nostalgia to this role, sandwiched somewhere between a disjointed plot and boring action sequences.

It’s quite late in the film before Walker is paired up with Belle, so their relationship isn’t allowed to develop into anything like the Lethal Weapon level of buddy cop dynamics, save for a few very flat choreographed sequences or Belle’s condescending wind-ups aimed at Walker’s lack of free-running skills. 

Rounding off the cast is Wu-Tang Clan’s RZA as the crimelord in control of Brick Mansions. Spouting off all the nonsensical, stereotypical rhetoric you’d come to expect from a baddie, RZA delivers these lines with such little menace that he ends up playing second fiddle to his much more cartoony, two-dimensional cavalcade of henchmen. 

The plot begins to crumble around the half way mark of the film, but it is when it tries to make some sort of sociopolitical statement that it gets demolished completely. Characterization goes right out the window, rendering much of the film’s build up or backstory null and void right around the time all character arcs should reach a satisfying close. 

But of course, Brick Mansions was never meant to be a lesson in pathos. Scripted by Luc Besson, District 13 was also little shaky when it came to the plot, but the French action thriller certainly made up for it with its breath-taking chase sequences centered around the discipline of parkour. 

Brick Mansions puts its money on the star power of Walker instead of using the one strength it had over other run-of-the-mill action films. We even get Fast and the Furious inspired car-chases thrown in for good measure, but no matter how much nitrous oxide is in the tank, it doesn’t quite reach the adrenaline pumping heights of the film’s strangely few free running sequences. It almost seems pointless to have put David Belle in this movie at all as his talents are wasted. 

The fist fights are also incredibly incoherent thanks to poor, out-of-sync editing, with many of the punches that land conveniently being covered by sweeping jackets, shaky cams or unconvincing cinematography. What makes it even more disappointing is that the film’s director, Camille Delamarre is editorial graduate of similar macho action flicks including Taken 2 and Transporter 3, so one would think that would have been the one sucker punch the film would have been able to deliver. 

So let’s call a spade a spade, and call out Brick Mansions for what it is – a terrible action film that would have probably went straight-to-DVD, if it weren’t for Paul Walker’s tragic death in 2013. 

Let down by poor acting and a disappointing approach to the action, the one saving grace is that by the end, you realize that the film has been reveling in its own absurdity the whole time. It’s enough to provoke a few laughs, but you can’t shake that feeling that you’re not laughing with it, but at it.