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