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Posts Tagged ‘Emmy Rossum’

Normally nothing makes people in the film industry happier than when there is a buzz around their new movie and everyone is talking breathlessly about it. Occasionally, however, something comes along which really tests that old saw about there being no such thing as bad publicity.

The most startling example of this in recent years was Liam Neeson’s recent performance on the press tour for his new movie Cold Pursuit, directed by Hans Petter Moland. Neeson has enjoyed something of a career resurgence in recent years playing the protagonists of action movies centred on characters who tend to be approaching pensionable age, but who don’t let this stop them going on roaring rampages of revenge. Cold Pursuit is really an addition to this odd subgenre, and (in case you’ve been on a desert island) Neeson decided to share his own experiences of the corrosive effect of the urge for vengeance, cheerfully regaling his interviewer with the story of how, following the rape of a friend by an unidentified black man, he wandered the streets of Belfast hoping to be provoked by someone of that ethnicity so he could justifiably beat them to death.

Unsurprisingly, this was not greeted as the sign of insight and mature self-awareness that Neeson clearly thought it to be, and the poo-storm of disbelieving outrage which ensued has really eclipsed Cold Pursuit‘s merits as a film, whatever they may be. However, this is still by some metric a thriller, and where there is a thriller in the cinema, you will most likely find me and Olinka, sooner or later. Is the film as dodgy as Neeson’s attempts to promote it, or is the unfair victim of its star’s poor judgement?

Neeson plays Nelson Coxman, unassuming snowplough driver in the resort town of Kehoe, Colorado, who as the film starts is a loving father and husband and recipient of the town’s Citizen of the Year award. You just know that when someone starts a film by being dull and civic-minded, they are not going to stay that way, and so it proves. Coxman’s son turns up dead of a heroin overdose and he and his wife (Laura Dern) are knocked sidewise, unable to believe they knew their child so little. Struggling to come to terms, Neeson retires to the garage to blow his own head off.

However, he is stopped by the appearance of a friend of his son who reveals he was murdered on the orders of the local drug baron, Viking (Tom Bateman). This at least gives Neeson a focus for his negative emotions and soon he is carving a swathe through the lower echelons of Viking’s organisation and hoping to get a shot at the top man. Killing drug dealers tends to come with consequences, however, and Viking and his lieutenants jump to the wrong conclusion, assuming that a rival gang of Native American drug dealers are responsible. Soon a bloody turf war is in progress and threatening to spin out of control…

A friend of mine was recently, and somewhat improbably given his image as a thoughtful and humane family man, outed as a bit of a fan of the whole Liam Neeson revenge-thriller genre, and seemed genuinely disappointed when his schedule meant that he couldn’t come to see Cold Pursuit with Olinka and me. I am not entirely sure this film would have been his cup of tea, though: the opening at least is deeply suspect, with an awful, grating uncertainty of tone – in part a dour, uncompromisingly downbeat drama about loss and grief (shades of In the Bedroom) and the couple struggling to deal with the loss of their boy, and partly a gruesome, graphically violent revenge-thriller.

In the end, however, a third style becomes dominant. This is an American remake of a Scandi drama from a few years ago, and you can still discern traces of that in the setting of the film and its humour (I was going to call it a black comedy, but in the circumstances I think it’s best to steer clear of that sort of language). Most of all it resembles a pastiche of the kind of films that the McDonagh brothers have been making in recent years, with a mixture of calculated provocation and clever subversion of genre tropes, spiced up with quirky humour and characters who refuse to be defined by their roles in the story. Thus we get a drug lord who’s obsessed with macrobiotic dieting and who gives his young son a copy of Lord of the Flies, believing it to be a valuable repository of life lessons.

There are some good jokes in Cold Pursuit, but on the whole it often feels quite laboured. Liam Neeson cheerfully sent himself up a few years ago in a sketch where he approached Ricky Gervais insisting that they work on ‘funny monologues… crazy characters… slapstick’, all delivered in that balefully intense manner, but the problem here is that he is really is playing it all much too straight and earnest. This is to some extent ameliorated by the fact that, as the situation spins out of control, he gets less screen-time, but this itself probably qualifies as another problem with the film – the script doesn’t quite hold together and contains some very cheesy bits of plotting. (The ending in particular is very abrupt and peculiar.)

In the end it’s all really very blokey, violent stuff, with a sort of motif – calling it a theme would be overdoing it – about fathers and their relationships with their sons. Most of the female characters are very secondary and don’t get much screen time; the exception being Emmy Rossum’s ambitious young cop. Rossum (who fifteen years ago looked like being on the verge of becoming a major star, but vanished into the netherworld of cable TV) gets some good scenes, but doesn’t really contribute much to the story either.

Neeson does the best he can with a character who doesn’t exactly leap off the screen; the actors playing all the comedy gangsters likewise make the most of their opportunities. But in the end, I don’t know – the film recovers well from a very dubious opening act, but in the end it feels just a bit too laborious in both its plotting and its quest to find unlikely sources of humour. I doubt people going in expectation of a Liam Neeson revenge thriller will find it very satisfactory, but then neither will anyone else: it’s a bit too self-consciously quirky given the subject matter, and it seems to have nothing really to say for itself about any of the themes and topics it touches on. Cold Pursuit is somewhat entertaining while you’re watching it, but if Neeson had kept his mouth shut on the press tour I suspect it would have vanished into obscurity fairly rapidly.

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From the Hootoo archive. Originally published December 16th 2004:

[Originally following a review of Blade: Trinity…]

From a film which is a bit of mixed bag in terms of quality, to one with an extremely eclectic cast and crew. Yes, with Moulin Rouge and Chicago both doing rather well at the box office, Andrew Lloyd-Webber’s The Phantom of the Opera has finally made it onto a screen near you, directed by Joel Schumacher. Yes, Joel Schumacher, a man whose track record with masked obsessives who only come out at night is not fantastic (let us not forget, this is the man who nearly-singlehandedly destroyed the Batman franchise) – but then again his particular brand of tastelessness could be just what Lloyd-Webber’s money machine needs…

Set in 1870s Paris, this is the tale of queer doings a-transpiring at the Opera House. The new management (Ciaran Hinds and the perennially Dickensian Simon Callow) are shocked when their diva-ish leading lady (an appallingly OTT silly accent performance by Minnie Driver) walks out on them and they are forced to recast with chorus girl Christine (Emmy Rossum). However, Christine stuns the crowd and is a great success on her debut, catching the eye of her childhood sweetheart Raoul (a rather damp Patrick Wilson), who just happens to be the new financial backer of the House.

But, as Christine later tells her friend Meg (an unexpected swerve upmarket for lad’s mag regular Jennifer Ellison), she has been given extensive musical tuition for the past decade by a mysterious, near-ghostly presence in the Opera House. And now this Phantom is prepared to reveal himself to her and declare his love! It turns out to be Gerard Butler in a mask that gives him a slight but still distracting resemblence to Space Commander Travis from Blake’s 7. He is a deformed polymath living in a secret cavern under the Opera House (the cavern must be fairly well soundproofed as he spends most of his time singing his head off), a pitiful creature living vicariously through the success of his young musical protege. Did anyone mention Simon Cowell?

Well, Gaston Leroux’s original story survives pretty much intact, as does the Lloyd-Webber stage show (additional lyrics, let us not forget, by Richard Stilgoe). Having seen three-quarters of the theatrical version (it’s a long and slightly embarrassing story, and hello, Leiner, if you’re reading this) it seems very clear to me that when writing the screenplay Schumacher and his Lordship took great pains not to alienate the huge and devoted fanbase the stage show has acquired, as this is a fairly literal adaptation. The musical arrangements are extremely retro as a result. A few of the tricks and stunts have been excised but nothing appropriately startling has been put in to replace them.

And as on stage, the movie rather uncomfortably straddles the frontier between musical and real opera: once beyond the opening, there’s virtually no dialogue that isn’t sung, even when it doesn’t actually rhyme or scan. This does seem rather pretentious, especially given how middle-of-the-road most of the actual songs are. Butler, Rossum, and the rest do a fair old job of belting them out but given how closely associated they are with the original cast (Michael Crawford, Sarah Brightman, etc) the best-known numbers always have a hint of karaoke about them.

Given that Moulin Rouge kick-started the current musical revival, and that Phantom occurs in a very similar milieu, it’s a shame that some of the demented energy of Baz Luhrmann’s film didn’t find its way into this one – Schumacher’s direction is surprisingly restrained and pedestrian. Only rarely does Phantom take flight and acquire a sort of phantasmagorical deliriousness that helps fend off the ever-present threat of cheesiness.

But it has an interesting cast, including familiar TV faces like Miranda Richardson, Vic McGuire and Kevin McNally, and it’s involving enough (if a bit too long and flabby in the middle section). Long-term readers will recall my concern for Gerard Butler’s career, and while he makes an impression as the Phantom, he never really makes the most of what is, on paper at least, an exceptionally good part. As for Emmy Rossum, she does a good enough job, but I found the way she was rather unsubtly sexed up towards the end of the film rather tawdry and disturbing. Oh well, I must be getting past it.

Whatever the merits of the stage version of Phantom of the Opera, this film adaptation is not up to the same standard as Chicago or Moulin Rouge, simply because it never quite breaks free from its theatrical origins. The songs and score remain thrilling, but the realisation of the rest of the production isn’t up to the same standard. Devotees of the original will doubtless have a great time, but I remain rather ambivalent about the whole thing.

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