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Posts Tagged ‘Russell Crowe’

So there I was, just watching the closing credits of Alex Kurtzman’s The Mummy, waiting for the bafflement and confused disbelief to lift from my mind (hmm, kind of given the general tenor of the review away there – hey ho), when the guy across the aisle from me shouted ‘Is there anything to stay for?’ – meaning, would there be a post-credit sequence trailing a coming attraction? ‘I don’t think they’ve planned that far ahead,’ I said. Having established some sort of relationship, my new acquaintance asked me how familiar I was with the series. I made noncomittal noises and he said, ‘I’ve seen the old one, with… what’s his name…’

Hmm, I thought, could he mean the 1932 version with Boris Karloff? Or perhaps the 1959 one with Christopher Lee? Maybe even the 1971 take with Valerie Leon? (All of which I have inevitably seen.) It seemed pretty unlikely. ‘You mean the 1999 one with Brendan Fraser,’ I said, somewhat resignedly. Yes it was; it turned out he preferred it.

Given it’s not unknown these days for a remake (or, sigh, reboot) to follow only five years after the thing it’s remaking (or rebooting), the nine year gap between the last of the Fraser-starring movies and Kurtzman’s film is actually fairly respectable. The ‘is there a post-credits sequence?’ question is significant, though, for it cuts to the heart of what this new movie is really about: because that’s what movie mega-franchises do these days. (Except this one, apparently.)

Things kick off with a somewhat involved prologue involving crusader knights, the expansion of the London underground, and much other unexpected material. What it all boils down to is the story of Princess Ahmanet, heiress of one of the Egyptian pharaohs (she is played by Sofia Boutella, a game young actress making a bit of a career out of big genre roles in which she becomes almost unrecognisable one way or another). When she is unexpectedly replaced as first in line to the throne, she enters into a pact with the evil god Set and sets about pressing her claim, rather violently. This goes down poorly with the palace staff and she is, according to the voice-over, ‘mummified alive’ (not according to what we see on screen, she’s not, but I digress), stuck in a sarcophagus, and buried ‘far from Egypt’.

Roll on the title card and we find ourselves in modern Iraq, in the company of dodgy treasure hunter and mercenary Nick Morton (Tom Cruise). A careless airstrike from Nick’s associates in the US military reveals the entrance to an ancient tomb complex, into which he ventures with plucky archaeologist Jenny (Annabelle Wallis). But is it really a tomb, or actually a prison for an ancient evil? (Clue: it’s not really a tomb.)

Well, having extracted Ahmanet’s sarcophagus, our heroes are flying off somewhere when their plane becomes besieged by crows and Nick’s buddy Chris (Jake Johnson) turns into a murderous zombie (it feels like there’s a lot more zombies than mummies in this movie). No sooner has Nick handed Jenny a parachute and thrown her off the plane than it crashes in England. Of course Nick does not end up splashed across the landscape, but wakes up unscathed in an Oxford morgue (by the way, I feel it incumbent upon me to point out that The Mummy‘s depiction of the traffic system in Oxford city centre leaves a lot to be desired). It transpires that Ahmanet has taken a shine to Nick (that’s nice), and quite fancies using him as the vessel to bring about the embodiment of her patron, the god of evil (maybe not so nice). Can he escape the mummy’s curse, or is he doomed to a fate that’s approximately about as bad as death?

It’s not widely known or talked about these days, but for quite a long while in the early 2000s Tom Cruise was in talks with Marvel about his taking the starring role in Iron Man. Terms could not be agreed, however, Cruise not wanting to make ‘just another superhero movie’ (it’s hard to imagine him committing to the standard Marvel multi-film contract, anyway, or indeed agreeing to be part of an ensemble cast). Since then, however, Cruise has noticed the large trucks full of money going to Robert Downey Jr’s house, and Universal Pictures have noticed the enormous trucks full of money going to the Marvel offices, and their joint desire to grab a slice of that kind of action is what has led us to the new version of The Mummy.

For, yea, this is the opening installment of what we are supposed to call the Dark Universe franchise, presumably because Legendary Pictures already have their Monsterverse (the film series with Godzilla, King Kong, and the others) and this precludes Universal from using the obvious ‘Universal Monsters’ title for their own prospective mega-franchise. At one point Dracula Untold was going to be part of this series, but they have apparently rowed back on the idea, and so it’s The Mummy kicking off the new undertaking (no pun intended).

Quite how this new series is supposed to function I’m really not sure. The thing about superheroes (as in the Marvel and DC film series) and Toho’s daikaiju (in the Monsterverse) is that they have a tradition of bumping into each other and butting heads, whereas all the best-regarded Universal horror films were basically standalones – obviously you have things like Frankenstein Meets The Wolf Man and House of Dracula, but these were pretty much last-gasp efforts, one step away from Abbot and Costello Meet Frankenstein. The material feels severely stretched to meet the requirements of the studio – it looks very much like the intention is to retool the classic monsters as occult super-powered anti-heroes.

So is this really a horror film or isn’t it? I would tend to say not, for all that it is saddled with a box office-unfriendly 15 rating in the UK. Sensible studios don’t attempt to make genuine horror blockbusters, because the two forms are largely incompatible, appealing to different sensibilities. Attempting to combine the two is the source of many of The Mummy‘s numerous problems.

On one level this movie wants to be a dark tale about the stirring of ancient, primordial evil, and moral corruption, and the profound ambiguity of the human soul. On another, it wants to be a jolly wise-cracking CGI-driven popcorn movie. I’m not saying it’s absolutely impossible to make a film which manages to reconcile these two ambitions. I’m just saying that The Mummy definitely isn’t it. Every time the darker material shows signs of promise, along comes a big chase sequence or a comedy bit or Tom Cruise sweating ostentatiously and we’re back in vacuous popcorn-land. If the film was the slightest bit knowing or showed any signs of being aware of how outlandish it is, it might function, but Cruise in particular doesn’t seem capable of that kind of wit.

I suppose there are signs of hope for the future, as the linking device for the projected Dark Universe franchise is a gang of enigmatic monster-hunters called the Progenium or the Prodigium or the Perineum (I can’t actually be bothered to check Wikipedia), led by Russell Crowe as Dr Jekyll (I know, I know) – we pay a brief visit to their archives where they appear to have a vampire skull, pickled bits of the creature from the black lagoon, and so on. Crowe actually has the ability to make this stuff work, believe it or not, though he’s much better as Jekyll than Hyde.

And he quite easily blows Tom Cruise off the screen. Probably The Mummy‘s biggest problem is that Tom Cruise simply does not belong in it, at least not in the role he’s been given. Nick Morton is supposed to be a lovable rogue, a scoundrel with the potential to be something better, utterly charming even when he’s doing deeply suspect things. Cruise can’t do charming any more. He goes through the motions energetically, but he just comes across as fake, and rather than loving Nick in spite of my better judgement, I just thought he seemed like a bit of a tool. Cruise can’t really do funny consistently either; for this film to attempt to be a light-hearted adventure is arguably a bad choice, but for it to turn out to be a light-hearted adventure fronted by a leading man with all the comic sparkle of one of Donald Trump’s media consultants contemplating their career prospects is, frankly, disastrous.

This is still a fairly lavish modern blockbuster with all the necessary bits in mostly the right order (though not, as noted, many of what you’d call classic Mummy moments), and Crowe and Boutella are generally pretty good in it. And, as Wonder Woman has recently proven, all it takes is one good installment for this kind of movie series to come to life and start generating real interest and excitement. But The Mummy shows every sign of getting the Dark Universe project off to a flying stop.

 

 

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It’s a funny old world in the movies, where people can end up with CVs that at first glance look very odd. For example, that of writer-director-actor Shane Black, possibly not the most famous guy in the business but still someone worth keeping track of. Possibly best known as the writer of the first couple of Lethal Weapon movies, as well as various other overblown Hollywood action films, he also pops up as an actor in Predator, The Hunt for Red October, and RoboCop 3. He also has a respectable career as a director, with his name on Kiss Kiss Bang Bang and Iron Man 3, one of the most financially successful movies of all time.

However, the world being as it is, Black apparently finds it necessary to apologise for some of his creative choices on Iron Man 3, even though the film came out years ago: such is the frothing outrage of some of the comic book fans he offended and (one presumes) the importance the studios attach to keeping this section of the audience onside. It must be particularly galling, given that Black’s latest round of media appearances is, in theory at least, to promote his new film The Nice Guys. As I believe I mentioned, it’s a funny old world sometimes.

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The Nice Guys is set in late-70s Los Angeles. Russell Crowe plays Jack Healey, a philosophically-inclined professional leg-breaker with a soft spot he tries very hard to ignore. Healey is hired by a young runaway named Amelia (Margaret Qualley) to warn off Holland March (Ryan Gosling), a morally-bankrupt private detective who is looking for her. However, after making his point to March somewhat forcefully, Healey comes to realise that Amelia may be in more danger than she realises, and promptly decides to hire March himself in order to start looking for her again. March himself is understandably not keen on this arrangement, but his teenage daughter (Angourie Rice), who is in many ways the brains of the outfit, persuades him to take it on.

What follows is a convoluted, drolly preposterous story concerned with the Los Angeles smog, the adult movie industry, the Department of Justice, and many other elements which don’t obviously go together. There is a sense in which this is another pastiche of the classic Raymond Chandler private eye story, albeit heavily updated – the story initially seems a bit baffling, and I’m still not entirely sure how all of the bits connect up. However, by the final act everything has sorted itself out, more or less. That said, Black’s pedigree as a creator of first-rate action movies is also on display, and the film is punctuated by a number of superbly orchestrated fight scenes and chase sequences – there’s a fight between Crowe and Keith David which is as good as anything I can remember seeing on screen in recent years.

Even these moments are flavoured by a vein of humour, frequently very dark, sometimes quite broad. Black combines the elements of thriller, action, and comedy with great dexterity. The script on this occasion is co-written with Anthony Bagarozzi, but tonally this feels very similar to Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. Perhaps this time the film is a little deeper and more complex – there’s an element of historical irony going on, while you could probably have a pretty good post-film discussion over whether its ending is happy or actually rather downbeat.

There’s a level of complexity to the characters, too, rather more than what you’d expect from this kind of film, and perhaps shows the difference that hiring star actors can make to what might otherwise be quite a generic piece of work. The counterweight to The Nice Guys’ absurd comedy is the depth of characterisation provided by Crowe and Gosling – I’ve never been a huge fan of Crowe in the past, but he is enormously charismatic and likeable here, making his character’s ethical struggle quite clear without ever indulging in histrionics. Gosling gives a slightly more comedic performance, but not by much, while Angourie Rice can expect to be offered all kinds of dodgy projects on the strength of her performance here. But all the performances are good: perhaps the most noteworthy being a rare appearance by Kim Basinger.

The subject matter of this film may mean it’s not for everyone – in particular, the level of violence is definitely at the top end of a 15, and may be more than some people will be comfortable with (I expect I’m just desensitised myself). But this aside, I enjoyed The Nice Guys enormously, because it is a smart, funny, extremely confident film made by a director who knows how to do this sort of thing as well as anyone else in the business. Well worth checking out.

 

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There are, I suppose, weirder choices of film projects than blockbuster fantasy versions of tales from the depths of the Old Testament, but not many. I suspect that the fact Paramount have embarked upon such an adventure, in the form of Noah, is not based upon the studio’s confident belief in the bankability of this kind of film, but the past acclaim and success of director Darren Aronofsky and the box office clout of leading man Russell Crowe.

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I suspect you know the story to this one already, more or less at least. The script is by Aronofsky and Ari Handel (based on an idea by some 6th century Judaean priests) and is rather coy about the exact setting of the film – you can treat it as proper history if you really want to, but the fantasy quotient is also comfortably high. Ten generations after the creation of the world, humanity has split into two factions along ideological lines – with those who see the Earth as something to be relentlessly exploited very much in the ascendant, and those desiring to live in harmony with nature living in fear of their lives.

Noah (Crowe) and his family are pretty much all that is left of the latter group, eking out a fairly miserable existence in the wasteland the mechanistic civilisation has reduced the world to. But then Noah has a vision: and, not to put too fine a point on it, it looks like rain…

Not quite sure what to make of this, Noah and his nearest and dearest trek off to the remote hermitage of his grandad Methuselah (Anthony Hopkins), who fills him in on the finer points of what’s in the offing. With the help of a gang of fallen angels who look rather like cobbled Ents, Noah sets about measuring his cubits and gathering the gopher wood.

Inevitably, as the time of the inundation draws closer, others take an interest in Noah’s little project, particularly Tubal-Cain (Ray Winstone), king of one of the destructive human nations. Tubal-Cain is quite keen to get a berth on the Ark for himself, and isn’t above attempting to suborn Noah’s kids to do so. Noah himself has other problems, not least the issue of finding wives for all his sons. Sometimes it never rains, but it pours…

There has been some media coverage of Russell Crowe’s industrious efforts to secure a celebrity endorsement for Noah by showing it to the Pope and the Archbishop of Canterbury, mainly (one suspects) because of the sheer size of the potential Christian audience this could help the film tap into. The slightly quirky decision not to use the word ‘God’ once in the entire movie aside, it seems to me that there’s very little here to frighten the Biblical-literalist horses, in the sense that the movie takes the Book of Genesis at face value – for all that it embellishes the story in some fairly eye-opening ways (battles with giant stone angels and so on), there’s nothing here that directly contradicts the scriptural account.

There is something compellingly bizarre about the way in which the film works very hard to treat such an extravagant story so seriously. Tranquility on the Ark, for instance, is secured by doping all the animals aboard it into suspended animation for the duration of the voyage (this also explains why it doesn’t fill up with dung before the end of the film). Noah himself is treated with an unexpected level of psychological realism, but then in these particular circumstances this makes a certain degree of sense. All in all, watching Noah I had a strange sense that this was a blockbuster fantasy film of which the Christian right might well approve.

I’m not sure I was very comfortable with that, and it did make me wary of the environmental message which is central to the story: the subtext of the film is ‘live green or die’, which ordinarily I’d agree with, but not when it’s presented as some kind of religious fundamentalist dogma. (On the other hand, another major theme is whether the planet wouldn’t be better off without the human race, a suggestion which I can’t imagine many religions getting behind.) The earnestness of the film in this and other departments is a bit of a problem, too: Anthony Hopkins does his usual formerly-Welsh twinkliness, but apart from this Noah is an extremely po-faced film, presumably in order to avoid charges from its target audience of irreverence towards scripture.

This doesn’t stop the film being very, very strange for most of its running time. It looks good, as you’d expect from Aronofsky, with the antediluvian world looking pretty post-apocalyptic anyway, and some decent special effects. Jennifer Connelly honestly doesn’t get much to do as Mrs Noah – Emma Watson as the daughter-in-law gets more decent material – but Crowe, Winstone, and Hopkins all bring their customary commitment and presence, as well as a slight tendency to chew on the scenery (in light of which it’s a bit unfortunate that various scenes depict characters wandering about shouting ‘Ham! Ham!’).

On its own peculiar terms the film remains interesting and pacy for its first two acts, but I did find the final third to be rather tough going, to the point of actually being slightly twisted. The stuff with everyone on the Ark, post-flood, does go on a bit, and wanders off into some distinctly unexpected areas (there’s some hand-to-hand combat, for instance, plus Noah threatening to turn into a swivel-eyed murderous headcase). I was looking forward to the bit where Noah says ‘At my command, unleash doves,’ but this doesn’t happen. Genesis 9:23 does make it into the movie though, just another example of the permeating weirdness of the project.

Going in to see Noah I was fairly certain that this was the proverbial win-win scenario: either Aronofsky was going to make an interestingly original and visually sumptuous film, or just a hilariously bad one, either of which I would happily watch. In the end, though, I think Noah is somewhere in between: the conception of the film is deeply, deeply odd, unless you genuinely believe the Flood to have been an actual historical event, in which case you may well take exception to some of the film’s more idiosyncratic embellishments on the traditional story (wondering what happened to the unicorns? Looks like Ray Winstone ate them both). But set against all this, it is a beautifully designed and photographed film with moments of real vision and power. I don’t foresee a full-scale revival of the Biblical Epic as a major genre (though, hey, I’m the guy who predicted that Strictly Come Dancing would be a famous disaster, so what do I know?), nor even a massive box office return for this particular film. But I’ve never seen another film quite like it, and I’ve always found it hard to dismiss originality. Even so, Noah is engrossingly strange more than anything else.

 

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…but, oh, reader, it did not end there. Regular partakers of this nonsense may recall that occasionally I like to spice things up by changing the format of the review – doing part of it as a list, or a piece of short fiction, or something else which feels appropriate (for example). And part of me thought that the most apposite way of commenting on Tom Hooper’s inescapable Les Miserables would be to write a song about it in suitably sweeping style. But I’ve got a lot of other work on at the moment, and I couldn’t be bothered. It wouldn’t sound the same without the full orchestral backing, anyway.

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Speaking of which, listening to the BBC’s flagship film programme, I caught a snippet of Hooper’s film from which the music had been snipped, giving the impression that the actors were singing a cappella. The results were, shall we say, rather amusing in the case of Russell Crowe, not someone for whom a career in musical theatre likely beckons. And so I turned up for the movie well prepared to chuckle and jeer my way through it.

Didn’t quite work out that way, though. Based on the stage show, which is based on a novel by Victor Hugo, we open on a gang of convicts working as slave labour in 1815 France. Most prominent is Jean Valjean (Hugh Jackman), whose surname rhymes with his prison number (good news for the lyricist), who almost straight away is given his parole by merciless cop Javert (Crowe). Valjean has to carry around a document revealing his criminal past or end up straight back in the clink, which makes his life almost intolerable.

However, an act of kindness from a stranger forces Valjean to reconsider his philosophy, and he sets out to become a better person, breaking his parole in the process and revealing that, in addition to possessing tremendous physical strength and a fine tenor voice, he is incapable of facing a moral dilemma without singing about it at great length.

Anyway, some years later the reinvented Valjean is now a prosperous philanthropist – but unfortunately his path crosses that of Javert once more. The policeman vaguely remembers him from somewhere, and soon events conspire to force Valjean to reveal his true identity and go on the run once more: this time in the company of little orphan girl Cosette, whom (for various reasons too lengthy to recount here) he has taken into his protection.

This is a long film with a lot of plot. Suffice to say that later on there is a lot of flag-waving, shooting, crawling through excrement, redemption, unrequited love, and exasperating cor-blimey-guv’nor Cockney accents before everything is resolved. (I’m still not sure what the chorus of hopeful spectres in the final shot are on about. Are they starting a revolution against God, or something? Good luck with that, guys.)

So like I say, I turned up to laugh at the extraordinary hats and hairpieces which pepper the movie, with my usual air of detached indulgence. But then we got to the scene where the kindly old priest (Colm Wilkinson) whom Valjean has tried to rob makes him a gift of everything he’s stolen, plus adds a bit more, saying Valjean clearly needs it more than him, and exhorts him to be a better a person… and as a gut-punch of sheer sincere human decency it really takes some beating. Oh! It’s so sweet! Cripes.

And then we had the scene where the innocent single mother Fantine (Anne Hathaway), reduced through no fault of her own to the deepest depths of debasement and despair – we get to see her degradation in some detail – sings a plaintive song about how life hasn’t quite worked out how she had hoped… and maybe it’s the context, or the song, or the way Hathaway puts it over… but suddenly I was losing it and welling up despite myself. I am ashamed to admit it but I was properly weeping in the cinema. (I haven’t cried so much since River Song died.) There is some weird power in certain sections of this film that enables it to circumvent your rational brain and interfere directly with your emotions.

Despite this remarkable faculty, there’s a lot about Les Mis that I was not particularly struck by. The plot eventually moves on to focus on a bunch of younger characters, mainly lovestruck young girls and floppy-haired student revolutionaries, all of whom were either wet or annoying or both (there’s a Cockney urchin living in 1832 Paris whom I would cheerfully have shot even before the revolution started). Amanda Seyfried, playing the female lead, sings with a curiously quavering voice, producing a vibrato effect I found very irksome. Much better, I thought, was Samantha Barks – if big musicals were still a major film genre, this girl would be a global superstar on the strength of her performance here.

I found the plot at this stage less involving and much missed the older characters. I’ve been rude about Hugh Jackman’s acting in the past but this is a part which really fits him like a glove, in terms of his persona, his range, and his singing ability. I even thought Russell Crowe brought a lot to the movie in terms of sheer presence and personality, although hitting some of the notes appears to be causing him significant discomfort. Let’s put this in perspective, though – if we’re talking about unsuitable A-list stars mooing their way through a musical, our yardstick has got to be Pierce Brosnan in Mamma Mia!, and Crowe’s nowhere near that bad.

But it does seem to go on for a terribly long time, and there’s only so much that comedy scenes from Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter can do to perk it up a bit. Why is practically the entire thing sung, anyway? It just feels like a stab at opera. I suppose you either like this sort of thing or you don’t. The big songs are all great, though, even if towards the end it gets a bit repetitive: it quickly becomes apparent that no-one is this film is capable of dying without literally making a big production number out of it.

There’s the funny thing, though. I was sitting there towards the end, stirring a bit restlessly in my seat, wondering how long the damn thing had left to go, as the character in the scene was making a hell of a meal of passing away. ‘This movie is so overblown and sentimental in places, and much too long,’ I found myself thinking, even while realising at that very moment that I had gone again. The sneaky film had bypassed my rational mind once more.

All praise to Tom Hooper for that, and for the sheer look, scale, and technical achievement of the thing, for all of them are deeply impressive (why on Earth hasn’t he been Oscar nominated?). Despite all that, and the intensely powerful moments I’ve already mentioned, I still think this is a flawed movie in some ways. A monumental piece of work that will be remembered for a long time, but still – for me – easier to admire than to genuinely like.

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From the Hootoo archives. Originally published 4th December 2003:

It’s quite rare that many of the biggest and most successful films in a given year should share even a tenuous connection: but 2003 seems to be just such a beast, with two huge blockbusters united by their hearts of oak and the tang of brine in their nostrils. Only a churl could begrudge the revival of the maritime movie – well, only a churl or someone whose stock of naval jokes ran out about the same time Pirates of the Caribbean was released. Hey ho…

Sailing into view and hoping to emulate the success of Pirates and Finding Nemo comes Peter Weir’s hefty and unwieldily-titled 19th century adventure Master And Commander – The Far Side Of The World, wherein big Russell Crowe plays ‘Lucky’ Jack Aubrey, captain of the HMS Surprise. Also aboard are surgeon and naturalist Stephen Maturin (Paul Bettany), who interestingly doesn’t turn out to be a figment of the captain’s imagination, and coxswain Barrett Bonden (Billy Boyd, who’s apparently in some piece of junk due out in a few weeks, and has seemingly gone all cockney on us). Ordered to hunt down a French warship, Crowe and his command get a severe mauling on their first encounter with it – but refusing to give up, Russ embarks on a pursuit that will take him and his ship halfway around the planet…

There’s been a lot of frankly quite excitable hype about this movie, mostly declaring it to effectively be Gladiator 2. It isn’t, to be honest, and I have to say I found it much more engaging and enjoyable than that. This isn’t a routine studio adventure but something more subtle and idiosyncratic. There really isn’t much of a plot, for one thing – the pursuit of the French ship merely provides the framework for a series of loosely-linked vignettes about shipboard life at this time in history. Suffice to say that before all is done and dusted, there’s time for sing-songs, iguana-spotting, the odd duet on violin and cello, grisly ad hoc brain surgery, cunning ruses, heroism, tragedy, and one really and truly shockingly bad pun (and as attentive masochists will know, that’s an informed opinion).

This certainly makes the film distinctive and the sheer level of detail makes the film highly absorbing (fans of Patrick O’Brian’s original novels may still be inclined to nitpick). But it also delivers when it comes to thrills and spectacle – there are two top-notch sea battles and a storm sequence that nearly made me seasick. The pace is, for the most part, expertly judged, and the only slightly peculiar note is struck by the ‘just another day at the office’ ending, which jars slightly with the epic nature of the main story.

But it’s the characters that bring the tale to life, and of course foremost amongst these is Aubrey, a towering performance from Crowe as a man who’s no stranger to compassion or self-doubt, but also exactly the person you want watching your back at the sharp end of a boarding action. Expect at least one of his rousing speeches to enter the cultural lexicon alongside ‘Are you not yet entertained?’ and other things like that. Bettany is very nearly as impressive in a much less showy part, and it’s to the credit of the actors that the friendship of two such very different men is credible throughout. All the cast are good, though, from Max Pirkis’ commendably non-schmaltzy turn as a very young officer, to David Threlfall’s quietly comic performance as Aubrey’s grumbling steward.

As you can probably tell I enjoyed Master And Commander enormously and in almost any other year I would happily have made it my preferred candidate for big time Oscar success. It is, admittedly, totally lacking in female characters and the plot is perhaps a bit too linear for some people’s tastes. But it’s enthralling, instantly convincing fun, and hugely impressive in every department. Highly recommended.

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