Review: "Mary Queen of Scots"

"Mary Queen of Scots" is a very good film when it focuses on its core dynamic, the relationship between the titular character and her rival/sometime ally, Queen Elizabeth of England. Saoirse Ronan and Margot Robbie are terrific as proto-feminist icons vying with each other from afar, sharing an almost spiritual connection through their letters and envoys, even though they don't physically meet until the end.

But the movie wanders away from itself, getting caught in a thicket of Scottish court intrigue and misplacing Elizabeth for an hour or so. In the rambling narrative of civil wars, deposing of the queen followed by the immediate deposing of her deposers, double- and triple-crosses, a parade of husbands, etc., the film stumbles into a narrative bog that it never finds its way out of.

The best reasons to see it are the performances of Ronan and Robbie. Done up in balloon-bottom dresses, makeup and architecturally impressive hairdos, this is a full-on Period Costume Drama with exquisite production values. The arch language can be a little hard to understand at times, but it's not Shakespeare.

Ronan's Mary is a passionate, vibrant woman who wants to unite her kingdom, fractured by strife between Catholics and Protestants. As a Catholic who is recently a widow of the French king, she faces immediate, strident opposition from the heads of the Protestant church, who see her as a papist who bows before Rome instead of the cross.

Robbie's Elizabeth is in many ways the opposite. Regal in bearing but fractured in her soul, she is pulled and pinched by her male advisors (chiefly Guy Pearce as William Cecil) into various ill-advised courses of action. Threatened at first because Mary has a legitimate claim -- and clear ambitions -- to her own throne, she funds a civil war led by Mary's half-brother, James (James McArdle), who bounces between feelings of affection and usurpation for his sibling.

A lot of movies fudge the history in order to obtain a better story. "Mary Queen of Scots" goes the other way, sticking fastidiously to the record even when it would better to have ellipses and combining of characters. I'm not sure if you could keep all the players straight even with a playbill in hand.

Jack Lowden plays Lord Darnley, an ambitious fop who finagles his way into marrying Mary at the behest of his power-hungry father (Brendan Coyle). He thinks she will be a regular wife who allows her husband to be her king and master. But Mary uses him as a plaything, needing the hand of a British prince to cement her claim to England's throne, as well as an heir to make her a more salient prospect than the famously chaste and childless Elizabeth.

Speaking of, the film never adequately explores why Elizabeth is so resolutely sworn to virginity. She has a suitor, Robert Dudley (Joe Alwyn), who she trusts and takes into her bed (stopping their physicality at a certain point). She has a little speech where she says she feels "more a man than a woman" because of her throne, but it's a muddled mumble of a justification. I would've loved to explore that further.

The film is directed by Josie Rourke, a veteran of the stage making her film directorial debut, from a screenplay by Beau Willimon based on a book by John Guy. It has a very "stage" feel to it, even though the cinematography by John Mathieson is wonderful. The movie has a very tactile feel it, from the elaborate costumes to the puckered surface of Elizabeth's face after she is afflicted with the pox (thus explaining the stark white makeup and bright red wig she wore later in life).

The story of two opposing female monarchs, cousins who referred to each other as sisters but often fought as enemies, would make for a frightfully interesting movie. I'm still waiting to see it.

Reeling Backward: "Flynn" (1993)

Errol Flynn was one of Hollywood's most colorful personalities, a man whose off-camera life was at least as vivid as the one we saw dancing across the screen, usually with the dashing, mustachioed actor waving a rapier or a pistol.

His autobiography, "My Wicked, Wicked Ways," published shortly after his death, was a smash hit that has never been out of print in nearly 60 years. He and ghostwriter Earl Conrad put together the book over the course of a few months in Jamaica, during which it was rare that one or the other wasn't off somewhere drunk and/or chasing women.

It's a great read, especially the parts detailing Flynn's international adventures in the South Pacific before discovering acting, although at least half of what's written is probably baldfaced lies. If true, by his early 20s he had already had more adventures than Indiana Jones.

I suspect that Flynn, best known for his rapscallion swashbucklers, was simply playing up his faded Hollywood image rather than relating personal history.

Shortly after reading the book I became aware of the movie "Flynn," starring Guy Pearce as Flynn from about ages 17 to 23 and focusing on his pre-acting days. There have been any number of screen portrayals of Flynn, generally centering on his latter debauched days, including portrayals by Kevin Kline in "The Last of Robin Hood" and Peter O'Toole as a barely disguised spoof of Flynn in "My Favorite Year."

But this was a portrait of the actor, drawn from his own words, about his formative years stumbling about the globe. (There was a forgettable 1985 TV movie sharing the title of the autobiography.)

I knew I had to see it, but "Flynn" is not an easy film to track down on video. A friend finally loaned me his DVD copy, which seems to be the version of the movie that played on Australian TV.

(Broadcast standards being different just about everywhere else than the U.S., my first impression was admiration that they managed to squeeze in two bare-breasted sex scenes within the first five minutes.)

I'm still smiling at the friend's response to my question if the movie was any good. "By no means," he messaged. I can't disagree, though it's not nearly the rolling catastrophe most people regard it as. Pearce himself has called it the worst film he ever made, and professed not to know what its final title is.

The progeny of the movie is nearly as contorted as Flynn's rambling words about his young life. It was shot in 1989 with Brian Kavanagh directing from a script by Frank Howson and Alister Webb. It was shown at the 1990 Cannes festival and bought by distribution company with the proviso that some scenes be reshot. Howson stepped in his director, several key actors were replaced with others, and they ended up reshooting about half the footage.

It played against at Cannes in 1993, this time under the title "My Forgotten Man," perhaps to fool the festival programmers into the playing the same movie a second time. It was set to get a theatrical release, but was pulled seven days before it hit screens over a copyright dispute. It was eventually released on video around 1996, and has been sold to various international markets, usually under the title "Flynn."

Pearce, who was in his early 20s when they initially shot the movie, bears little resemblance to Flynn other than an astonishing handsomeness. We can see how women, and not a few men, were dazzled by him. His attempt to grown the signature Flynn pencil mustache goes a short way in furthering the likeness.

Though not a strict adaptation of the autobiography, it follows the generally accepted biographical lines. Son of a famous biologist, kicked out of a fancy predatory school for sleeping with the laundress, he knocked around as a mercantile clerk before being fired for stealing. Flynn has a stint of homelessness before falling in with Penelope (Rebecca Rig), daughter of a rich businessman.

Eschewing the opportunity to wed into money and obtain a lucrative job from his father-in-law, Flynn departs for New Guinea to pursue the tales of massive gold finds. There he becomes embroiled in a running escapade of drinking, panning rivers for nuggets, being robbed and being the robber, bedding a native chieftain's daughter, battling malaria and being accused and convicted of murder.

John Savage plays Joe Stromberg, an American photographer who takes some early footage of Flynn parading through the jungle that gets sent off to Hollywood. Though we never hear anything more about it. Flynn actually gets his big break by doing a little do-si-do with another, getting him drunk and taking his place on a production of "Mutiny on the Bounty."

Steven Berkoff is a memorable presence as the conniving, bespectacled German Klaus Reicher, who befriends Flynn while grifting from him freely. They save each other's necks and then double-cross one another, repeatedly. He is purported to be a spy, but claims he's a wanted man on the run from the police.

The production values on "Flynn" aren't that bad, though the movie looks like it was edited with a Cuisinart. Scenes go on and on, such as men racing through the jungle, and then other parts will abruptly jump to somewhere else. In one confusing bit, Flynn shoots one of the natives trying to kill him, runs to the edge of a river, stand there looking at the water, and then suddenly wakes up in a hospital, recovering from malaria and with a murder charge hover over his head.

Even though it's not a very good movie, I'm glad I finally caught up with "Flynn." Pearce is a breezy, assured presence playing a man who knows for certain he's destined for greatness, but has no idea how to get there.

It was often said that Errol Flynn was a man who got by on confidence, looks and a little bit of talent. But people often forget that the first two make up a great deal of the latter in showbiz.

Video review: "The Rover"

Australian writer/director David Michôd’s first feature film, “Animal Kingdom,” garnered a lot of attention four years ago, not to mention an Oscar nomination for Jacki Weaver. His follow-up, “The Rover,” is a bold and innovative sophomore effort, though only intermittently engaging.

It’s set 10 years after a global economic collapse. Different nationalities have moved to Australia for undisclosed reasons. The outback has never looked so dry and spare, seemingly just a collection of roads interrupted by strips of shantytowns. There’s some electricity, and a little commerce, but mostly it’s just a bunch of tired people playing out the string.

Enter our (never-named) antihero, played by Guy Pearce. His sullen stare and studied silence lend a clue that he’s not to be messed with. When a band of criminals crash their truck during a getaway, they steal his car. He manages to get the truck going again, and takes off after them. In fact, he seems quite willing to die to get his car back. Why? The vehicles seem like a fair trade.

Along the way he encounters Rey (Robert Pattinson), the dimwitted kid brother of one of the robbers, who was left behind, shot up and dying. Our man takes him to a doctor to get stitched up, then holds him hostage to help find the brother, and his car.

Over time, the two men develop an unlikely bond. Pattinson is a marvel, displaying an innate sweetness and more than passable Southern accent. They each have something to teach the other: Rey needs to toughen up, and his crusty friend needs to be reminded where the last nugget of his humanity resides.

 "You should never stop thinking about a life you've taken,” he says. “It's the price you pay for taking it."

“The Rover” is essentially a mystery, in which we try to puzzle out who this strange man is, what is the source of his anger and pain, and whether he’s really as bad as he seems to be. The plotting is a bit tedious at times, and even at 102 minutes the film could probably have used an editing trim. It’s a worthy effort, if not an entirely successful one.

Video extras, which are the same for DVD and Blu-ray versions, are limited to a single featurette, “Something Elemental: Making The Rover.”

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Video review: "Iron Man 3"

After three outings plus an Avengers tie-in movie, Iron Man is showing his rust.

What once was a fun, zippy roller-coaster ride of a super-hero franchise has quickly devolved into a predictably dark-and-dreary phase. Much like with the last Batman movie, the man behind the mask has grown tired of wearing it, and spends much more time stewing in his personal pit of despair than battling bad guys.

Here Tony Stark is facing confidence problems in the wake of battling aliens, and suffers panic attacks. Robert Downey Jr. still has that rapscallion twinkle in his eye, but he has fewer opportunities to show off his motor-mouth charm.

 Lady love Pepper Potts (Gwyneth Paltrow) is demanding that he give up the whole super-hero shtick. But with a mysterious terrorist named the Mandarin (Ben Kingsley) blowing up stuff all over the world, that isn’t about to happen.

New director Shane Black and screenwriter Drew Pearce opt for the buffet approach to storytelling: throw in a little bit of everything, and hope people find something they like. The result is a hot mess of action scenes, male posturing and political plots.

It’s capped off by a ridiculous finale where Stark summons all forty-odd versions of the Iron Man suit to come fight for him, remotely controlled by computer. If he could do that, why didn’t he roll with an entire platoon of automaton Iron Men wherever he went?

“Iron Man 3” isn’t a bad movie, but clearly the red-and-gold avenger has lost much of his luster.
Video features are quite good, though you’ll have to go for the Blu-ray/DVD edition to get the best stuff. The DVD version has only a making-of documentary and a featurette about shooting the Air Force One scene.

Get the combo upgrade and you add a gag reel, deleted and extended scenes, and a feature-length commentary by writer/director Black and co-screenwriter Pearce. You also get a behind-the scenes sneak peek at “Thor: The Dark World” and an all-new short film featuring S.H.I.E.L.D. agent Carter (Hayley Atwell).

Along with a new TV show, another Captain America flick and the inevitable Avengers sequel, Marvel is building a whole super-universe.

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Review: "Iron Man 3"

"Iron Man" was a zippy, giddy take on the superhero genre, with Robert Downey Jr. as our over-caffeinated but charming stewardess on a cinematic zero-g flight into the stratosphere. Then there was "Iron Man 2" because, well, the laws of economics more or less demanded it, even if it offered audiences little more than an obligatory dark-n-dreary phase.

And then came "The Avengers," the harmonic convergence of several comic book movie franchises, proving that sometimes more is more. Unfortunately, it's left Tony Stark, aka Iron Man, with little reason to keep hanging around in his third solo outing.

Downey is back with that rapscallion twinkle in his eye, his nervous tics and motormouth line delivery revealing a man too smart to be comfortably constrained by the mortal limits of his fleshy cocoon. He quotes an anecdote that Albert Einstein only slept three hours a year, and it's clear from Stark's tone that he begrudges even that much time spent away from his gear-happy lair, tinkering away on never-ending improvements to his array of super-suits.

In his own imitable wobbly way, Stark/Downey is the steadying force that keeps the "Iron Man" movies together.

Unfortunately, director Shane Black, who co-wrote the screenplay with Drew Pearce, have come up with a story that's like a buffet line -- they couldn't really decide on a recipe, so they just threw in a little of everything.

Want more snappy banter between Stark and best friend/security wingman Happy (played by Jon Favreau, former director now demoted to sidekick)? It's there, tiredly. And relationship tensions between him and Pepper Potts (Gwyneth Paltrow), his lady love and now head cheese of Stark Industries? Ditto.

There's also some stuff about the after-effects of Stark's battles with critters from outer space in the Avengers flick, leading to one or two full-out panic attacks. It seems the uber-arrogant playboy/inventor/savior of mankind actually has confidence issues.

"Gods? Aliens? I'm a man in a can," he moans.

The world is being threatened by a mastermind terrorist named the Mandarin (Ben Kingsley), who dresses like a pasha and speaks like a Mississippi Baptist preacher while setting off mysterious bombs that leave no trace of their mechanical origin. He being a movie villain, Mandarin has to do this live on TV, hacking every station in the country at once, simultaneously.

Worse yet, the Mandarin apparently has all these strange henchmen who sort of glow red from the inside, can make things extremely hot by touching them and heal amazingly fast.

A few new characters float around the edges. There's Maya (Rebecca Hall), a botanist and former Stark fling who's found a way to "hack the operating system of a creature's DNA," or something. And Aldrich Killian, who we see in a 1999 flashback looking homely and walking with a crutch, who later turns up as handsome as Guy Pearce.

Don Cheadle returns as Jim Rhodes, who wears an older version of Stark's suite and serves the U.S. government as War Machine ... wait, check that, they redub him Iron Patriot after the name tests better with focus groups.

There are a few exciting action sequences, but the overall effect is more discombobulating than exhilarating. Stark jumps from situation to situation, and -- thanks to some new technology -- from suit to suit so quickly, it never really feels like there are real consequences to the mayhem.

Late in the game, Stark narrates a lament about how many geniuses start out with great intentions, but then compromises and complications bring down their best efforts. It's an apt metaphor for super-hero movies, which start out with a cool premise and M.O. Then as time goes by, the mythology gets junked up with tertiary characters and subplots.

Maybe that's why in the comic book world, every so often they reboot a character by returning him or her to their roots, which are reimagined for a fresh start. With "Iron Man 3," they've taken this hardware as far as it can go.

Video review: "Prometheus"

Narratively speaking "Prometheus," director Ridley Scott's long-awaited prequel to his seminal 1979 space/horror film "Alien," is one big mess. But it's still a worthy cinematic experience, a potpourri of Scott's flair for sumptuous visuals and sly, creepy mood-building.

Set some decades before Ripley and her gang encountered the black and spidery beasties, Scott and his screenwriters take us back to those same dangerous locales and unnerving themes. The protagonist is again a female, archaeologist Elizabeth Shaw (Noomi Rapace), who thinks she's found an invitation from the creators of all life. It turns out to be more of a deathtrap, as the crew is slowly dwindled one by one.

Along for the ride is Charlize Theron as a hardcase representative of the profit-minded company financing the mission, the usual collection of disposable crewmates, and an android assistant named David (Michael Fassbender) who, like all of his ilk, turns out to be less helpful than his cheery nature might suggest.

Things really get strange when they discover a massive alien ship filled with vials of black goo, video records of an accident killing most of the crew, and a 10-foot-tall bald humanoid with a seriously bad attitude. At one point Elizabeth finds herself with an alien creature growing inside her, though in a different method than we've seen in the other movies, and has to submit herself to a horrifically invasive medical procedure to get it out.

The experience of watching this film is akin to wandering in a daze, as you find yourself constantly asking questions, and receiving responses that only provoke more questions. But even if the movie is on some levels unsatisfying, that's because it leaves you wanting more.

"Prometheus" is a real head-scratcher, a riddle of a movie that doesn't really care about finding any answers. The odd, discomfiting journey is its own reward.

Ridley Scott is (in)famous for releasing director's cuts of his movies, but if you want one you'll likely have to wait a few years. Although the video packages being released now contain about 15 minutes worth of deleted/extended scenes, including a new opening and ending, the theatrical version of "Prometheus" is all you'll get.

Interestingly, the film is only being released as a Blu-ray/DVD combination -- there isn't an option for a solo DVD.

The two-disc version comes nicely loaded with features, including two separate commentary tracks by the filmmakers and access (via tablet computer) to a database on the alien culture.

Spring for the four-disc collection, and you'll also receive all sorts of making-of goodies, including pre-visualization drawings and videos, behind-the-scenes peeks and more.

Movie: 3 stars out of four
Extras: 2.5 stars

Review: "The King's Speech"

Everybody's bad at something.

Perhaps you can't shoot a basketball, or your spelling is atrocious. I for one have a terrible memory for names. What is universal about these myriad faults is that we all carefully protect our shortcomings by keeping them private, or finding a way to work around them.

(True fact: I keep a chart of my street block so I know what to call neighbors.)

But what if the one thing you were terrible at also happened to be the sole criteria by which everyone judged you? If your inescapable duty was confounded by your greatest disability?

Such was the fate of King George VI of England, who suffered from a crippling stutter. He was helped by an unconventional Australian speech therapist, and was able to serve as an inspiration to his people during the dark days of World War II.

"The King's Speech," the film about his struggle, is straight out of the school of Inspirational Tales from History. What it lacks in novelty it makes up for in executing this type of movie-making about as well as it can be done.

Colin Firth as the king and Geoffrey Rush as his therapist offer a pair of tremendous performances, in roles that pop off the screen notwithstanding the constraints of a slightly staid screenplay (by David Seidler).

Despite being a loving father and husband, dedicated Navy officer and utterly loyal to the monarchy and his nation, Prince Albert (as he was known before his coronation) was belittled by his family simply because he stammered. Public speeches were embarrassing, halting disasters, both for Albert and the people who had to listen to them.

His father (a brief but memorable appearance by Michael Gambon) regrets the new requirements technology forces upon the monarchy, like his annual Christmas speeches over the radio.

"Now we must invade our subjects' home and ingratiate ourselves," the king complains. "We have become actors!"

The second in line for the throne, Albert was safely shunted to minor appearances where he could keep a low profile, which suited him just fine.

It might never have mattered, until his brother Edward (Guy Pearce), after assuming the crown in 1936, abdicated a few months later to marry an American divorcé. It's interesting to see the different portrayals of this event: Americans regard it as a grand romantic gesture, while Albert and his family see it as foolish and mortifying.

At the prodding of his wife (Helena Bonham Carter), the soon-to-be-king seeks help from Lionel Logue (Rush), whose methods are unorthodox, to say the least. He demands the prince come to his office, rather than calling at the palace. On his home turf, Lionel insists they treat each other as equals -- even presuming to call the prince "Bertie," a familial nickname.

There are also strange breathing exercises, tongue twisters, singing his words and, most memorably, spewing a string of expletives that in of itself earned the film an R rating. (It probably would've gotten a G otherwise.)

Lionel's lessons intensify as Albert takes up the crown -- even burrowing into his personal life. It is Lionel's professional opinion that no child is born a stutterer: Some kind of trauma compels them to be afraid of their own voice.

Firth is by turns droll, arrogant and sensitive as Albert/George -- the sort of pampered son who has more grit and wry humor than anyone suspects. Asked by his daughter what Hitler is shouting about in a newsreel, there's no hesitation to his comeback: "I don't know. But he seems to be saying it rather well."

Director Tom Hooper, who helmed last year's excellent "The Damned United," recognizes the material for what it is and emphasizes its obvious strengths. "The King's Speech" knows exactly how to get its point across.

3.5 stars out of four

Review: "Animal Kingdom"

The boys of the Cody clan are facing the end of days. Their zenith as Australia's most notorious bank robbers has passed, with the corrupt Melbourne police no longer willing to look the other way in exchange for some fat envelopes. "Pull your heads in," advises one still-friendly detective.

The Codys do not pull their heads in, because that is not who the Codys are. Here is who the Codys are: When volatile Craig Cody (Sullivan Stapleton) gets flipped off by some punks at a stoplight, he pursues them into an alley, hands a pistol to his teen nephew Joshua (James Frecheville) and orders him, "Let 'em know who's king."

"Animal Kingdom," the tense, gritty crime thriller from Oz is the story of Joshua, and what it's like to be suddenly thrust into a family that nourishes itself on fear instead of love. He's afraid of the cops, but even more terrified of his crazy uncles -- especially the oldest and craziest, Andrew "Pope" Cody (a chilling, unhinged Ben Mendelsohn).

Writer/director David Michôd constructs a slippery narrative that consistently fools the audience about where the movie is heading. The result is part "Donnie Brasco," part "Godfather" and more than a little bit Ma Barker.

For those who don't remember Ma Barker, she was the mother of a similar brood of killers during the 1930s, until she and her son Fred were gunned down in what is still the longest shoot-out in FBI history. The legend has long persisted that Ma secretly ran the gang, since lawmen would not suspect a grandmotherly figure of orchestrating kidnappings and murders.

Her myth has been fodder for several movies over the years, most famously "White Heat" starring James Cagney.

(Interesting aside: For several years I lived next door to the house where the Barker shoot-out took place. The same family that rented it to the Barkers still owns it. They fixed most of the bullet holes but left a few for nostalgia. An annual recreation of the gunfight is the height of the social season.)

The "Ma" character here is played by Jacki Weaver, as a smiling, pleasant-looking woman of late middle years who seems to be the calm at the center of the storm of criminal activity all around here. Her sons show up on her doorstep, often drugged up or on the lam, and she offers a cheerful grin and something to eat.

Ma Cody welcomes the arrival of her grandson Joshua, or "J", after his mother overdoses on heroin. He becomes a witness and unwilling participant in their cycle of crime. Over time, it becomes clear to J -- and the audience -- that his grandmother is much more than an enabler in denial.

Besides Pope and Craig, there's Darren (Luke Ford), who's only a little older than J and still has some of his innocence, too. Barry "Boz" Brown (Joel Edgerton) is an extended member of the family who recognizes that the criminal life pays only short-term dividends. He urges Pope to put his money in the stock market, and by Pope's bewildered reaction we can see it's like telling a wolf not to hunt.

Guy Pearce has a terrific role as Nathan Leckie, the detective tasked with bringing the Cody boys in. Leckie quickly zeroes in on J as the weak link, and pursues him with a relentless professionalism that borders on friendliness. He doesn't use threats, just logic and patience.

Leckie recognizes the corruption and abuse that exists within law enforcement, and works to nudge things in the right direction as much as his position will allow. Given the brutal way police are often depicted in "Animal Kingdom," his even-keeled pragmatism gives him an almost heroic aura.

The film is certainly worthwhile, though I found a few pieces missing. J remains too much of a blank slate throughout the movie, but by the end we're supposed to believe he has absorbed all the lessons that both cops and robbers had to teach him. It's never a good thing when your main character is the least interesting person on the screen.

3 stars after four