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.

Video review: "Dunkirk"

A very atypical war movie, “Dunkirk” shows us the plight of the Allies during the lowest point of World War II, when hundreds of thousands of British troops were trapped on the shores of France with no way to get home. It’s a story of heroism, rather than individual heroes.

There are characters – the cast includes Tom Hardy, Kenneth Branagh, Jack Lowden, Fionn Whitehead, Barry Keoghan, Cillian Murphy, Harry Styles and Mark Rylance – but they exist more as archetypes than specific people. Most of them are not even named, and their dialogue is restricted to the mission at hand.

There are no wistful remembrances of girls back home, or what job you had before the war, such as in “Saving Private Ryan.” Director/writer Christopher Nolan keeps his camera’s eye focused on the immediate peril, the mad dash to survive, and the nobility that ensued.

You might be surprised to find how little fighting there is in the film. Aside from an aerial dogfight and a few volleys of gunfire here and there, the movie’s intensity comes from the fear of death more than the actual depiction of it. Hans Zimmer’s musical score gives us beats and notes without much clear semblance of a melody.

If it sounds like I’m criticizing the film, I’m not. I appreciated how “Dunkirk” took a very different approach to depicting war, focusing more on the you-are-there experience of it rather than the geopolitical forces or personalities.

The film’s true triumph comes in showing us that, nearly 80 years on, there are still new stories to tell about that terrible conflict, and new ways of telling them.

Bonus features are quite extensive, and are the same for the DVD or Blu-ray editions. They consist of 16 making-of featurettes, each focused on a specific part of production. Like the film itself, they are divided into sections of Land, Air and Sea, along with another section dubbed “Creation.”

Collectively they essentially form a feature-length documentary about the making of “Dunkirk,” covering everything from camera work to the air battles and conjuring a flotilla of small private boats.

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Review: "Dunkirk"

There aren’t any characters in Christopher Nolan’s “Dunkirk,” at least not really. It’s not a story of individual men so much as a tale of mankind -- his possibilities for mayhem and potential for nobility. This is a war film with very little fighting, an ode to humanity in which no one man stands too far above the rest.

Nolan recreates the mass evacuation of Allied forces at Dunkirk in 1940, the lowest point of World War II when it seemed that the Reich truly was on the verge of toppling the entire world. Hundreds of thousands of troops were trapped on the French coastline, surrounded by Germans, desperately trying to make their way across the Chanel despite too few ships to transport them and not enough planes to protect the ones that did manage to disembark.

The individual story threads are fiction, but together they weave themselves into a thundering representation of the heroism, cowardice and sheer terror of those few days. I have no doubt this film will receive an Academy Award nomination for Best Picture, and many others.

I was surprised when I learned this movie was one hour and 46 minutes long; I thought for certain I had misread it instead of two hours, 46 minutes. But no, “Dunkirk” is the rare war epic that sprawls in scope but not length. There’s an economy to Nolan’s filmmaking here, harkening back to his breakout with “Memento,” like a middleweight fighter who’s all sinew, packing a powerful punch from a modest frame carrying no fat.

The narrative consists of a handful of storylines that intersect when we least expect it, intercutting between them in an order that is not necessarily chronological. At one point we encounter a man, beaten and hollow-eyed, and are surprised to later see him calm and in command. We can guess what happened to him in between, but we don’t know.

This is a true ensemble acting effort, with no lead performers. Fionn Whitehead comes closest to that designation, playing a private who ends up encountering nearly all the other characters in one way or another. He’s a young private who tries to sneak his way to the head of the evacuation line, and keeps finding himself pushed by circumstance further away from salvation. Like many other characters, we never even hear his name.

Kenneth Branagh is the naval officer in charge of the evacuation, standing like a sentinel against the coming apocalypse. Mark Rylance plays Dawson, a Brit civilian who launches his tiny boat, Moonstone, in a seemingly vain effort to help out, his teenage son (Tom Glynn-Carney) and friend (Barry Keoghan) tagging along.

Up in the skies, Tom Hardy and Jack Lowden portray RAF fighter pilots chasing the German planes who are hunting those soldiers who have managed to get off the shore in boats. Their fuel is running lower and lower, but they know that every enemy shot down could mean hundreds of lives saved. So they watch their gauge needles, and stay a little longer.

(Though he’s not credited, I’m fairly certain it’s Michael Caine as the voice of their commander over the radio.)

There are no genuine battles in “Dunkirk,” other than some aerial dogfighting. The Allied soldiers hunker on the beach, hoping for a ship, or if they made it onto one, pray they’re not spotted by German planes or U-boats. There is no illusion of winning here, merely a frantic struggle to survive.

The film is a technical marvel, a seamless combination of live action and CGI effects that convince us we’re right in the thick of it. The metal hulls of the Spitfires pop with the stress of sharp banking; the seas go nearly black with oil spilled from ships stoven in by bombs like playthings.

Hans Zimmer’s musical score is a masterpiece of mood without melody. Reminiscent of the old Vangelis scores from the 1980s, the eclectic combination of tones and rhythm soars or sinks as the prospects for survival wane and wax.

In the middle of a summer of popcorn movies and dimwit comedies, “Dunkirk” rises, grim-faced and commanding, to grab our attention.

Review: "Tommy's Honour"

It is a hard thing to pursue greatness, and a harder thing still to do so as the son of a great man.

After all, if one fails to achieve parity with your father -- the most likely outcome, given the odds of talent, drive and circumstance combining in just the right way -- then you are forever destined to be forgotten as the footnote in his shadow.

But then there is the remoter possibility: surpassing him. Then you must contend with watching the man who raised you knocked down a peg in the eyes of not just everyone else, but your own.

“Tommy’s Honour” is a marvelous movie about a pair of great 19th century Scottish golfers, Thomas Morris Sr. and Thomas Morris Jr. They are famous throughout the United Kingdom and beyond, known simply as Old Tom and Young Tom.

They competed together in set matches against other players, each won multiple championships in the early years of what is now the British Open, pioneered new equipment and strategies, built and played on some of the most storied courses in the world.

Old Tom is generally regarded as the founding father of the modern game. And Young Tom? He was simply the best player the world had seen until that time.

The film is directed by Jason Connery, son of Sean, whom you may have heard of. Did a bit of acting in his day, retired now, reputedly an enthusiastic golfer throughout his life. You can see the appeal the tale of the Morrises held for the younger Connery.

The screenplay is by Pamela Marin and Kevin Cook, based on Cook’s 2007 book of the same title. It combines a sense of history, a love of the game and above all an appreciation for the difficult, bittersweet relationship father and son shared.

Old Tom (Peter Mullan) is very much a product of his time. He is beholden and deferential to the wealthy gentlemen who comprise the Prestwick Golf Club, where he is employed as chief caddie, greens keeper and proprietor of the golf shop. He literally carved the course himself out of the Scottish scrublands, and operates as sort of the local patron saint of golf. But as the story opens, he’s going on 50 and his game has started to fall off.

Meanwhile, 15-year-old Tommy (Jack Lowden) is a prodigy and the captain of the club (Sam Neill) and the rest want him to enter competitions on their behalf. In this day, players competed against each other, generally 1-on-1 or matched pairs, with the club members putting up and collecting most of the stakes.

Tommy impertinently refuses to knuckle under to the gentry, believing those who play and win the game deserve most of the spoils. He envisions a new role, the professional golfer who plays from course to course, unruled by those who would appoint themselves master of the game.

As the years pass and his reputation grows, Old Tom continues to be embarrassed by Young Tom’s upstart ways. His wooing of Margaret, a servant a decade his senior played by Ophelia Lovibond, vexes his parents further, especially after her past reputation is found to be wanting.

I loved the dichotomy between the two men. Lithe, fair-haired and handsome -- nearly pretty -- Young Tom’s mien and happy-go-lucky demeanor mask a man of tremendous determination and passion.

Mullan’s broad, beautiful face, bushy beard and stocky block of a man is an exercise in subtle stoicism. Watching his son take, and make, a daring shot, Old Tom’s face seems to move not a twitch. But oh, the eyes are smiling.

In truth, I’d rather do just about anything than play golf. “A good walk, spoiled,” said Samuel Clemens, and none have said it better. In its modern conception, I can think of few things that waste as much money, time and patience as golf.

But here’s a beautiful movie about father and son who were both divided and bound together by the game. I’ve read that it only rained one day during the shooting of “Tommy’s Honour,” which if you know Scotland practically constitutes a miracle.