Review: "The Flood"

"The Flood" is a gut-wrenching tale with real-world urgency: the deluge of refugees fleeing oppressed areas of the world for the safe(r) havens of the West. We're very familiar with the issue here in America, focusing on our porous southern borders (with less attention given to the broken visa system).

Lena Headey ("Game of Thrones") plays Wendy, a tough immigration officer charged with interviewing people who have entered England illegally to see if they qualify for refugee status and are allowed to stay, or are shipped back to their home countries where they face dire consequences. The fix is in -- the vast majority of cases are rejected, and it's Wendy's job to make the case against them.

She's a workaholic and an alcoholic, struggling through a nasty divorce and making pathetic pleas to her estranged husband at all hours. At one point Wendy calls at 3 in the morning and demands to talk to her young daughter. We feel pity for her, but also not a little revulsion -- we can see how a tough job has hardened her skin, and her heart.

It's a good performance that's as tight as a snare drum. But really, the story isn't hers.

That belongs to Ivanno Jeremiah as Haile, a former soldier from Eritrea. He was arrested after jumping out of the back of a lorry (what we'd call a semi-truck), wielding a knife and knocking over a police officer. The story has caused a sensation in the press and Wendy's boss, Iain Glen (also from GoT), is under heavy pressure from above to see Haile deported as quickly as possible.

Trouble is, his story has the ring of truth. Director Anthony Woodley and screenwriter Helen Kingston adroitly cut back and forth between the interview and flashbacks to Haile's arduous journey.

The man is noble and honest -- to a fault. Asked if he has ever been charged with a crime, he truthfully answers yes. Except it was for pretending to execute a man in cold blood. For this he was tortured, with skin on the soles of his feet flayed off. He still walks with an unsure gait.

Haile makes it to Italy, but only after the flimsy boat used to cross the sea sank, presumably killing everyone but him. The sight of him washing up among their detritus of clothes and life vests is a haunting image.

He winds up in The Jungle, an ad hoc camp for refugees like him. Every once in a while the local authorities raid it and tear it down, but it gets rebuilt even bigger.

Haile meets Faz (Peter Singh) and Reema (Mandip Gill), a married couple from Pakistan who, like him, dream of making it to the U.K. She is pregnant and has family there. They have the resources to buy illegal passage, but use Haile as a middleman because the Afghani power broker (Arsher Ali) despises Pakistanis.

Things go from there. There's a lot of tension, not just from the nature of Haile's trip but in the way it registers with Wendy. She clearly senses he's a worthy candidate for refugee status, but knows where her duty lies.

Sometimes doing the right thing is not the same as doing what's expected of you. "The Flood" is a powerful and sobering look at the flow of people hoping for something better, but finding that you can't always escape your problems with a change in locale.

Review: "My Cousin Rachel"

“My Cousin Rachel” is a tale of revenge, love and especially  betrayal -- how we are betrayed, how we betray others, and even ourselves.

It’s based on the 1951 novel by Daphne du Maurier, which was previously adapted for the screen in a 1952 film starring Olivia de Havilland. (Who’s blessedly still with us, turning 101 on July 1.) Set in the 19th century, Rachel Weisz plays the title character, a mysterious woman who is suspected of manipulating and murdering her husband, only to turn the same tactics on his heir.

Sam Claflin plays Philip Ashley, heir to the estate and fortune of his cousin Ambrose, who adopted him after he was orphaned and raised Philip as his own son. Consumed by ill health, Ambrose is sent to Italy to recover, where the lifelong bachelor unexpectedly meets and marries Rachel, who is his distant cousin (and therefore Philip’s).

But his letters turn sinister, complaining of being kept isolated by his wife, having his correspondence monitored or confiscated, constant headaches, etc. Philip, grown to young manhood, finally comes to the rescue to find Ambrose dead and Rachel fled with all his effects.

He suspects greed is the motive, but is surprised to learn from the stalwart family friend and attorney, Kendall (Iain Glen), that everything has been left to him with no provision for the wife. He soon settles into the life of a wealthy landowner. He’s a kind master, working side-by-side with the servants in the field.

His betrothal to Kendall’s daughter, Louise (Holliday Grainger), seems preordained – though Philip labors strenuously to deny the obvious. She’s intelligent, kind and loyal, and Philip seems a good sort, too, if a tad impulsive and self-centered.

Everything gets flipped with Rachel comes for an extended visit. Philip is determined to confront her over her treatment of Ambrose, but quickly finds himself outwitted by the older, wily woman. It’s not long before he himself becomes infatuated, leading to a maze of conflicting emotions and impulses.

Weisz, who might just be the consistently finest actress working in film today, is all subtlety and misdirection in this performance. We’re expecting a harpy and instead Rachel is ladylike, demur -- a bit prudish even. She sets boundaries, but leaves just enough bait for an impressionable young man to pick up the scent, and follow.

We’re sure she’s putting him on. There are whispers of a past filled with insatiable sexual appetite, profligate spending, shady companions. But the woman before Philip seems completely opposite of all that. Is he being conned, or conning himself?

“Did she? Didn’t she? Who’s to blame?” he wonders.

Essentially penniless, Rachel leans upon Philip for financial and emotional support, playing the widow card at every turn. Whenever social occasions arise, out comes her black veil. She brews strange teas of sour taste and supposed medicinal qualities, healing one of the servants. Philip jokes they’ll dub her a witch.

Adapted and directed by Roger Michell (“Changing Lanes”), “My Cousin Rachel” is a hauntingly beautiful film about human decay. Ashley manor serves as visual reflection of this in reverse, as the shabby house full of dogs and dust gradually becomes spruced up by Rachel into something more appropriate to her (acquired) station. As Philip’s home is restored and he grows more ensorcelled, his sense of self diminishes, like a clear pool grown cloudy.

The film is deliberately paced, and we spend the slow bits wondering how Philip could behave so foolishly. But he’s essentially a boy, raised as a stranger to womenfolk, reveling in his privilege. Philip certainly isn’t the first to confuse sex and love.

Is Rachel maneuvering him to her own ends? Certainly. But is she guilty of the crimes he suspects were committed against Ambrose, and now him? “My Cousin Rachel” is never quite the movie we expect.

Video review: "The Iron Lady"

With a lot of biopics I see starring a tremendous actor in an Oscar-worthy turn, the performance often trumps the movie around it.

Movie stars by their definition get the most screen time and the best lines of dialogue. But when it's a film about a historical figure, with lots of big events and emotions, oftentimes the performer can be so dominant that the story can't get any air. Think Philip Seymour Hoffman in "Capote" or Jamie Foxx in "Ray."

"The Iron Lady" follows in this tradition, featuring Meryl Streep in a role so meaty -- as seminal British prime minister Margaret Thatcher -- that the rest of the movie occasionally turns to mush.

Streep is so good, she carries the picture during the insipid stretches, such as when she's battling her government underlings like a schoolmarm fussing at some ill-behaved boys in knee pants.

The film reaches a brighter note when Thatcher is communing with the spirit of her deceased husband, Denis (Jim Broadbent). It's not delusion; they both acknowledge that he's dead. It's just that neither one wants to lose whatever argument they're currently having.

In the end, "The Iron Lady" is worth watching just to see the way Streep nails the iconic Thatcher, from that swoop of sprayed hair to the commanding screech of a voice. There's greatness in that performance, if not the movie that contains it.

Video extras are fairly minimalist, and are the same for both DVD and Blu-ray editions.

There's a making-of featurette and four mini-featurettes: “Recreating the Young Margaret Thatcher,” “Battle in the House of Commons,” “Costume Design: Pearls and Power Suits,” and “Denis: The Man Behind the Woman.”

Call me old-fashioned, but I think the real Margaret Thatcher would deem this video release as lacking proper ambition.

Movie: 3 stars out of four
Extras: 2 stars

Review: "The Iron Lady"

"The Iron Lady" is a fairly standard biopic containing an extraordinary performance. That it is by Meryl Streep is not surprising; I'd say she has made a career resurgence in her 50s and early 60s, except she never really experienced a lull. Streep arguably occupies the place where Morgan Freeman sat 15 years ago: America's greatest living film actor.

The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Science might as well give her a nomination now. This would be her 17th Oscar nod, a number so astounding its impact is dwarfed only by the fact that her last win was in 1983, for "Sophie's Choice."

Based on her riveting, spot-on turn as British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, I'd say her dry spell for taking home golden statues may well come to an end.

I often feel that with movies of this sort, containing a performance that is so dominating and full-bodied, the film around it tends to suffer. Like Jamie Foxx in "Ray" or Philip Seymour Hoffman in "Capote," Streep's gravitational pull is so powerful, story arcs and secondary characters tend to get sucked into the vortex.

Only Jim Broadbent, giving his own golden-caliber turn as Thatcher's long-suffering husband Denis, is given time to add more than perfunctory notes.

Most films about politicians tend to shy away from the politics -- especially when they don't sync up with Hollywood's leftist tilt. Director Phyllida Lloyd and screenwriter Abi Morgan make the bold and I think proper choice to put Thatcher's Conservative party ideals front and center to the story.

The movie isn't a diatribe for right-wing political conclusions, but shows how Thatcher's self-reliant upbringing and tendency to demand the best of those around her colored her way of thinking. In an age awash in self-reflection and where the slacker mentality is idolized, this portrait of the vinegary Thatcher and her stern exhortations has a sort of bracing throw-back freshness.

"It used to be about trying to do something," an elderly Thatcher complains to an admirer. "Now it's about trying to be someone."

The story unspools with old, doddering Thatcher reflecting on her life in flashback. Alexandra Roach plays young Thatcher, a grocer's daughter who ran for Parliament at age 24 (and lost). Over time, though, she gains standing until she believes it's time to run for leader of her party -- not because she thinks she can win, but because she wants to bolster ideals she believes have grown flabby.

In the modern sections, Denis Thatcher has long been dead, but Margaret still talks to him (raising great concern on the part of her handlers). On a conscious level, she knows he's not there, but her soul so aches for his companionship that she refuses to dismiss his apparition.

Ever the chameleon, Streep is made up to resemble Thatcher rather closely, including that famous swoop of helmet hair. She gets the iconic voice just right, a squeaky goose's honk that she employed to scold and argue her point. Once scene, showing her receiving vocal training in preparation for her national campaign, has (deliberate?) similarities to last year's "The King's Speech."

I thoroughly enjoyed "The Iron Lady," or more rather I enjoyed watching Streep embody Margaret Thatcher with a convincing mix of steel and velvet. This is a movie that contains greatness, though it never quite reaches it.

3 stars out of four