Cloverfield – Consumed By Film

Director: Dan Trachtenberg

Release Date: March 11th, 2016 (US); March 18th, 2016 (UK)

Genre: Drama; Horror; Mystery

Starring: Mary Elizabeth Winstead, John Goodman, John Gallagher Jr.

There’s a great deal to admire about a film that chooses a path and sticks to it in spite of executive-level switcherooing. 10 Cloverfield Lane only discovered its Cloverfield bloodline midway through development, a potentially hazardous move that would have rendered many other outings spineless, but sweeping conviction shines through here. The path Dan Trachtenberg confidently guides his movie down is laden with rich slabs of character identity. So rich, in fact, that it’s probable you’ll forget about the Cloverfield connection after 15 minutes (I did) and instead enjoy a simple thriller with tantalising — and, crucially, natural — twists and turns, its three pro-cum-antagonists each carrying the weight of intrigue.

We have Howard (John Goodman), the overseer, aka the one who owns the bunker within which the film takes place and who calls the shots accordingly. Then there is the convert, Emmett (John Gallagher Jr.), already booked into Howard’s hotel by the time we arrive. And finally, Michelle (Mary Elizabeth Winstead). She’s the sceptic. You can tell because her red nail polish wears away with stress. Michelle doesn’t call ahead as much as awaken in Howard’s bunker having felt the brunt of a pummelling car accident, one that catches both her and us off guard, a proper assault on the solar plexus.

Escape hangs over proceedings. The film opens with Michelle, who has the appearance of someone desperately trying to escape something — a relationship, perhaps, and probably life in general (odd titbit: Bradley Cooper voices her pleading boyfriend, relegated to a phone call). Bear McCreary’s ominous score plays as Michelle frantically scrambles around her flat looking for road booze and as she departs, keys shunned on the table, that drone grows in intensity. It aids a tone that suggests trouble; via car radio, we hear of widespread power outages. Shortly thereafter, Trachtenberg unveils imagery that reflects an air of claustrophobia: the rusty chain clamping Michelle to the wall in Howard’s bunker, for instance, or the large iron door reinforcing her isolation.

Winstead plays the terrified, suspicious type so well, her eyes often wide and bulging. She is vulnerable, clearly, and yet full of defiant craft — there’s more than a touch of stellar horror heroine going on here. Goodman, meanwhile, juggles sanity and insanity with incredible credibility. He breathes heavily, panting almost, as if he’s about to explode in a fit of rage or is recuperating from a previous outburst. The less said about his character’s motives the better, though Goodman’s soon-to-be iconic introduction ought to be noted: the camera tentatively navigates around Howard’s hulking figure before unveiling his menacing face from a low angle, further feeding our anxieties.

Who is this man and what does he want? Those questions fuel the film’s allure as it cagily probes away at answers. Early on, Howard bemoans humanity’s lack of preparation, that we talk a good game from afar and then panic when true disaster hits. “Crazy is building your ark after the flood has already come.” The flood on this occasion is a nuclear attack, according to Howard (frequent power surges bolster his end-of-days argument). Turns out this is a man who has proactively prepared for disaster by building a sturdy bunker. Maybe he’s not the freak, but we are. His musings start to make sense.

On the flip side, “Surviving Doomsday” books line the shelves of his shelter and you begin to wonder if the whole scenario is a deluded madman’s ruse. There is a false home-sweet-home aesthetic, plants that are surely fake, and a fictional kitchen window. Trachtenberg and cinematographer Jeff Cutter concoct a terrifically creepy malaise through framing — more than once, Howard appears to creep up on Michelle and Emmett while the pair are mid-conversation. There is nowhere to hide. Feelings of paranoia and mistrust battle with hints of Stockholm syndrome. These themes recall an episode of Lost starring Henry Ian Cusick and Clancy Brown where the former struggles to unravel the latter’s bunker-based theories.

But deep-seated worry does not have a stranglehold on the piece. Penned by a trio of writers — Whiplash director Damien Chazelle apparently revamped much of Josh Campbell and Matthew Stuecken’s initial plot and character work — the screenplay includes moments of wry comedy that don’t try to detract from the disconcerting situation, but instead lighten the mood just enough to afford the film a more digestible front. Often it’s Gallagher Jr. who is tasked with making quips and he obliges with assured charm, as opposed to the purposefully awkward charm the actor evoked in The Newsroom. Even McCreary’s brooding score takes a break: “I Think We’re Alone Now” plays over a montage of momentary serenity. It’s splendid song-weaving.

The title “10 Cloverfield Lane” may suggest otherwise but this is a character drama first and foremost, tinged with high-concept thrills that complement splashings of sci-fi and horror. The people on-screen share a complex dynamic, an alluring one built around secrecy and regret and revelation. You think you know where it’s all going and then Howard whips out a Pretty in Pink VHS (he seems like a VHS kinda guy). You get so drawn in by the chess game that any Cloverfield associations become somewhat irrelevant, which, I suppose, is a real credit to both the idea and its execution. For the first time in a long time, I left the screening wanting more. Wanting a sequel. Imagine that!

Images credit: IMP Awards, Collider

Images copyright (©): Paramount Pictures

Director: Matt Reeves

Release Date: July 11th, 2014 (US); July 17th, 2014 (UK)

Genre: Action; Drama; Science-fiction

Starring: Andy Serkis, Jason Clarke, Gary Oldman, Keri Russell

It’s always darkest before the dawn, or so the saying goes. Well, if Matt Reeves’ film is the culmination of a dawning ape species, then said saying is spot on. Dawn of the Planet of the Apes — we’ll stick to Dawn from now on — is frequently unsettling. Coalescing magnificently with arguably the best-looking visual palette since Middle Earth (every raindrop on fur is accounted for) is a story that sizzles with poise and acute direction. When the lesser of the film’s two halves is still approaching five stars, you know there is a winner playing out on screen.

Rise was a deft and engaging prelude that focused keenly on human-animal relations and biological moralities, but Dawn is more than that. Those traits are still prevalent of course, however Reeves invokes an emotional core by affording his actors the chance to tell a story. And whether it is the ping of Michael Giacchino’s score or the rugged outlook purveyed by Michael Seresin’s cinematography, it’s clear we are back in familiar territory. Apes fans rejoice. Apes newbies prepare. All eyes on the next branch, this one is swinging straight back to 1968.

A decade has passed since the fall of humankind due to viral infection. In San Francisco, a group of seemingly immune people have merged in an attempt to reignite the flame of civilisation, but this uprising is severely threatened when a few of the survivors inadvertently set foot in a developed ape colony. Caesar (Andy Serkis) is colony’s conscience-driven leader who hopes for peace, something that the two separate cultures may never be able to attain.

Fraught with tension, Dawn relentlessly teases a monumental clash. The contrast between two societies — apes and humans — is startling yet not unfamiliar. For better or worse, we watch as a total role reversal unfolds: people live hidden away with basic supplies, whereas apes roam landscapes carrying out practices akin to those originally implemented by human beings. They hunt. They safeguard. They educate. They even wear protective face masks during birth. Armed with subtitled grunts filling in for words, the opening quarter of an hour details this thriving lifestyle as it lulls us into a rhythm of admiration. The following gunshot that dully interrupts with immediacy not only acts as a wedge between life sources, it also represents their inability to coexist.

It takes human intervention to negatively hamper the structure of being that has been mustered by these hominoids. Dawn, then, is a cautionary parable about the disease of humanity; once we infect, we destroy. Reeves tactfully employs this overarching theme — the various characters on both sides of the Golden Gate Bridge openly discuss the merits and demerits of war, necessary primarily due to our own invasive attitude. (“Fear makes others follow.”) As the analysis plays out on screen we’re challenged to weigh up combat as a fundamental prerequisite. Is it? Reeves is firmly in the camp that denounces war and its resultant mess, and it’s hard to argue when his presentation is so compellingly and affectingly relayed. No issues arise when the script occasionally hints at predictability because of the hearty motifs and strands that weave throughout.

In fact, Dawn is all the more interesting because it is about the apes. They are the beginning, middle and end. Unlike Rise — which rightly honed in on human beings and their attempt to control animals — this second instalment sheds more light and dark on ape life. Given this, we’re allocated far more time to see the intricacies of the primate’s in-house relations and potential fallouts. And so, Andy Serkis, the spotlight is yours. The actor famed for his consistently dazzling motion capture acrobatics once again vaults into the skin of Caesar, and subsequently groans out a career defining performance. Each sinew matters because Serkis is inclined to make each sinew matter. Though he plays Caesar with air of perpetual dominance (“Ape not kill ape”) Serkis’ humility shines through. To many he’s simply a voice with no face, that guy who done the thing as Gollum. I certainly wouldn’t begrudge any formal recognition headed his way. What he does is acting, plain and simple. Utterly brilliant, too, and this role is his reward. It’s also ours.

Serkis’ powerful performance is made all the more tantalising by way of Dawn’s visuality. The film looks incredible. Motion capture settles into its surroundings as well as ever and the attention to detail routinely impresses. The apes might as well be authentic, drafted in from Hollywood’s premier acting zoo. San Francisco manifests gloomily, mirroring the prevailing mood of both the narrative and the characters involved. Reeves also harkens back to the tremor-like scariness of two previous outings, Cloverfield and Let Me In, by letting proceedings breathe a foreboding breath or two — the film’s curtain jerker is a genuinely ominous hunting scene. Mature heads also prevail when it comes to violence, which isn’t common, therefore smatterings of red spring with greater gravitas.

Toby Kebbell is Koba, Caesar’s second-in-command. The Brit’s mannerisms are so convincing that you’d be forgiven for thinking Koba is another Serkis creation. On the human front, Gary Oldman’s Dreyfus is the most captivating character. He’s a staunch defender of stretching ethical limits in order to prevail and, despite being fed a little less screen time than other major players, Oldman effectively channels his persona’s mindset. Jason Clarke lands the James Franco role as the human whom Caesar develops a bond with. The Aussie’s efforts are admirable and, more often than not, sufficiently potent.

Dawn, then, is one of 2014’s best films thus far. This reboot of the Apes franchise may yet prove to be a mightily formidable cinematic set once complete, but for now we can at least bide our time equipped with the knowledge that, as a standalone piece, part two has already achieved a status of grandiosity.

Bravo.