See, the problem with Sound It Out’s attempt to accurately capture life within a specific area and a specific culture is that it’s done just that. By trying to show us the role music plays in our lives, it shows us that without music there are some people who would literally have nothing at all. By showing attempts to boost sales, we’re shown how depressingly hard they fail; an exclusive in-store gig by local-girl-done-good SaintSaviour is attended by a largely ambivalent audience of ten. And by presenting the unvarnished daily goings-on within a record shop’s walls, we learn that the only thing breaking up the tedium is all the desperation.

Even at 75 minutes, Sound It Out feels overstretched, with far too many scenes adding to nothing more than the monotony. There are multiple ‘nothing to do in Stockton’ and ‘no jobs in Stockton’ montages; if footage of chavs half-heartedly telling you they’re trying to get a job infuriates you, best give this one a miss altogether. Several scenes involve people coming in who can’t be served; a guy trying to sell a box of obviously stolen Makina, an insane/disturbed/crack-ed man after free records, and a woman trying to sell them her old VHS player.

Elements of Sound It Out do add up to genuine pathos. A young metal fan reveals that he’s made several attempts on his life, and thanks music (his ipod, technically, but SHHHH) for his continued existence. Shane reveals how prejudice towards ‘spastics’ has meant that his cerebral palsy, epilepsy and hydrocephalus left him a lonely, reclusive shelf-stacker. So, on that level, Sound It Out is effective. But it sure as hell won’t make you want to buy records. Sound It Out is pitched not as a trendy hangout or a gold mine for quality music, but as a last chance saloon for a community of lonely people with nowhere else to go. So where does that leave us? The message is ‘Save these places, or these guys will have nothing left!’ but how are we supposed to do that when buying records seems like such an unattractive proposition?

This film’s heart is firmly in the right place, with genuine sympathy and respect for its subjects. But by presenting it all in such an unvarnished fashion, it ends up as claustrophobic as Reservoir Dogs, twice as depressing as Naked and as likely to convince you to drop into Stockton-on-Tees as an airborne toxic event.

Pascal (Auteil), an ageing widower, is father to six beautiful daughters. The most beautiful, without a doubt, is the eighteen-year-old Patricia (Bergès-Frisbey); a saintly girl, she goes above and beyond her daughterly duties, caring for her many sisters and her father as a mother and wife would. It is unsurprising (and nice enough) that she has captured the romantic intentions of the endearingly humble Félipe, a middle-aged well-digger in employment of her father; but it isn’t until a chance encounter with Jacques (Duvauchelle), a handsome pilot with a roaring motorbike permanently straddled between his thighs, that Patricia really begins to feel the first stirrings of love.

Unused as she is to the world of men, Patricia doesn’t notice anything amiss when her new admirer insists on taking her back to his room. Patricia rejects his advances, despite Jacques’ protestations of love, and runs tearfully back to town. However a second encounter under a full moon sees her weaken under his touch and, before we know it, she has given herself to him completely. He promises to meet her for a third time but fate interjects; Jacques is dispatched to the front line, leaving Patricia pregnant and utterly ruined.

Whilst the love story between Jacques and Patricia is, without a doubt, captivating, it is the relationship between her and her father which truly captures our attention. Fatherly indulgence for his most favoured child turns to disappointment. Disappointment gives way to cold fury, as he sends her away to live with an aunt. Stubbornness leads him to try to forget all about her and, eventually, we see him overcome his judgement and set out to fetch her home.

The superior French landscape lends itself perfectly to every shot; rustling fields, golden sunshine, dappled woodlands and sultry winds create an utterly tangible and always picturesque world for our characters to evolve in. The threat of war, whilst never physically shown, is always present on the edge of the tranquil setting. Soldiers board trains, posters call men to action, radios pipe out news from the front; like the novel before it, this film helps to hold a mirror up to the side of the war we rarely see and helps us appreciate what it was like for those left behind at home.

So what if the ending is just a little too perfect? Panned by the majority of critics as sitting on the wrong side of saccharine, I feel the conclusion seems perfectly in keeping with this unhurried tale of love. It’s the ending we hope for as an audience. No; it’s the ending that, as an audience invested in these characters, we deserve.

Joyful, uplifting and thought-provoking, Auteuil has created a quiet masterpiece; do not overlook it.

Diamonds. Everybody wants ‘em, so it’s absolutely no surprise that Bernard (King), Harry (Massey) and Alfie (Rossington) will do absolutely anything to get their mitts on some. Sadly for this bunch of inept crooks, however, they’re not all that good at crime. In fact, they’ve been picked up by the police on numerous occasions and so it comes as no surprise when, during a botched jewelery store heist, the three are shipped off to prison once again. However, on the journey the they watch agog as a fire engine zooms through traffic with ease. And it’s then that they begin to form a dastardly plan…

Acquire a fire engine. Conduct a robbery. Use the perfect getaway vehicle and zoom through traffic to guaranteed safety, freedom and untold riches. What could go wrong? Lots. Lots could go wrong. For starters, everybody keeps mistaking them for GENUINE firemen which, of course, points out the major flaw in the plan; to act like firemen, they have to become firemen. The group decide that they really need to take on some proper training if they are to use the engine. Cue mayhem, mishap, comedic misunderstandings and an unexpected tryst with a very young Maggie Smith.

In short, this is a typical British crime caper. It’s clear that the director is attempting to emulate successful crime comedies such as The Ladykillers but, sadly, Go To Blazes lacks the tight plot and in-depth character development of its predecessors. Predictable and sprawling, with the plot taking a very long time to establish itself, an eighty minute film has never felt so long before. However, we do get something fun, fluffy and light-hearted; Go To Blazes, despite its shortcomings, may very well be the ultimate remedy for chasing away those modern-day blues.

The interplay and chemistry between the three stooges is, in a word, superb; we have Dave King as the incorrigible leader, Norman Rossington as the lovable idiot and Daniel Massey as the effortlessly charming Harry. With a finer script, the men could have worked absolute wonders but, even with the sometimes overworked dialogue, manage to remain utterly endearing to the very end. Somewhere around the middle of the film we meet Robert Morley, a disgraced ex-fire captain, and it is with his additional comedic input that the film goes from “so-so” to spectacularly funny.

And, of course, Maggie Smith fans are in for a rare treat; she displays impeccable timing, a fantastic nose for comic acting and always enticing sex appe… wait, what? Maggie Smith? Sexy? SEXY?! We’re so used to seeing her as the distinguished older woman (Harry Potter, Ladies In Lavender, Downton Abbey) that it’s easy to forget that she was once a beautiful young starlet. You may just fall in love with her as she navigates her way through her perfected Cockney and French accents. I certainly did.

In short, this film may not live up to some expectations; the humour is sometimes dated, a dash of casual racism hovers waiting to offend, the story takes a while to get moving and the predictable outcome may irk some. However, for fans of vintage comedy, this truly is well-worth a gander (if only for a gander at young Maggie!). Wonderfully choreographed chase scenes and comedic routines allow for 1960s London to pop off the screen in wildly vibrant technicolour, making this an utterly dazzling period piece. Although those hoping to laugh until their bellies hurt may have to look elsewhere, as a visual treat for fans of times gone by Go To Blazes is a must-see.

It’s dreadful of course, but let’s put aside the script, performances and sound mixing – impressively awful though they may be – to talk about The Big Problem. As this is The Film that Stars a Girl Wrestler, Bail Enforcers likes to think that it’s empowering. Jules wisecracks and fights, like a proper lad. In the very first scene she takes out a man roughly three times her size. ‘Cor’, we say, ‘this attractive woman is so EMPOWERED, because unlike other women she can FIGHT the MEN. And it’s ok that she supplements her income by working as a waitress in a STRIP CLUB, because she’s just brutally beaten these men who touched her bottom. Even better, she’s now SAVAGELY BEATING this (unarmed) MAN because he called her a BITCH. Perhaps her SHINING EXAMPLE will encourage OTHER WOMEN to become POWERFUL FIGURES OF WOMANHOOD. I AM WOMAN WARRIOR, HEAR ME QUIP.’

All of which is, of course, deeply problematic, because nothing screams ‘misguided feminist intentions’ like an excessively masculine female protagonist. But there’s worse. Though she may start off in a butt-kicking leather ensemble, one slow motion changing room sequence (you heard) later and Jules is in full School Girl ensemble, her uniform for most of the rest of the film. The recovery of the $100,000 bounty takes place in a brothel filled with Japanese prostitutes, most of whom do little more than stand in lingerie then run in lingerie and scream a bit.

But worst of all is Jules’ transformation after the first act. When the deal goes bad, Jules is thrown off a building into a skip, then rushed to hospital: she’s not even around for the majority of the second act. From hereon in, men aren’t to be fought but to be rescued from. They even bring in a female hood – who’s swiftly bested in her first scene by a bloke – and it becomes Jules’ exclusive duty to fight her. It’s supposed to be sexy, but really it’s just an unspoken balance re-aligning.

The biggest insult comes last: Jules, Woman of Power, who we saw take down a seven foot body builder an hour ago, is put in a headlock by the fat, middle aged mafia boss. She’s helpless, until she’s saved by one of the men. Well done, WRESTLING.

Opening with a car chase that is never really explained, Largo Winch topples a few black Land Rovers only to be rescued immediately by helicopter. Determined to liquidise his dying father’s company and donate the money to a charity he has had dealings with in the past, Largo manages to rub many of his peers up the wrong way, and ultimately faces their wrath for upsetting the natural order of things.

As if he didn’t have enough on his plate, Winch is also facing charges of crimes against humanity for a part he is believed to have played in a Burmese massacre three years before. As we flash back to the time in question, we see an innocent and decidedly beardy Winch falling in love with a local insurgent (Nakprasitte). With a steely prosecutor (Stone) hot on his heels, he must unravel the conspiracy surrounding Burma before he is arrested by the U.N. or killed by his late father’s enemies.

Whether you are familiar with the character or not, you are unlikely to ever have a full grasp of the plot throughout Salle’s The Burma Conspiracy. It is an unwieldy, impenetrable beast which proves more convoluted than complex, more contrived than clever. With multiple storylines running in tandem without ever really entering the central narrative fray, while the primary story ties itself in knots over two different timelines, it is never quite clear what is supposed to tie into what. What you might gain, however, is some semblance of a vested interest.

Whether walking away from a murdered loved one or making out in a pool with the girl of his dreams, Tomer Sisley has clearly decided that one face fits all. It may be unshaven, it may be clean shaven or, heck, it may be battered and bruised, but regardless of circumstances our lead actor is consistently in a state of mild concern. It is an emotional vacuum that the film never really escapes, whether the film is repeatedly paying homage to Basic Instinct or sending a butler-esque supporting character in search of some comic relief. Not that you can blame a man required by the script to say things like “beware of clichés, they sometimes end in massacres”. We should be grateful.

It’s a good thing, then, that there is so much mindless, inexplicable action distracting our attention from such banalities as character, dialogue and plot. Whether it’s the aforementioned car chase courtesy of Audi, a frantic bathroom skirmish that leaves one character wishing she hadn’t checked her LG smartphone, or a skydive so cheesy that it might as well be sponsored by Babybel, there is no denying that The Burma Conspiracy is certainly an exhilarating watch. On DVD, it might even count as a bit of a find, you should just be glad that you didn’t miss the equally European but exponentially superior Adventures of Tintin to see it at the cinema.

A bombastic and brainless slice of action fodder, The Burma Conspiracy is a perfectly fine way to spend two hours. With wooden performances, an impenetrable plot and a script that reads like a Mastercard (oh yes, did I mention the excessive product placement?) sales guideline, however, this is more Eurotrash than comic book movie of the year.

Special features: theatrical trailer.

Mullan plays Joseph; a crumple-faced, spittle-glistened Scottish widower, whose furious rages have gotten him into more than a bit of trouble over the years. Occasionally visiting his terminally ill best mate (but only when the live-in daughter will open the door to him), more occasionally getting into fights with the local empty-eyed youths and most occasionally of all ending up slumped, drunk and bloodied, against an obliging wall, he one day finds himself hiding from his own endgame inside a local charity shop. It’s evident that the woman on duty, Hannah (Olivia Colman), isn’t exactly sure what to do with a sullen, foul-mouthed squatter, and seeing that he is a soul in need of aid, offers to pray for him. As you might imagine, this doesn’t exactly go down well. Taking in her expensive attire, the crucifix around her neck and the mounted picture of Christ behind her, Joseph takes no small amount of pleasure in unloading an onslaught of spiteful, bitter insults in the gentle Hannah’s direction – brutally mocking her attempt at any connection with someone like him.

The verbal attack leaves Hannah’s face dark, her mouth tight and eyes slowly filling with tears. He storms out of the shop, and there, it seems, it should end. But something, something in the goodness that he mocked so cruelly, draws Joseph back to Hannah’s shop, and when it becomes clear that she is dealing with demons darker than even Joseph can imagine at the hands of her husband (a terrifying Eddie Marsan), the two embark on an unsteady, unlikely friendship. He warily allows the desperate Hannah to cling to the only remnant of hope either of them can find – unfounded, unspoken faith in one another. But Joseph, he is well aware, is no hero. Already dealing with the guilt of a life misspent, surely it can’t be long before his anger – insatiable, unstoppable and ungovernable – rips him and those around him apart. After all, everyone has a breaking point, right?

Considering the amount of brutality on display in Tyrannosaur, it would be very easy to assume that the world these characters inhabit is a very dark one indeed. But Considine does not write bad people, rather he creates heart-breakingly real, sympathetic and entirely three-dimensional protagonists whose bad decisions have led them to a point of utter paralysis. Colman’s Hannah is mesmerising; wrenchingly warm yet utterly, irretrievably broken by the atrocities that have befallen her, and her performance gives the film a raw emotional centre that perfectly balances the hardened instances of violence. A scene where her husband weeps on her lap, begging her for forgiveness showcases Colman as an actress at the very top of her game – her blank eyes managing to register weariness, revulsion and disgust even as she comforts him, hating herself for every word she speaks.

She is matched perfectly by Mullan’s Joseph; a man never quite aware of the extent of his own flaws, someone unable to live by anything except his immediate emotions. Where Hannah is incapable of action, he is incapable of passivity, and it is in this strange symbiosis that the two find strength in one another. As dark as Tyrannosaur is (and believe me, it is one of the darkest films of the last year), it is the resilience of the human existence that resonates most of all; the gritty, irrefutable fact that it is never too late to escape the life you feel trapped in. Don’t let this film pass you by. It may lack the glitz and glamour that befits Hollywood’s awards season, but it’s infinitely more worthy than almost anything it shouts about. Paddy Considine, we’re very glad you’ve turned up.

with Dennis (Crawford) is a struggling writer who’s come to town to put an end to his affair with a co-worker. Things are going smoothly until he cuts up a guy on a motorbike – a mysterious, silent and masked guy on a motorbike. The kind of guy who might, just possibly, fly into a murderous rage should you cross him. The masked speed-demon relentlessly pursues Dennis across town, trying to make his life as hellish as possible – and as the day goes on, more sinister motives becomes apparent. A psychological game of cat-and-mouse sees Dennis hunted through the town. And, hey, it turns out that biker is pretty handy with an electric chainsaw…

Tackling as it does the timeless themes of infidelity and retribution, the horrors of Rage are difficult to explain away easily. Who IS the masked pursuer? Okay, okay. He’s played by director and writer Witherspoon. But who is he in regards to the plot? Is he related to Dennis’ mistress in some way? How about to his wife? Or is he a symbolic representation of the destruction of the family unit? Oh yes, it’s deep stuff alright – but despite its weighty themes, Rage moves with the speed of a Ducati at the Grand Prix. Boring filler scenes? No thanks! All we really want to know is WHO the biker is and WHY he wants Dennis and, oh my goodness, WHY is he doing THAT to an ELDERLY PERSON!? Answers never come until right at the end, where the conclusion will blow your mind.

It’s strange that this one slipped under the radar; sure, it’s an independent flick, but it’s an independent flick which should have received monstrously excellent reviews. The acting is exceptional, with sterling performances from both Crawford and Witherspoon; the former even manages to squeeze sympathy from his audience, despite the fact that his character is an adulterous sleazebag with an extremely frustrating inability to take action. We want him to outwit the demonic biker from hell but, as is all too clear, Witherspoon is a huge fan of Hitchcock’s maxim: Always make the audience suffer as much as possible.

The viewer, like Dennis, is forced into a voyeuristic role, unable to take action or stop the madness unfolding around them. We watch the atrocities occur. We watch Dennis watch the atrocities occur. And, in the end, it becomes all too much to just look at. Stylish, intelligent, brutal and utterly tense, Rage will have you whipped up into a nervous wreck long before the credits roll. We’ll be keeping a close couple of eyes on Christopher Witherspoon, just as soon as we’ve worked up the courage to open them again…

In New South Wales, some Australian teenagers decide to go camping in a place called ‘Hell’. Sartre famously said ‘Hell is other French people’, but at that point he hadn’t been acquainted with this film. Those teenagers include boring central character Ellie (Stasey), naïve best friend Corrie (Hurd-Wood), who has recently lost her precious virginity to thick-necked rugby enthusiast farmer boyfriend Kevin (Lewis), gigantic dickhead Homer (Deniz Akdeniz), ‘posh’ Fiona (Phoebe Tonkin), who has (gasp!) never been asked out by a boy, Asian piano prodigy Lee (Chris Pang) and uptight, religious Robyn (Ashleigh Cummings).

Take a moment to think about the way any film ever made would have these characters develop, and you would be correct. Except that Ellie remains boring.

While the teens are frolicking about in a creek – and, for some reason, savagely killing a snake – fighter jets fly overhead. What the hell? Well, it turns out that Australia has been invaded by a mysterious foreign force, and everyone in town has been rounded up and put in an internment camp at the local showground. Once they’ve seen someone get shot in the head, the teenagers decide that this just isn’t on and that they’ll have to fight back. Also there is some kissing and other relationship-type stuff. After some soul-searching, the religious girl machine-guns some guys.

The pros: there are some cool explosions.

The cons: none of the characters are particularly likeable. Some are so disagreeable I found myself actively hoping they’d be killed off. And the nature of the invasion isn’t fully explained, beyond some vague murmurings that the rest of the world supports it. Could this be a comment on Australia’s harsh treatment of asylum seekers? Or a grab for its natural resources? We’re not told. It’s all about the teenagers, man, and they don’t seem to give a fuck about politics.

But the main problem is that the film doesn’t really have an ending. The Tomorrow book series has seven volumes, with another three in The Ellie Chronicles, so I guess it’s not really a surprise that all this first instalment does is set up the scenario for its potential sequels. But if those sequels never get made – and that’s a distinct possibility, as the Australian film industry’s not exactly swimming in cash – then what, precisely, is the point of this film?

Tomorrow, When The War Began isn’t good, but it’s not even bad enough to be memorable. If you choose to watch it to completion, you can rest safe in the knowledge that around 100 minutes will have passed. And that’s pretty much it.

The film is set during the English Civil War, just as Charles I is captured by Oliver Cromwell’s Roundheads. Infamous Roundhead Colonel Judd (Lionel Jeffries) is keen to seek out a Royalist bandit – known as “The Scarlet Blade” (Jack Hedley) – and bring him to justice. His daughter Clare (June Thorburn), on the other hand, remains loyal to the King and – unbeknownst to her father – has been in league with the Royalists for some time. Thrown into the mix is Judd’s righthand man, the sleazy and manipulative Captain Sylvester (Oliver Reed), who is in love with Clare (which mostly involves him trying to bury his head repeatedly in her cleavage) and claims he will support her cause. Clare and The Scarlet Blade – actually a former nobleman, Edward Beverley – cross paths and fall in love, obviously, after about ten minutes. And Sylvester isn’t too happy about that.

I’m sure things like this did happen in the Civil War, and really there’s an interesting conflict at the heart of this film, between Royalist Clare and her Roundhead father. Indeed, this storyline comes to a rather poignant and satisfying conclusion, making you realise Judd isn’t all bad (it’s mainly just the bald head and moustache combo that make him seem dodgy).
The thing is, most of the time there’s just silly things going on, like Edward having an incredibly long fight with a nameless soldier, involving him hanging from the rafters and throwing hot soup and stuff like that. And the romance between Edward and Clare is dull as dishwater in comparison with the far more interesting storyline involving Sylvester.

Oliver Reed is delightfully villainous in the role – complete with scar and sinister, soft spoken threats – and comes across as a character with some depth. Conflicted by his lust for Clare, loyalty towards Judd and general political disinterest, Sylvester lurches from malevolent antagonist to the more sympathetic, shunned lover in a way that Reed manages to make believable.

Overall, this film will probably appeal to you if you are interested in a) War b) old-fashioned adventure movies c) Oliver Reed. But you’d probably be better off watching the original The Three Musketeers.

So, in country New South Wales, some Australian teenagers decide to go camping in a place called ‘Hell’. Sartre famously said ‘Hell is other French people’, but at that point he hadn’t been acquainted with this film. Those teenagers include boring central character Ellie; naïve best friend Carrie, who has recently lost her precious virginity to thick-necked rugby enthusiast farmer boyfriend Kevin; gigantic dickhead Homer; ‘posh’ Fiona, who has (gasp!) never been asked out by a boy; Asian piano prodigy Lee, whom Ellie finds ‘interesting’ despite the fact that everyone else in town thinks he is ‘weird’; and uptight religious Robin.

Take a moment to think about the way any film ever made would have these characters develop, and you would be correct. Except that Ellie remains boring.

While they are frolicking about in a creek – and savagely killing a snake, for some reason – fighter jets fly overhead. What the hell?? Well, it turns out that Australia has been invaded by a mysterious foreign force, and everyone in town has been rounded up and put in an internment camp at the local showground. The teenagers see one of the town’s adults shot in the head, so they – knowing this is getting pretty darn serious – decide that this just isn’t on. They’ll have to fight back. Also there is some kissing and other relationship-type stuff. After some soul-searching, the religious girl machine guns some guys.

Let’s cut to the chase here: the pros of Tomorrow When The War Began: there are some cool explosions. The cons: none of the characters are particularly likeable. Some are so disagreeable I found myself actively hoping they’d be killed off. And the nature of the invasion isn’t fully explained, beyond some vague murmurings that the rest of the world supports it. Could this be a comment on Australia’s harsh treatment of asylum seekers? Or a grab for its natural resources? We’re not told. It’s all about the teenagers, man, and I guess they could give a fuck about politics.

But the main problem is that the film doesn’t really have an ending. The ‘Tomorrow’ book series has seven volumes, with another three in ‘The Ellie Chronicles’, so I guess it’s not really a surprise that all this first installment does is set up the scenario for its potential sequels. But if those sequels never get made – and that’s a distinct possibility, as the Australian film industry’s not exactly swimming in cash – then what, precisely, is the point of this film?

It’s not good, but it’s not even bad enough to be memorable. If you choose to watch it to completion, you can rest safe in the knowledge that around 100 minutes will have passed. And that’s pretty much it.