The truly exceptional Secret Cinema continues to blow minds with its latest offering. After directing us through a Bedouin desert, a WW1 registration hall and an underground Souk, we were finally led into screening hall to sample the main attraction of the evening; Lawrence Of Arabia. Clocking up seven hours from start to finish it was certainly not a trek for the faint of heart, but with glorious detail, amazing locations and 5000 tea-towelled heads, the Secret Cinema experience was truly like no other.
Steve Carell and Paul Rudd don’t so much star as blackhole in Dinner For Schmucks; a deeply unfunny comedy so stupid it makes Kenan And Kel look like The Importance Of Being Earnest. An army of talented cameos only highlight the ludicrous, all-encompassing foulness of this creation, and the only reason it scrapes a half-star is that Flight Of The Conchord’s Jermaine Clement manages to steer clear of the worst bits as a vaguely amusing goat/artist.
A strong cast and excellent animation sequences don’t quite make up for the hollow sentiment offered by Diary Of A Wimpy Kid. Though it tries – and in some parts succeeds – to be a cool comedy for kids and adults, an obvious plot and empty morality means that you’re never really rooting for the (not especially) wimpy protagonist.
Even as a hardened horror fan, I sat down to watch The Human Centipede with a therapist on speed dial. I need not have worried. Yes, the film is disturbing, but ultimately The Human Centipede is a pretty lifeless creature, that neither makes you think, fear or even laugh enough for it to gain the cult status it so clearly craves.
Ever had your cinematic experience ruined by a noisy eater? By an overly enthusiastic giggler? By a mobile phone bent on world destruction? We say – NO MORE! Let the almost-definitely too dramatic revolution commence!
One expects this film’s curious title to be a weak pun on the surnames of the lead characters. One would be wrong. The name, ‘Knight,’ is tenuously linked to Cruise’s character but other than that there is no explanation for it. This lazy and incomprehensible title becomes rather apt for a film which does not require you to leave your brains at the door but rather put them in a lead lined box from which there is no escape.
If I had a pound for every person I saw reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo on the train this month I’d be rich. Well, I’d be able to afford a first class ticket anyways and not have to stand in the corridor having my faced pressed against book covers bearing the tattooed back of a naked girl. Without a doubt, Stieg Larsson’s Millennium Trilogy has captured the world’s imagination, with Oplev’s adaptation of the first book, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo becoming the most watched film in its native Sweden. So what is all the fuss about? In a word, Lisbeth.
Before watching I Hate Luv Storys I was a Bollywood virgin. I was aware of some of its conventions – its vibrancy, its musicality, the way it revels in artifice – but beyond that I was painfully naïve. So, armed with my postage-stamp sized amount of knowledge of Hindi cinema, I set about popping my Bollywood cherry. Sadly, like so many hungover 16 year olds, I find myself instantly regretting this awkward first encounter. Bloated, dull and repetitive, I Hate Luv Storys has nothing to offer beyond reheated romantic clichés from Hollywood and Bollywood alike.