Mamma Mia!

How do I follow my review of California Dreamin', which was better than any other film I've seen in the past couple of years? How? By reviewing Mamma Mia!, that's how. From the sublime to the ridiculous.

Mamma Mia!'s paper-thin plot revolves around the looming wedding of Sophie, the daughter of single mum Donna. The pair of them live on a Greek island. Neither Donna nor Sophie know who is the father of the latter, so she invites all three possibles (taken from her mother's diary) to the wedding, in the hope she will know him when she sees him.

Cue much hilarity. Much hilarity, that is, if you are over 60, for clearly this is the target audience for this piece of fluff masquerading as cinema.

It is, of course, just a showpiece for some of Abba's best-loved tunes and is based on the successful stage musical of the same name.

Granted, I don't much care for musicals. And I've never cared for Abba either. But even by the low standards I'd set for this film in advance of seeing it, it still failed to deliver.

The acting was pretty poor given the talent attached (Streep, Brosnan, Skarsgård et al), and there was barely an acceptably pitched note to be heard in many of the "singing" parts.

Slight, predictable, insulting, embarrassing. Truly awful. Avoid at all costs. The only moments I laughed were at the terrible acting and singing. I award Mamma Mia! a dismal 19 points out of 100.

Sweeney Todd The Demon Barber of Fleet Street

It's still Oscar season, and Sweeney Todd The Demon Barber of Fleet Street was nominated for some Oscars -- three to be precise -- and won one (Art Direction).

The story of Sweeney Todd is one that kids hear from an early age over here in the UK. He's this almost mythical figure we are told about as a side note in history lessons at the age of about 10 or so. When we're learning about old London town and the Tower of London and Guy Fawkes and the Great Fire and all of that, somewhere in the mix Sweeney Todd gets thrown in. Kids love the idea of a barber who cuts the throats of his victims and puts them into pies. I mean, what's not to love?!

In this film version of the story, adapted from the Sondheim stage musical/opera of the same name, Johnny Depp takes the lead role and is a man who has spent 15 years wrongfully imprisoned. He's back in London under a new name to take revenge on the man who sent him away and destroyed his family...

Directed by Tim Burton and starring his two muses, Johnny Depp and "ladyfriend" Helena Bonham Carter, Sweeney Todd is, as one should expect, beautifully shot and acted.

The supporting cast is strong, too, and includes Alan Rickman, Timothy Spall, and Sacha Baron Cohen.

I don't like musicals -- there, I've said it. I tend to find them too twee. But some rise above that categorization to become something more than just a musical. Sweeney Todd definitely does that.

I laughed. I cried. Well, no I didn't cry actually, but I did laugh. And I did grimace. Burton has not shied away from the gruesome act of blood-letting. He positively paints every available surface red, like a modern-day Argento. The sticky shiny scarlet stuff splashes superbly.

As with all musical theatre, the lyrics can be a bit rough in places. This is a necessary evil when telling a story, and I can just about put up with that. There are also some nice little rhyming couplets here and there that make up for the rest, almost.

Overall, I had a blast watching Sweeney Todd, and I'll give it 77 points out of 100.

Eastern Promises

Seeing as it's Oscar weekend, I figured I'd review Eastern Promises, the latest flick by David Cronenberg, for which lead actor Morten Harket Viggo Mortensen has been nominated for a gong.

I have a love/hate relationship with Cronenberg. Well, that's a bit strong. Maybe a "like a bit/don't much care for" relationship. I read the book Cronenberg on Cronenberg many years ago and found it quite fascinating, and yet when I've watched his films I have often felt cheated. It's like the ideas are great, but something gets lost in the translation.

I actually think he's a very good director, in the sense of being a very good film-maker. I'm not at all convinced, however, that he has the first idea how to direct actors. Viggo comes out of this movie well -- indeed, he shines -- but almost everybody else looks like a huge ham (and no, I'm not including that thing between Viggo's legs in the bathhouse scene, girls).

The story: Naomi Watts works in a hospital. Following the death of a young girl in childbirth, Watts finds her diary, which is all in Russian. She (duh) takes it to the girl's boss -- who also happens to be the head of the local (London) Russian mafia -- for translation, despite her own stepfather being Russian. Big mistake! Let the fun begin...

Naomi Watts is about as bad as I've seen her. That first scene of her on her motorbike? Laughably bad. And her motivations and character choices are absurd. Admittedly this is a script problem, but she doesn't bring any truth to the role either. (I'm horrified to see the screenwriter is co-penning the adaptation of Shutter Island, which is one of my favourite books of recent years. Oh, shit.)

Vincent Cassel presents what I'm sorry to say is yet another cliché-ridden psycho show. It's too bad; he's a great actor. But he's being asked to churn out loony Euro roles far too often.

Armin Mueller-Stahl is also very good. But he is a seasoned actor, and he knows his craft inside out.

All the other acting is bad, bad, bad. And the story is thinner than I've become on my inadvertent diet.

There were some good bits in this film, yes, but it was still rather disappointing overall. Well, at least it was better than A History of Violence. I give this movie 64 points out of 100.

Breakfast on Pluto

I had low expectations of Breakfast on Pluto -- is this a common theme in my attitude towards movies?! -- largely because I find director Neil Jordan to be more miss than hit, but it had Cillian Murphy in it, and he has impressed me in a few films lately, so...

All I knew was the following: transvestite yada yada IRA terrorist yada. Not much to go on, is it? And the first few minutes had me baffled, as two robins alighted on top bottles of milk on a doorstep and as they chirruped to one another, their dialogue appeared subtitled on the screen. Already this was not what I had expected. And although this particular gimmick is used very rarely, it (with hindsight) perfectly sets the scene for the modern fairytale that follows.

The film tells the tale of a young man, Patrick, who was adopted out shortly after being born to an unwed mother in a small town in Southern Ireland. The mother then fled to London, where "the biggest city in the world swallowed her up" and no one seemingly heard from her again.

At an early age, our hero begins cross-dressing, and he adopts the name Kitten. We follow him through many of the important chapters in his life, culminating with the decision to track down his now-mythical real mother.

It would be difficult to present (even if it were my way) a synopsis of this film that came anywhere near close to conveying the myriad pleasures within. The story is, at its heart, a simple one; but it is the not just the story that touches and rewards the viewer here.

The performances are all wonderful (even if I did have the odd qualm about Murphy's voice being slightly too soft in parts), and the supporting cast certainly do much more than support, since they are indeed the very foundations upon which this story is built: in order to believe the arc of Kitten, one has to first appreciate the background from which he hails.

My first thought at the end was that this was a great fun yarn. But it is true that there are several dark moments within it: terrorism, bombings, killings, attempted murders, and police beatings all feature. And yet, like in Black Book, the overall vibe of the movie is one of a rollickin' good ride, as we might say here in Blighty.

Do yourself a favour and watch this movie. I'd be surprised if you didn't enjoy it immensely. I give Breakfast on Pluto a massive 80 points out of 100.