Killer Joe (directed by William Friedkin)

Kentucky Fried Movie

“I don’t want people to enjoy this film” said William Friedkin of his latest cinematic work, and whilst the director has always been known to court the press and in turn the censorship threshold with his malevolence, he may just have a point with Killer Joe. The story of a white trash trailer park family of no good cheaters and liars is a Southern fried noir with a literal nasty taste to it, however it is also bleakly and darkly funny view of inept misfits in a hopeless situation. You may not like yourself for sniggering but sniggering you just may do. Killer Joe tells the tale of the Smith family, a bunch of lowlife losers, living off junk food and beer and years of possible scams to make more money. Ansel the father, (Thomas Hayden Church) is a worthless, yet harmless lay about who paves the way for son Chris (Emile Hirsch) to act like the patriarch of the family, albeit in a reckless and rough fashion. Stepmother Sharla (Gina Gershon) is a brazen pizza waitress with a side order of adultery, leaving the youngest of the clan, the wide eyed innocent Dottie (a mesmerising, childlike Juno Temple) as the only beacon of light in this dank, dirty set up. Yet the inevitable sense of desolation tells you it is only a matter of time before she too is corrupted.

When a desperate Chris returns to the family trailer, in dire need of cash to stop a hit on him due to a bungled deal with the local drug boss, he comes up with a double indemnity style plan to solve his wretched situation. His seedy saviour is Killer Joe (a delightfully dark Matthew McConaughey), a police detective with an unorthodox sideline in contract killing, whom Chris plans to hire to murder the family’s biological mother who all but abandoned her kids, and so claim a $50,000 life insurance policy that is due to befall to Dottie. Enlisting hapless father Ansel into the mix, who latches onto the unfamiliar scent of a big payday, their plot is hit by the significant snag that they are unable to pay Joe upfront for the job, his fee due to come from the insurance pay out. But Joe comes up with a sinister lifeline, having taken a shine to the virginal Dottie; he proposes to use her as a ‘retainer’, to do with what he pleases, until the insurance comes through.

Based on the play by Tracey Letts, Killer Joe retains much of the claustrophobic stage setting by placing most of the scenes within the Smiths cramped home and though the film does leave the confines of the trailer park for a few exterior scenes, you continually get the feeling that there is no escape, that all roads lead back to despondent gloom. There will be no happy endings and predictably no one gets away clean as the plot unravels before the family’s eyes. Friedkin takes this fairly simplistic premise that has been used in various incarnations in previous noirs, and turns it into a startling uncomfortable, tar black humour filled thriller. The film borrows sombre shades from directors David Lynch with pseudo sexual maniac Joe and The Coens in its redneck goofiness and double crossing deals. Cinematographer Caleb Deschanel creates a magnetic backdrop of the Texan landscape which is barrow and rundown, the odd twinge of guitar creeps into the soundtrack to add to the creepy brooding tension. All the cast excel, they become so ingrained in their personas, that it is impossible to imagine anyone else in their roles, particularly Juno Temple as Dottie, her girlish mannerisms and doll eyed cherubic nature is all the more haunting when she is seduced by Joe in a particularly disconcerting scene. The casting revelation comes from Matthew McConaughey however as the titular Joe, sticking two thumbs up to the romcom mush he has been treading water in for many years. His Southern drawl used to hypnotic effect, a snake like presence that is repulsive in his actions yet impossible to take your eyes off. And yes he does take his top off but all thoughts of buff sex symbol McConaughey will be forgotten when he is taking advantage of an underage girl and using sexual violence to get revenge.
Much has been made of ‘that chicken scene’ and there are many explicit scenes not for the easily offended and faint hearted, the film taking an accelerated turn as it sprints to the finish line, but it does so with such sly wit and mischief that you cannot help but be drawn into the madness. Go with Friedkin’s messed up ride and you will ‘enjoy’ the anarchy. Sure, you will from now on shudder each time you pass a KFC, but is that an entirely bad thing?

My Favourite Movie of the Year....so far

Moonrise Kingdom (directed by Wes Anderson)

 

 

All reviewers of a new Wes Anderson film have to address, the Wes-ness of a Wes Anderson film. He is a director who brings a unique visual style to each of his features, one that the term Auteur was meant for, his work brimming with distinction. His is also one that the term Marmite was meant for, you either embrace the fantastical world he creates or recoil at the kookiness of it all, longing for the days that when Bruce Willis played a cop in a film, it was violence in a white vest and not as a buttoned down officer of a remote island. This reviewer falls into the former category, revelling in the intricate details and oddball characters that consume his cinematic microcosm, whilst also being astounded (and a smidge jealous) that he manages to not only get away with very quirky concepts, but also making them feel somehow natural. Few filmmakers can pull off this fine line act but Anderson does so in spades… the clever jerk.

Though whilst his last film Fantastic Mr Fox (2009) was an animated match made in heaven, Wes’s narrative proclivities suited beautifully to the stop motion technique, his previous effort The Darjeeling Limited (2007) was a slight misstep, verging towards indulgence without the real emotion that he usually balances so well. However with Moonrise Kingdom, Anderson is back to his best, in a film that threatens to be the best of his career.

Moonrise, is set on an idyllic New England island in the summer of 1965, a haven for eccentric characters and blossoming love. Amongst the island is a ‘khaki scout’ summer camp lead by Edward Norton’s endearing scout master Ward and where one of its troop, Sam Shakusky, flies the coup (in an entertaining homage to a certain prison film) to run away with his beloved pen pal Suzy Bishop. Sam and Suzy are troubled children, two idiosyncratic 12 year old misfits, each with their own bag of neurosis at such a young age. When Sam meets Suzy the previous year at a church performance of Noye’s Fludde by Benjamin Britten, the two remain pen friends and make a pact to run away together the following year on the island. They head to a secluded cove on the edge of the island but in hot pursuit are his scout master Ward and the rest of the khaki scouts, the local police Captain Sharp (Bruce Willis) and Suzy’s parents Walt (Bill Murray) and Laura (Frances McDormand).

What follows is a kaleidoscope of scenes, dreamily enveloped in tawny and sage colours with a hint of 60s colour pop, etched with oddities and wistful recollections of the bittersweet terrain that childhood crosses. The two young star crossed lovers Suzy and Sam (played endearingly without any hint of precocious annoyance by newcomers Kara Hayward and Jared Gilman) display the naivety of adolescent first love, the zest for adventure and the freshness of youth, yet they have a wisdom beyond their years, affected by their surroundings and upbringing, Sam being an orphan, Suzy labelled as a girl with ‘issues’.

The two unknown child actors are complimented, rather than overshadowed by the rest of Anderson’s troupe who are all pitch perfect. Edward Norton undoes a lot of the bad work he has previously created and reminds us that he can be fun. Bruce Willis meanwhile shows he can do subtle as the buttoned down Police Captain of the Island, his tentative relationship history with Frances McDormand’s Laura serves as a counterpart to the dizzy defiance of Suzy and Sam’s courtship. It is also a treat to see Bill Murray and Bruce Willis share the screen for the first time in a small but affecting scene. And whilst Tilda Swinton, wonderfully known simply as Social Services, doesn’t get much screen time as the slight villain of the piece, she does make her usual classic presence felt while rocking a nifty cape and bonnet.

Anderson has pulled off one almighty achievement in creating such a dotty, playful movie but one with an emotional chord that slowly creeps up on you. By the time you leave the cinema, the feeling of enjoyable glee is tinged with the sudden realisation that childhood is gone and you ache and mourn for that period in your life, when you were a kid and could take on the world, the fearlessness and the fervent spirit of youth. Moonrise Kingdom is a film made with the heart of a 12 year old, in fact it seems we are watching a film made by Wes Anderson’s adolescent self (albeit one with his usual wit and flair). The feeling of innocence and love is overwhelmingly infectious and the portrayal of a moment in life that was pure, reminds us that whilst that time has passed, it lives on in our memories, like the titular haunt of Moonrise Kingdom, (and in turn, the film itself) it is a place that will live on in a nostalgic beautiful sublime haze.

Grease is the Word

Over the past few years Cinema Sing-a-longs have become something of a big hit with audiences, where people can go to watch their favourite film with bells on. Those bells being karaoke lyric tracks on the screen so everyone can sing to their favourite songs, while added visuals pop up to prompt the audience. There is also the inclusion, in some cases, of a goodie bag with various items that can be used at certain parts of the film and the emphasis on encouraging the viewers to come in fancy dress as their favourite character. The most popular of those cinematic hybrids have been Mamma Mia (I literally cannot think of a worse punishment to bestow on someone) and The Sound of Music (am I the only one that feels that a theatre full of pretend nuns is a scary prospect?).

My first experience of this mad mad world came last weekend when I went to a Sing-a-long with Grease night at the Empire theatre in Liverpool with two fellow pink ladies and one hopelessly emotive Sandy. I have quite a lot of affection for the movie, though no where near as much as many of my fellow theatregoers, and our own Sandy wanted to play out a lifelong dream to be Ms Dee so I decided to give it a go. We had our ‘Summer Lovin’ Sandy, as perky and naive as they come. We had our Rizzo, who was definitely the most, ahem, experienced of us all. We had our Frenchie, the sweetest and most loyal of the bunch. Then there was me, as Marty, who yes is somewhat of a two bit part, not the most memorable of the pink ladies but she did have a few choice lines, a natty perchance for neck scarf’s and was less likely to be imitated on the night, due to her lower ranking in the pink lady food chain.

Dressed in our finest Grease attire, for which I may add we were very faithful to the costumes in the film, we headed to the theatre, after some much needed alcoholic reinforcements. The street outside the Empire was awash with a sea of Rydell High Affiliates, with varying degrees of effort, some hen night gangs who had just thrown on a pink jacket over their clobber to some beauty school girls sporting magnificent domes of silver barrelled rollers atop their glittery creations. The cluster of pink and polka dots continued into the foyer where also sadly roomed no young John Travolta tinged studs but middle aged Danny Zukos after working on too many cars and eating too many cheeseburgers, though at least there were some men there at all and they had made an effort, which stopped the whole night looking like an episode of Loose Women on crack. After grabbing some more fuel (aka alcohol) and some lovely sweets from an old fashioned cart, we ushered into the theatre room to take our seats, amidst a gaggle of hysteria, costumes and chaos.

Our compeer for the evening was again a not so in his prime Danny, who had hastily thrown on a leather jacket and quiff wig to take to the stage, though he did receive a rapturous applause from the baying crowd. Danny then did his best Butlins entertainer routine as his went through the ‘rules’ for the evening, how to perform the hand jive and the contents of the goodie bag. So we had to swoon whenever Danny came on screen (the real one not the later life version), we had to boo when bad guy crater face came into frame, we had to make catty noises for Rizzo and so on and so forth. Our little bag of tricks contained props to help us along our merry journey, including hankies for the weepy Sandy solo ‘Hopelessly Devoted To You’, a chequered flag for the drag race where T Bird Danny takes on crater face (my personal favourite item of the night) and a bag of pretzels, supplied by the sponsors of the event, who were randomly a pretzel company. Then came the slightly annoying part- the fancy dress competition. Butlins Danny welcomed all to come and join in the competition to win a dubious selection of prizes, and an array of colourful characters took to the stage, including our very own ‘Summer Lovin’ Sandy. For whilst there was a range of outfits from the inspired (Eugene!!) to the ridiculous (since when did the pink ladies dress as school girls with face paint and knee high socks?), the annoying part was that no matter how faithful you were to the original costumes, you were never going to win against a five year old dressed in a Ra-Ra skirt. And this leads me to my biggest grumble of the event- children, don’t get me wrong, I am not one to deprive a child of a cinematic trip, but this perhaps should have been part of a matinee performance, rather than letting an infant stay up on a Friday night in a room full of women being encouraged to thrust their hips provocatively at the screen. The tone of the evening seemed at odds, one minute we were maintaining a family friendly atmosphere by editing the word cream from the lyrics to ‘Grease Lightning’ and the next we are shaking our pelvis’ faster than Elvis at Vegas.

But inappropriateness aside, I threw myself into the spirit of the night and while I tried to watch my language, I soon forgot about the children, two of whom I was probably blocking the view of the screen anyway, due to proximity behind me. As someone who usually can't stand it if people chat during a film, it was an interesting, and welcome change to actually be encouraged to whoop and holler at the screen, which our party did with gusto. Things got rather messy at times, when a crowded auditorium are all trying to dance in the aisles at the same time, things are going to go awry, but it was a truly fun, immersive experience and a new way to watch a beloved favourite film. It was also great to see our Sandy enjoying her favourite movie, once she got past being called soppy Sandy, much to her chagrin. When somebody gets to knock something off their bucket list, it is an infectious occurrence.
And so we bopped and jived through the film and the night, ending in a crescendo of party poppers bursting as Danny and Sandy fly (?) off into the sunset.

We left the theatre, many worse for wear ladies and duff Dannys spilling out into the streets of Liverpool and our time at Rydell was over. As we drove off into the sunset, we however didn’t take off into the air, we clutched our bags of pretzels with a smile on our faces from the evening’s frivolities.
Reflecting on my first time at a Sing-a-long event, I hung up my pink lady jacket and while I was hoarse of throat, I was filled with memories of a weird but wonderful time.

Now if only they can do a Bugsy Malone one……