A World of Kino 42 | Sunshine, On The Waterfront, The Tragedy of Macbeth & more

Happy New Year everybody! I somehow managed to watch 400 movies last year, so here’s to reaching 500 this year. I even started off the year by rewatching The Lord of the Rings, so I couldn’t have asked for a better first film. Though I shan’t burden you with another verbose review of that, as I wrote extensively on them in AWOK 24 – just know they’re perfect as always. In its stead, I finally watched the Coen adaptation of Macbeth, kicking out Dune as my new favourite movie of 2021.

My favourite children’s movies are always the ones that aren’t dumbed down, with powerful central themes that are explored with maturity. Kubo and the Two Strings is not one of those films.

Kubo mesmerizes the people in his village with his magical gift for spinning wild tales with origami. When he accidentally summons an evil spirit seeking vengeance, Kubo is forced to go on a quest to solve the mystery of his fallen samurai father and his mystical weaponry, as well as discover his own magical powers.

Kubo does start off with a fun premise, that kept dipping into darkness. But alas, the silliness of its characters and nonsensical nature of the plot made it devolve into a groan-inducing affair, and exactly the dumbed down kiddy nonsense I was hoping this would rise above. Something felt really off about the whole thing right from the get go, probably because the character motivations were next to nonexistent. So many times I was left wondering whether a scene had just been skipped, only to then have to suffer through an eternity of pointless exposition and absurd contrivances, clearly indicative of a rushed screenplay. Maybe this story would have been better served as a videogame, since it’s certainly structured that way only without the interactivity that would have made the world feel engaging. This film really does feel like a collection of cutscenes, which fail to properly string together because it’s missing out on all of the gameplay that makes the story worthwhile. The writing just kept getting worse as the film progressed, ultimately finishing with such a distinct lack of substance, that any themes it tried to hammer into me completely failed to work their magic.

But I do have to take the time to praise the animation, which is genuinely one of the most phenomenal pieces of animation I’ve ever seen. From the intimate expressiveness of the character models, to the dynamic stop motion movement that dances with such carefree abandon, to the glorious lighting that infuses each panel with the loveliest artistry, Kubo and the Two Strings is gorgeousness epitomised. It always inspires me to see just how far technology has come, because the beauty that is capable of being created these days is to die for. It’s just such a shame such beauty couldn’t have been given a better screenplay.

This next one is very similar to Kubo, in that it looks gorgeous but is sadly let down by its writing. I give you Sunshine.

Fifty years into the future, the sun is dying, and Earth is threatened by arctic temperatures. A team of astronauts is sent to revive the Sun — but the mission fails. Seven years later, a new team is sent to finish the mission as mankind’s last hope.

I’ve been looking forward to watching this movie for ages – after all, I tend to adore these kinds of sci-fi stories, and Alex Garland is one of my favourite contemporary writers. But Sunshine is such a let down, because it has to have one of the worst screenplays I’ve ever witnessed. Nonsensical science, ridiculous contrivances and unintentionally hilarious dialogue, inside a story better served by a half as long runtime, since by the end it was clear Garland had completely run out of ideas. It’s rather remarkable just how much Garland has improved, if this was his starting point. But just like with Kubo, Sunshine is one of the most visually sublime films I’ve ever seen. I hesitate to chalk that about to Danny Boyle – as the editing became increasingly more obnoxious – but the way the sun is brought to life here is simply phenomenal. So many gorgeous shots are crafted here, so it’s a true shame they weren’t put to better use with an actual competent film.

Jumping forward to Jumper, this premise had so much potential, but the movie plays its cards way too quickly.

David Rice is a man who knows no boundaries, a Jumper, born with the uncanny ability to teleport instantly to anywhere on Earth. When he discovers others like himself, David is thrust into a dangerous and bloodthirsty war while being hunted by a sinister and determined group of zealots who have sworn to destroy all Jumpers. Now, David’s extraordinary gift may be his only hope for survival!

Jumper has such a fun concept, so I wish it had explored him discovering his powers more a la Chronicle and Limitless, because by jumping past his rise to success, the subsequent events feel unearned. Although bizarrely enough, he feels more like a villain, so I ended up rooting for Samuel L Jackson’s character, as his hunting down of superpowered criminals was far more heroic than the unbridled selfishness of Hayden Christensen’s character. Even so, while this is definitely a trashy movie, I can’t deny that I enjoyed it. Seeing him teleport never got old, used with great special effects in very creative manners. The narrative might be dumb and waste its concept through mediocrity, but it’s entertaining regardless, so if you watch it with that mindset this can be a decent watch.

Every Christmas, my Dad tells me to watch this movie and I never do. But it was worth the wait, because Bad Santa is surprisingly good.

A miserable conman and his partner pose as Santa and his Little Helper to rob department stores on Christmas Eve. But they run into problems when the conman befriends a troubled kid, and the security boss discovers the plot.

A funny inversion of the clichéd Christmas movie, turning tropes on their head to deliver a clever, cathartic, and hilarious experience. Billy Bob Thornton is such a joy to watch, detestable in his pure cynicism yet peculiarly enough still managing to retain enough humanity to make him extremely likable. Tony Cox is probably the most hilarious out of the cast, be it from the brilliant jokes made at the expense of his height, or from his shockingly sharp tongue. Not all of the humour landed on me and the premise does get a tad repetitive, but I still had an incredible time laughing at its morbidity.

I’ve never understood why Marlon Brando is held up in such high esteem, and On The Waterfront just proves to me there’s been a great deal of historical distortion happening around this period.

Terry Malloy dreams about being a prize fighter, while tending his pigeons and running errands at the docks for Johnny Friendly, the corrupt boss of the dockers union. Terry witnesses a murder by two of Johnny’s thugs, and later meets the dead man’s sister and feels responsible for his death. She introduces him to Father Barry, who tries to force him to provide information for the courts that will smash the dock racketeers.

I find it such a silly thing to say that Brando is somehow ‘ahead of his time’, because he doesn’t do anything special in his performance that wasn’t already a staple of great acting decades before him. Take Falconetti in Passion of Joan of Arc for example, who 30 years earlier gave arguable an even better performance; or in Hollywood itself, the likes of James Stewart and Joseph Cotten were acting to the same calibre since the 30s; and even in this same film, Karl Malden as the priest is effortlessly on par with Brando. He’s undoubtadedly a great actor, always able to give rivetting, intense performances, but it’s nonsense to declare him as better than his contemporaries. 

Anyway, with that rant out of the way, the film itself is decent. I will admit I found it rather boring, but I’ll just chalk that up to a problem with me. The narrative plunges head-first into a corrupted world, slowly unfolding to reveal a plethora of superb characters. Everybody plays off each other brilliantly, and the story develops in interesting directions. The writing even becomes somewhat deeper than I was expecting, with a few lovely monologues that give thematic weight to the grit. This is definitely a good movie, even if I was sadly unengaged – though I do still believe it’s been way overhyped.

With the exception of maybe Hamlet, Macbeth has always been my favourite of Shakespeare’s plays. And for the longest time, Polanski was the only filmmaker who adequately brought the story to life for me, in spite of some minor directorial problems. Until now that is, because The Tragedy of Macbeth is the perfect adaptation of my favourite Shakespeare. 

Macbeth, the Thane of Glamis, receives a prophecy from a trio of witches that one day he will become King of Scotland. Consumed by ambition and spurred to action by his wife, Macbeth murders his king and takes the throne for himself.

I think what distinguishes this version so drastically from all the rest is in its artistic accomplishments. My jaw was on the floor from the first frame, simply because the craftsmanship on display was that mesmerising to look at. The crows emerging from the fog, flying in circles as though we’re looking up at them, only to reveal a man walking underneath and the play begins – a genius way to disorientate the audience, hypnotising me into falling under its coiling spell. The verbose dialogue and pontificating soliloquies are captured in an unyielding barrage of beautiful close-ups, with the excquisite blocking within such confined framing managing to create immense depth to each and every shot. And the editing… My God! You can feel the rhythm of the cuts so viscerally, the beat of the blood drops creating such a fascinating tempo for the madness that unfolds. 

If you know me, then you know I detest it when films are in black and white for no other reason than to look more ‘artistic’. Those films are superficially monochrome, because no substantial stylistic difference would occur if colour were added, meaning the aesthetic is either lazy or pretentious. But Joel Coen actually crafts his version of Macbeth in a manner where light and shadow are precisely the only way this world can be seen. That intense, Gothic contrast – with the silhouettes passing through the mist, or the crows blocking out the sun, or the harsh spotlights creating a sanctuary from the darkness – makes for some of the most gorgeous cinematography I have ever seen. The black and white (plus 4:3 aspect ratio) works as well as it does here in the same way it works for Robert Egger’s The Lighthouse: because it wouldn’t work any other way.

For any Shakespearean movie, the cast are what make or break it, and I have little qualms in declaring this to be the best cast for Macbeth I’ve ever seen. Ignoring the perhaps controversial race mixing (which I personally think only added to the aesthetic), each character gets played with a level of nuance I adore to see so much. From McDormand as an almost unmalicious Lady Macbeth who gradually loses her mind; to Hassell granting a deliciously ambiguous mystique to Ross (my favourite character); to Hunter playing what is undoubtedly the best interpretation of the Witch(es) that has ever been conceived, croaking through contortions with such awe-inspiring screen presence, while Coen supports her with his genius manipulation of reality. Washington has much tougher competition though (it’s hard to compete against the likes of Welles, Fassbender, Stewart and McKellen after all) so while he’s certainly great, I still think he’s one of the weaker Macbeths I’ve seen, especially since it’s like he was trying to say all of his lines in a single breath. Regardless, he’s a joy to watch, definitely doing the tragedy justice.

The Tragedy of Macbeth is a spectacle of visual prowess – and of auditory, might I add, because the images wouldn’t have anywhere near the same level of power without the insanely immersive soundscape to elevate each sequence. The characters, in all their Shakespearean splendour, are given a refreshing spin by a brilliantly talented cast, enhanced by the gorgeous Gothicism that Coen has seeped himself in. This is the kind of film I’d love to fall asleep to, simply because it possesses that rare lulling magic I think I’ve only previously encountered to this extent with Apocalypse Now. Not because it’s boring, but because the cinematic achievements are so overwhelmingly nightmarish in a weirdly soothing way. It’s strange to call this the most cinematic adaptation when it’s simultaneously the most theatrical, but Coen effortlessly combines the best of both worlds to create an experience like none other.