The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug – film review

I found the mixed reaction to An Unexpected Journey a little surprising, as to me it came across as a lot more faithful to the tone of J. R. R. Tolkien’s work than Peter Jackson’s own Lord of the Rings trilogy.

Even though I really liked LotR, what bothered me about Jackson’s treatment of it was that great wads of story were left out in favour of tiresomely endless action set pieces that originally may only have taken up a paragraph’s worth of material in Tolkien’s prose, so with the decision to expand The Hobbit into three films Jackson is proving that – had he had the chance to make nine LotR films – they probably would have been a lot more satisfying to the Tolkien purists.

Basically, The Hobbit feels like how LotR should have felt – like a travelogue; a sprawling collection of notes about a journey and the peoples encountered on that journey with the odd sprinkling of peril thrown in.

The Desolation of Smaug starts off how I thought AUJ should have started off: with Gandalf and Thorin Oakenshield meeting at The Prancing Pony for the first time, however the decision to move it to the second film provides the audience with a reminder of what’s going on and why. A clever device, for sure, but it still feels a little strange tacked on to the start of this episode.

The first quarter or third of the film worried me enough to think I was about to experience a repeat of the mess that was The Two Towers, but once the scenes with Beorn are out of the way (The Hobbit’s answer to Tom Bombadil – an odd character who doesn’t serve much purpose to the overall thrust of the story… and a character that’s hard to bring to life on screen, at that) the film hits its stride perfectly.

The spider attack in Mirkwood forest made me turn away just like I thought it would (luckily my failing eyesight cut out a lot of the really yucky stuff for me) and the barrel riding sequence surpassed my expectations and won me over by providing a real rollercoaster ride of a chase without feeling like it was dragging its heals.

The mean elven king Thraduil (played to villainous glee by Lee Pace) was marvellously devilish and the addition of Evangeline Lilly as the likeable and spunky Tauriel to girl-up the testosterone heavy cast was a brilliant choice. Luke Evans’ Bard is understandably given more to do considering the key role he should be playing in the third film and Evans carries the weight well. Such beefing up of the characters and plot is entirely justified considering the very slender series of events and characterisations that appear in the book.

I was surprised to find Jackson and his team pinching amiably (but most likely unconsciously) from both Alien 3 and Ninja Scroll when it came to the dwarves tackling Smaug the dragon in the Lonely Mountain, but it was a pleasant surprise of a sequence that added yet more meat to the bone.

I was expecting more of Martin Freeman in this one, but he’s yet again sidelined in what has now officially become The Richard Armitage Show. That’s not to say Freeman isn’t good, he just has a lot to do but not much to say, making his character crucial but lacking the memorable lines and humour that the dwarf pack are blessed with. In fact Bilbo is painted with much darker shades now that he’s become a Ring Bearer and unaware of the trouble he’s found himself in until it’s too late. He’s a tragic figure here, even more so than Frodo in that he has no idea what’s happening to him, whereas Frodo did.

So yes, after an unassuming start the film rises to the perfect pitch that An Unexpected Journey managed and gives those who felt Jackson raced through Lord of the Rings something to savour at last.

If you’re a true Tolkien fan then ignore any negative or mixed reviews you read from those who simply don’t get it… you’ll love it!

Hobo With A Shotgun – film review

Seemingly inspired more by the sincere splatter genre than the “in it for the money” Grindhouse exploitation industry, Hobo With A Shotgun builds on its original basic revenge-thriller fake trailer into something greater and quite unexpected.

As with the best of the splatter output Hobo With A Shotgun is a horror movie for people who don’t like scares, but instead enjoy the OTT thrills and chills of ridiculous amounts of fake blood and theatrical amputations. It’s not offensive, it’s just a live action cartoon for adults.

Amongst its many influences are to be found ingredients from Evil Dead 2, Braindead and Tokyo Gore Police liberally folded into the mix, as well as nods to classic anime, with The Plague duo being reminiscent of the apparently indestructible Gold and Silver team from Osamu Dezaki’s 1983 Golgo 13 adaptation.

If you’re wanting to look deeper into the film’s subtext then you could also see this as an unofficial prequel to Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner, with Rutger Hauer’s disillusioned replicant Roy Batty arriving at the Westworld-like twentieth century themed Hope Town where violence and corruption are acted out for the pleasure of the masses. It is here in Hope Town that Batty meets Priss for the first time, in the form of Molly Dunsworth’s hooker-with-a-heart-of-gold Abby.

But maybe that’s just me imagining things.

Director Jason Eisner manages to keep control of a visually off-the-rails production and does what the exploitation films he pays tribute to often fail to do: be not boring. Although he surely couldn’t have pulled off such a laudable feat without the touching, played-for-straight performances of Hauer and Dunsworth and an inventive crew of special effects artists.

My above theory that Hope Town is really a theme park for bloody entertainment is my only way to explain the one area where the film is slightly let down – which is in the performances of its villains who certainly don’t play it straight. I imagine that they too are replicants programmed to act like people in 2019 believe people acted like a few decades previously. At least I hope that’s the reason. This can also help to explain some of the heightened scenes of horror and rampant amorality that pass by the in-film general public without them doing much about it, in particular one involving a packed school bus and a flame thrower.

But whichever way you look at it Hobo With A Shotgun stands as a monument to harmless bad taste and Rutger Hauer’s undiminished status as both an A and B movie icon. He gives a tour-de-force performance that warms the heart as well as the adrenaline gland and I can only theorise that had he not been on board this would not have been as great as it is.

Jack the Giant Slayer – film review

It’s a dirty job to be mean about something that tries so hard, with barely a shred of cynicism, to be as good natured and entertaining as Jack The Giant Slayer, but I guess somebody has to do it.

Opening with a fairytale reading so similar to the Hellboy: The Golden Army prologue that it borders on plagiaristic, Jack The Giant Slayer accidentally sucks the joy out of a timeless kids fable by trying to infuse it with darker and more complex elements – elements it didn’t really need and elements you didn’t really want, so by the time you realise you’re being fed lumpy and unnecessary exposition you’ve probably already missed it.

Hands up anyone who remembers what they were told in the first ten minutes. No? Yeah, me neither.

Well, strangely enough, after this failed attempt to beef up the Jack and the Beanstalk mythology the film descends into fey medieval pantomime territory with all the style and sophistication of a  second rate BBC television miniseries. Tents? Check. Flags? Check. Chickens? Check. Fire breathing entertainer in a bustling market place? Check.

Yet while permitting such worryingly old-hat production design clichés director Bryan Singer also seems to be suffering from Peter Jackson Fever (a real medical condition in Hollywood), therefore most of the dialogue has had to be dubbed-over in the Additional Dialogue Recording (ADR) stage so as to suck the spontaneity out of all its performances and every shot that opens a new scene has to swoop in on a crane – preferably over a babbling brook or a conveniently placed piece of set dressing.

But beyond the slightly distracting nods to dear old P.J. a strong visual signature is noticeably lacking. Singer has never had the most consistent or striking visual style, in fact I’m doubtful I could pick one of his films out of a line-up, but you can usually tell that he tries hard to add some flare to proceedings, whether or not he succeeds.

Jack The Giant Slayer is an example of when he doesn’t.

As mentioned above the overall look of the film is pretty flat in a low-budget TV production sense, as are the special effects that even a video game developer might send back with detailed notes for improvement; but elsewhere the writing is beyond abysmal and not helped by the bad ADR work and the film’s two lifeless leads (Nicholas Hoult and Eleanor Tomlinson) who both look and sound as though they could do with a hot meal to boost their energy levels and pad out their walking-skeleton physiques.

Fear not, though, as aid comes in the form of the film’s supporting players, in particular Ewan McGreggor as a pompous knight who seems always on the verge of anachronistically shouting out “chocks away!”, Ian McShane who’s just great in everything and the far too marginalised for anybody’s liking chameleonic appearance of the wonderful Stanley Tucci.

But whether or not you can digest the stilted dialogue, the occasional wooden performance or the added plot mechanics you’ll still end up grooving along to the basic beats of the classic Jack and the Beanstalk fable with added gross-out humour and gratuity-free action sequences (the final castle siege is mercifully less Battle of the Pelennor Fields and more Diet Helms Deep).

So by failing in its intention to be weighty and edgier than its roots require Jack The Giant Slayer can’t help but be a simple and fun bit of fluff that only lets itself down with some excruciating dialogue, a wet pair of lovebirds and the lack of a strong creative vision.

Basically you won’t be bored, but you’ll want to plug your ears up about five times a scene.

Sherlock Holmes: A Game Of Shadows – film review

Although Guy Ritchie’s first Sherlock Holmes installment was wearyingly clichéd in its plotting the charismatic diversionary tactics of Robert Downey Jr in the title role; Philippe Rousselot’s lush cinematography; Sarah Greenwood’s immersive production design; and James Herbert’s snappy editing made it a fabulously enjoyable treat for the senses, if perhaps not for the brain.

A Game Of Shadows, however, is a vicious assault on the senses and has even less to offer the brain. Even worse is that it doesn’t even offer us the simple thrill of a troubled but dashing Sherlock Holmes solving a complex mystery in Victorian London. No. As for reasons beyond comprehension it turns into a dull and torturously bombastic euro-thriller – a James Bond in tweed, if you will.

Gone is the richly colourful photography; instead the whole look of the film is drowned in horribly muted blues and lifeless greys that render everything that happens unpleasant to look at. Even Hans Zimmer’s vibrantly traditional score from the first film has been replaced by the sort of overbearing musical onslaught we thought he’d left behind in the 90s.

So where did it all go wrong?

I’m not sure, but the move from 1.85:1 aspect ratio to 2.40:1 doesn’t help in providing visual continuity or the intimate humour from the first film. This one feels distant, detached and cold. Strange, really, considering the main visual creative team is the same.

So, adding to this step down in audio/visual quality some forgettable actors, characters, plot devices and action sequences things aren’t looking great at all for A Game Of Shadows.

But within the mess, somewhere, is a much better film. The midsection lost my attention so completely that by the end I neither knew nor cared what was happening (not because it was complicated but because it was boring), however the start and end were enjoyable and only served to make me lament what might have been. Could the midsection be trimmed down to its bare plot essentials? Could Hans Zimmer replace his score with something more in keeping with what he gave us in the first instalment? Could someone tweak the colour grading digitally to brighten the tone and give it the vibrancy of its predecessor?

If there’s a third instalment I sincerely hope the producers realise where they went wrong with A Game Of Shadows and pull the series back into a more fun, lean and colourful line.

This one simply gets it wrong.

Desperate Hours (1990) – film review

I haven’t seen this film since probably I was a teenager, but it’s amazing how much of it (certain shots and camera moves in particular) that I remember from back then in great detail. I was also quite nervous about coming back to it, mainly due to my concern that, being older and wiser now, I’d simply hate it.

How wrong I was.

I’m a little guilt-ridden for having never seen the 1955 William Wyler directed original and still cherishing what critics usually tend to dismiss and history, it seems, has done likewise; but as a fan of overwrought, over-the-top and over confident curiosities I can’t help but find this remake mesmerising.

After the disaster of Heaven’s Gate reminded the world why directors need to shoot the odd close-up, Michael Cimino had some work to do to regain the confidence of a film industry he almost single-handedly tore down. What emerged was Year of the Dragon, The Sicilian and Desperate Hours – three smaller scale films that condensed Cimino’s fondness for visual flair, epic scale and theatrical acting into enjoyable but sadly forgotten gems.

Even though I’ve got a sincere soft spot for this tale of a group of violent criminals on the run taking a bickering family hostage, I’d warn anyone approaching it for the first time to leave their sensible hats at the door, because it’s a film riddled with ham-fisted dialogue, unconvincing characters, bizarre coincidences and gaping plot holes that beggar belief, but in the same breath entertain mercilessly.

If you can find a reason why Mickey Rourke decides to hole-up in suburbia for the night instead of safely hiding under a bridge in the countryside somewhere, or why Lindsay Crouse is so wonderfully bolshy and bad tempered all throughout the film, or why the police back in 1990 had all the intelligence and subtlety of a piano falling down a flight of stairs then you’re much smarter than me.

But amidst the harmless stupidity, extreme violence and high suspense there are elegant and poignant pauses of peace and natural beauty shot with grace by cinematographer Douglas Milsome, moments that really set it apart from the rest. The thundering orchestral score by David Mansfield racks up the tension from start to finish but also knows when to back off to give the audience a breather. The editing by Christopher Rouse compliments Cimino’s direction admirably, cutting off all the fat and keeping this a lean piece of suspenseful cinema without a single unnecessary frame left on screen.

I’d recommend watching this as part of a triple bill along with Martin Scorcese’s Cape Fear remake and Paul Verhoeven’s Basic Instinct for a great night of shameless, ridiculous cinema that’ll make you lament for the lost art of using camera tracks instead of steadycams.

Best bit: Anthony Hopkins literally taking out the trash.

Sadly we’ve not had a film from Cimino since 1996’s The Sunchaser and I’ve got a terrible feeling we never will… but that won’t stop me from hoping.

Come on, Michael, pull one last masterpiece out of the bag!

Sheffield Pride 2013

I went to my first ever Pride event yesterday, which took place in Sheffield city centre. They’d had others in the past, but never in such a public space, which is probably why I’d been reluctant to go. I mean, it just doesn’t seem very proud being hidden away in some dingy suburban park where nobody can see you being proud.

Isn’t visibility the whole point of these things? The answer is “yes”.

I went with my girlfriend and two lesbian friends, who are partners, and we had an absolute blast! It was way too hot, at least for my liking, but fortunately it did mean that there were loads of lush topless lads for me to ogle. This did not make my girlfriend nervous at all.

Much.

There was a series of stalls in Barker’s Pool, a square in front of the city hall, that opened for business early on in the day. It received a lot of attention and the stalls seemed to have a diverse range of things to check out. Sadly, none of these things interested me. I did enjoy the fact that the council had rigged the square’s fountains to spout pink water, which was a very nice touch indeed.

Later in the afternoon, there was a lively parade from the square through the student/boutique-laden Devonshire Quarter to the popular Devonshire Green events space, where there was live music for the rest of the day.

We joined in with the parade, much to my shy hesitation, and had the local and national news take pictures and video footage of us. If you can spot us somewhere on television or online, then please do let me know. I’m the fat one wearing a black baseball cap, a folded-up white blind cane, and waving a rainbow flag. Don’t worry, I’m sure I was the only person waving a rainbow flag.

Ha! As if.

We didn’t stay for the later music event, mostly due to it being just so hot, which I sort-of regret now. It was one of the very rare occasions where I actually fancied a dance. My inhibitions had completely dissipated by that point, thanks to a glorious natural high.

I really enjoyed showing my face and having a laugh with friends, especially amongst such a lovely, colourful, and caring group of people. It really felt great being part of something that brought so many people together. It was also nice to see parents bringing along their children to join in with the festivities, as it made the whole thing feel even more chilled-out and progressive.

Hatred is learned, not born with.

Whether it did to other people or not, for me it really felt like a landmark event for the Sheffield LGBT community. And for me as a proud bisexual male.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

2026 UPDATE: My girlfriend and I eventually split up in 2016, due to me also coming out as transgender, which she found too difficult to come to terms with. She tragically passed away in 2022 from heart failure, although we remained close friends until the end. I miss her very much. She was my soulmate. Our two lesbian friends also split up, although I am still in daily contact with one of them. Sadly, she now lives too far away for us to regularly meet and gossip, but the image of her warm smile is always in my heart.

The Star Wars Trilogy (radio series)

I was quite nervous in approaching this radio series (recorded in 1981, 1983 and 1996 respectively, with Return of the Jedi apparently taking so long to finally tape due to a financial dispute) as I was in fear of how the Americans handle and take seriously their radio dramas. I’ve been used to listening to fine dramatisations by the BBC recently, so this felt sure to be quite a novel experience for me.

Much to my relief all three series were directed by skilled British helmer John Madden (Mrs Brown, Shakespeare In Love) and so this adaptation stands out as a fine piece of radio broadcasting, successfully delivering exciting adventure and romance to the best of the medium’s ability much like its cinematic counterparts.

The production company was able to use John Williams’ original score (even parts that didn’t feature in the films) and Ben Burtt’s sound effects, thanks to a charitable Lucasfilm who apparently only charged a peppercorn licensing fee, therefore the quality of this adaptation is immediately given a fighting chance of satisfying the fans.

Whereas The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi are given more straightforward adaptations and never veer too far off course, A New Hope is expanded upon greatly, especially during its first third. We’re treated to the unseen events that led up to the classic opening shot in the film of the Star Destroyer chasing the Blockade Runner, including an explanation of Darth Vader’s line “You weren’t on any mercy mission, this time!” that we didn’t realise we needed and some very dramatic incidents on Alderaan. Return of the Jedi is improved upon slightly by moving the introduction of Darth Vader until after our heroes have finished on Tatooine. In the film there was an expectation to visually start on a certain beat with a Star Destroyer cruising through space, plus there was a story requirement to setup the routine of the Empire’s shuttle docking security procedure that ends up being an integral part of our heroes’ plans later on, but on radio the writers clearly made the decision to have a more honest beginning with a conclusion to the events that ended The Empire Strikes Back.

As a person who’s perhaps a little overly familiar with the film series (along with many people my age) these additional expanded scenes took me out of my comfort zone and forced me to concentrate and follow the storyline for the first time since, well, the day I first sat down to watch the original film trilogy, which was a real gift.

The other tricky thing with over familiarity with something like this is getting used to your favourite lines of dialogue either being changed, omitted or being said in a slightly different way to what you’re used to, sometimes even by the same actor. But you get used to that and, well, the originals are all still there (oh, wait… that is, if you’re lucky enough to have the pre-Special Edition versions) for stress relief.

Fortunately for us we get a very strong cast to guide us through the proceedings, on the whole. Mark Hamill, Anthony Daniels and Billy Dee Williams were good enough sports to turn up and go way beyond the call of duty in delivering sterling audio interpretations of their onscreen roles. Hamill, in particular, shows us that he’s far more comfortable as a voice actor than a movie star, with his magnificent work here serving as an indicator of a successful future career as a voice-over artist to come. I’d even go so far as to say that Hamill’s performance here is better than what we get on film, so kudos to him. Daniels is pitch perfect in reprising his role as C3PO and was generous enough to turn up thirteen years later to finish off what he’d started on A New Hope and The Empire Strikes Back (with Hamill being replaced by a perfectly acceptable Joshua Fardon and Billy Dee Williams passing on the baton to Arye Gross).

Of the non-film series regulars the best is, without a doubt, Ann Sachs as Princess Leia. Whilst she doesn’t quite have the same youthful spunkiness that made Carrie Fisher’s performance so immortal, Sachs manages to convey the character’s more passionate and politically charged sides; so whilst neither actress is better than the other, I’d say that they were both able to deliver equally successful but unique spins on the same character.

Brock Peters, who served quite a bit of time on Star Trek (including The Voyage Home and The Undiscovered Country), makes a very menacing Darth Vader, although he can never quite delve to the depths of James Earl Jones’ bass rumblings, but he does the best he can with his naturally lighter voice. You can’t be too critical, though, as how many people out there can impersonate James Earl Jones?

Bernard Behrens has the very difficult task of taking the reigns from Alec Guinness as Obi-Wan Kenobi and does an outstanding job. But, of course, one can only try to be as great as Guinness, and Behrens tries very hard indeed and brilliantly evokes the pool of strength and wisdom that Obi-Wan needed to be.

Now the voice I was most worried about was John Lithgow as Yoda. I love Lithgow, but I just couldn’t see where he’d take the character or even if he’d be able to do the voice at all. Thankfully I had nothing to fear as Lithgow is fantastic, in fact you can’t tell it’s him at all through his scenes in The Empire Strikes Back. It’s only during Yoda’s death scene in Return of the Jedi, where he’s having to balance a convincing imitation of Frank Oz with a realistic performance of someone coming to their end, that his Lithgow-isms finally reveal themselves.

And so we come to Perry King as Han Solo. Well. I’m going to be very generous and say that his Solo is perhaps more in keeping with the seedy gambling space smuggler that the character was designed to be, only without the dead-pan charisma and charm that Harrison Ford so effortlessly pumped into the role. King can only struggle to be a ghost of what might have been had Ford agreed to slum it on radio, but his delivery still becomes fun and entertaining once you get used to it and, like Sachs, provides a different take on a much beloved character… just nowhere near as successful. And that’s all I shall say on the matter.

Beyond the actual main body of the drama my only real complaint is that the closing credit sequences for each series seem to take forever, with bafflingly long pieces of Williams’ score playing long after the announcer has finished speaking. In fact, on Return of the Jedi in particular, they feel almost like half the runtime of the actual main drama. I don’t mind these credit sequences being left in, as those who were involved deserve recognition, but they could have at least trimmed them down a bit or stuck them on separate tracks so that the listener has the option to delete them from their playlist. But this is a fairly minor technical gripe.

So if you love Star Wars and want a different and expanded take on familiar events or how they’re delivered then I highly recommend investing in this fantastic boxset. Although, as an aside, I would say that if, like me, you buy radio dramas to listen to in bed at night to help you drift off to sleep then I wouldn’t recommend it solely for that purpose, as it’s far too exciting and stimulating to settle you down… you’ll be prancing around your bedroom fighting imaginary Stormtroopers instead of counting sheep!

Yes, it’s that good.

P.S. If you don’t giggle at the sound of Princess Leia’s bucking bronco showdown with Jabba The Hutt on the sail barge then you’re simply not human…. “JABBA-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A!”