James

Review: Season Of The Witch

On paper, at least, Season Of The Witch sounds like a delightful medieval romp; Nic Cage and Ron Perlman as world-weary Crusaders, escorting a suspected sorceress across plague-stricken Blighty? Why, throw in some Eric Clapton and a dash of Joe Pesci and it's practically Lethal Weapon 2. Sadly, such early promise is quickly scuppered by the sick, unnerving realisation that the film is little more than a plodding exercise in inanity for which you paid £7 to see Cage look like a homeless Chad Kroeger.

Review: The American

Imagine The International, In Bruges and A Single Man were all ushered haphazardly into an experimental teleportation device. Following a few flashes of light and screams of terror, a single unearthly being shuffles out of the mist-drenched doorway - ungodly appendages perambulating wildly - combining the respective qualities of each of its components and begging Geena Davis for death. This strange beast of Eldritch lore is The American, George Clooney's latest slow-burning thriller whose soulful charm affects but lapses ultimately into - admittedly engrossing - self-indulgence.

Review: Devil

The well-documented declining fortunes of M. Night Shyamalan - last seen squatting down over your local Odeon and squeezing out The Last Airbender for your viewing displeasure - have reached a point now where the shamed twist-peddler has been forced into a new career.

Review: Cyrus

Appearances can be deceiving. Take Cyrus, the latest comedy from writer/director pairing Jay and Mark Duplass. Certainly, if one were to gaze upon its theatrical poster a number of seemingly telling points stand out; John C. Reilly smirking like a bemused bulldog, Marisa Tomei's alluring half-smile and Jonah Hill's cold, reptilian eyes piercing through your soul. Fox Searchlight seem to want this film to resemble another Apatow-esque comedy conflict, a first impression which is entirely erroneous; Cyrus is, in fact, a slow, sincere film more interested in characters and relationships than timed pratfalls - arguably to its detriment.

Review: Tamara Drewe

A frequent idiom of broadsheet reviewers putting pen to paper on the subject of Tamara Drewe is to describe it as a more debauched variant of The Archers, something which is certainly true to an extent, tinged as proceedings are in the cosy trappings of Radio 4 teatime dramas. However, to do so risks dismissing this adaptation of Posy Simmonds' serial as yet another rustic folly laced with the standard Curtisian saccharine associated with most modern British comedy. Instead, director Stephen Frears has produced a film which not only contains the expected biting hyper-sexuality, but also a refreshing streak of bittersweet sincerity.

Review: Furry Vengeance

One hates to sound cruel, but when a film's main assets are a paunchy Brendan Fraser, a gurning Brooke Shields and an array of 'spunky' forest wildlife it hardly screams 'must-see'. The promotional material for this cinematic thrill-ride into Hell brings to mind the myriad shitty comedies many of us had to watch as drooling, imbecilic children back in the '90s, starring similarly washed-up entertainers (Flubber, Doctor Doolittle and the Look Who's Talking franchise come to mind, despite the years of therapy aimed at the contrary).