Film
The Danes have Carlsberg and the Columbians have cocaine but Britain's number one export in recent years has undoubtedly been Romantic Comedies, and more specifically, Richard Curtis penned Romantic Comedies. The Universal marketing machine is keen to tell us in its trailer that Love Actually is the latest in a prestigious line of modern day classics including Four Weddings and a Funeral and Notting Hill. Apparently, it's the 'Ultimate Romantic Comedy'. Quite a claim...
Well, the great writer's directorial debut has all the hallmarks of its mega-successful predecessors: plenty of smooching, a hefty dose of humour and, of course, his secret weapon - Hugh Grant.
Set mostly in and around London, Love Actually is an intertwining tale of love in all of its different forms. The film opens with Grant's Prime Minister telling us that love actually is all around (See what they did there?) and I guarantee that by the end of the film you will agree. No, it's not that gritty or realistic, but if that's what you're after then stay in and watch the news. In terms of pure, light-hearted entertainment, you'd struggle to find anything better for your viewing pleasure.
As you might expect from the writer of Blackadder, Love Actually is just as 'comedy' as it is 'romantic'. Bill Nighty's has-been rocker steals every scene he's in with the kind of obnoxious behaviour that made Rhys Ifans the runaway star of Notting Hill. Elsewhere, the dry comedy of watching sex-doubles Martin Freeman and Joanna Page falling in love while filming a sixty-niner is hilarious.
The humour is extremely 'British' but anyone holding out for a blackly comic satire of the British capital ravaged by post-Iraq scandal was always going to leave disappointed. Americans may be offended by Billy Bob Thornton's depiction of their President but hey, our global big brother churns out more than enough patriotic movies à la Independence Day to make up for it.
Some of the stories get more on-screen time than others as Curtis panders to his audience but this is not to the film's detriment; Alan Rickman and his seductive secretary are a joy to watch, while Kris Marshall's transatlantic quest for love proves extremely funny.
Whilst upping the ante in the Christmas feelgood stakes, it doesn't quite match up to the perfection of some of Curtis' past work. Some questions are left unanswered and some scenes push daftness to the upper limit and beyond, but on the whole this fails to detract from the ultimate satisfaction dervied from the film.
Santa Claus is coming to town in this film about a human orphan, Buddy (Will Ferrell) who has been raised as an elf at the North Pole. When he learns the truth he goes in search of his biological father, Walter Hobbs (James Caan), who is a workaholic in New York City. The best thing that can be said about this film is that it is not quite as dreadful as the trailers make it look. However, one has to ask what market audience is being aimed for because aspects of the film make it inappropriate for children, and it is unlikely to hold adult attention. The pleasant opening and the admittedly enjoyable ending sandwich a basically unentertaining film. To stave off the onset of boredom you may find it amusing to count the number of American flags that have been unsubtley placed in almost every scene. There is also no comic timing in the film which renders it lacklustre. The acting is generally adequate, and James Caan delivers a good performance. Will Ferrell's portrayal of the juvenile elf is annoying and uninteresting. Jokes about eating nothing but sugar products soon wear thin and it is nothing less than disgustingwhen Buddy starts eating chewing gum off the pavement. The romantic storyline involving him and the unfortunately named Jove is unmotivated, and the very idea that this menace to society has reproduced will probably give children nightmares. Children could also easily be afraid of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, much like the Central Park rangers or the grouchy Santa. There will also be plenty of time for children to learn expletives in later life; there was no need for the film to expose them to it now. The film aims to spread Christmas spirit and cheer, but succeeds only in piling on the misery, at best coming across as a poorly reworked Miracle on 34th Street.
Jacques Tati's 1947 directorial debut, Jour de Fête, tells the deceptively simple story of a sleepy rural French village on the day of its annual fête, and the much hung-over morning after. Tati himself plays the bumbling village postman François who sees a newsreel film of bizarrely over-efficient American posties (who hang from helicopters and ride motorbikes through flaming hoops to deliver) and is inspired to achieve similar levels of efficiency, setting off a chain of gags as the over-zealous François saves time in ever more inventive ways. Tati's genius for slapstick is given ample showcase, with his use of a moving lorry as a desk and attempts to mount a bike over a fence particularly well-performed. His reputation as the French Chaplin would be well-deserved on the strength of this film alone, let alone his later masterpiece M. Hulot's Holiday. Yet there is much more than slapstick in this film; as Truffaut admitted, it had a tangible influence on the French. This is apparent both in its inventive use of sound in scenes such as one where two locals romance each other while matching the dialogue of a Hollywood western playing off-screen, and in the creative framings, including a running joke where a mosquito pesters different people in shot at different times. Its lack of plot and somewhat basic humour will not be for everyone, but Tati's recognition of the negative effects of France's post-war modernisation and also their necessity, his neither sentimental nor patronising portrayal of the locals as they enjoy their Bastille Day, and the sheer quality of the physical acting on display make Jour de Fête much more than a curate's egg and well worth eighty minutes of anyone's time.
13th Nov 2003