Hal Ashby’s 1979 classic Being There is the perfect counterpoint to anyone who claims cinema is the lowest form of art.

Ashby’s beautifully minimalist work rises above the parapet of entertainment with the grace of a Russian ballerina.

The film quietly emerged as the curtains closed on the new wave of auteur cinema which swept America during the 70s. And what a fitting end Being There is.

Peter Sellers: A Flawed Genius

Peter Seller’s turn as the unassuming gardener, Chauncey, marks the real talking point of Being There. Ashby’s understated direction allows The Pink Panther star to shine in one of the greatest on-screen performances of all time.

He plays a simpleton gardener who’s taken residency in the home of a wealthy recluse since infancy. After the old man dies, Chance is forced out onto the street, his only knowledge of the world derived through his beloved television set.

An encounter with the wife of a wealthy industrialist – played by Shirley MacLaine – sets in motion a chain of events which results in Chauncey unwittingly becoming a political confidante to the US president.

His blank affect and gardening metaphors are taken by his new friends as literal pronouncements on the state of the economy.

Being There: A Biting Satire

Ashby’s satirical parable functions on so many levels. It’s smarter than a Siamese twin who got both the brains. A fascination with the power of television and a lingering concern over the notion of reality punctuate the script’s many beats.

Then you have Chance, a blank character, a mirror of sorts, on whom others project their own identity. Almost every character hears what they want to in the slipstream of his nonsensical ramblings.

It’s a damning condemnation of the egocentric nature of human beings.

Being There: One of the Greatest Movies of all Time

Being There etched a blueprint into the filmic landscape which would later be appropriated by Forrest Gump, among other films.

Unlike Forrest Gump though, the movie retains its artistic credibility by resisting the lure of over sentimentalising the action.

Being There has no need to manipulate viewers into feeling sympathy towards the lead character. The emotional response generated is organic and true.

The constituent parts of Ashby’s direction, Seller’s performance and Jerzy Kosinski’s script, perform in perfect harmony.

Quite simply, Being There is one of the greatest movies of all time.

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars

Here’s the thing. If you dress a rhino in a clown suit, it’s still a rhino. If you place a cowboy hat on a panda, it’s still a panda. And whatever film Michael Cera stars in, he’s still Michael Cera.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve been a fan of Cera up to now. His geeky persona has lent itself well to a litany of films. I got quite a kick out of Juno and Superbad, not to mention the fact that he was the best thing in the disappointing Year One.

The problem is that Youth in Revolt is a film too far for Cera. The backlash has officially begun.

Youth in Revolt: Cera at Fault

If, unlike me, you haven’t tired yet of seeing Cera playing a dorky dweeb, then you’ll be more tolerant of this mild-mannered comedy. Personally, I found myself more frustrated than a Formula 1 driver in a traffic jam.

Cera plays the articulate teen, Nick Twisp, who’ll do anything he can to win the affections of his dream girl Sheeni.

That’s pretty much the plot. Youth in Revolt is more a character study.

Youth in Revolt: A Screenplay Full of Narration

I don’t get what all the fuss is about when it comes to narration. A million and one ‘how to write screenplay guides’ claim it’s a lazy man’s way of conveying exposition, of furthering plot.

I’d argue the opposite. When done properly, narration works. In the case of Youth in Revolt, Cera links the ensuing action together by means of his dry, sarcastic narration.

It’s one of the few successes of the film.

If it succeeds on any level, it’s tapping into the novelistic vibe of its source material, CD Payne’s novel, Youth in Revolt. Cera’s narration really helps in creating this feel.

Youth in Revolt: Not Awful, Not Good

Youth in Revolt is far from awful. The problem is that it’s been done a million times before and a million times better. And the blame doesn’t lie squarely at the feet of Cera. Director, Miguel Arteta, has to shoulder the bulk of responsibility. It was Arteta, after all, who delivered the film which burst the Michael Cera bubble.

There is little doubt Cera has deliberately typecast himself in the quirky mould. It’s what he does best. But if the actor has more than one gear, now is time to shift up a notch.

If you’ve never seen a Michael Cera film before, then quite possibly you’ll fall for the charm of Youth in Revolt.

Those who are familiar with his career though will find nothing new in this film. For Cera, Youth in Revolt is just another day at the office. Now where’s the revolution in that?

Rating: 2 out of 5 stars – available on Blu-ray and DVD

They also cause shoppers to lose their sunglasses.

This unfortunate side effect befell my person the other day during a trek round Ticker T Boos – a retail establishment in my hometown of Grimsby, Lincolnshire.

The day had started well: my doormat was bill-free; coffee tasted good; a smiling sun simmered overhead.

I glided through the warm breeze, sunglasses in tow, feet pounding the pavement more eagerly than an overactive woodpecker. Turning the corner, the magical kingdom of Ticker T Boos rose like a phoenix out of the horizon.

Excited, I stepped up the pace.

For years, I’d heard townsfolk talk of a maze-like jungle of bunk beds situated on the second floor of this mysterious shop; I intended to investigate.

Here lies jack torrance…

So it was I found myself standing on the verge of a fabric labyrinth; the rumours, it would seem, were true. If New York City was made of beds then this is what it would look like, I thought.

Tower blocks of bed frames and mattresses ricocheted beams of light through a ceiling of windows back towards their parent sun – this was no place for glasses.

I folded them into my palm and stepped into the shadows.

Endless passageways ran between the bunks bends and I’d half expected to stumble across dusty skeletons of forgotten adventurers.

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a collection of words. The lettering appeared to be attached to a picture of some type, but a nearby bed obscured the object from view.

Through the haze of squinted eyes I made out the following: ‘In space, no one can hear you scream’.

“That’s a nifty tagline”, I mumbled under my breath, fearful of alerting nearby predators to my position.

Then it clicked. I’d recognise that strapline anywhere. Closing in on my prey, I already knew what was lurking in the shadows.

And it wasn’t Elvis…

Recklessly hurling my shades on a nearby bed, I hauled the article from its hiding place. Sure enough, what should appear but a canvas sporting the renowned poster for Ridley Scott’s 1979 sci-fi horror classic, Alien.

“Sweet baby Jebus”, I proclaimed, “that would look great on my wall.”

An hour or so later, I emerged from the jungle, canvas in hand.

On my travels home it occurred to me that from a marketing perspective the tagline – ‘In space, no one can hear you scream’ – is genius.

Three decades on and the sentence still packs a visceral punch which captures Alien’s claustrophobic credentials.

Even before I’d seen the picture in its totality, I knew what it was and as any good copywriter will tell you: a tagline that alerts the reader to a product devoid of images has to be praised.

Congratulations Mr Tagline…

Understandably parched from my adventures, I decided upon a quick detour to McDonalds. Only a week earlier my attempt to garner service via the drive-through on foot had proved fruitless.

As such, I headed straight inside, bought a black decaf coffee and took residence in a quiet window booth. Propping my new acquisition up on the plastic table top, I sat back and observed it with admiration.

“Producing a movie poster that stands the test of time is a fine art”, I said, as concerned glances from fellow patrons informed me that I was talking aloud.

A long-haired bearded-man caught in the throes of a rigorous conversation with a poster is never a promising sight. I hurriedly repositioned the canvas to block out the surrounding interest and continued my deliberations by means of internal dialogue.

Unlike a trailer, I mused, poster art is tasked with capturing the excitement and promise of moving frames in a still image. Posters must communicate as much information about a film in one quick look.

The Alien poster hits these notes with the precision of a concert pianist, I continued.

Marketing magic…

Released back in 1979, 20th Century Fox’s space science-fiction horror film centres on an unstoppable demonic beast.

Alien is renowned for its Freudian sexually-charged symbolism. There are numerous examples embedded within the film. Consider the memorable moment when a male crew member is ‘impregnated’ by a facehugger. After implantation, the surrogate mother ‘gives birth’ to a baby alien which rips from his chest.

The Freudian exposition continues in the form of the starship’s computer interface which is aptly christened ‘Mother’.

Taking a heavy sip of coffee, I scanned the canvas sat opposite.

It became instantly clear that the major forms and conventions of the poster perfectly captured the alienation of space travel and vulnerability of the crew who floated light-years from Earth.

The visual simplicity, I said, is astounding. Framed in the void of a dark space, a cracked alien egg emits an eerie yellow glow – a clear nod to the reproductive nature of the film.

And the sparseness of the imagery chimes skilfully with the isolated sentiment of the tagline.

The idea behind the concept is to create a memorable phrase that will sum up the tone and premise of a brand or product.

‘In space, no one can hear you scream’, does just that. It encapsulates the soul of the film in a matter of eight short words.

home! sweet home!

An hour or so later I was back at home nailing my newly acquired canvas to the wall. Stepping slowly backwards with the caution of a gunslinger at high noon, my eyes fired a steely glance in the direction of the print.

With that, a bolt of sunlight burst through the window, engulfing the picturesque view in a shroud of whiteness.

Reaching aimlessly round for my glasses, I realised for the first time that they were gone, trapped for eternity in the fabric city.

“Damn you tagline”, I cried.

(If you require a business tagline writing, hop on over to my copywriting service page)

Now it may just be the Vitamin C talking, but I really enjoyed this film. Brimming with more charm than Cary Grant on steroids, Adventure Land’s sweet centre never tastes sickly.

The action revolves around James – a recent college grad who is forced to take a job at his local amusement arcade to fund his ambitions of studying in New York. Love loss, and life lessons ensue as his introspective self finds commonality among the band of misfit employees that populate the park.

Superbad? Supergood?

Mottola tones down the amusing lewdness of his previous offering Superbad in favour of a more contemplative dramedy. In doing so, Mottola takes the viewer on a voyage into the no man’s land that exists between youth and adulthood.

The character of James – played by Jesse Eisenberg – is ensnared within this transitory state. As the summer lurches on, escape from his trappings looks increasingly unlikely; that is until he meets Em.

Adventure Land’s nostalgic mood harks back to those forgotten summers of yesteryear. For me it brought to mind one particularly eventful period during my teens. Even though they were high times, uncertainty clouded my mind – what the future held was anybody’s guess.

Mottola’s characters face the same universal dilemma.

I’m wearing a shell suit…

The action unfolds against a 1980s backdrop and while the 80’s aesthetics play a prominent role, Mottola never overplays the culture card. Neon signs, tracksuits, basketball sized earrings embed into the mise-en-scene rather than crowd out the ensuing action.

The soundtrack also provides a constant drumbeat for the actors to dance around – an audible signpost further invoking the spirit of the times.

All good things must come to an end…

Like a mix-tape or photograph, Adventure Land portrays a snapshot of youth in transition.

Sweet, believable, funny and moving…I really enjoyed that Chocolate Orange.

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars – available on Blu-ray and DVD

The movie is aptly titled given that things are never quite what they seem. And like the two central characters – played with aplomb by Clive Owen and Julia Roberts – the audience is constantly kept on its feet in a world of double-crosses.

As good as Clayton? Nah. Better than Transformers 2? Does the Pope like biscuits?

Everybody does…

In a nutshell Gilroy shifts the action from the seedy legal underbelly of Michael Clayton to the slimy world of corporate espionage.

But unlike the ruthless depiction of America’s legal elite in Clayton, Gilroy adopts a more playful approach with Duplicity.

Sure, it doesn’t paint a pretty picture of corporate America, but Duplicity throws out more one-liners than a cracked-up Scrabble player.

Roberts and Owen revel in their roles as corporate operatives who join forces to pull off the biggest heist of their careers. Tension ensues as the ultimate game of cat-and-mouse descends into one double cross after another.

And the slick dialogue – which at times resembles verbal tennis – meshes well with a plot full of twists and turns.

Looks and brains…?

Duplicity opens with a gloriously unusual slow motion fight between corporate tycoons Paul Giamatti and Tom Wilkinson. Stylistically it bears no resemblence to the slick cinematography that follows. But as a set piece I found this daringly unusual intro genuinely funny.

The 24-esque split screen interludes were less appealing but nonetheless served to underscore the movie’s spy-like credentials.

At a running time of 125 minutes, Duplicity loses some of its sizzle in the third act as the intricate plot unravels, but the anticlimactic pay-off is worth it. At least, I thought so.

I’m a big fan of film noir and would cite classics such as The Big Sleep and Chinatown among my all time favourites.

And while Duplicity fails to reach the creative heights of such masterpieces, it oozes dialogue capable of rivalling landmark films.

Sleek, sexy, and smart…. and I’m not just talking about Julia Roberts.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars – available on Blu-ray and DVD

Okay, let’s cut to the chase: there are two ways of viewing Sam Mendes’ Away We Go. Fans laud it as a heartfelt film that gracefully traces the journey of an expectant couple. Detractors are less forgiving. ‘Self-indulgent cheese-fest’ is one description thrown around. Where you stand will depend wholly on personal taste. For me, I’m going with the cheese.

Don’t get me wrong, the film is not without its moments and I have nothing against cheese. Academy Award winner Mendes does present an interesting meditation on domesticity in wonderfully visual fashion.

But even the lush cinematography failed to stop a self-conscious stream of quirkiness rearing its ugly head every other minute. It was so uncomfortable that at times I had little choice but to shield my eyes with a nearby cushion – an evasive measure last employed during Lars Von Trier’s Antichrist!

I was scared…

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not questioning Mendes’ intentions. Clearly he set out to convey an honest exposé of the difficulties facing first-time parents.

And to some extent he achieves this.

The expectant couple – played by John Krasinski and Maya Rudolph – trek America in search of the perfect place to call home. On their travels they encounter a raft of….you guessed it…..quirky people and are left to contemplate their own parental skills.

Throughout their travels the film espouses the notion that even the most carefully devised plan can’t account for the challenges life throws in the way; so have a little faith, love those around you and do the best you can.

Okay, fair enough, I’ll buy that.

But this hippyism is frequently overshadowed by the selfish demeanour of every character – with the exception of the two central players.

What results is a litany of heavy-handed messages stamped all over a movie not quite sure of its own identity.

Mendes could of course be caught in the throes of some meta-musing on the pervasive uncertainty swamping the minds of America’s parents – hmmm, maybe…maybe not.

Either way, it’s confusing.

Speaking of confusing…

You know, it’s the little things in life that bother me. Just those details and facts that, however irrelevant, need answering. It’ll come as no surprise then that I’ve spent a number of years speculating as to the exact temperature at which bread should be considered toast. And having watched Away We Go, I’m faced with a similar dilemma: when does quirky become sickly? Is there a means to measure the cheese-density of a movie?

To put my misgivings about Away We Go aside for one moment, I have to credit Mendes as a talented director. Having enjoyed American Beauty, Road to Perdition, Jarhead, as well as Revolutionary Road, I have no plans to boycott his future output. In fact, I remain excited by the prospect of a character-driven director taking over the reins of the Bond franchise (Away We Go would have benefited from guns, gadgets, and evil Persian cats).

Mendes’ offering sets sail among the raft of contemplative dramedies produced by the American filmmaking machine over the past decade. Away We Go does, for example, exhibit similar sensibilities to Little Miss Sunshine. But unlike its predecessor which just stayed on the right side of quirky, Away We Go delivers like an over-excited fondue fountain.

So if be advised: if you watch this movie wear a raincoat and stand well back…

Rating: 1 out of 5 stars – available on Blu-ray and DVD