Archives for posts with tag: tom hollander

So, I’m pretty sure that the impetus behind this film was that Tom Cruise saw a photo of Claus von Stauffenberg and thought, “I am doing humanity a disservice if I do not make a film about this man.” Also maybe felt that his résumé was lacking a movie where he got to thwart Nazis. Of course, he doesn’t actually get to thwart any Nazis. The Valkyrie plot failed, and nobody got to kill Hitler but Hitler, pace Quentin Tarantino.

mv5bmtg3njc2odeyn15bml5banbnxkftztcwntawmzc3na-_v1_ux182_cr00182268_al_Valkyrie is however a pretty good movie.  While Cruise as Stauffenberg gets to do a lot of jaw-jutting moralizing, the logistical problems–not to mention those of spinelessness–are well handled by everyone else.  Eddie Izzard (Fellgiebel) and Tom Wilkinson (Fromm) in particular waver and falter and smoke nervously in very convincing ways. Tom Hollander (Brandt) is as usual excellent in an as usual ungrateful part.

The film’s main strengths are the small things, though. A switchboard operator has to decide whether to put through the communiqué from the Wolf’s Lair or from the coup leaders, and his face eloquently says how far this is above his pay grade. Thomas Kretschmann, handsome as always and filled with ennui as the commander of a home guard division, likewise is never sure whether it’s a drill or whether the sky is falling and he should arrest Goebbels. Stauffenberg’s a.d.c. (Jamie Parker) is welcomed into the office with an offer of risky involvement in high treason and shrugs a yes. You actually watch the movements of the explosive-laden briefcase with some trepidation.

It’s not subtle. Goebbels (Harvey Friedman) and Goering (Gerhard Haase-Hindenberg) are sneering, evil cartoons. Hitler himself (David Bamber) is insufficiently mad for July of 1944, but still just awful. The ominous mass of greatcoats and jackboots hangs over the film. On the other side, Stauffenberg loves his wife, his children, and Jesus. The Stauffenberg children are relentlessly blond and play soldiers to the accompaniment of a phonograph playing Wagner and Tom Cruise’s agonized eyes. When the members of the plot are all rounded up and shot (spoiler alert!), Terence Stamp as Ludwig Beck gloriously observes, on learning that he is to be spared, that he’d like a pistol. For personal reasons.

And just in case you were wondering if it’s as hell-for-leather awesome as Tom Cruise movies usually are: he is blown up not once but twice within the first six minutes and then has to wear an eyepatch.

Director: Bryan Singer
Rating: PG-13
Length: 121 minutes
Score: 4/5

This is another one of those movies where people tell you it’s a romantic comedy but literally zero funny things happen in it. It is also so 90s. And not just because it has Joe Fiennes in it.

Martha (Monica Potter) leaves somewhere in the midwest in desperation on the first flight anywhere. Daniel (Tom Hollander) is a record executive on her flight to London, and falls for her, setting her up in a fancy hotel and sending her flowers. Frank (Rufus Sewell) is a failed actor and alcoholic who runs into her by chance the next day and as far as I can tell mostly just creeps the living hell out of her for several hours. Laurence (Fiennes) teaches rich women how to play bridge, and Martha falls for him.

The twist? Daniel, Frank, and Laurence are childhood friends. Daniel and Frank fight over Martha like children; Laurence actually likes her and she actually likes him, but because Laurence is the only person in this movie who isn’t a complete sociopath, he feels bad about stealing her from his friends, and hies himself to a psychiatrist (Ray Winstone).

That’s the movie. It’s insane and terrible. Martha is dumb, irritating, and badly dressed (even by the standards of 1998). Her sad past is underdeveloped but actually kind of alarming. It goes nowhere, obviously. Frank isn’t a cute troubled artist, he’s just the worst. Daniel has even worse clothes than Martha, and is a pushy jerk. Laurence seems like he might be all right, but doesn’t speak enough for you to tell. See? The 90s: bad blond dye-jobs, unexplained grittiness, and dudes who are supposed to come off as sensitive but instead are clearly emotionally stunted. Moodiness is not the culmination of personality.

There are no laughs, and my favorite parts were spotting a young Stephen Mangan at Frank’s audition and Rob Brydon driving a bus(!) at the airport.

Director: Nick Hamm
Rating: R
Length: 98 minutes
Score: 1/5

About Time is not Richard Curtis’s best. Now, that’s not a huge insult; among Richard Curtis’s writing and producing credits we count Four Weddings and a Funeral and all four Black Adder series, plus the shorts. And of course he directed Love Actually, which joined the Christmas viewing canon immediately upon release–no small feat. (But I hated Notting Hill, because it is garbage.)

A lot of the things about About Time are classic Richard Curtis: a young man, pleasingly awkward with girls, has moderate adventures, a quirky family and friend group, and an inexplicably posh background of which he seems unaware. But it lacks the magic of previous installments, perhaps because he’s not trying very hard any more, and peripheral characters are drawn with a crayon in the fist, not his trademark deft pencil. The voiceover is such a crutch, as well. Cute and reasonable in Bridget Jones’s Diary, perhaps necessary in Love Actually, totally played out and irritating here. Just write a film that shows us all we need to know.

Also this installment has actual magic. Tim (Domhnall Gleeson), our bumbling Curtis hero, can travel backwards in time. All the men in his family can, as his father (Bill Nighy) tells him on his twenty-first birthday. Naturally, Tim uses this talent to date ladies. This is how he bags Mary (Rachel McAdams). In fairness, he met her and hit it off in totally kosher manner the first time, and only lost her number through a rewriting of time in a generous impulse on behalf of his flatmate, the hilariously angry playwright Harry (Tom Hollander). Most of the time, his time-traveling and its concomitant superior knowledge manage not to be creepy. At its creepiest it allows him to zip back and unhook a bra without fumbling, and perhaps we can all be charitable there. Generally, however, he is trying to erase the embarrassment of others, which is laudable if unlikely.

Tim and Mary get together rather quickly and are adorable, to the extent that I thought she was headed for a rapid death when I checked how much time was left in the film. But the movie doesn’t go quite that cheap, though we do get to see Tim learn that his time-traveling eventually will require difficult, painful choices–if he prevents his sister’s car accident, his child might be a different child. The causality isn’t actually that carefully done, but since it doesn’t insist on that many rules, you can mostly let it go.

It’s not bad. Tim and Mary are more or less plausibly charming. Tim’s dad is regular Bill Nighy, which you probably enjoy. Tim’s mum, played by Lindsay Duncan, is just like all the characters Lindsay Duncan plays now: taciturn, rich but unpretentious, sometimes a bit sweary. Tim’s Uncle Desmond (Richard Cordery) is the best part, perhaps because we’ve not seen him before, and “dim but well-meaning” is so nice sometimes. The film goes badly wrong with Tim’s sister Kit Kat (Lydia Wilson), though, because she is a total disaster and no one notices for about a decade and a half, even though they are a relentlessly lovey-dovey family. They just think she’s adorable because she doesn’t wear shoes and can’t keep a job. So there’s that. Women can be self-destructive and still able to dress themselves, you know, or even read.

Director: Richard Curtis
Rating: R
Length: 123 minutes
Score: 3/5