Gomorrah

2008


Director Matteo Garrone

There are several reasons why, in this humble reviewer’s opinion, Goodfellas is a better, more interesting film than The Godfather. But one reason stands out. Ultimately, the majority of Mafiosi are not living the pampered, privileged life of the Corleones; they are enduring the brutal, bloody, violent, ambitious dregs experienced by Henry Hill and his posse. There is a similar sense of barrel-scraping desperation to Matteo Garrone’s Gomorrah. This is highlighted beautifully in one particular scene in a morgue: after delivering the recently assassinated corpse of their young comrade, a group of equally junior gang members stand around aimlessly discussing what to do next. Do they retaliate? Should they kill someone? Who do they kill? Who are they allowed to kill? Who is giving the orders here? No one seems to know. This is what makes Garrone’s adaptation of Roberto Saviano’s book such an intriguing, fascinating piece of cinema. People are being stepped upon constantly … and we don’t even know who’s wearing the boot.

The narrative is separated into five stories involving people involved - some loosely, some willingly - with Casalesi clan, a crime syndicate within the Camorra, which is based in Naples and Caserta in the southern Italian region of Campania. There is Don Ciro, a nervous wreck of a man, who delivers money to the families of imprisoned clan members. Totò is thirteen-years-old and delivers groceries for his mother, yet yearns to become a member of the local crime organisation. Roberto is a recent graduate beginning work for Franco in the line of waste management, dumping toxic waste wherever cheapest with little cost spent on labour, regardless of the danger to their employees. Pasquale is a tailor forced to undercut Camorra-controlled firms by working secretively with a local Chinese branch in an effort to support his family. And lastly there is Marco and Ciro, two wayward and foolishly ambitious teens with such a love of Scarface that they dream of one day becoming great crime bosses themselves in the vein of the legendary Tony Montana, but in the mean time have to make do with petty theft, drawing the ire of the local gang.

Gomorrah barely feels like a fiction. Admittedly it is based on real organizations and locations, but only in the same way as The Godfather, Scarface or Donnie Brasco. But whilst those films still possess the Hollywood sheen of glamorised ‘movies’, Gomorrah, with it dirty sets, shaking camera, and sudden cuts, feels much closer to documentary form. And this surely isn’t an accident. Much like Fernando Meirelles’ 2002 Brazilian crime drama City of God paints over its grimy surface with occasional flashes of cinematic dazzle to avoid the documentary label, so too does Gomorrah. But for all the visual flair (the opening shot inside a tanning booth is particularly impressive) and attractive framing (as Roberto and Franco plan where their next dump will be) there is simply no getting away from the despair.

It is hard work. Everyone is in perpetual danger of assassination; with more surprise killings than an episode of 24, Gomorrah racks up an impressive, uncompromising body count, as women and even children are ruthlessly put to the sword. In that respect, it is reminiscent of the American television series The Wire, with the Sette pelazzi where Totò lives conjuring dark memories of the similarly impoverished, drug-addled projects from David Simon’s superb investigation into the inner-workings of Baltimore’s drug dilemma.
The acting is hard to gauge given the non-fictional aura, but needless to say the cast are universally excellent. From the timid mumblings of Gianfelice Imparato’s Don Ciro to the brash, cocky posturing Marco Macor and Ciro Petrone’s young, skinny Tony Montana wannabes.

Not only is the action taken away from the upper echelons of the organization, but it is taken away from the gangsters entirely, and placed in the hands of those in society who suffer the most as a result. It is then that Gomorrah ceases merely being interesting or entertaining, and becomes something much more socially stimulating.

It might not sizzle quite like City of God, or feel as crisp as Goodfellas, or even as outrageously exciting as Scarface, but Gomorrah is one of the most harrowing, visceral, intriguing, insightful investigations into the seedy underbelly of crime.

**** / *****

That lava lamp was starting to get on his nerves.

Primal

2010


Director Josh Reed

 A warning statement within the synopsis for Primal referred to ‘Strong sexual violence.’ Given the amount of blood, biting and other lovely things taking place as the seconds ticked by, it created a rather ominous trepidation as to just what this ‘sexual violence’ was going to be. And there it was. Was it strong? No, not really. Was it disturbing as hell? A bit? Was it actually … a bit funny? Oh yeah. That kind of encapsulates Josh Reed’s low-budget Australian horror; it suggests something far darker, far more intense than what is given; but in the end is just a tad silly.

The plot follows a group of students on a jolly nice sojourn in the outback studying a remote rock painting. Things take a turn for the worst though, when one of the group - the sexually promiscuous Mel - becomes ill following an ill-advised skinny dipping session in the local water. Soon the previously blonde beauty has become nothing but a savage, bloodthirsty creature with only one thing on her mind: their blood. That’s right, folks, she’s become PRIMAL!

There isn’t much in the way of originality about Primal. The set-up is about as familiar as an old jumper your Nan has knitted: a group of extremely attractive, extremely sexually active youngsters travel to an isolated place where, naturally, no one can find them, and carnage ensues. What does make a change, however, is the use of the Home & Away extras themselves as the monsters, rather than some naff bloke in a suit, or some very dodgy CGI. Instead of the group ‘slut’ being offed first, as the laws of horror would suggest, she instead becomes the killer; a combination of the infected from Danny Boyle’s 28 Days Later and the vampires from David Slade’s 30 Days of Night. More disgusting than creepy, but strangely effective nonetheless.

The fact that this disease is passed on through the blood is rather obvious sexual metaphor given the age of these characters, and the fact that the main babe, Zoe Tuckwell-Smith’s Anja, is hinted at being a rape victim. In the end we all become savage killers. Duh. In the end we all become nothing but animals. Duh. In the end we start fucking each other whilst we’re eating. Wait, what? Yes, the sexual undertones of Primal are so blatant it’s as though George Romero wrote the script whilst standing on his head, consuming magic mushrooms like Revels.

Things degenerate to a farcical level towards the end, as Anja tries to escape through the mysterious cave, which seems to be the root of this monstrous infection. All that can really be said is that if you’re lucky enough to have seen Andrzej Zulawski’s Possession, featuring the infamous scene involving Isabelle Adjani doing the wild thing with a weird tentacle creature, you’ll have a pretty good idea what goes on in that rocky crevice.

It’s horribly clichéd in many aspects, but in terms of its characters and actual plot, Primal is actually rather unpredictable. Aside from our plucky, annoyingly prophetic, conveniently claustrophobic heroine, no one seems to die in the usual order of horror cinema, and it’s hard to imagine anyone guessing just what the hell that cave was all about before the end. I’m still having trouble now. So whilst Primal is on one level the standard cheap and nasty piece of gratuitous horror cinema we are used to seeing on television of an evening, it does at least try to do something interesting with itself. Plus, it has one of the funniest last lines in years.

** / *****

Put your feet down, love.

The Guard

2011


Director John Michael McDonagh

 If Arthur Mathews and Graham Lineham, co-creators of the eye-wateringly hilarious Father Ted, sat down with Kick-Ass scribe Matthew Vaughan to write a movie script, there is a good chance that it would end up looking something like this. The Guard is an unashamedly un-PC, blacker than the blackest black of comedies that hints at every one of its gasp-worthy lines with a sly, winking eye and coy, nodding head, and then goes ahead and says something far worse, but far, far funnier.

The action takes place in Connemara; where unconventional - to put it lightly - policeman Gerry Boyle joins forces with FBI agent Wendell Everett in pursuit of a trio of drug smugglers who have arrived on the scene with murderous results.

Nothing about The Guard sounds terribly attractive; an unorthodox policemen, a fish-out-of-water agent, drugs, guns … stop me if you think you’ve heard any of this before. But what you haven’t heard before is of any of those things in conjunction with a script written by John Michael McDonagh. If the name sounds familiar, then that probably means you’ve seen the fantastic In Bruges from 2008, penned and directed by Martin McDonagh. Yep, John’s little brother. And brothers with the same sense of humour. Hot Fuzz might be closest in actual story to The Guard, but it’s In Bruges which is nearest in tone. Both contain some truly entertaining action sequences, but there’s nothing that quite compares to two characters just talking. That was to be expected of Martin McDonagh considering his illustrious history in Irish theatre, but his brother is probably best known for scripting the uninspiring 2003 Heath Ledger and Orlando Bloom historical drama Ned Kelly. But the talent runs in the family it seems. John Michael McDonagh’s script is every bit as ridiculous, bombastic, dry, witty, dark, biting and snortingly funny as In Bruges, and, in certain places, even more so.

The film was always onto a winner with the casting of the unsung, underrated, but always superb Brendan Gleeson as Boyle. He’s known to most people for his thirty-second cameos as Mad-Eye Moody in the Harry Potter series, but Gleeson has made a habit of hijacking every film - even every scene - he’s in; whether it’s something worthy of his talents like Danny Boyle’s 28 Days Later, something that could have used him better like Ridley Scott’s Kingdom of Heaven, or something camper than a row of tents such as Wolfgang Peterson’s Troy. And he shines again here. In Bruges saw he and Colin Farrell create one of the most memorable double-acts in recent cinematic history, and there’s another attempt in The Guard with Don Cheadle’s FBI agent. The relationship between the clean-cut, straight-laced American and the pudgy, unpredictable, and, oh yeah, quite blatantly racist Boyle is thoroughly entertaining, but that might suggest that when he is away from his verbal sparring partner, Boyle fizzles out. Not so. It doesn’t matter who he is with - if anyone - he is brilliant no matter the situation. A truly great creation.

But like most comedies of this ilk, it isn’t only Boyle who boggles the mind; everyone here is an idiot, with the exception, of course, of Cheadle’s Everett, who becomes our wide-eyes, our raised eyebrows and our open, gaping mouths, as Sergeant Boyle asks quite openly in one scene, “I thought only black fellas were drug dealers?” There Boyle’s young partner, played by Rory Keenan, who succeeds in doing a wonderful impression of Father Ted’s Father Dougal in one interrogation scene in particular.

On the downside, the film’s three antagonists are rather hit-and-miss. Liam Cunningham, David Wilmot and Mark Strong (playing yet another bloody villain!) fill these wicked shoes with the kind of fast-talking, wise-cracking banter common in cinematic goons, and most of the time it’s just fine, but occasionally with Strong’s hoodlum it becomes apparent that writing for Cockneys - as In Bruges suffered from with brother Martin’s efforts with Ralph Fiennes - might not be the McDonagh’s strong suit.

But if that’s the only gripe, and an extremely minor one at that, it’s rather telling of just how good a film The Guard is. Don’t think that this is simply a play-cum-film either due to the praise given to the dialogue. This is a film in every sense of the word. McDonagh knows exactly what he’s doing with the camera, whether framing shots of a lonely Boyle in a bar, or setting up for the final, Wild West-style shootout, everything is tremendously engaging.

Undoubtedly one of the funniest and most consistently entertaining films of the year, The Guard is a real triumph for someone so new to the world of directing, and we can only hope that the brothers McDonagh continue in this rich vein of form. Of maybe they have a sister…

**** ½ / *****

So THAT'S how Girl's Aloud get ahead...

Super 8

2011


Director J. J. Abrams

 Where have all these likeable children come from? Before recent flicks such as True Grit, Cowboys & Aliens, The Guard and J.J. Abrams latest offering, Super 8, the role of children in contemporary cinema seemed largely to be to bring out our most murderous tendencies. Long gone were the days of Steven Spielberg, when the enchanted little sprogs he paraded before us were simply representations of our own awe and wonder and occasional terror at what was taking place. But Abrams lives up to his moniker of “the new Spielberg” not only in presenting a young leading cast who you don’t mind spending two hours of your life with, but in the general sense of wonderment and spectacle he has conjured.

Super 8 takes place in the ordinary little town of Lillian, Ohio way back in 1979, as a group of friends set about filming a scene from their zombie movie at a local train station. Things take an unexpected turn when a train is derailed right before them, releasing a dangerous presence into their town.

The child actors in Abrams Science-Fiction adventure are superb. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but there really can be no denying it. The presence of Spielberg looms large within the central youngster, Joe Lamb (an excellent Joel Courtney), a boy who displays all the giddy enthusiasm of Joseph Mazzello’s Tim from Jurassic Park, as well as the unusual quiet estrangement of Elliot from E.T. He is very easy to root for. His chums all shine too, though in more limited, comical roles admittedly. Elle Fanning is suitably mysterious as the object of Joe’s affection, Alice, sometimes sweet, sometimes prickly, because, hey, guess what? The Spielberg influences don’t stop there. Alice has father issues. Joe has father issues too. It really does feel as though we have gone back in time.

But the similarities don’t stop with E.T. They may be the most obvious comparisons to make, given the presence of a group of children, sinister soldiers, and, of course, and extraterrestrial; but there are other, non-Spielberg films that deserve a nod also. Rob Reiner’s Stand By Me is a similar ‘coming-of-age’ tale featuring four young, male protagonists; whilst the Abrams produced Cloverfield from 2008 had the same kind of mystery and aura, not to mention the similarity - apart from the size obviously - between their monsters.

But the alien in Super 8 isn’t important. By the time we meet the creature properly in the green flesh towards the end, so invested in these characters we have become that their issues are the primary focus. Abrams’ script does sometimes stray into areas whiffing of cheese, with predictable character arcs and resolutions, and the ‘daddy issues’ can be a little overbearing, but, call it nostalgia if you want, this is the kind of cinema a now adult generation grew up worshipping. Spielberg has the ability to turn us all into children again, to make us watch what is unfolding before our eyes in a hushed awe. Jaws, E.T., Jurassic Park, and even his more recent effort with War of the Worlds, are prime examples of this cinematic mastery.

And J.J. Abrams has it too. He got off to a creaky start with Mission Impossible III, but since then he has been on a roll, bringing some semblance of credibility back to Science-Fiction Fantasy, whether by directing (Star Trek) or producing (Cloverfield). In a time when Michael Bay is hollowing out the Science-Fiction genre with a great truck-sized wedge and waving bikinis in our faces, Super 8 is like ice cold rain on a sweaty, blisteringly hot day. The “new Spielberg”, you say? I’ll drink to that.

**** / *****

This lot don't stand a chance on The X-Factor.

Rise of the Planet of the Apes

2011


Director Rupert Wyatt

 Let’s be honest, The Simpsons ruined this. The magnificent episode entitled A Fish Called Selma has made it physically impossible to watch any film from the simian series without expecting the characters to burst into a rendition of “Dr. Zaius” at any moment. So Rupert Wyatt and company really faced an uphill struggle from the beginning to bring some semblance of seriousness to this tale of death, destruction and tree-swingin’ revolution. And you know what? Well done, chaps. Well done indeed.

The plot of the awkwardly titled Rise of the Planet of the Apes (now that is a banana-sized mouthful) revolves around James Franco’s earnest scientist Will in his desperate search for a cure to his father’s ravishing Alzheimer’s. His quest leads him to Caesar, the offspring of a recently deceased chimpanzee who had been given a trial product of Will’s serum. Caesar displays intelligence and abilities far beyond his species, and when he is torn away from Will and subjected to the darker side of humanity, Caesar’s skills take a more sinister turn.

The aspect of the Apes saga that has always produced the most scepticism has been, to put it bluntly, the talking monkeys. It’s not hard to buy that drugs could make apes smarter, and we know that if they put their minds to it, those cute, loveable chimps could make mincemeat out of us. So director Rupert Wyatt, along with writer’s Rick Jaff and Amanda Silver, deserves a significant amount of credit for eliminating that aspect of absurdity. Thus the powerful moment towards the end when Andy Serkis’ Caesar does utter a few syllables are powerful, rather than amusing.

Because this isn’t a comedy. This is a film about human illness, animal experimentation, death, torture, and other sweet, merry delights. We shouldn’t be laughing; even when a gorilla is flying off the Golden Gate Bridge towards a helicopter. Okay, maybe then. Franco and especially the unsung hero of Hollywood Andy Serkis deserve a large amount of credit for maintaining this respectability. Oscar nominee Franco may be playing a fairly atypical, well-natured, ultimately tragic good guy, who is essentially responsible for our doom, but he doesn’t look embarrassed or as though this kind of film is beneath him, which is why casting someone who made his name in the Spiderman series was such a wise move.

Serkis is tremendous. He obviously has plenty of experience monkeying around thanks to his portrayal of King Kong, and it’s evident, with Caesar a charming, warm and delightful character one minute, and a violent, intimidating ape the next. We know the end result will ultimately be the downfall of mankind, but you just can’t help but cheer Caesar and his cohorts on as the get revenge on Tom Felton’s thuggish animal sanctuary guard or David Oyelowo’s slimy suit. It might be a personal thing, but whenever a human was killed or in danger, it was nothing, and yet, whenever a rampaging ape was in trouble or came to a grisly end, it was a Pixar movie all over again.

Weta Digital’s effects for the apes are tremendous, obliterating the rather comical costumes made infamous by the original franchise, whilst the climactic set-piece upon Golden Gate Bridge is a superb piece of action cinema that doesn’t overdo the Green Screen.

Yes, there are things in it that are unnecessary or lazy; Slumdog Millionaire’s Freida Pinto’s casting as Will’s glamorous vet girlfriend is blatantly only to provide a bit of eye skirt for us cock-shaking homosapiens, whilst Tom Felton’s Draco Malfoy-turned-zookeeper is about as clichéd as they come. But this is Serkis’ film. Any time Caesar is on screen, things improve vastly, transforming Rise of the Planet of the Apes into a worthy reboot, and making not only Tim Burton’s abomination of a remake from 2001, but also the sound of Troy McClure voice bellowing out "From chimpan-A to chimpan-Z", nothing but a hilarious (for very different reasons) and distant memory.

*** ½ / *****

BLOODY TRAFFIC! 

Cowboys & Aliens

2011


Director Jon Favreau
 

It’s not too grand a statement to suggest that had we been told in the past that Harrison Ford and Daniel Craig would be collaborating on screen for the first time ever, perhaps the last thing to enter our thoughts would be Cowboys & Aliens. It’s the kind of daft, cheesy, and - excuse the pun - rather alienating title that Ford made his career on back in the 1980s, but Craig looks about as out of place in as an Ewok in Deadwood. Therein lies the central dilemma of Jon Favreau’s Science-Fiction-Western hybrid: with its absurd premise, it should be more fun. But how fun can a film be with two of the grumpiest people on the face of the planet (I’ve never met them, but they give that impression) as its leads?

The plot is based on the graphic novel of the same name created by Scott Mitchell Rosenberg, and follows Craig’s amnesiac, who awakens in the desert with a strange metal bracelet attached to his wrist. No sooner does he make it to town does he find himself at odds with Ford’s brutal local cattleman, Colonel Dolarhyde, but both men are forced to put their differences aside when strange flying crafts attack the town, kidnapping many of its inhabitants. The enemies must join forces in an effort to save the townsfolk.

Cowboys & Aliens isn’t as much of a riot as it needs to be. It is sporadically enjoyable, but nowhere near enough. Things pick up considerably whenever Ford is on screen. As the grizzled, bitter old Dolarhyde, he is back to his unsmiling, unfriendly best. As he’s aged, Ford’s characters have become less the wise-cracking smartarses like Han Solo or even Indy, and he has channelled his inner-grump to great comic effect. In these ridiculous surroundings, his incredibly serious, unbelievably bad tempered demeanour works as a perfect foil, something which he obviously learned from working with the great Sean Connery in Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade. However, although he excels, Ford’s role in Cowboys & Aliens is actually rather limited. This is the Daniel Craig show. There’s nothing wrong with making the younger man your protagonist; obviously it follows standard narrative structure. And Craig’s Jake Lonergan is an intriguing little rogue, thanks mainly to his Jason Bourne-like problems and similar bad-assery. The only problem is, Cowboys & Aliens, as the title suggests, is about as serious as a bath of custard, and Craig’s comic timing is somewhat lacking. What is required here is painfully obvious because the master craftsmen of Star Wars and Indiana Jones fame is standing just a few feet away: that blend of cocky, self-assured brashness flecked with ridiculousness, and an ability to take a darn good kicking. Craig can take a beating, we’ve seen that in Casino Royale and Quantum of Solace, but he is still playing the same hard case, thus making him a rather tedious hero.

The rest of the cast are actually surprisingly entertaining. Olivia Wilde is the perfect choice to play the alien friend of our motley crew. With her eyes so far apart, I nicknamed them Land’s End and John o’Groats. Well, that’s a bit harsh, but her sexiness is a very weird kind of sexiness, kind of the same way Angelina Jolie starts to resemble a cat if you look at her long enough. Noah Ringer continues the recent trend of True Grit and Super 8, of child actors who are tolerable. However, for such a captivating actor, Sam Rockwell is rather wasted as bartender Doc; perhaps Favreau persuaded him to sign on whilst they were filming Iron Man 2.

The interesting blend of Sci-Fi and Western genre conventions works well. We can all look back on Will Smith’s disastrous attempt at doing something similar in Barry Sonnenfield’s Wild Wild West back in 1999 and shudder, but there are no such problems here. Whilst the dizzying heights of Joss Whedon’s sensational Serenity are never in danger, Favreau has taken everything cliché from these genres and spliced them together; the result of which isn’t all that clunky considering the overall plot requires no real originality from either end. Matthew Libatique’s cinematography looks fine and dandy for the wide open shots of the Arizona Territory, but it’s when the film veers towards Horror that it really comes to life. In the standout scene, young Emmett searches for his dog in the bowels of a strange, land-locked ship, amidst darkness, thunder, lightning and rain. It is gorgeously atmospheric and suitably creepy given that it’s the first time we actually encounter one of the aliens in the flesh. It is reminiscent of the chilling tension Favreau was able to create in Zathura, which was even more child-friendly then this, but, in the great tradition of Doctor Who, that just makes it more fun to scare the bleeders shitless. Blood isn’t scary, folks; tension is.

An idiot would describe Cowboys & Aliens as hit-and-miss, so I will too. It leaves a satisfactory taste in your mouth because, well let’s face it, how much were you actually expecting? Jon Favreau is a director of fun; there can be no doubt about that. His movies lack pretensions above their station and appeal to a variety of demographics, which is pleasant to see. But Cowboys & Aliens could have been much better. I’m not a Daniel Craig hater by any means, but I don’t think he was the wisest choice of lead here. We’ve seen James Bond in space one already, and we all know how Moonraker turned out, don’t we?

*** ¼ / *****

Waking up after a night out in Glasgow can be a strange experience. 

Fast Five

2011


Director Justin Lin

 This film confused me. Now, don’t get me wrong; I’m not suggesting that we have taken a left-hand turn down David Lynch Avenue. The plot isn’t what baffles. I’m about as far from a car enthusiast as one can get - hey, guess who can’t even drive! - but I have to admit, if you placed a sexy, scantily-clad, extremely willing young lady next to a pimped up sports car with flashing lights and an engine that sounds like Tom Waits clearing his throat, call me crazy, but I think I’d probably choose the woman. The likes of Dominic Toretto and Brian O’Conner, however, would probably have to think long and hard … before taking the keys and driving off into the sunset. That’s right; these guys prefer cars to women. And what confuses me is … they’re supposed to be the manliest of manliness. Huh?

The plot of Justin’s Lin’s Fast Five, the fifth instalment in the high-octane series, revolves around the old gang, as they conduct a daring heist on the most dangerous gangster in all of Rio de Janeiro, whilst also trying to stay one step ahead of their FBI pursuers.

Vin Diesel and Paul Walker return as Toretto and O’Conner respectively. In fact, everyone barring Michelle Rodriguez is back, including various characters from the series’ other sequels, including Tyrese Gibson as the wise-cracking Roman Pearce from 2 Fast 2 Furious and Sun Kang as the heeeee-lariously named Han Seoul-Oh from Tokyo Drift. There’s… oh, whatsherface… you know, the one who bizarrely puts up with her brother and boyfriend’s perverse, vaguely homoerotic obsession with four-wheeled vehicles? Oh well, she’s such an unimportant character that it doesn’t honestly matter. Like all of the women in this film she (okay, it’s Jordana Brewster) is a) hot, b) a good driver, and c) entirely forgettable to the camera. It’s odd in a year that sees Michael Bay shoving his camera up yet another young lady’s skirt, to see a film so packed with sexy babes that barely pays them any attention. Nope, who cares about women when you’ve got cars, right? These dudes are so cool they don’t even have to think about getting laid. They’ve got women literally throwing themselves in front of them. Okay, that may be a slight exaggeration, but considering Toretto manages to seduce one of the FBI agents (a conveniently sexy one), it’s not far off. It’s like if we were given lingering shots of surfboards in Point Break… wait, I’ll try that again. It’s EXACTLY like Point Break. The metaphor is clear for us all to see and I’m not going to be so immature as to… THE CARS ARE PENISES!!! Ahem.

Anyway, the excruciatingly stereotypical gender roles are distracting, as are the constant shots of people caressing car bonnets. However, when people are actually in these cock substitutes instead of fondling them, hurtling through the streets of Rio, Fast Five is the absolute epitome of a guilty pleasure. The climatic car chase, which involves two vehicles towing a huge safe, is one of the standout action set pieces of the year, channelling its inner-Bourne and cranking it all the way up to twelve. Forget about fucking eleven!

The reference to Point Break is apt, as, much like the first in the series way back in 2001, this is a simple heist, cat-and-mouse game, with Dwayne Johnson’s side-splittingly bad-ass cop hot on their trail. Whoever cast The Rock deserves a medal. He swaggers around the screen like some twat off a Pepsi advert, and the prospect of a showdown between Vin and he was seriously mouth-watering, though in a purely heterosexual way I add. He gets a little neutered at the end thanks to the oh so predictable conclusion, but who cares when his disappearance is made up for by thirty minutes of vehicular carnage.

It’s corny, it’s clichéd, it’s old fashioned, it’s dumb, it’s - well, I have been hinting at it long enough - completely homoerotic, but Fast Five is also, shock horror, a lot of fun, which is all it needs to be. I might not fancy cars more than women, but even I can appreciate seeing them riding along at one hundred miles per hour. The cars that is … I think…

*** ¼ / *****

Just kiss and get it over with!