Directed by Jordan Vogt-Roberts, Kong: Skull Island continues in the same vein as the first film in Legendary Entertainment's burgeoning MonsterVerse Godzilla. It has clumsy expository dialogue, thumbnail caricatures for characters that border on the comical, and actors that have proved themselves as excellent reduced to looking shocked. Despite all this, Kong: Skull Island finds redemption to some extent (in a manner similar to Godzilla) in its main attraction: the monsters.
For all of its clunkiness when it comes to dialogue and character development (or lack there of), the realisation of the monsters in Kong: Skull Island is decidedly unclunky. First and foremost, there is Kong who is spectacularly impressive - a towering mass of fur - his sheer heft is a great example of the way the film manages to avoid the kind of CGI fuelled weightlessness that plagues so many blockbusters. Almost as impressive are the collection of other monsters with which Kong shares Skull Island. There are unsettling reptilian creatures that scurry about, a very large squid like thing with which Kong has a tussle, and an equally big spider inspired beast that makes the one in Lord of the Rings look fairly tame.
Unfortunately, it's hard to have quite as much fun with the human characters who are crippled by a stiff script and fairly limiting roles. The two main ones James Conrad (I don't think his sharing a name with Joseph Conrad is a coincidence) and Mason Weaver played by Tom Hiddleston and Brie Larson respectively are incredibly underused, spending a majority of their time on screen running, jumping, and looking scared. Although, perhaps this is a good thing as the few moments where they do bother with talking had me laughing for all the wrong reasons. In one remarkably poor scene, the two look out on some mysterious Aurora Borealis style lights, as Hiddleston talks of the "mythic hero" that was his father, it's hard not to be amazed by how completely wooden two perfectly good actors have been made to look.
More enjoyable, though still leaving plenty to be desired is the supporting cast, also packed out with top of the range Hollywood talent. Samuel L. Jackson is Colonel Preston Packard, playing him with the standard contemptuous intensity, we have a couple of crowbarred in Pulp Fiction "furious anger" style moments for our enjoyment. There's also John Goodman as government official Bill Randa whose opening line, "there'll never be a more screwed-up time in Washington", was quite amusing given the current state of things. Finally, there is stranded World War 2 pilot John C. Reilly who brings some necessary levity to proceedings in the Dennis Hopper in Apocalypse Now role.
Kong: Skull Island is at its best when it sticks to the uncomplicated creature feature thrills, despite often being bogged down by a truly bad script, it manages to provide some very good monster fuelled fun. It is a film that, despite its obvious big studio connections, brims with a likeably off the wall B movie spirit that is rather endearing. Working with this nuttiness, second time director Vogt-Roberts has achieved something we've seen failed many times: create a corporate franchise mega blockbuster that is fun, just the way it should be.
This is part of a series of posts I have creatively titled "Favourites" where I write about an unashamedly personal selection of my favourite films.
We Need to Talk About Kevin - directed by Lynne Ramsey - is a gloriously nihilistic parable of parenthood, unafraid to ask some unsettling questions about the complex relationship between a parent and their children. What responsibility does a parent have for the actions of their offspring? Is a parent's love unconditional? Of course, this film offers an extreme example, but it strikes me as coming very close to unearthing some of the deepest darkest fears of every parent.
The film is structured without any discernible pattern - jumping from past to present - adding to the spiky sense of disquiet that is present throughout. We cut between the aftermath of some terrible unknown, following the gaunt ghost-like figure that is Eva - the titular Kevin's mother - and three stages of Kevin's childhood, seen through the eyes of Eva. This disordered structure reflects the bewilderment of Eva's emotionally battered psyche, still seemingly incapacitated by the trauma inflicted by Kevin.
The visuals of the first portion of the film are stained red, aptly foreshadowing the bloodshed that is to come. Eva scrubs at red paint left on her house, bathes in a sea of tomato pulp at some sort of festival, and wakes up to a room tinged red by the light streaming through her curtains. This bold visual metaphor paints Eva as a woman full of guilt for what has happened - the blood is on her hands - a woman forever tainted by her role in what Kevin did.
As the sequences showing Kevin's upbringing are show in conjunction with what we come to learn must be the aftermath of something he has done, we see his development in a completely different light. Actions that would ordinarily be dismissed as harmless are laced with a more sinister edge. Our understanding that something bad is to come gives the film an irrepressible momentum that is central to its effectiveness. Observing the intricacies of Kevin's development is grimly compelling; as we watch the slow but sure progression towards the climax with morbid curiosity, the inevitability of the impending doom is gripping.
Just as enthralling is Swinton's portrayal of Eva's deterioration. She treats her impulsively satanic child with artificial affection that he sees right through. The film is full of excellent sequences detailing their extraordinary relationship as Kevin appears to purposely act badly in a perverse mission to spite her. He refuses to speak and deliberately soils his pants, cruelly toying with her emotions. Kevin is exhaustive; even resorting to what seems to be contrived good will towards his father, played with breezy optimism by John C. Reilly. The way in which Swinton portrays Eva's growing disbelief at the completeness of her son's hatred towards her is inspired; as his evil becomes apparent, she sinks into her self, painting a picture of a woman worn thin.
The film also plays as an excellently subtle denouncement of a middle class obsession with the appearance of happiness. It works in the tradition of other excellent films - American Beauty, Donnie Darko and Blue Velvet come to mind - exploring the unease that bubbles beneath the false suburban idyll that the characters attempt to create. A veneer of respectability is maintained at all costs, epitomised by the father's detached lightheartedness. They avoid the reality of their situation throughout, preferring to blindly search for some domestic utopia. After all, they never talk about Kevin.
