Parky at the Pictures (In Cinemas 1/5/2014)

Some time in 1916, senior French general Georges Broulard (Adolphe Menjou) summons junior general Paul Mireau (George Macready) to the magnificent chateau that has been commandeered as High Command headquarters and implies that he will be promoted if his unit can capture a German stronghold known as `The Anthill'. Overcoming his misgivings, Mireau begins priming his troops with Major Saint-Auban (Richard Anderson), even though Colonel Dax (Kirk Douglas) considers the raid a reckless folly that would deplete his 701st Infantry battalion for no tangible benefit. Determined to impose his authority, Mireau accuses a soldier suffering from shell-shock (Fred Bell) of cowardice and has him dismissed from the company before ordering Dax to complete his plans for the assault.

Dax sends out a scouting party. But Lieutenant Roget (Wayne Morris) is so terrified that he gets drunk before going over the top and his fear causes him to throw a grenade in the direction of what he believes to be German troops. In fact, he hits two of his own scouts and Corporal Philippe Paris (Ralph Meeker) charges Roget with killing his pal, Private Lejeune (Ken Dibbs). Desperate to cover himself, Roget falsifies his report to Dax by claiming that Lejeune was riddled by machine-gun fire when he betrayed his position by coughing and the attack is confirmed for 5.15 the following morning.

Dax leads the first charge across no man's land, but is forced back to the French trenches by heavy German fire. Mireau orders B Company to join the fray, but the men refuse to be cannon fodder and Mireau loses his composure when Captain Rousseau (John Stein), the commander of the artillery unit ordered to goad them into action, refuses to fire on his comrades without written confirmation. Discovering that Roget had remained in his trench, Dax attempts to rally the troops, but he is knocked off his ladder by a falling corpse and the advance is abandoned.

The furious Mireau refuses to take the blame for the farce and court-martials 100 soldiers for cowardice in the face of the enemy. Broulard persuades him to make an exhibition of three and Mireau selects Paris (on the advice of the scheming Roget), Private Maurice Ferol (Timothy Carey), who is chosen by his commander for being a social outcast, and Private Pierre Arnaud (Joe Turkel), whose name is drawn by lot, even though he has twice been previously cited for bravery.

Outraged by Mireau's attempt to make others pay the price for his incompetence, Dax (who is a lawyer by profession) agrees to defend the trio in the imposing chateau ballroom. But he soon realises he is facing a kangaroo court, as the presiding judge (Peter Capell) refuses to produce a formal written indictment, dismisses protests that a record should be kept of the proceedings and only allows evidence supporting the prosecution case being presented by the sycophantic Saint-Aubin. Ferol is quickly browbeaten into conceding that he retreated, while Arnaud is accused of cowardice for not urging his brothers-in-arms to attack when the going got tough and Paris is arraigned for refusing to leave his trench, even though he had received a serious head wound and had been pinned down by a fallen comrade.

The verdict is a foregone conclusion and Paris, Ferrol and Arnaud are served a last supper, which they are unable to eat as Mireau has forbidden them cutlery in case they try to harm themselves. Ferrol crushes a cockroach when Paris laments that it stands a better chance of survival than he does, while Arnaud mocks the priest (Emile Meyer) who has come to give them solace. Paris punches Arnaud for his drunken disrespect and he bangs his head on the floor as he falls. The doctor declares that he has a fractured skull and may not last the night, but he is ordered to keep Arnaud alive for his execution and Mireau demands that he is conscious at the moment the firing squad takes aim.

The battery commander sends word to Dax that Mireau ordered him to fire on his own men and he rushes to a ball at the chateau to inform Broulard. He is annoyed to be dragged away from his guests and insists that the executions will take place, as arranged. The reluctant Roget is put in charge and the rigmarole plays out at unbearable length before the shots finally ring out in still morning air. At breakfast, Mireau thanks Broulard for attending. But he tells Mireau that he knows about his conversation with Rousseau and casually remarks that there will have to be an inquiry. Mireau stalks off incensed at being made the scapegoat and Broulard smilingly offers Dax his position. But he has misjudged the colonel, who denounces the conduct of the war in declining the promotion. 

Wandering back towards his quarters, Dax goes into a tavern, where colleagues of the dead men are barracking a bashful German girl (Susanne Christian), who is ordered to perform by the landlord. She starts singing Frantzen-Gustav Gerdes's `The Faithful Hussar' (which dates from the Napoleonic era when France was the aggressor) and, even though it is an enemy song, the troops join in. Dax watches them with a mix of benevolence and disgust. A note arrives informing him that Broulard has transferred his unit to the front line. He smiles bitterly at the general's vindictiveness and tells the messenger to let the boys enjoy their last few minutes of leisure before he marches them off to face their fate.

Loosely based on an incident during the Battle of Verdun, this ranks alongside Lewis Milestone's All Quiet on the Western Front and GW Pabst's Westfront 1918 (both 1930) for its unflinching depiction of the disregard shown by the officer class for their men in the trenches. Employing long takes and wide-angle tracking shots, Kubrick starkly contrasts the luxury being enjoyed by the top brass and the squalor being endured by the troops and uses the disparity to highlight the former's lack of integrity and the essential decency of ordinary men who simply wish to get back to their families and the lives they led before the madness began.

Kubrick and co-writers Calder Willingham and Jim Thompson largely avoid the geopolitics of the conflict, although the consequences of the class divide are evident in every scene, as is the absurdity of the inept tactics employed by both sides. Moreover, the notional enemy is rarely seen and, even then, Kubrick elects to show a frightened girl (played by his future wife) who is being taunted by her chauvinist captors rather than the detested Bosch. This scene didn't appear in either the novel or the play and it should be noted that the action was further tilted in Douglas's favour to show him leading a heroic charge and representing the defendants. But, such is the controlled intensity of his performance that this avoids feeling like a star vehicle, in spite of the odd moment of high melodrama.

There are also several instances of brilliant artistry, with the sequence in which Menjou persuades Macready to undertake the attack being filmed in the manner of Max Ophüls, who had died on the day it was filmed. Interestingly, the setting is the same Schleissheim Palace where Alain Resnais would photograph Last Year at Marienbad (1961), although French, Belgian and Swiss audiences would have been aware of the fact, as Kubrick's picture was banned in both countries until the 1970s (the proscription period was noticeably shorter in West Germany and Austria). George Krause's natural light camerawork is exceptional throughout, whether circling the officers below the chateau's cavernous ceilings or scurrying along the trenches that were recreated with such sobering authenticity by Ludwig Reiber.

Editor Eva Kroll also merits mention, as her assembly of the execution sequence chillingly emphasises the pointless ritual that strings out proceedings to almost unbearable lengths. But, as always with Kubrick, it is the directorial choices that make the picture so powerful and distinctive. This was anything but an auteuristic enterprise, as much credit also has to go to the exemplary ensemble. But it's impossible to miss Kubrick's imprimatur, which even extended to his decision to have German extras play the French soldiers in the grimly realistic battle scene.

The German influence is also strong in the debuting Nana Ekvtimishvili's In Bloom, as this semi-autobiographical rite of passage set in Georgia in 1992 was co-directed by her Munich-trained husband, Simon Gross, who made his own feature bow with Fata Morgana back in 2006. Some of the more poetic realist passages owe much to the Italian neo-realists, the French nouvelle vagueurs and Ekvtimishvili's esteemed compatriot, Otar Iosseliani. But the presence of cinematographer Oleg Mutu connects the action to the work of such Romanian new wavers as Cristi Puiu and Cristian Mungiu,

Even though they frequently squabble, 14 year-olds Lika Babluani and Mariam Bokeria are inseparable. The former is reserved and naive and lives in a spacious apartment with her hard-pressed mother, Ana Nijaradze, and her boy-mad older sister, Maiko Ninua. Their father is in prison for a murder whose significance becomes apparent as the drama unfolds and Babluani treasures a box containing such possessions as some letters, a watch, a packet of cigarettes and a Soviet Union passport. She does take advantage of the fact that Nijaradze is often out to invite Bokeria and other classmates round to drink wine, smoke and enjoy a rousing singsong. The moment the door opens, however, they all pretend they are engrossed by their homework, while a more decorous waltz plays on the piano..

By contrast, the more outgoing Bokeria has to share a cramped flat with drunken father Temiko Chichinadze, embittered mother Tamar Bukhnikashvili, aimless brother, Sandro Shanshiashvili and shrewish grandmother Berta Khapava. No wonder, therefore, she prefers being with Babluani, whether gambolling through a field, riding on the dodgems at the funfair, or joining in a class rebellion against strict teacher, Marina Janashia. Bokeria also delights in flirting with such Tblisi tearaways as Zurab Gogaladze, Giorgi Aladashvili and the more dashing Data Zakareishvili, who has plans to go to Moscow and make his fortune. He is keen to marry Bokeria on his return and, as a result, she spurns the flowers that the thuggish Gogaladze keeps giving her. Indeed, she is deeply touched when Zakareishvili entrusts her with his handgun and a single bullet.

Bokeria soon lends the weapon to Babluani, however, as she is being pestered near the bridge on the way to school by Aladashvili and his sidekick, Gia Shonia. Violence is always seemingly near the surface in a country close to conflict over the disputed Black Sea territory of Abkharia. Thus, Aladashvili tries to intimate Babluani with kung-fu moves, while fights break out in bread queues and quickly spiral out of control.

But everything changes when Gogaladze and his family snatch Bokeria from the street and rush her into a forced marriage. Her parents seem powerless to prevent the match, while Bokeria is far from happy at the prospect of having her wings clipped by in-laws Tamar Bukhnikashvili and Temiko Chichinadze. Yet she goes through with the ceremony and Babluani dances at the afterparty with a strangely joyous abandon, considering that her closest friend has been forced to bow to tradition. Even Bokeria seems to warm to the idea of being a wife when she is serenaded by a solo guitarist and almost swoons with the romantic intensity of the gesture. However, she soon learns how restricted her movements have become, as Gogaladze forbids her to attend school and refuses to allow her to celebrate her birthday with her friends.

Zakareishvili hears about his beloved's abduction and returns to Tblisi. However, Gogaladze and his pals are waiting for him and murder him in a knife fight. Heartbroken, Bokeria urges Babluani to hand over the gun so she can exact her revenge. But, having lost her father to a revenge crime, she talks her out of ruining her life in such a reckless manner and even finds a way of resolving her feud with Aladashvili.

Despite occasionally straying into melodrama, this is a fascinating memoir of a little-seen place at a key point in its recent history. Ekvtimishvili and Gross capture the sights, mood and sounds of the time, with curfew announcements, patriotic radio exhortations and minor Phil Collins hits as likely to crop up on the soundtrack as more traditional Georgian music or tunes hailing from back in the USSR. But, where Ekvtimishvili's script scores highest is in its insights into the status of young women in a nascent democratic society, where virginity suddenly only matters to misogynist traditionalists. The group sequences of the girls gossiping and flexing their new freedoms are splendidly staged and the ensemble playing is admirable. But scenes such as the family dinner that descends into an hysterical shouting match feels less controlled

Much has been made by foreign critics of the subversion of Anton Chekhov's maxim that a gun introduced early in a drama has to be fired by the third act. Sadly, Erik Poppe goes no further in A Thousand Times Good Night than swapping the gender of the recklessly driven protagonist for this latest investigation into the methods and motives of combat zone photojournalists. Poppe draws on his own experiences and even utilises some of his own images to give this well-meaning drama a ring of authenticity. But it has the misfortune to be released so soon after two documentaries - Jacqui and David Morris's McCullin and Sebastian Junger's Which Way Is the Front Line From Here? - that managed to convey without sensationalism the grim realities involved in capturing history as it happens. Thus, even with Juliette Binoche giving a typically committed performance, this pales beside the profiles of Don McCullin and Tim Hetherington and shows that, sometimes, art doesn't quite imitate life.

Freelance photojournalist Juliette Binoche has been given unprecedented access to a female suicide bombing unit in Afghanistan. Dressed in a hijab, she is taken by minivan to an expanse of wilderness, where the martyr-to-be lies in a grave before being taken to a Kabul backstreet for prayers and purification. Binoche snaps away, as the explosive belts are put in place and two men enter the room to activate the mechanism. The bomber bids farewell to her kinfolk and sits in the backseat of a car, with an apprehensive Binoche turning round to take the occasional picture of her subject in quiet contemplation.

As they near the target area, Binoche becomes twitchy and asks to be let out. However, there is a hold-up in the road and a couple of policemen approach the vehicle. Relieved to be on the pavement, Binoche cannot resist taking one last picture and this catches the attention of one of the cops, who comes to investigate. Hurrying away in panic, Binoche realises that innocent people will be caught in the carnage and tries to call out to the bystanders. But the bomber panics and triggers the device and Binoche is thrown backwards by the ferocity of the blast. Nevertheless, as she regains consciousness, she scrambles to her feet to take a couple of shots of the hideous aftermath before collapsing once more.

She wakes in a hospital in Dubai, where marine biologist husband Nikolaj Coster-Waldau is waiting at her bedside. He gives Binoche a reassuring smile, but it's clear he has been dreading this moment for years and there is unspoken tension in the car, as they drive through the Irish countryside to be welcomed home by daughters Lauryn Canny and Adrianna Cramer Curtis, and their close friends and neighbours Maria Doyle Kennedy and Larry Mullen, Jr. Curtis is primarily interested in her presents (which Coster-Waldau had remembered to buy at the airport), but Canny is clearly resentful of the fact that her mother appears to have put her career before her children.

Consigned to sleeping on the sofa, Coster-Waldau is keen to have a similar conversation, but allows Binoche to convalesce. She jogs along the beach and tries to get into the routine of packing lunchboxes and doing the school run. But she is soon Skyping with New York editor Chloë Annett and ranting about the timidity of the managers who refuse to publish her images because they supposedly glamorise terrorism. She wanders into Canny's bedroom and finds a scrapbook of press cuttings that also contains birthday cards from the times that Binoche had been away on assignment and she chokes back the tears. Yet, she continues to struggle to readjust to ordinary life, especially as she feels enormous guilt for causing the bomb to go off before its intended time. Coster-Waldau urges her not to blame herself for those particular casualties and reminds her of his own anguish in forever waiting for The Call.

Determined to be a better wife and mother, Binoche announces she is quitting. She also allows Cramer Curtis to get a kitten and goes to the school to watch Canny rehearsing a dance routine that forms part of a project on Africa. She dines out with Coster-Waldau and their friends and sees him give some local kids a talk on monitoring plutonium levels from Sellafield. She smiles indulgently, as he lets them play with some crabs. But is unable to resist complaining about the decline in educational standards, as they walk home, and she explains to Canny that she has always been angry with the world since she was a girl. She shows her some photographs taken in the Congo and laments that they were kept off the front page by an upskirt incident involving Paris Hilton.

Canny is taken by her mother's courage and her vocation to force the public to see what they would rather ignore. Therefore, she encourages her to accept when old friend Mads Ousdal offers Binoche an assignment in a refugee camp on the Kenyan-Sudanese border. He suggests she would be doing a great humanitarian service by publicising the plight of the innocent residents and assures her that the area is completely safe. Seduced by the idea, Canny begs Binoche to take her along and convinces her that she could use what she sees in her project.  Faced with the prospect of worrying about two people instead of one, Coster-Waldau refuses to sanction the trip. But a playful moment on the beach rekindles the marital flame and he gives his permission.

Binoche sees something of herself in Canny, as she watches her expressions as they fly out to Africa and drive through the spectacular savannah. She gives her daughter a camera capable of taking stills and video and Canny joins her mother in getting up close and personal with suffering victims of a conflict whose causes and consequences are never once mentioned, let alone explained. The feeling that this entire trip is simply a dramatic device to kickstart the action after it has stalled so resoundingly during the dullish domestic interlude is confirmed when motorbike-riding guerillas launch an attack on the camp and Binoche risks her life to get some pictures after packing Canny off to the compound with Ousdal.

He is angry with Binoche for defying his orders to evacuate. But she has got her scoop and cannot wait to get to a computer and send it to Annett. Canny is in bed when she returns to their room and Binoche tries to explain that she had to do her job. Canny shruggingly accepts her word, even though she has been badly shaken by the incident and the realisation of just how much danger her mother puts herself into in order to fulfil her remit. As she turns to sleep beneath the mosquito net, Binoche makes Canny promise not to say a word to Coster-Waldau, as she knows he will never forgive her for taking a 15 year-old into a war zone.

Glad to have her mother back, Cramer Curtis enlists her help in finding her missing kitten. But Canny is noticeably distant and Coster-Waldau walks in on them as Binoche discovers that Canny had recorded the moment the rebels stormed the camp and she put the story before her child. Incensed that she could not prioritise Canny's safety, Coster-Waldau throws Binoche out of the house and she has to spend the night with Doyle and Mullen.

The next day, Binoche wanders along the sands and tries to order her thoughts. She parks outside the house to greet the girls after school and rescues the kitten from a tree. But Coster-Waldau tells her to stay away. Binoche waits for Canny outside school and tries to justify her actions. The girl accepts that the helpless need someone in their corner, but she upsets Binoche by picking up the camera lying on the front seat of the car and starting to click it repeatedly in her face.

In the midst of this domestic crisis, Annett calls to say that there has been a change of personnel and heart at the newspaper and that the editor wants Binoche to return to Kabul because the suicide cadre is about to break up and they want images of the final mission. Rushing back from the airport check-in desk, Binoche arrives at the school in time to see Canny make a hesitant speech about forgotten wars in Africa and how their victims need her mother more than she does. Coster-Waldau allows his wife to kiss the girls goodnight before she leaves, with Canny seemingly more accepting than her father that photojournalism is a noble and necessary art.

Touching down in Afghanistan, Binoche is taken to the same address and prepares to record the chilling ritual for a second time. She is appalled, however, to see that the bomber is no older than Canny and she is so distraught that she is unable to point the camera. Suddenly, she feels like an intruder and becomes a mother rather than a hardened professional. As a result, she opts not to capture the last embrace between mother and daughter and decides against accompanying the girl to her fate. Instead, she falls to her knees in the dust and the scene fades to black.

The calculated melodramatics of the last two-thirds of this earnest, but curiously pallid film gravely undermine its claims to be a serious study of the validity of photojournalism and the vital role of female reporters in conflict situations. Poppe is desperate to say something significant about the impact that imagery can have on public opinion, while also ruminating on the ethics of the calling and the sacrifices and risks that have to be taken to capture those iconic images that can, occasionally, make a difference. But he and co-scenarist Harald Rosenløw-Eeg consistently fail to persuade us of Binoche's need to take pictures or that there is any compassion behind her supposed passion.

Well supported by Canny and Cramer Curtis (but less so by Coster-Waldau in a thankless role as a charmless and seemingly emasculated eco warrior), Binoche tries hard to atone for such lapses. But she too often strikes well-observed poses for John Christian Rosenlund's camera rather than convincing us that it is second nature for her to pry into personal misery in order to make a wider socio-political point. Similarly, she sheds a lot of crocodile tears back in Ireland, as Poppe exploits class projects and cute kittens to show Binoche what she is missing as a mother while she is away pricking the world's conscience.

Yet, the fury that drives her is never properly established and Poppe shies away from considering the extent to which Binoche's exploits are fuelled by her need for adrenaline highs. He also engages in some decidedly dubious politicking, as he takes easy shots at nuclear fuel and the multinationals that bankroll insurrections across Africa in order to acquire cheap resource, while saying nothing about the ideology inspiring Afghan women to maim and slaughter in the name of jihad.

Such bleeding-heart liberalism is all too common in achingly sincere pictures about things that matter. Consequently, there is no wonder that audiences are put off by such scolding preachiness, especially when it is so manipulatively scored (as it is here by Armand Amar). Poppe knows this milieu better than most film-makers and this should have been infinitely superior to Steven Silver's The Bang-Bang Club (2010), a fact-based drama about a quartet of daredevil shutterbugs in apartheid South Africa in the 1990s, and Jane Weinstock's The Moment, in which Jennifer Jason Leigh plays a photojournalist who winds up in a mental institution after her lover and colleague goes missing in action. But, rather than delivering his insights with uncompromising trenchancy, Poppe has sugar-coated them and, in the process, he has made them much more difficult to swallow.

Violence of a more mundane, but equally lethal kind dominates Blue Ruin, acclaimed indie cinematographer Jeremy Saulnier's follow up to his 2007 debut, Murder Party. Yet, while the story of a drifter seeking revenge on the man who killed his parents sounds as though it might easily stray into the same territory covered by genre fodder like Jason Eisener's Hobo With a Shotgun (2011), this actually feels closer in tone to Eddie Mullins's slacker dramedy, Doomsdays, as it follows a likeable, but deeply flawed protagonist, as he lurches from one poor decision to another grim consequence.

Ginger bearded derelict Dwight Evans (Macon Blair) lives in his rusting blue Pontiac Bonneville saloon. He spends his days under the boardwalk at the beach and his nights rummaging through bin bags for food near the Funland amusement park. Whenever possible, he breaks into houses and avails himself of the facilities. Indeed, he is first seen soaking in the tub when one Dakota family comes home unexpectedly and he has to beat a hasty retreat. Shortly afterwards, he is summoned to the police station by officer Sidné Anderson, where he is given news that prompts him to steal a gun from a locked pick-up truck. However, the weapon has a security lock on the trigger and Dwight smashes the barrel in trying to remove it with a crowbar at a remote beauty spot.

Several years ago, Wade Cleland, Jr. (Sandy Barnett) murdered Dwight's parents and, when he learns that he is going to be released early, he is bent on exacting his revenge. Having watched Wade reunite with his family - Kris (Eve Plumb); Teddy (Kevin Kolak); Carl (Brent Werzner), and Hope (Stacy Rock) - outside the gaol in backwater Virginia, he follows their stretch limo and, when it pulls into a roadside diner, Dwight sneaks in through a back entrance and waits for Wade in a toilet cubicle. His knife attack is desperate and inexpert and the sheer physical exertion of inflicting a fatal wound is shown in all its gruesome glory. But, as Dwight slumps back, Wade is left staring at the ceiling with blood gushing from a stab to the head.

Realising he has lost his car keys in the struggle, Dwight decides to steal the Cleland's vehicle, even though he has used the knife to puncture a tyre (and badly cut his palm in the process). He has not gone far, however, before he hears knocking on the dividing glass. When he pulls over, a callow youth named William (David W. Thompson) emerges from the backseat and sees the blood on Dwight's t-shirt. He asks if he has harmed Wade and, when Dwight tries to explain that he killed his parents, William doubts that this is true before running away.

Breaking into another house, Dwight shaves off his beard, tidies himself up and steals some clean clothes. He tracks down his sister Sam (Amy Hargreaves), who lives on her own with her two small daughters. She takes him to a diner for lunch and wonders why he has chosen to show up now after fleeing when their parents died. He confesses to his crime and urges her to get away because there has been nothing about the killing in the media and he realises that the Clelands have not called in the cops because they intend exacting their own brand of justice. Sam is furious with him for endangering her family and calls him weak, as she drives away.

Holing up inside Sam's house, Dwight searches for possible weapons in the shed. He finds a box of keepsakes and is looking through an album when he hears a noise. Turning on the upstairs light, he lures the prowler inside and dashes out to escape in his car. The intruder follows him and is about to aim a rifle at him when Dwight reverses the vehicle into him. A second figure looms in the darkness and, grabbing the rifle, Dwight gives pursuit. When he loses him, Dwight rushes back to the car, bundles Teddy Cleland on the backseat and opens the driver door. At that moment, he is hit in the leg with a crossbow bolt and he speeds off in excruciating agony.

Having found the spare keys to the Pontiac, Dwight transfers Teddy to the boot and traps the arrow in the back door to cut it down to size with a hacksaw. He buys medical supplies and pliers in a bid to remove the tip, but has to check into a hospital. Waking from the operation, does a bunk in a surgical gown and, having taken some clothes from a charity dumpster, he  retraces his step to the Bonneville. Teddy is still alive in the boot. So, having looked up old friends in a college yearbook, Dwight goes in search of Ben Gaffney (Devin Ratray) and asks if he can do him a favour.

They go to Ben's place, where he shows Dwight a selection of firearms. He takes a semi-automatic repeater rifle and plans to shoot Teddy through the boot of the car. However, he flips the catch and tosses his prisoner some water. Teddy tells him that Wade, Jr. didn't kill his parents. He only took the rap because their father, Big Wade (who had caught his wife cuckolding him with Dwight's dad), had been diagnosed with cancer and they didn't want him to die behind bars. Aghast at stabbing the wrong Cleland, Dwight tosses Teddy a phone and orders him to call his siblings so they can put an end to the feud. However, Teddy overpowers Dwight and is about to finish him when the side of his face is blown off with a single shot fired by Ben, who didn't trust his friend to finish the job.

Ben shows Dwight how to fire a buckshot gun and they hug warmly, as Dwight heads for the Cleland place. He breaks in and breathlessly searches each room to check no one is home. Taking all the weapons he can find, he wraps them in a blanket and tosses them in the lake before digging a shallow grave in the grounds for Teddy. Nearby, he spots the stone marking Big Wade's last resting place and urinates on it. Back in the house, he tries to stay awake by flipping through family albums.

Dwight dozes off a couple of times, but the clan comes home after he leaves a message on their answermachine that lures them back to listen. As they listen to the plea to end the feud, Dwight aims the rifle at Kris, Hope and Carl, but he only pulls the trigger when they realise he is there and Carl crows that they are going to find Sam and slaughter her. But, as Dwight blows him away, William creeps into the half-lit room past a shelf full of framed photographs. He wounds Dwight in the stomach, but he urges the boy to flee, as he now knows William is his half brother and he wants someone to survive the fact that his father loved Big Wade's mom. As the dazed William wanders into the gathering storm outside, Kris and Hope reach for weapons Dwight had failed to find (including a machine gun) and he is left muttering that they keys are in the car as he dies.

Closing on a montage taking the audience back from the Cleland compound to Sam's house, Saulnier shows the world going on as usual, oblivious to the carnage that has taken place. A crossbow bolt is embedded in a grass verge, as a jogger runs past. The postman pushes the mail through the letter box and the camera closes in for the final shot of the postcard Dwight sent Sam to warn her he was on his way.

Acting as his own cinematographer, Saulnier is in complete control of every frame of this simmering thriller. Dotting the action with several deft Hitchcockian grace notes, he keeps the focus firmly on Dwight and his transformation from unkempt wild man to dangerous milquetoast. Consequently, the audience comes to share his perspective, even though it isn't always possible to root for him entirely, as so many of his ideas are foolhardy and belie the supposedly methodical preparation that goes into their execution. Early on, Saulnier establishes that Dwight is a decent man, as he housebreaks in order to bathe and reads books by the dim light inside his car. But he keeps us at a distance, too, by never quite explaining how far he went off the rails after his parents died and why he is so convinced that killing Wade, Jr. would make things better for himself, Sam and her kids.

In a way, these unanswered questions point to the ease with which vulnerable people can slip through the cracks in American society. But they are also the cause of some minor frustrations, as it's never made clear where Dwight gets his cash from (is he on welfare and, if so, how has he managed to evade detection for so long?) and why the kindly cop knows all about his situation, but didn't think to contact Sam to reassure her that her sibling was safe. However, such backstory gaps are often part of a film noir's charm and they force the viewer to search for clues in Macon Blair's sad eyes and hangdog demeanour.

His performance holds the picture together, although he is nicely supported by Hargreaves and Ratray, who essentially admire his willingness to take on the Clelands, but have very different views on his way of going about it. There is, for example, a touching sadness about the sequence in the diner, in which Hargreaves tries to explain how much she has missed him and wishes he had said hello when he saw her at the resort where they had holidayed as children. Similarly, there is a bleakly comedic feel to the scenes in which Ratray strives to teach Blair how to defend himself and a poignant sense of time and friendship lost, as Ratray goes home with a heavy heart and leaves Blair to do what a man has to do.

Despite inviting the viewer to empathise with Dwight, Saulnier never condones or condemns his misdeeds. But he is careful to ensure that this is a picture about consequences rather than actions and Saulnier eschews restless handheld imagery to allow the camera to capture events at a discrete distance across the width of the frame. Moreover, he opts against giving Dwight any heartfelt speeches that afford him the opportunity to justify his antics. Dwight's darkly droll tragedy lies in the fact that he realises too late that everything he does forces him to do something even more egregious in order to alleviate its detrimental effects. Just occasionally, the narrative stalls, as though Saulnier and Blair are wondering what to do next. But, like Julia Bloch's acute editing, Matt Snedecor and Dan Flosdorf's evocative sound design and Brooke and Will Blair's brooding synthesised score, this only adds to the suspense and the awful sense of inevitability.

The great American outdoors also has a key role to play in Bobcat Goldthwait's Willow Creek, which opens in a cringe-inducingly goofy manner before presenting one of the most chilling under canvas sequences in movie history. The denouement is much less inspired, but this is every bit as engaging and offbeat a two-hander as the much underrated God Bless America (2011).

Keen to visit Bluff Creek and see where Roger Patterson and Bob Gimlin famously shot footage of a Sasquatch in 1967, Bryce Johnson coaxes actress girlfriend Alexie Gilmore into spending his birthday weekend making an amateur documentary. She feels uncomfortable driving on winding roads while holding a microphone and teases Johnson about his belief in a creature she is convinced is entirely mythical. After recording a couple of excruciating pieces to camera en route, the pair arrive in Willow Creek, where Johnson interviews a visitor centre attendant, bookshop owner Steve Streufert, a retired park ranger and singer-songwriter Tom Yamerone with differing degrees of success. They visit a museum, where even Johnson is tempting to mock the exhibits. Indeed, he puts on similarly silly voices while scarfing down a Bigfoot burger in the local diner, surveying a mural showing a Sasquatch helping labourers build the town and while being warned against venturing into the Trinity National Forest while interviewing a carved wooden critter beside their motel.

Gilmore is keen to move to Los Angeles to further her career and is prepared to humour Johnson as much as she can. However, she questions his wisdom when he ignores a warning to turn back from a snarling bruiser and takes an alternative road deeper into the woods. She also becomes bored with filming everything, as they struggle across the difficult terrain. But she forgives him when they set up camp in what appears to be an idyllic spot and Johnson finds a glorious mountain stream for a bit of skinny-dipping. On returning to their tent, however, they find their belongings have been ransacked and Gilmore has to be persuaded to stay the night.

Once darkness falls, however, the mood changes completely, particularly after Gilmore turns down Johnson's marriage proposal by suggesting that they live together in LA  He reluctantly agrees and they settle down to sleep. But Johnson is disturbed by knocking sounds in the middle distance and strange cries piercing the nocturnal silence. They try to reassure each other that there is nothing to worry about, only to huddle closer together inside their sleeping bag when they hear something moving around outside. Gilmore screams when the entity touches the tent and they survive the night. But they get lost trying to find their way back to the car the next morning and are nowhere near as lucky in striving to lay low.

While it succumbs to the odd `found footage' cliché and just occasionally takes liberties with some of the Northern Californians playing themselves, this is a hugely enjoyable caper that is superbly played by the genial Johnson and the perky Gilmore and photographed with a keen eye for character and landscape by Evan Phelan. Ultimately, everything turns on a missing person poster. But the shivers are palpable during the audacious long take lit by the camera bulb and driven by the couple's wide-eyed responses to Frank Montes's expertly judged sound mix. Running some 20 minutes, this scene alone would make this memorable. But Goldthwait also finds time to satirise American belief systems and the tourist mentality, while also commending the zeal of amateur enthusiasts, musing on the danger of doubting what cannot be disproved and emphasising just what a divided country the United States actually is.

It's much harder to get a grip on Singapore in Anthony Chen's debut feature, Ilo Ilo, which is set in the Lion City in 1997 and keeps threatening to offer insights into the socio-political make-up of this fiercely protective enclave, but consistently loses its nerve and retreats into diegetic cosiness. The winner of the Camera d'or at Cannes for the Best First Feature, this is a genial coming-of-age saga, with a poignant migration subplot. But, despite the spirited performances, this always feels a little lightweight and too often relies on contrivance to kickstart the action or ease it out of a diegetic corner.

Although life isn't always easy, lower middle-class Chinese couple Chen Tian Wen and Yeo Yann Yann are doing okay. He works as a salesman for a glass company, while she is a secretary at a shipping firm. Yeo is also expecting her second child and persuades Chen that they need to hire a nanny to keep an eye on 10 year-old son Koh Jia Ler when he gets into trouble at school for attempting to cover up his own misdemeanour by accusing a teacher of abusing him. Chen is reluctant to fritter hard-earned cash, but consents to twentysomething Filipina Angeli Bayani moving into their cramped apartment.

Koh is less than impressed at being given a minder and he tries to frame Bayani for shoplifting. However, when he breaks his arm after being involved in a traffic accident while trying to run away from Bayani, Koh becomes increasingly dependent upon her. Moreover, when she starts a water fight to cheer him up after stripping him naked for a shower, Koh sees an ally rather than an adversary. Indeed, he even starts listening to Pinoy pop and gobbling up Bayani' spicy cooking, which he says he prefers to Yeo's bland cuisine.

As economic conditions begin to deteriorate, Chen loses his job and has to take a pay cut in order to work as a nightwatchman. Yeo is also concerned, as overseas workers are being laid off by her company and they can't afford to lose her wage. Bayani is also facing a crisis, as her sister back in the province of Ilo Ilo is reluctant to keep caring for her child and drunken husband and informs Bayani that she will need extra money to make babysitting bearable. Bayani takes a secret second job at a Filipino hair salon and begins to feel the strain of burning the candle at both ends. Indeed, when Koh makes an inappropriate remark about a neighbour who has committed suicide, Bayani slaps him and he is devastated at having disappointed her.

Chen confesses to Yeo that he has lost some of their savings playing the stock market. But she also incurs an unwanted expense when she signs up to a self-help course that turns out to be a scam. Bayani sympathises, but Yeo is becoming increasingly irritated by the closeness between the maid and her boy and things come to a head when Chen gets into more trouble at school. Unable to contact either Chen or Yeo, Bayani meets with Indian principal Jo Kukathas and pleads with her not to expel Koh for beating up a classmate. However, Yeo bursts into Kukatha's office and not only upbraids Bayani for assuming a parental role, but also ticks her off for wearing one of her cast-off dresses (which she had earlier given her to try on or donate to a charity shop).

Aware he is indebted to Bayani, Koh escapes with a humiliating corporal punishment in front of the whole school at assembly. But their friendship is brought to an end, when Chen quits his job after an accident and he decides to fire Bayani, as he has no idea when he will be able to findn more work. Koh is overwrought and snips a lock of Bayani's hair in the taxi to the airport. Following an emotional farewell, Koh goes back to his room and listens to Bayani's favourite Pinoy songs. Chen smiles indulgently, but the future remains uncertain, as Yeo gives birth to a second son.

Highly enjoyable, if somewhat anaemic, this is clearly a deeply personal project for Anthony Chen, who was brought up by a Filipina nanny before training at the National Film and Television School. It arrives here festooned with prizes. Yet it lacks the cutting critique and satirical subversiveness that made Chilean Sebastián Silva's The Maid (2009) so memorable. Chen strives to draw attention to the social restrictions that abound in Singapore, as well as the class and racial tensions that moil beneath its carefully cultivated surface. But he seems as intent on not offending as he does making trenchant points and, consequently, his analysis of a complex and controlled environment is frustratingly superficial in comparison to the more pugnacious offerings of Eric Khoo, Jack Neo and ageing enfant terrible, Royston Tan.

The Chinese title translates as `Mom and Dad Are Not Home', yet Chen struggles to exploit the duality this implies by failing to make the most of the Ilo Ilo subplot. Indeed, Bayani's private life almost feels like an afterthought, with the sequences of her making calls from public telephones and sneaking out to her second job having no wider narrative significance. It is also never explained why she has to return to the Philippines after the family dispenses with her services. Surely, she would be better off financially remaining in Singapore and finding another job. But Chen provides too little information on the gravity of the looming economic crisis for viewers to read between the lines.

Chen is more forthcoming about his own juvenile shortcomings, as Koh is depicted as a spoilt brat, with a quick temper and a nasty streak that sees him strive to land others in trouble at every opportunity. The debuting Koh plays him admirably in the face of Yeo's peevish neglect and the excellent Bayani's tough love. But Chen overdoes the recurring gag about baby chicks and also allows Koh the odd moment of winsomeness that Hirokazu Koreeda denied his young leads in Like Father, Like Son (2012). Similarly, there is a dubious hint of misogyny in the accusations of henpecking that Chen Tian Wen hurls at Yeo Yenn Yenn (whose actual pregnancy during the shoot necessitated a plot change) when his status as breadwinner is jeopardised and in the spiteful way in which Yeo treats Bayani when she feels usurped in both her husband and son's affections. This has moments of wit, charm and sweetness. But, while cinematographer Benoit Soler has a real feel for the place, Chen seems indifferent to establishing an authentic sense of time and this aggregation of nagging flaws makes the feel-good sentimentality of the denouement feel more than a little unearned.

Mawkishness has long been a key ingredient of anime and it is liberally sprinkled by Yasuhiro Yoshiura throughout Patema Inverted, an imaginative futuristic fantasy that began life as a four-part online series entitled Patema Inverted: Beginning of the Day. As is often the case with Japanimation, the premise is ingenious. But it also requires such a considerable suspension of disbelief that the contrivances needed to keep the story on track often risk tipping it into cheap sci-fi melodrama. 

Several decades ago, scientists attempted to generate energy from gravity. The experiment caused a giant explosion that not only destroyed the city, but also left those caught in the blast with an inverted sense of gravity. Realising that they would fall into the sky if they ventured outside, the survivors tunnelled down and built a subterranean hideaway that negated their upside downness. On the surface, the metropolis of Aiga rose from the ruins and all mention of the holocaust was outlawed. However, rumours continued to circulate and the tyrannical rulers of the brave new world remained determined to locate the renegades and eradicate them before the pure upright bloodline became corrupted.

Princess Patema (Yukiyo Fujii) has been warned by Elder (Shinya Fukumatsu) about leaving security of the underground compound and venturing into its outer limits. But, ever since her beloved friend Lagos (Masayuki Kato) failed to return from an exploratory expedition to Aiga, Patema has been curious about the land above and the prospect of seeing the sunshine. She thinks back to the last time she spoke to Lagos and looks at the polaroid he gave her of the real world and determines to give classmate Porta (Shintaro Ohata) the slip and embark upon an adventure. As she creeps around the Zone at night, however, she runs into some sinister figures with red lights shining on their helmets and Patema is so terrified of these `bat people' that she clambers through a tunnel that suddenly leaves her clinging to a fence for fear of falling into the night sky.

Dropping her backpack, as she feels the force pulling her down/upwards, Patema hears a voice calling to her to grab his hand. She has no option but to trust the stranger and Age (Nobuhiko Okamoto) manages to hold her around the waist and, notwithstanding the risk of them floating away, he succeeds in carrying her back to the shack he used to share with his inventor father. Age explains that Patema was lucky he was lying on the grass gazing at the stars near the entrance to the forbidden tunnel. He also reveals that he has been alone since his father had an accident in his flying machine. But he is glad his theories about a race below ground was true, as they are taught at school not to speculate about anything that is not firmly tethered to the earth. 

Eager not to arouse suspicion, Age goes to classes the next day and leaves Patema suspended to the ceiling for safety. However, the security police know an Invert is on the loose and they launch a raid on the shack just as Age gets home. They try to escape, with Age holding Patema above him like a human balloon, whose lightness almost enables him to fly above the surface as he flees. They make for the tunnel to seek sanctuary underground, but they are caught between the satellite dishes abutting the hole fence when Jaku, an aide to the dictator Izamura (Takaya Hash) fires a missile that traps the fugitive in a net and they are taken to the Control Centre tower for questioning.

Having been lectured by the principal, Age is cautioned by Izamura that he will meet with an unfortunate accident like his father and he realises that the leader sabotaged his mission to maintain his reign of terror over the citizens. Izamura similarly tells Patema that he has no intention of allowing his subjects to be corrupted by the Inverts who nearly destroyed the planet and he shows her a vast tank housing Lagos's inert corpse. Holding her out of the window, Izamura threatens to drop her and let her be swept away unless she co-operates. But Patema refuses to let him possess her, even though she realises she is entirely dependent upon him.

Back in his shack in the countryside, Age finds a small capsule that Patema dropped in their haste to escape the guards (which was given to her by Lagos before his departure). He is wondering what to do to help Patema when Porta climbs out of the hole and persuades Age to come and explain his experiences to Elder. Struggling to acclimatise to being upside down, Age tells Elder that he felt blissfully happy in Patema's company and begs him to help rescue her. He agrees to let Porta accompany Age and tells them they are directly below the Control Tower basement and can gain access to the edifice without being detected.

Izamura has had Patema transferred to the glass turret at the top of the tower and she looks out at the sky with a mixture of terror and awe. She is mightily relieved to see Age and weeps when she tells him that Lagos is dead. But, as Age hangs on to her for dear life, Izamura bursts in and Age breaks the glass of the dome to get on to the roof. Izamura and Jaku follow. But the latter cannot bring himself to shoot the youngsters and this gives Patema the chance to take a running jump and sweep Age into mid-air and let the weight around her ankle bring them slowly down to earth.

Porta is convinced the pair were killed when they shot into the sky. But Patema is driven to survive by her memories of Lagos and she steers them to a soft landing in a floodlit area filled with large down-pointing chutes. They slide down one of them and find themselves in what appears to be a storeroom. She walks towards a twinkling light and realises it is the torch in her backpack. They also find the flying machine and Age tries to get it going. Patema finds a satchel on the floor and takes out a diary that explains how Age's father had sheltered Lagos when he came to Aiga and how they had built the machine together. A slight lurch in the basket causes the youths to fall forwards and they giggle as they gaze into each other's eyes and hold hands.

Meanwhile, Izamura is fuming because Patema prefers Age to him and he orders them found and destroyed. However, Jaku is distracted by his memories of the day the flying machine was sabotaged and Lagos was captured and he finally realises that Izamura has been using unfounded fears to subjugate the population. As they go about their business on the gliding conveyor pathways that criss-cross Aiga, some look to the heavens and see Patema and Age above them in the flying machine. Izamura sees the craft on a CCTV monitor and rushes outside, just as the fugitives jump from the gondola and land beside the hole. Izamura orders Jaku to fire a net missile. But he misses on purpose and Age and Patema disappear below ground. Instead of being livid, however, Izamura is ecstatic, as he only has to follow the couple to discover the whereabouts of the Invert colony.

Elder and Porta are holding a memorial for Patema when she arrives. However, a shattering explosion sees Izamura drop into their sanctuary in the flying machine. He orders Jaku to arrest everyone, but he refuses and only Porta's bravery prevents Age and Patema from being shot. Nevertheless, they plunge downwards and, when they land, Izamura pulls a gun and threatens to kill Age unless Patema surrenders to him. Once again, Porta tries to intervene, but falls to his death in disarming the tyrant. He pulls a knife and closes in on the innocent lovers. But the ground is beginning to crack and Izamura disappears from sight, as the screen whites out.

As the colour returns, it's clear that Age and Patema are also dropping like stones. But they cling together and gravity kicks in to send them slowly upwards. Jaku fires a net to secure them and the people of Aiga stand amazed as boulders float past them into the sky. When Age recovers consciousness, he sees the city has been destroyed and is overgrown with greenery. As Jaku explains that those who caused the original explosion stayed with the victims and tried to help them, Patema runs on to a patch of lush grass. She embraces Age and together they float above the ruins and, as a flock of birds flies past them, Elder tells Jaku that maybe now Lagos's dream of a reunited humanity might finally come true.

It goes without saying that the graphics are impressive, with the contrasts between the two worlds being suitably dramatic. But the sight of Age and Patema clinging together as they float through the air often induces unintentional laughter, as does the montage of stills showing Age's father and an upside down Lagos trying to put the world to rights. Beside the odd problem with the visualisation of Patema and Age in their alien environments, Yoshiura tells his tale slickly, if a touch sluggishly. He also poses some interesting questions about the control of ideas, the power of propaganda, the pervasiveness of prejudice and the fragility of the planet and the lifestyles it sustains and this could easily be seen as an eco parable. But there is enough here to prompt aficionados to seek out the ONA franchise, if only to see whether some of the more obvious leaps in logic were handled any better.