★★★★☆
Four Stars

Richard Ayoade’s new movie is thematically tied to his 2010 debut Submarine, both films constituting a wry glance at the lonely, romantic fantasies of reclusive young men. Submarine would make for a compelling double-bill alongside this sophomore directing effort, but audiences expecting something tonally similar to Ayoade’s sensitive, self-aware coming of age drama will find themselves contending with something surprisingly dark, more intellectually ambitious. An appropriate progression perhaps, considering the nature of the Dostoyevsky novella upon which the movie is based.  

The Double follows office employee Simon James (Jesse Eisenberg), performing day-in, day-out, a mundane job involving ‘regression analysis’ (the exact nature of which remains teasingly vague) within the confines of a nightmarish industrial dystopia, seemingly reminiscent of Soviet Russia or the work-place of Thatcher’s Britain. Simultaneously ‘ultramodern’ and painfully retro, the brown-dusty palette of Ayoade’s film immediately establishes the emotionless, claustrophobic world Simon inhabits – surroundings which seem to intoxicate his very character, even down to his vapid stillness.

Against this bleak canvas, Simon’s attentions are occupied by two things, the first being a space-age TV adventure show (lead by a pouting, stubbly Paddy Considine) which is, at once, hilariously dreadful yet channels the energy of creepy Orwellian propaganda. The second is the ethereal Hannah (Mia Wasikowska) who lives in the flat opposite Simon but pays him little attention. Unfortunately for Simon, Hannah’s reciprocal affection seems as distant and unreal as the TV programme. Simon makes up excuses daily to visit Hannah but can never muster the courage to speak, instead, in a Rear-Window-esque trope, watching her silently through his telescope at night; it’s tragic, absurd, hilarious and creepy. Indeed, this multiplicity of tones, balanced so delicately by Eisenberg’s performance, is what makes The Double a truly impressive work.

The central conceit of the film follows Simon James meeting James Simon, an exact replica of himself facially but in all other senses his polar opposite. Ayoade draws out the uncanniness of the scenario with skill; because Simon is so essentially invisible in contrast with the ebullient and charismatic James, no-one is able or willing to recognise the eeriness of the situation, making this a complication which Simon must deal with independently. The camera-work effortlessly captures the neurotic disorientation of Simon, and Ayoade’s tendency to dwell on shots with a sort of irrational precision collapses the distinction between the psychological and reality to unsettling effect.

Notable too is the sound design of The Double, switching between mechanical droning, orchestral scores and dead silence in a way which further highlights the extent to which what we watch is being distorted by a disturbed perceiving consciousness. Where Submarine utilised voice-over to great effect, here Ayoade deprives us of any mediating or signposting voice, assaulting the mind and senses with pictures and sounds as tantalising and mystifying as its Dostoyevsky source material.

It’s funny, but uncomfortably so. Although lightened by a number of brilliant cameo roles (Chris Morris as a ‘workers service executive’ and Craig Roberts as the side-kick of a suicide police investigator are particular stand-outs) Jesse Eisenberg is not playing the role for the laughs. Although he clearly relishes the egotistical narcissism of the extrovert James, both roles are thoughtfully shaped and ultimately quite saddening. Indeed, it’s almost anti-comedy, as if James is trapped inside a sit-com, trying to break out of the comedic set-up in which he is ensnared, where everything is designed to frustrate his very human desires.

Unfortunately, Ayoade’s film can be so thoughtfully stylised and psychological that there are times when the action on screen becomes distant, at time alienating. Although the film demands a cold temperature to convey the numbed, stilted life of James, even Mia Wasikowska’s deeply sympathetic performance can’t always retrieve the film from the lifelessness it has tried so hard to convey; I found myself yearning for the underlying warmth of a film like Submarine. This is potentially problematic in a film which has so many narrative twists, where even the slightest disengagement engenders confusion in the mind of the viewer.

Nevertheless, the 93 minute running time means the film reaches a deeply satisfying conclusion before the film’ coldness can become tiresome. And the way Ayoade maintains a consistency of tone throughout is preferable to tacking on half-an-hour of superficially sentimental slop – the road too often taken by indie film-makers. It’s a provocative, aesthetically arresting piece on the way our exterior environment dictates what it means to be an individual, shrewdly written and cleverly acted. Although Richard Ayoade will hopefully remain on Big Fat Quiz of the Year for the foreseeable future, his second directorial project demands that he is taken seriously as an auteur-director, not simply as a TV funny-man. 

As a general rule, everybody always goes a little bit crazy when something very familiar is shaken up and taken in a new direction. Maleficent, Disney’s newest release, has certainly stirred up a remarkable amount of online controversy — and it doesn’t even land in cinemas until May 30^th.

Prejudging certainly happens with the vast majority of new cinematic releases, it’s only natural. Cinema ticket prices are hugely inflated and we want to rest assured that we are getting value for money. If the film looks to be poor quality or a drawn-out sequel of a once-popular hit, sales will inevitably be disappointing. On the other hand, if it’s the long-awaited next episode of a vast franchise or series, there is likely to be a large degree of hype awaiting its release. 

But with Maleficent, nobody really knows what to think. Or where to start. Or indeed, where this film really fits in at all. First of all, where do we place it with regards to Disney’s original animated film Sleeping Beauty (1959)? It is certainly not a sequel, as the action appears to play out within the timeframe of the same story. But the trailer also hints that there will be interspersed moments of backstory…is it therefore partially a prequel? Others would argue, more significantly, that the two films should not be placed together at all. 

The trailer itself doesn’t exactly fill you with the warm fuzzy-wuzzy Disney love-story magic of the original film. It looks a lot darker, very medieval, evocative of an epic. Game of Thrones and Lord of the Rings spring to mind as far as aesthetic is concerned. Though this is very in keeping with popular culture, it has a fatal flaw: being so ominous and scary, it cuts away a sizeable chunk of the Disney franchise’s target audience. Though it has a sizeable adult following, the ethos of Disney has always been child-centered. And though it isn’t the first time Disney has aimed a film at its adult fan base, the majority of those films stood alone, not inseparably tied to one of Disney’s classic kids’ films. 

Even the mere commissioning of the film was enough to raise eyebrows. Would this film, the picking apart of one of the greatest, most unquestionably evil Disney villains, not ruin the original classic? I’d like, at this particular moment, to subtly cough out the word “Wicked”. Maleficent is not the first attempt to remould the villain of a traditional story. In Gregory Maguire’s hugely successful 1995 novel (yes, the book, not the musical) Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, he examines the character of the witch Elphaba through an alternative, more elucidating lens. Like Maleficent, undoubtedly the novel is targeted at an adult audience (NOT a bedtime read for your children), whereas the original Wizard of Oz story is very child-friendly. Yet, most importantly, Maguire’s novel does not largely impact upon the original. We are able, culturally and artistically, to see and enjoy the two creations as being separate if we choose to. 

So the ‘review of the antagonist’ has been done before, and done successfully, without spoiling the source story. But the parallels between Maleficent and the Wicked franchise are far from perfect. Whereas Maguire sheds light on areas of Oz left unlit by the original’s author L. Frank Baum, and introduces characters we didn’t meet in the original, Maleficent is set within the original setting, with the original characters, and even some of the original action. Whereas initially it seemed we could class the film as a prequel, this seems to suggest that rather it is a flat-out remake, with some significant alterations that will, therefore, impact upon the original. 

One more thing cannot be ignored. Angelina Jolie is playing the starring role. It’d be foolish to deny that alone will be a huge point of interest for many. In the trailer, I have to say she appears fabulous. She certainly has the look, she has the voice, she has mastered the nuances of the character, and all of this drawn from a mere two-minute snippet. Considering this, with the whole concept of the film being extensively scrutinised, I’m hoping for tw things.  One, that the film was not constructed around the signing of Jolie to the project and two, if the film is such a “bad idea”, her performance can save it. 

Of course, all of this is speculation. Maleficent might be a huge hit. One thing cannot be denied, many of us, even if we express our doubts about the film, are firmly on Disney’s side — Sleeping Beauty is a childhood memory cherished by many. Though it may be a film that one journalist in the New York Post declared will most likely be a “write down”, a lot of us certainly don’t want it to be. I for one will be crossing my fingers for Disney when May 30th comes around; the proof will be in the pudding. 

It’s 3pm on a Wednesday, and Room 41 of the British Museum is, for lack of a better word, buzzing. As a Medievalist, dedicated watcher of Time Team and general museum geek, I had expected to be one of the few people genuinely excited to hear that the Museum were revamping the room dedicated to showcasing the Sutton Hoo hoard – probably the most important archaeological discovery made in Britain to date. It is lovely, then, to see it so full of life. There are children here, admiring the weaponry. There are people who aren’t tour-guides talking excitedly about artistic symbolism.

The some 600 years that are termed the ‘Anglo-Saxon’ period saw the splitting of the country into separate Kingdoms; the conversion of the English people from Paganism to Christianity; the emergence of a culture of literacy which was the beginnings of the English language as we know it. And yet, it is a period also very much preoccupied with its own transience – the lack of a clear place in history which has continued to define it, leaving the skill and beauty of its art unsung and under-appreciated.

Generally, few people care about the Anglo-Saxons. Consider, say, the Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery’s dingy and uninspiring presentation of the Staffordshire Hoard. The Ashmolean, admittedly, glories in its Medieval collection, with the Alfred Jewel continuously hailed as one of the museum’s must-see objects – but that is only to be expected for a museum owned by the only university in the country where Old English is still mandatory for English undergraduates.

This is a people too often pushed to the side-lines of history, overshadowed by their Roman predecessors and Anglo-Norman successors. It is significant, then, that room 41 actually feels like the centre of something. The Museum are demonstrating their engagement with the idea that the concept of the ‘Dark Ages’ is out of date.

There is, accordingly, a real feeling of light and space in the curation of this room. The tall bright glass cases showcase the intricate artefacts of the hoard in such a way that highlights not (as would perhaps be expected) their age, nor their varying states of decay and fragmentation – but their delicate craftsmanship, their richness and intricacy.

Items aren’t just left to tell their own stories – they are consciously engaged with. The most fragmented pieces have been pieced together, or else placed next to reconstructions which show the way they would have looked in their original glory. Illustrations – such as one showing a cauldron suspended from a beam in the all-important hall – help to place items in context and bring the period alive. The (Alfred) jewel of the collection, the famous helmet, holds a central position, strikingly illuminated to showcase the bestial form created by the brow and nose.

It is not the glass cases and LED lights which create the room’s feeling of space: the contents of the cases are light and beautiful, too. It’s not all rusted weaponry and cruciform brooches. There is a striking amount of glasswork – in the form of beads, drinking-horns, goblets, conical flasks and Roman-style claw-beakers. The shining gold and silver of the plates and jewellery reflect the light of their cases, but also create a light of their own, and appear as new as the day they were buried inside a ship in modern-day East Anglia 1,300 years ago.

Whether you’re a medieval enthusiast looking for something to complement the Vikings exhibition (which I will see when I have a spare £13), an English first-year longing to put The Wanderer etc. into context (because prelims), or if you’re just passing through on the way to see the mummies, Room 41 is well worth a look.

★★★★★

Having heard it described as ‘the perfect film’, I went in to Wes Anderson’s new movie, ‘The Grand Budapest Hotel’ with undeniably high expectations. I was not disappointed. The film tells the story of Gustave H (Ralph Fiennes), a concierge at the magnificent Grand Budapest Hotel. Through his association with one of the elderly guests (the splendid Tilda Swinton), is drawn into a story of murder, family feuding and fine art, with the result that he and his devoted lobby boy Zero resort to series of increasingly madcap capers across the borders of Europe to ensure his safety.

It is an unbelievably precise film, in all its facets. As usual, Anderson’s film-making highlights rather than minimises the artifice inherent in all films. Rather than creating something and positing it as natural, Anderson carefully constructs shots in which every piece of furniture is arranged at a perfect right angle, in which the scenery, the architecture, the decoration is made up of endless squares and rectangles. Frames are composed with precise symmetry and there are countless shots of men walking right down the centre of exactly square corridors. But unlike in some of his previous films, here Anderson never gets too caught up in his own cleverness: it always exists to add to both the comedy and the drama, rather than detract from it.

Furthermore these features function thematically as well as stylistically, for among other things, ‘The Grand Budapest Hotel’ is about storytelling, about creating universes. There are frames, within frames, within frames, as a young girl visits a memorial to an author, who introduces via video a memory of his younger self, who meets a man at the hotel, who eventually gets down to the business of telling Gustave’s story. Each frame is shot in a different aspect ratio, an interesting touch, and one which carries the implication of the changing perspective, even changing universe, that accompanies the change in narrator. Anderson even implies that the hero, M. Gustave himself, is a creator of universes, just as are those who tell his story. We are told that “His world had vanished before he even entered it” and he is shown this world up for his guests, arranging flowers, furniture, and amorous encounters all with the same dedication, just as one might imagine Anderson might have set up each frame of the film. It is an extremely self-reflexive work, and therein lies at least part of its power of enchantment.

Fiennes delivers a performance which demonstrates previously untapped comedic potential, a far cry from the brooding, tortured characters of his resume, and yet no less accomplished. His characterisation is delicate, without ever becoming fussy, detailed without losing emotional depth. The honesty that both he and Tony Revolori bring to the relationship between Gustave and Zero is the solid foundation upon which all Anderson’s whimsy can be safely placed. Also commendable are William Defoe’s unnerving and ferocious villain, Saoirse Ronan’s enchanting turn as a baker’s assistant, and an understated performance by Jude Law. It’s an impressive cast, and the acting here pulls no punches.

Perhaps most importantly the film is undeniably hilarious. It is a perfectly pitched comedy, that had me chuckling more than anything else I’ve seen recently, and yet was still suspenseful, and edged with both darkness and loss. The film conveys nostalgia without kitsch, mainly because of the success, in his role in one of the framing narratives, of F. Murray Abraham in connecting that nostalgia to a very sincere sense of personal sadness and grief. It was undoubtedly a tour de force, and if you miss it then I am absolutely certain that you will be missing out.

Just a postscript though: it is perhaps worth looking at the poster for this film, if you do you’ll notice that it’s rows and rows of pictures of the rather extraordinary cast. Out of the seventeen faces, only three are women.