The Greatest Showman is a musical biopic of Phineas T. Barnum, telling the story of his life from the son of a penniless tailor to becoming the founder of one of the most famous circuses in the world.
Hugh Jackman gives a charismatic and likeable performance as Barnum. He's a chancer, a huckster with a silver tongue, who can talk the talk- but also back it up. They way he talks people round to his way of thinking is impressive. A man desperate for the approval and acceptance he never had before, there's an interesting contradiction lying at Barnum's core which the film doesn't always explore well enough (which is down to the script). Another interesting part is his willingness to exploit the 'otherness' of his charges; when he recruits Tom Thumb, the young man accuses Barnum of wanting to get people to laugh at him. Barnum's response: 'they're laughing anyway, kid, so you might as well get paid'. Whilst this may be true, it comes across as a little callous. But even with this, with a winning smile and a twinkle in his eye, Jackman is never less than magnetic in the lead role.
Michelle Williams is underused as Barnum's devoted and incredibly patient wife Charity, but she's good when she's given something to do. Zac Efron gets a strong arc as playwright Phillip Carlyle (a composite character of several people in Barnum's life, including business partner James Bailey), a man of privilege and wealth who goes against convention by running off to join the circus. He has his head turned by trapeze artist Anne Wheeler, but issues of status and race (Anne is mixed-race, whilst Philip is white) mean the path of true love doesn't run that smoothly. Zendaya plays Anne with a spark of intensity which is great to see.
There's a nice supporting turn from Rebecca Ferguson as Swedish opera singer Jenny Lind, who provides Barnum with a shot at legitimacy in society, but who proves to be more complicated than first expected. Keala Settle provides heart and poignancy as bearded lady Lettie, who Barnum finds working in a laundry and eventually puts on stage. Finally, Paul Sparks gives a nice edge of antagonism to his role as newspaper critic James Gordon Bennett, who clashes with Barnum on several occasions; Bennett sees Barnum's show as nothing more than low entertainment, even using the phrase 'circus' to describe it (which Barnum leaps on and appropriates).
This is Michael Gracey's feature film directorial debut and he shows some real artistic flair. The production design of the film is really good and there are some really nice visual flourishes and some really good choreography, such as in 'The Other Side', the bar-room duet between Barnum and Phillip where Barnum tries to get him to come on board (where shots are poured and drank in between dancing on the bar). Jenny Bicks' and Bill Condon's script is perhaps the weakest part of the entire endeavour. It follows the usual rags-to-riches biopic formula but, crucially, even if events really did unfold as they do in the film, the story feels contrived: there's an unexpected romantic subplot which comes as Barnum grows further away from his family; there's the expected moment where he loses everything but that's not the end of the world. It feels very standard, by-the-numbers, which is a shame.
The songs are written by Benj Pasek and Justin Paul, who wrote the songs for La La Land. Just as in that film, the songs range from the perfectly serviceable to the instantly forgettable, along with a couple of absolute stormers, such as Phillip and Anna's highwire love duet 'Rewrite The Stars' and- the song which has got the most attention from the film- 'This Is Me', which is destined to become a modern classic. A defiant, poignant, powerful statement of intent delivered with gusto and vulnerability by Keala Settle, I found myself unexpectedly moved by the performance and wanting to stand and applaud at the end of the number.
All said, this was a light, fun way to spend a Sunday afternoon. It's pure popcorn fodder and a lovely way to while away a few hours.
Rating: 3.5 out of 5
Tez
An expertly plotted, intricate thriller, The Girl On The Train is based on the best-selling book by Paula Hawkins and directed by Tate Taylor (The Help)
Transplanting the story from London to New York, it follows Rachel Watson (Emily Blunt), a woman who forms a fascination with a young woman (Haley Bennett) who she sees from the train every day on her way to work. Rachel builds up a perfect fantasy life for the woman. But when the young woman- whose name is Megan- disappears, Rachel becomes embroiled in the mystery. But can we really trust her version of events? Is there more to Megan's disappearance than meets the eye? Could Rachel have had something to do with it?
I'm an absolute sucker for books or films with unreliable narrators- there's something deeply satisfying about a work that can skilfully pull the rug out from under you- and here, we get not one, but three, narrators who aren't telling us everything. As the layers of the story unfold, what we think we know turns out to be wrong. Dead wrong.
There is an absolutely brilliant central performance by Emily Blunt. Rachel is a fascinating, flawed character- the main character, certainly, but definitely no heroine- and Blunt plays it to the hilt with absolutely no shred of ego involved. Rachel looks haggard, eyes sunk, as alcohol and regret make their mark. She is prone to drunken outbursts and blackouts and has a very complicated relationship with her ex-husband Tom (Justin Theroux) and his new wife Anna (Rebecca Ferguson). There's no attempt to soften or mitigate the rough edges of the character. She is presented warts and all, and it's one of Blunt's finest dramatic performances.
Megan is a similarly contradictory character; Rachel's imagined perfect life is very different to her reality. Bennett gets to play many facets to Megan- flirty, vulnerable, brazen, distraught- which all build in to her disappearance. Occasionally, Bennett's performance lapses into cliche but that could be to do with the script. To round out our triumvirate of troubled women, we have Anna. Scared of Rachel and mistrustful of her influence on her ex-husband, all Anna wants is to be left alone to get on with her life. What could have been a stereotypical new-wife-threatened-by-the-old is given nuance by Ferguson's performance and- as the story progresses- we come to realise that perhaps there's more to Anna than meets the eye.
You may think that, being such a female-heavy story, the male characters get short shrift. Not so. Whilst it's true that Luke Evans gets lumbered with little to do other than brood and shout as Megan's husband Scott, the other main male characters- Tom, and Megan's therapist Dr. Abdic (Edgar Ramirez)- are a bit more rounded and each feeds in to the main story. Whilst I have to say I called the twist, it was less to do with any of the performances and more to do with the law of averages.
The Girl On The Train (both the book and the film) have been compared to Gone Girl, and I can see why. There's some similarities- the unreliable narrators, stories told from the female view, moments of shocking violence (although Gone Girl takes the gold on that one)- but this is far from a pale imitation. This isn't a go-in-and-switch-your-brain-off film. It is taxing, especially to keep track of the differing timelines and points of view but if you're in the mood for a dark, psychological, tricksy puzzle-box of a film, this is well worth a go.
Review: 4 out of 5
Tez
The story of American soprano Florence Foster Jenkins may not be known to many, but that will change with the latest film by Stephen Frears (Philomena, Mrs Henderson Presents, The Queen) which stars Meryl Streep in the title role.
Jenkins was famed for being one of the worst singers to perform in public (a posthumous collection of her recordings has the slightly arch title Murder On The High Cs). An eccentric New York heiress, Jenkins wanted to become an opera singer and had the money to indulge that desire- despite not having the requisite talent to go with it. She was consistently flat, with very little sense of pitch or rhythm, appalling foreign pronunciation and attempted songs that were far beyond her range and ability (such as the challenging 'Queen Of The Night' aria from The Magic Flute). She only ever gave one recital to which the general public could attend, booking out Carnegie Hall in October 1944 when she was at the grand age of 76. She was once quoted as saying 'People may say I can't sing, but no one can ever say I didn't sing' (an admirable sentiment)
Frears' film takes a standard biopic approach, with the climax being the Carnegie Hall performance.
Streep's performance is, as you would expect, flawless (even if the script doesn't always match). She plays Jenkins' eccentric little tics broadly but without ever lapsing into caricature, whilst also showing a more tender and emotional side- Jenkins had a tragic early marriage to a man who would give her syphilis on her wedding night (which may have accounted for some of her difficulties in later life). Her bad singing is very bad, so bad as to almost be good (much like playing the piano, it seems one has to be very good at something to do it badly).
Hugh Grant gives one of his best performances in years as St Clair Bayfield, Jenkins' second husband, a Shakespearean actor who later acted as her manager. He's sweetly indulgent of Jenkins' plans, never once pulling her short or bringing her back to earth, supporting her and protecting her even in the face of public ridicule (on the morning after the Carnegie Hall recital, he tries to buy every copy of a newspaper he knows has written a scathing review). There's a bit of unnecessary padding showing his relationship with another woman- because of Jenkins' illness, arrangements were made for Bayfield in what appears to be a kind of 'don't ask, don't tell'- which, for me, detracted from the main story, although there is a good turn by Rebecca Ferguson as 'the other woman'.
There's a lovely, gauche and very unassuming performance by The Big Bang Theory's Simon Helberg who plays Jenkins' accompianist Cosme McMoon. We see him auditioning for her at the beginning and is aghast at the first time he actually hears Jenkins sing. He is much more the voice of reason- although only ever to Bayfield, never to Jenkins herself. Yet, he remains loyal throughout despite his reservations.
It's a gentle, almost Sunday afternoon film- there's no strong swearing, no violence, no graphic sex- and veers between laugh-out-loud comedy and a touching drama about a woman who never let her lack of talent hold her back. Joyous.
Rating: 4 out of 5
Tez
