One More Time With Feeling

Short verdict: A raw and haunting document on grief, Nick Cave turns his sorrow into a harrowing and beautiful look at trauma as explored in interviews and poetic readings, combined with visually arresting recordings of performances from his new new album, Skeleton Tree

There was a clear electric buzz as a large queue formed outside of Leeds’ historic cinema, the Hyde Park Picture House. Following a sold-out performance of the new Nick Cave film One More Time With Feeling on 08/09 (a one-night only screening across the globe and a day ahead of the release of the new album, Skeleton Tree), the Hyde Park Picture House kindly put on, as they dubbed it, an encore performance. Me, my friend and several others in the queue were delighted at the high turn out, imagining only 5 Nick Cave fanatics together at the screening. This was also my inaugural visit to this historic venue (the cinema was founded in 1914 and has continually shown a wide range of films, now specialising in foreign, indie and historic releases) and as I settled into the ‘cosiest cinema in Leeds’, my hopes were high that the film would match the build-up.

Nick Cave (master of gothic songwriting and performance and band leader of the long running band The Bad Seeds) lost his son Arthur, aged 15, to tragic accident in 2015, around the time we began writing and recording his sixteenth album, which would become Skeleton Tree. The film, which began life as an audio-visual document of the writing and recording process, turned into a documentary exploring the grief that two parents are working through having lost their child. The details behind Arthur’s death are not explicitly explored but his loss is felt in every frame of this beautiful film.

Nick Cave at times is bemused that he is even attempting a project such as this following such a terrible trauma. His second in command, Warren Ellis, expresses at the beginning of the film mis-givings about opening up to discussing the experiences that have happened in the past year to his friend and his family. How can a film truly express the feeling a grieving parent must be experiencing? Nick himself says that any time he tries to articulate the words he feels he is just speaking bullshit and is actually do a discredit to his son. However, what the documentary team capture (led by director Andrew Dominik who made the modern classic The Assassination of Jesse James) is pure raw emotion that is expressed in very candid interviews, musical performances of the new songs and avant-garde imagery overplayed with readings of Cave’s poetry. This is not an easy film to watch at all but it ultimately becomes a rewarding experience, examining trauma, the nature of life and the creative process. The film simply asks us to listen and try to understand the grieving process and how fed into creating the new album.

Cave expresses his loss through his music. He makes it clear that his normal creative process could no longer apply instead opting for his emotions to flow free through ad-libbing and improvisation with Warren Ellis. Even if some of the songs were written both Arthur’s death, the way they are performed and produced give a great sense of melancholy. Cave himself says that even if it is not explicit, just by the event that transpired the lyrics will naturally take on a second meaning. It is a fascinating glimpse in the creative process. Through the heavy subject matter, Cave’s love for his wife, Suzy, and son (Arthur was one of a set of twins) and his friendship with band mate Warren Ellis shine through, who brings a real warmth and humour to the film (surprisingly, there a couple of understated laughs in the film). There are wonderful moments in the film, such as a trip to the studio from his son or Ellis belittling his classical violin, that provide moments of levity.

The performances of the new songs are impeccable and the way they are directed (all shot in stunning black-and-white, like the rest of the film) make use of impressive of lighting and subtle camera movement. There are a couple times where it becomes a little bit too overblown but for the most part the style complements the music perfectly. This is intercut with poetic passages, where Cave is describing his various feelings, ranging from deep sadness to bitter anger. Again, the imagery used perfectly matches the time and rhythm of Cave’s prose. The final element of the film are the candid and raw interviews with Cave and Suzy. Cave is quite open in his inability to discuss his emotions, as described earlier, but as an audience we begin, in a small way, to understand the ordeal he has had to, and continues to, endure. He equates trauma to pulling an elastic band attached to your arm. You can pull it further and further and away but eventually it will snap back into place – it has become his new emotional epicentre. Cave, whilst clearly emotionally distraught and deeply tired, is as comfortable as he can be exploring these dark emotional issues. He ultimately concludes that there is a fenced-off part of his brain and how he and his wife have tried to move on with this fenced off place existing. It is difficult to pinpoint what Cave wanted to achieve in the film but that is likely the point – he is trying to work out his place in the universe in the face of an immense personal loss. This beautiful and intimate film is not easy viewing but it bravely tackles issues that many grieving parents must experience and helps those who have not lost a child to understand in even a small way the confusion and emotionally draining experience it is and the ultimate drive to continue to live and begin the grieving process.

Long Verdict: Emotionally raw, Cave employs three distinct styles to explore his feeling of immense grief in the face of losing a loved one. His searing pain becomes a very personal document that candidly discuss all the feelings him and wife continue to experience. While not easy watching but One More Time With Feeling is a rewarding film that sticks with the viewer long after the credits have rolled. Powerful musical performances, cutting interviews and a great style make for an unforgettable documentary.

Rating: 9/10

Room

Short verdict: Intimate and enthralling, Room is a powerhouse of acting and subtle filmmaking. Headed by a stunning turn by Brie Larson, the film also offers one of the best child performances of all time 

What would it be like raising a child trapped in a single, permanently locked, room? This is the concept of Room, a film based on the novel by Irish-Canadian author Emma Donoghue. Loosely inspired by a real life incident (the infamous Fritzl case), Room takes a grim premise and manages to turn it into a look at hope in literally the smallest of places. Brie Larson plays Joy, a young woman kidnapped by an older man, who is routinely raped and gave birth to a child inside a single, locked room. She now spends her days striving to escape boredom and raising her child Jack (creating him a dream-like world where TV serves as an island of different realities – theirs just being one), whilst looking for a chance to escape.

Brie Larson gives a powerhouse performance as Joy, grounding her in a sense of reality – she is a flawed human being like us all and has to make incredibly difficult choices which no-one should have to face. We are reminded of her incredible strength to go through such a trauma and her young age (she was essentially kidnapped as a teenager). The young actor who plays Jack deserves equal props. With Jack at the centre of the film, a bad child performance could easily derail the whole thing. This is a difficult character to play even for an adult, so the fact that he pulls it off and is incredibly effective and emotional is miracle in and of itself. I would dare say this is one of the best child performances I have ever seen in a film – again the film’s commitment to a sense of reality means Jack is both charming and sweet yet also prone to extreme mood swings. We understand and see most things through his perspective and are along for the insane ride that he's on. 

The film commits to its concept 100%. The first half we are exclusively trapped in this one room and director uses every trick imaginable to make this a cinematic experience. We never get establishing shots of ‘room’, just extreme close-ups or mid-shots. This way we understand the geography of the set from the characters’ perspective and understand that this is their whole world. The only establishing shot we get is at the very end of the film, a tracking shot showing the whole room (which has subsequently been seized by the police). Both the audience and Jack and Joy are shocked at the size of the room and serves as a key indicator of their character development. It's a subtle and powerful moment that lingers on after the credits have rolled. The whole film is punctuated by great scenes such as this. While the first half is an intimate and intense look at the two characters’ relationship and plot to escape (which in and of itself would be enough for a good film) the second half commits to the aftermath of such a trauma and both characters’ adjustment to life outside. While no film could truly communicate the years (if not life time) of psychological trauma an event such as this would enact, I do appreciate the length of the time committed to exploring this as thoroughly as possible. Jack has to deal facing the fact that his concept of reality is a lie and has to learn to adjust to the world – in some moments he even pines for the simple life ‘room’ offered.  Joy is faced with picking up the pieces of her life after she was kidnapped and attempting to adjust back to her old life (which, ultimately, is not possible) and this makes for the most dramatic moments of the film.

Room’s best attribute is that a concept which sounds grim and turgid on paper becomes engrossing and enriching. There are grim elements to it but the film rather chooses to concentrate on the intense relationship between and. The fact that it manages to have small moments of levity whilst not undermining its subject matter. Sentimentality never creeps in. Jack’s escape from ‘Room’ is wonderfully executed and is one part exhilarating and in the other part terrifying. Its Room’s excellent balance of tone that keeps the audience emotionally enraptured in its story.

Long verdict: Room is an excellent film, expertly telling its intimate story with subtle filmmaking and excellent acting. A film that will long stick with you after the credits have rolled, Room excels at committing itself to exploring its central. And it never gets bogged down in its grim concepts and has genuine moments of levity (whilst not undermining its very serious subject matter)

Rating: 9/10

Kubo and The Two Strings

Short Verdict: While it may take some narrative short-cuts, at its heart Kubo is an achingly beautiful film about loss, rendered in breath-taking stop-motion animation

Minor spoilers

When presented with a stop-motion animation film, critics often fall back onto bemoaning the rise of CGI-animated films and the subsequent homogenising of the art form. Often more old-school forms of animation fall by the wayside becoming the exception and not the norm. While I do sing the praises and potential of CGI animation (one only needs to look at the golden years of Pixar or Disney’s current second Renaissance as evidence of this) there is something refreshing about alternative forms of animation. The gorgeous hand drawn black-and-white animation of Persepolis.  Studio Ghibli’s beautifully rendered 2D animated vistas. Aardman’s uniquely British blend of good-natured and quietly witty earthy animation. The beautiful swathes of Irish animation studio Saloon. The works of American studio Laika, who debuted with the wonderful adaptation of Neil Gaiman’s Coraline and followed up with Paranorman, have continually pushed the limits of stop motion animation to tell unique stories well outside of the mainstream. Kubo and The Two Strings is yet another great entry into this canon and is by far one of the most visually impressive animated films I have ever seen.

Kubo follows the titular the character, a young boy (Art Parkinson), on a journey of self-discovery set in a fairy-tale inspired Japan of the past. Kubo spends his days telling stories to local townsfolk with the help of his magical abilities and his trusty guitar (regaling his stories using origami figures brought to life by his magic) and taking care of his mentally unstable mother, a kind, nurturing and very protective soul Despite advice from his mother, Kubo accidentally unleashes a vengeful spirit from the past and is forced to go on the run. Along the way he encounters a mysterious creature called Monkey (Charlize Theron) and a cursed samurai, Beetle (Matthew McConaughey), who must team up in order to solve the mystery surrounding Kubo’s family legacy (revolving around the scattered pieces of armour Kubo’s father left behind before his death) and defeat the vengeful spirits who are threatening the live of Kubo and his loved ones.. 

Stop-motion animation has a eerie effect. Quite how pieces of plastic can elicit emotions out of me is just as magical as Kubo’s guitar. The plot itself follows an almost dreamlike/fairy tale logical and the animation suits this. Whether it's a subtle conversation between Kubo and his friends or the incredible opening in which Kubo delights an audience with his origami figures or small details such as the wind brushing against Monkey’s fur, Laika are  truly masters of the form. This is bolstered by an incredible art-design that strongly evokes East Asian (in particular Japanese) art styles. The magical sets and landscape almost evoke a pop-up story book. Everything appears to be lovingly hand-crafted to create a cohesive fantasy world. The creature designs in particular are incredible, the highlight being a gigantic skeleton warrior and an eerie multi-eyed demon hidden at the bottom of a lake. The use of lighting is also incredibly effective. The opening cliff-side exchange between Kubo and his mother is rendered through a setting sun. The sudden drop from day to night signals the arrival of the terrifying ‘aunt’ characters. The very subtle CGI enhancements do not detract from the hand-crafted feel to the film and only serve to punctuate or emphasis aspects of a scene. Technically, Kubo is flawless.

Kubo boasts a vast array of characters, all with great and unique designs and strong personalities. Kubo, whilst not the most ground-breaking child-protagonist, is instantly likeable, marked by his long emo fringe covering his eye-patch, a wound inflicted when his villainous grandfather tried to claim both his eyes  His good-natured approach to the quest makes him an appealing hero.  The highlight of the film is Monkey, an incredibly fun character, born from magic imbued by on an old token by Kubo’s mother, who is also hiding a great secret. The design is very subtle and is not gendered at all. Theron’s performance as the character is the highlight amongst the voice actors. Presenting a world-weariness and a deep compassion, Monkey is a more than suitable companion for Kubo’s voyage of self-discovery. Beetle, on the other hand, mostly serves as comedic relief and at first struggles to fit into the film in a satisfying way. However, by the time the gang are crossing the long lake, the character comes into his own, becoming almost like a surrogate father to Kubo. As mentioned previously, the ‘aunts’ who are relentlessly pursuing Kubo, are truly terrifying and are almost like ring-wraiths in their undying desire to accomplish their master’s goals. I don't want to get into accusations of white-washing in the film (Asian designed characters voiced by white American actors), so all I’ll say is that the actors give great and lively performances and suit the roles well.

The film has an incredibly powerful first act that emphasises visual story-telling and a steady pace. The second act does take an odd turn and the film’s central goal does become a bit lost in and amongst the incredible set-pieces and comedic relief. It throws a little bit too much in the way of its narrative arc (a fetch quest, comedic lines, world building, tender moments, crazy creatures etc.) which threatens to undo some of the hard work in the first act. The film fortunately finds itself again in the final act, following a major reveal about Kubo’s family, and begins to work towards a somber ending that respects its young audience. The dead parent trope is a cliché of children’s entertainment at this point and has  become a lazy shorthand for why an audience should care about this character. However Kubo takes a more philosophical look at death, that is effecting and is a fairly important lesson for its audience to learn. How we deal with death is just as important with how we deal with life. The film’s very brave ending ends on a quiet note with Kubo having learned these important lessons on his adventure.

Long Verdict: Kubo is one of the visually arresting stop-motion animated films of all time that excels in its slower pace, strong world building and powerful themes of loss. While its themes are lost a little in its second act, the film pulls itself together for an emotional and surprisingly mature ending. One more draft of the script would make this a modern classic but as it stands it’s a brave, unique and classically told tale.

Rating: 8/10