Deborah Ross

Terrence Malick’s The Tree of Life is his fifth film in 38 years (what a lazybones!) and travels way beyond what I can think about, or any of us can think about, which may be its point. Terrence Malick’s The Tree of Life is his fifth film in 38 years (what a lazybones!) and travels way beyond what I can think about, or any of us can think about, which may be its point. How are we here? Why are we here? In what way do the ‘how’ and the ‘why’ connect, if they do? I know. Exhausting. And although people say you should not watch a Malick film as you do other films, that you should immerse yourself in it as if it were a meditative experience, I simply don’t know how you are meant to accomplish this. Are there evening classes? Self-help books?

Larry Crowne is horrible, just horrible, and I urge you to avoid it like the plague. It’s a ‘rom-com’ starring Tom Hanks and Julia Roberts and if you thought you can’t go wrong with Hanks and Roberts, two of the greatest screen presences alive, here is proof that you can. This is stilted, lifeless, bears absolutely no relation to how real people talk or behave, and is offensively sexist, or at least I found it so. Tom Hanks directs himself in this, and also wrote the original script, so if you ever thought you can’t have too much Hanks here is something else to blow your mind: you so, so can. OK, Larry Crowne is a middle-aged man who used to be a cook in the navy but now works in a Walmart-type store.

I have zero interest in motor racing and zero interest in cars generally yet this documentary about the Formula 1 driver Ayrton Senna knocked me for six, which I think is a cricketing metaphor but can’t say for sure, as I also have zero interest in cricket. I have zero interest in motor racing and zero interest in cars generally yet this documentary about the Formula 1 driver Ayrton Senna knocked me for six, which I think is a cricketing metaphor but can’t say for sure, as I also have zero interest in cricket. (I quite like ice dancing as a sport but only in the secret hope someone is going to fall over; shaming, but true.) This is not just a good film — it’s a great film: fascinating, exciting, nerve-wracking and profoundly moving.

Win Win is a comedy-drama that is warm-hearted and compassionate and enjoyable without, alas, being especially remarkable or original, which is a bit of a blow but I think you’ll get over it, with bed rest and time. Win Win is a comedy-drama that is warm-hearted and compassionate and enjoyable without, alas, being especially remarkable or original, which is a bit of a blow but I think you’ll get over it, with bed rest and time. Written and directed by Tom McCarthy, who made The Station Agent and The Visitor — two powerful character studies I could watch and rewatch into infinity — this is broader, lighter, schmaltzier and more generic, as the journey is a rather familiar one. I’m not saying don’t go.

As Attack the Block is being touted as ‘the new Shaun of the Dead’ I expected a light-hearted romp rather than something quite bloody and nasty, although this does, at least, come in at a highly manageable 88 minutes. As Attack the Block is being touted as ‘the new Shaun of the Dead’ I expected a light-hearted romp rather than something quite bloody and nasty, although this does, at least, come in at a highly manageable 88 minutes. (Next week’s fourth Pirates of the Caribbean film is 140 minutes, can you believe, but don’t worry, I’m already in training for the boredom. I paired socks all morning, will be watching paint dry this afternoon and, just to make sure, I’m setting off tomorrow for a camping trip to Wales.

My Dog Tulip is a tender and exquisite animation about one man and his dog which gets as close to what it is to love dogs as I’ve ever encountered, and goes a considerable way to making up for what dog-lovers have had to put up with at the cinema in recent years (Hotel for Dogs, Beverly Hills Chihuahua, Marley & Me; utter tripe). My Dog Tulip is a tender and exquisite animation about one man and his dog which gets as close to what it is to love dogs as I’ve ever encountered, and goes a considerable way to making up for what dog-lovers have had to put up with at the cinema in recent years (Hotel for Dogs, Beverly Hills Chihuahua, Marley & Me; utter tripe). This is based on the 1956 memoir by J.R.

Two films, this week, because I spoil you — what can I say? It’s in my nature — and not much to choose between them apart from the fact that one is good (Cedar Rapids) and one is so bad (Arthur) that just thinking about it makes me want to weep for myself, for remakes, for film audiences, for the state of cinema today, for humankind and for dogs that are cruelly treated, which is not especially relevant but, if I am weeping anyway, I might as well include them. Two films, this week, because I spoil you — what can I say?

Now, children, are you all sitting comfortably? Good, then I’ll begin. Now, children, are you all sitting comfortably? Good, then I’ll begin. Once upon a time, not so very long ago, the lady who directed the first Twilight film (Catherine Hardwicke) decided it would be a good idea to turn the traditional story of Red Riding Hood into a teen horror/fantasy thriller and no one thought to stop her which, children, is what happens when you already have one box-office hit under your belt. ‘Yes, yes!’ everyone probably said, before offering to park her car. At no point did anyone say, ‘But, Catherine! What lousy ideas you have!’ There is a lesson in here somewhere, children, if only I could think what it was.

Rio (3D) is a perfectly average kiddies’ flick, although, as it’s Easter and the kiddies are off school, anything that might amuse them and get them out of your hair should not, I suppose, be sniffed at, and this should do the trick; this is something you can park them at on the days you can’t dump them at grandma’s (grandmas love looking after their grandchildren. Rio (3D) is a perfectly average kiddies’ flick, although, as it’s Easter and the kiddies are off school, anything that might amuse them and get them out of your hair should not, I suppose, be sniffed at, and this should do the trick; this is something you can park them at on the days you can’t dump them at grandma’s (grandmas love looking after their grandchildren.

I didn’t much like Oranges and Sunshine and I’ll tell you for why: it takes one of the most obscene scandals in 20th-century British politics — the mass forced deportation of British children to Australia, which began in the 1920s and continued right up until 1970 — and all but kills it off with its self-righteous stance, plodding script, mournful violins and clunky construction.

What the world needs now, perhaps as a matter of some urgency, is love, sweet love, but, failing that, wouldn’t a decent, warm, engaging rom-com do? It might but, alas, it isn’t Chalet Girl. What the world needs now, perhaps as a matter of some urgency, is love, sweet love, but, failing that, wouldn’t a decent, warm, engaging rom-com do? It might but, alas, it isn’t Chalet Girl. I’d like it to be Chalet Girl. I wanted it to be Chalet Girl. It’s got two excellent Bills in it — Nighy and Bailey — which made me hopeful, initially. But?

His & Hers is a film (obviously) which, by rights, should be as dull as dishwater, if dishwater is truly dull, which it sometimes is and sometimes isn’t. His & Hers is a film (obviously) which, by rights, should be as dull as dishwater, if dishwater is truly dull, which it sometimes is and sometimes isn’t. (I saw the face of Jesus in dishwater once; that was quite cool.) It’s a documentary featuring a group of Irish women — 70, in total — talking individually about the men in their lives: their grandfathers, fathers, boyfriends, fiancés, husbands, sons and grandsons, and that is it. Nothing else happens at all.

Although I appreciate it is always hard to come down from the Oscars and that special, magical tingle in the air — if I hadn’t turned in after MasterChef, as I always do, I would have certainly stayed up all night to watch — it’s time to get back to business and this week’s big film The Adjustment Bureau, which could do with a significant amount of adjusting itself. Although I appreciate it is always hard to come down from the Oscars and that special, magical tingle in the air — if I hadn’t turned in after MasterChef, as I always do, I would have certainly stayed up all night to watch — it’s time to get back to business and this week’s big film The Adjustment Bureau, which could do with a significant amount of adjusting itself.

I didn’t go and see the Coen brothers’ remake of True Grit this week because I couldn’t get excited about it and don’t like westerns anyhow. I didn’t go and see the Coen brothers’ remake of True Grit this week because I couldn’t get excited about it and don’t like westerns anyhow. I don’t think women do, generally. They are too masculine; they are like those competitions to see who can urinate farthest up a wall, but with spurs, guns, a broken lawman who rallies honourably at the end, and tumbleweed rolling by. It’s just not our thing. Women could never, for example, have made High Noon.