krocheav

Kenneth Branagh's semi-autobiographical film delivers on several levels. Firstly, as an account of the terrible (and utterly foolish) riots that plagued his childhood hometown, then as an examination of the lengths those trapped in situations they can't escape or control will go to keep family commitments and support alive.

The various memories that live deep within our souls are here, brought to life in a strikingly stylized production - a unique homage to families who sacrificed much to keep each other safe while also garnering some joy among the extreme pressures.

It's a labor of love dedicated to those who endured till they were eventually able to escape the senselessness of a local civil war, fought on superficial hatred, for a better life in Britain.

A hand-picked cast works superbly under Branagh's direction, delivering his astute dialogue with sensitivity, while keeping the musical lilt of the local dialect in perfect harmony. Cypriot-born Director of Photography Haris Zambarloukos supplies the interesting visuals, capturing the highs and lows of a populace in undeserved turmoil. All this is then underscored by Van Morrison's music of the era.

Branagh elicits a marvelous performance from young Jude Hill in his debut role as the young Branagh, turning in a performance filled with special nuances. He must have benefited from working with a cast made in performer's heaven, surrounded by an assortment of Britain's finest.

Recommended for lovers of seriously good moviemaking, that doesn't bite off more than it can chew or outstay its welcome, and has a deeply felt story to tell.

Here we have yet another Australian movie hell bent on proving we fund more movies that don't make money and are deliberately perverse for the sake of it. From beginning to end, this decrepit movie just sinks further into its own dreary sludge. Kidman must only be after the money, or she would not touch these stinkers, and she shows she will perform any morally low-life action for the right price in the name of 'art'. Director Kim Ferrant and writer Fiona Seres don't help, offering guideless, shallow characters, stumbling obcenly through a wasteland of cheap, melodrama.

They present Kidman and Daughter as both sleazy nymphomaniacs, occasionally throwing up weak physiological allusions as to why each may have become such, but not flowing up with vital support for any of them. As it endlessly ambles along, each scene seems to attempt to outdo the crassness of the one that went before.

Then, without any intelligent conclusions, this way overstretched mess just sinks further into its own forgettableness - throwing away some reasonable cinematography and performances along its weary way.

Wit is quite astounding on several levels: firstly, that it was made at all; secondly that any lead could play it as if it was actually happening to them, and thirdly, that it could be directed and photographed so superbly within the confines of the story-telling and settings. I doubt that we have ever seen (or could see again) Emma Thompson so utterly and desperately convincing in an excruciatingly realistic portrayal.

She and Mike Nichols have created a sterling screenplay from Margaret Edson's Pulitzer Prize-winning play, constructing a continuous tour de force screen experience. They have overcome the often static nature of stage material with heartfelt performances and editorial perfection. This could prove too potent for some viewers not wanting to engage with the final throws of life, but it's so perfectly done - it carries the viewer in its arms to the final desperate outcome, leaving us as if we've all learnt something.

A genuine, compelling screen achievement for discerning, mature audiences, with a hard-working, hand-picked cast, bringing it sharply to life.