film reviews
Nick Hasted

What would you do if your six-year-old daughter vanished in broad daylight, and the man you’re sure took her is walking free? The answer for Keller Dover (Hugh Jackman, pictured bottom left) is as plain as the paranoid survivalist’s stockpiles that fill his basement. But his direct action against Alex Jones (Paul Dano), the apparently child-like man he’s sure is a monster, ripples against multiple traumas and secrets in this crime film of novelistic breadth.

The most interesting character in Prisoners’ superbly cast assembly of victims and victim-predators isn’t Jackman’s shattered vigilante, a selfless Maria Bello as his stunned, shrinking wife, Terrence Howard as the amiable friend and shocked accomplice in retribution whose daughter was also stolen, Paul Dano’s latest vulnerable, dangerous misfit, or The Fighter’s Melissa Leo, unrecognisable as his grey-haired, flinty aunt (Leo is pictured left with Dano below).

No, the creation that really lingers in the memory is Jake Gyllenhaal’s Detective Loki. The first time you see him, alone in a diner in the working-class Pennsylvania suburb where two children are lost, he seems like the sort of man who might have them. His eyes twitch with tiredness under werewolf-thick brows. He says little, instead simmering watchfully, his damped-down violence occasionally exploding. In a film stuffed with hidden compartments and cages, physical and mental, he plainly has plenty. It’s a great performance, built on stoically silent fury, and a stillness so intense it nearly quivers. Gyllenhaal gives what could be just another brilliant, damaged cop human weight of black hole gravity.

There’s a lot to admire about Prisoners. Aaron Guzikowski’s screenplay has the range and realism of one of Richard Price or George Pelecanos’s epic crime novels. Director Denis Villeneuve finds a quietly sinister, defeated atmosphere in his grey American town’s winter nights. Actually shot in an Atlanta suburb, Conyers, Pennsylvania doesn’t even seem a happy place in the opening minutes, as the Dovers and Birches relax at Thanksgiving with their kids. The dread of an accident waiting to happen, of streets secretly prowled by wolves, is there from the start.

This is a film where everyone worked honestly and well. Why, then, doesn’t Prisoners convince me? Guzikowski has crafted a fine thriller plot and many memorable characters. But each gets in the way of the other. There’s too much loaded contrivance, and multiple points of view spread the cast thinly through a leisurely 2 ½ hours. Villeneuve’s subtle touch, admirable in so many ways, also makes him pull his punches. As with Peter Jackson’s The Lovely Bones, it’s a relief not to have to wallow in the potentially awful crimes against children which Prisoners portrays. But polite veils are pulled down too often. The full nightmare never arrives, or seems likely to. Finally, Prisoners is true to its narrative’s nature, burying its best effects, some of which bloom and haunt days later. It adds up to less while it’s actually on.

Overleaf: watch the trailer for Prisoners

emma.simmonds

In this refreshingly rowdy, distinctly feminist film from debut writer-director Maggie Carey an inexperienced, tirelessly sensible teenage girl prepares herself for college life by taking charge of her own sexual awakening. She does so in a way that's hilariously overly administrative, with her plans taking the form of the title's tawdry, quite literal "to do list".

Demetrios Matheou

Jean-Pierre Jeunet, of Amélie fame, makes so few films that whenever he pulls one out of that magic hat of his it feels like an event. At least it used to. The Young and Prodigious T.S. Spivet, which has just had its world premiere at the San Sebastian Film Festival in Spain, is a lovingly made and sweet film; but the novelty of the director’s style – that minutely observed production design and full-blown whimsy – has now completely worn off, leaving one wishing for a new dimension.

Karen Krizanovich

Created in a time when we could be shocked, The Wicker Man shows its power by being shocking still. Conceived by its director Robin Hardy, writer Anthony Shaffer and star Christopher Lee as a reaction to New Age-ism, The Wicker Man delights, thrills and horrifies in this latest version, restored to the American theatrical cut.

Matt Wolf

An immensely likeable cast gets pushed to breaking point and beyond in Girl Most Likely, a Kristen Wiig quasi-romcom that is preposterous and obnoxious in turn. The tale of a playwright called Imogene (Wiig) who starts over by returning to her New Jersey home and to Zelda, her former go-go dancer of a mum (an unplayable role here foisted upon the great Annette Bening, if you please), the film wants to be distinctively quirky and merely ends by shutting the audience out.

Jasper Rees

There is a life-size cardboard cut-out of Colin Firth in Austenland. He blends in very nicely. The only way you can tell him apart from the other actors in this cloth-eared, cack-handed romantic comedy of paramount awfulness is you can't see the despair and self-loathing in the whites of his eyes.

Karen Krizanovich

An update on Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcare Named Desire, it isn’t essential to have seen that work on stage to enjoy this pithy homage from Woody Allen. However, revisiting the iconic 1951 film version starring Marlon Brando, Vivien Leigh and Kim Hunter could very well make Blue Jasmine even funnier. This is because Allen treats the audience as equals to the tragic in-joke of familial impact and the damage left in its wake.

Jasper Rees

Sometimes, a little bit of everything amounts to a whole lot of nothing. RIPD features a standard buddy cop caper bolted on to a heaven-can-wait drama channelling a body swap comedy also starring a CGI cartoon element. There’s even a heavy dollop of the old Wild West and a splodge of Armageddon alarmism. You get a grab-bag of half a dozen film styles jostling for attention. It must be like this teaching a classful of needy reception kids with ADD.

Nick Hasted

Build My Gallows High, Farewell, My Lovely: Cold Comes the Night. The cod-profound, slightly tortured syntax of its title is in the lineage of downbeat pulp fiction Tze Chun’s film aspires to.

Matt Wolf

A film once touted as surefire Oscar bait instead looks set to clean up at the Golden Raspberry awards (or Razzies) if this preposterously inept biopic of the world's best-known woman finds the fate it deserves. Cloth-eared, cynical, and not even blessed with a persuasive star turn to show itself off, Diana seems destined to become the stuff of camp: the sort of thing the Prince Charles Cinema might be screening before too long to gleeful hordes chiming in on cue with the script's multiple howlers.