Some glib explanations were offered by more reactionary industry pundits when Clint Eastwood’s American Sniper (Warner, 15) stormed the US box office in January, most of them relating to the professed politics of the director rather than those of his tersely thoughtful, morally ambiguous film. This cool-headed biopic of Navy Seal Chris Kyle, whose four tours of duty in Iraq made him that most prolific marksman in American military history, qualifies neither as pro-troops nor as anti-war: rather, as other critics have stated, it’s an effective Rorschach test for the viewer’s own stance on the conflict.
Eastwood frames Kyle’s story from an arm’s-length distance that could be seen as damning or deferential. Either way, it’s as vivid and juddering a depiction of the war zone as any we’ve seen, with a colossal performance from Bradley Cooper as its seethingly conflicted subject. Only Eastwood’s now infamous use of a prosthetic infant in certain scenes strikes a false note.
If he ever gets around to watching Ex Machina (Universal, 15), Eastwood might think twice about using artificial humans in any capacity: Alex Garland’s brilliant science-fiction parable bridges the gap between flesh and android with disquieting ease, oh so gently pulling our sympathies across the divide. Its exquisite robot heroine, Ava (Alicia Vikander), appears to boast more intelligence and sensitivity than her male, human handlers: creator and tech billionaire Nathan (a superb Oscar Isaac) and befuddled tester Caleb (Domnhall Gleeson), notionally hired to investigate her capacity for emotion.
The direction of scrutiny in this Turing test shifts, however, as Garland’s Frankenstein-by-way-of-Bluebeard tale takes on a gradual feminist gaze. A chamber piece constructed in exquisite concrete and glass, it’s funny, unnerving and, in one scene, showcases unexpectedly sharp disco moves from Isaac. It would be churlish to ask for more.
Whether or not Damien Chazelle’s propulsive suffering-for-art drama Whiplash (Sony, 15) ends up making quite the pop-cultural dent that the initial adulation suggested it would, it has gifted us with a critical euphemism for the ages. “Not my tempo!” barks psychotic music instructor Fletcher (played in brashly riveting, Oscar-winning style by JK Simmons) at Miles Teller’s put-upon, resilient drumming prodigy; it’s a complaint that contains a world of far more specific, personal invective. It also handily sums up my response to this highly impressive, expressive but oddly unmoving film, which wallows in sadism with a faux-horrified grimace before offering a perverse twist on the inspirational-teacher genre. If there’s a hint of a learning curve to Fletcher’s trial of terror, Chazelle isn’t quite gutsy enough to say it. I question whether the film says very much at all, actually, but there’s palpable electricity to its craft and performances.
Teller, incidentally, is even better in The Spectacular Now, a quiet gem from 2013 that I’ve most belatedly realised is available online in the UK – after inexplicably bypassing both the cinema and DVD circuits. James Ponsoldt’s film is surely among the most tender, true teenage love stories of its generation, toughly defying everything that seems pat or Hollywood sculpted about its opposites-attract premise. Teller’s hard-partying low achiever falls for Shailene Woodley’s bookish good girl and their ensuing romance tingles with an authentically youthful sense of discovery and around-the-corner heartbreak, though Ponsoldt never idealises their naivety. The film’s been silently lurking on iTunes and Google Play for months now, but is ripe for mass discovery.
Back to the DVD shelf, where a dynamite Mark Wahlberg performance almost elevates Rupert Wyatt’s glib, glitzy remake of Karel Reisz’s The Gambler (Paramount, 15) to must-see status. As a blackjack-addicted English professor who finds his gambling debts closing in on him, Wahlberg exudes a natural, rascally swagger that the film around him far too painstakingly affects.
There’s more genuine cool in Shaun the Sheep Movie (Studiocanal, U) (that title is as wilfully simple as everything else about the exercise), which is set for a long life of repeat viewing by enraptured children – and more than a few tickled adults, with or without junior accompaniment. Thankfully maintaining the dialogue-free principle of Aardman Animations’ popular TV shorts, the film bounces along with blissfully silly sight gags and sweet-natured, reassuringly resolved chaos.
Disorder goes extravagantly unchecked, on the other hand, in Ryan Gosling’s beautiful-but-barking directorial debut, Lost River (eOne, 15), for which he took a savage critical beating at Cannes last year. Certainly, there’s much that’s muddled about this American gothic underworld fairy tale, which cribs from David Lynch, Gaspar Noé and Gosling’s own mentor, Nicolas Winding Refn, with almost endearing abandon, but I found much to enjoy in its overripe atmospherics; Gosling has a tactile, sensual flair for sound and image that suggests we shouldn’t write him off just yet.
