Mud (2013, Jeff Nichols)

Crafting yet another tender human fable, Jeff Nichols' third film is a sublimely touching and humble coming-of-age tale that combines the intimate with a mythic sensibility.

Like the most famed films of Vittorio De Sica, the tale finds innocence lost in an adult world. The friendship of two young boys drawn into the life of the titular Mud; a heavily flawed, nomadic character on the run residing in a boat lodged up a tree. A boat pledged by Mud in return for the boys' help to reunite him with the love of his life, the equally flawed Juniper (Reese Witherspoon), who is the source of both his zest for life as well as his doomed nature.

The film feels like a relic from a lost era, the kind of American film more commonly revered in 1960s and early 70s. Only the late Paul Newman in his prime could have played Mud other than McConaughey, who is still going strong in a recent rejuvenation after a string of remarkable performances. If director Jeff Nichols' debut Shotgun Stories (the film most akin to Mud) echoed the literature of William Faulkner somewhat, then his most recent evokes that of Mark Twain, most noticeably The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Another element giving off this rather old-timey feel.With its southern setting, river communities, and a drifter on the fringes of society, one could argue Mud as a partial stand-in for Twain's escapee slave, Jim. The film's heart lies largely with one of the central boys, Ellis (Tye Sheriden), who struggles to act on what he believes is right by helping Mud or by doing what society deems right. 

As events unfold Ellis' idealised notions of love, justice, and the literal figure of Mud who standing opaquely eschews his true essence and becomes a role-model to these young boys, wavers as the hurtful adult world gradually seeps in and Mud's flaws slowly reveal. At a pivotal moment where Ellis feels betrayed by those around him, though this is merely adult life knocking, he erupts in a surge of emotion that I haven't seen in a performer so young outside of River Phoenix's short-lived career. The film is littered with fine performances, even small roles for Michael Shannon and veteran Sam Shepard bring weight, but it's Tye Sheriden that the story's heart pounds to.

The film is full of father figures, both absent and/or surrogate, and in its representation of these characters' lives echoes the past, present, and what will possibly come to be. Mud has on him the tattoo of a snake to remind never to get bitten again (due to anti-venom being hopeless after an initial dose) yet he is still destined to repeat past follies regardless of this. His idealised description of his beautiful Juniper recalls the adolescent romanticism within Ellis, the man's vices also hinting at the boy's which begin to grow with experience.

Jeff Nichols has shown a talent for picturing America in a light so rarely seen in cinema. His communities are of humble origins and here in the lakeside people of Arkansas he shows us a fishing society both habitual and yet magical, like the everyday captured in Visconti's La Terra Trema. With three films under his belt, his penchant for character driven storytelling is evident. With a muscular no-nonsense approach to visuals that manages to transcend the ordinary, helped here again by David Wingo's truly enchanting score. Mud confirms Nichols as an important rising voice in American cinema, a talent who over his modest career thus far keeps blossoming with each undertaking.

Magic Mike (2012, Steven Soderbergh)

This story of the dreams and efforts of a self proclaimed 'entrepreneur' who moonlights as a male stripper certainly has nothing new to say in its allusions to the American dream and current economic climate, but with grace and modesty the film carries itself with upmost confidence, never feeling the need to announce its intentions as boldly as the tacky neon lights that permeate it. Magic Mike is pure Americana, a story that feels destined in its Floridian setting; with high respect for its characters, some fine performances, and a feel good natured story that neither forces itself or fears losing itself in some grit. Magic Mike is a rare example of populist American cinema, a film that would have been right at home during the 1970s film renaissance. 

The titular character of Mike is played by Channing Tatum, an actor whose past experiences in the profession forms the basis of the film. Mike dreams of one day starting his own furniture business, one in which every item is unique and irreplaceable. For 6 years he's been stripping down to his bare essentials for women in aid of his dreams, the profession certainly brings a lot of dough home but this isn't nearly enough. Mike works as a builder during the day as well as another business involving automobiles that isn't wholly revealed; he is a hardworking man who knows where he wants to go and does everything in his power to do so, but as this parable reveals it's easy to get trapped within the system you think is working for you, have no illusions that at any time its you who works for it, and it doesn't want to let you go.

While tiling a house one day Mike meets a new upstart in Adam (Alex Pettyfer), a down on his luck younger man staying on his sister's couch with a knack for destroying his chances and a mild disrespect for authority. Before long in pure 'buddy movie' exchanges Mike has taken in Adam to have him work as a production assistant for his show that night. Of course its not long before Adam is thrust upon the stage to in turn thrust himself at the rambunctious female crowd. In more buddy movie cliches we're treated to a montage where stripping gang leader Dallas (Mathew McConaughey) teaches Adam how to perform; in a prolonged and hilarious moment Dallas teaches him how to work his pelvis in front of a mirror, McConaughy is pure unashamed dynamite as he is throughout, the action is absurd, and the homoerotic levels through the roof. The unbearable exchanges between John Travolta and Jamie Lee Curtis in Perfect (1985) spring to mind.

On the side of Adam's rise to stripping glory is Mike's relationship with Adam's protective sister Brooke (Cody Horn). Brooke is the grounded sensibility to Mike's wild party persona and his instant attraction and pursuit of her is at first nonsensical, her 'square' lifestyle and over protective nature hints at possible past traumas and lessons learned. For a film of pure Americana such as this it's also surprisingly European in characterisation; no backstory is provided for any characters and despite the frontrunners feeling distinctly human they still tinker as mere entities. Cutting the unnecessary expositional cues that neatly explain why characters act the way they do is refreshing here as their actions are left to speak for themselves. It's never revealed why Brooke is so protective of her brother and though Mike promises to take care of him Adam begins a slippery slope with drugs, taking the film to darker territories. Director Steven Soderbergh tackled drugs perfectly in his oscar winning masterpiece Traffic (2000) and despite the issue of drugs being less relevant here, the scenes depicting Adam's drug-use are of upmost sincerity and accuracy, never using judgmental shock value and exaggeration to force impact. 

There's more than a hint of Boogie Nights (1999) to Magic Mike - the rise and fall story of American values, descent into drugs, the tacky nature of a much criticised profession, even a minor but well endowed character brings to mind Dirk Diggler's 'gift'. But the comparisons don't stop there as both films mark a return to pure American story telling that puts character before plot, stories that manage to maintain social commentary through their entertainment. Above all, like Boogie Nights the film never judges its characters and their profession, sure it never shies away from the pitfalls but it never condemns either. Clearly a passion project for Tatum, Magic Mike is clearly loved by all involved. From the joyous often breezy chemistry between the cast (McConaughey is especially a riot here), to Reid Carolin's thoughtful script, everyone seems to be having a great time. Even Soderbergh, the super talented and equally prolific filmmaker seems to have added a little more of himself this time round compared to any output of the past 10years. His handling of the dance numbers provide laughs rather than cringes as many actions seen to be seedy are brushed off with carefree ease, depicting a man dry humping a woman's face was never going to be an easy task but never is the film unpleasant. Tatum's own dance/stripping experience adds a certain showbiz quality as we witness him performing without stunt/body doubles, his talent as a performer in clear view as he loves every second.

It's a stretch to laud Magic Mike as a 'great' film but there's no question of its entertainment value and dramatic weight. The film doesn't aim high and for that it fails to be exceptional but also allowing itself success - after all, how high can a marginally categorised dance movie about strippers aim? It's a joy to see a film as predictable and hackneyed as this be such fun due to the simple care of its craft and excellently realised soundtrack. By the end you'll realise you haven't ceased smiling in quite some time. 

Killer Joe (2012, William Friedkin)

When asked by Peter Bogdanovich on his decision to direct Dial M For Murder (1954) Alfred Hitchcock honestly replied, "When the batteries are running dry, take a hit play and shoot it". William Friedkin - 70s powerhouse director of The French Connection (1971), The Exorcist (1973), and Sorcerer (1977) certainly had his best days long ago with these masterworks, though remaining relevant, mark the fall from grace of a once great filmmaker. In 2006 Friedkin adapted a play by Tracy Letts; the film Bug was a polarising intense force that no matter what punters thought was undeniably the work of an artist flexing long forgotten. With new film Killer Joe, again adapted from a play by Letts, Friedkin operates on a similar level of distinction with Hitchcock's observation on a rejuvenating a career through adapting stage plays standing well.


Killer Joe will invoke devilish glee from some while disgusting and irritating most, in fact only viewers of strong disposition may withstand the onslaught of dysfunctional horror on display with one already notorious scene involving deep fried chicken being strikingly perverse. The film may not convert you to vegetarianism but it'll taint your view of poultry forever.


The plot is simple and one which the 'master of suspense' would surely have been lured to if he were still with us, with its 'perfect' scheme of murder, the dark underbelly of family ties, and its show stealing titular villain. Mathew McConaughey stars as the Dallas detective hit-man Joe Cooper hired by a young man and father (Emile Hirsch and Thomas Hayden Church) to kill their estranged mother/ex-wife for her life insurance. Chris (Hirsch) has gotten himself into dept with a local drug lord and needs a quick payout for his life. As Killer Joe requires his money up front without fail, money that Chris and his father cannot provide until after the deed, Joe asks for their daughter/sister Dottie (Juno Temple) as a retainer instead. As the simple plan of course spirals out of control and the ghastly family eats itself a part the relationship between Joe and Dottie grows in the most unsettling of developments. Calling Joe the villain of this piece is hardly accurate in a film that exclusively harbours degenerates of such a volume.

Killer Joe couls be the role McConaughey is remembered for, if not only for his shocking use of KFC in a brutal act of vengeance upon a key female character. But despite his superb take on the mild mannered psychopath it's not he who impresses most, that would be Juno Temple's inspired take on the troubled Dottie. Her performance channels Carrie White, and Holly from Badlands (1973) - a disturbed sheltered young woman still a girl, deeply abused and capable of great harm disguised by a haunting sheet of seeming innocence. Temple's performance is the key to this film of infinite dysfunction; her recitals of early remembered atrocities shock yet chill as they're delivered in her adolescent voice, her relationship with these atrocities not repressed and yet not understood. Her world view is warped yet no one in Killer Joe sees the world clearly, its characters devoid of any redemptive qualities with Friedkin and Letts pushing the limits of absurdist human behaviour to its sadistic foundations.


Some will criticise the film for going 'too far' and that may well be the case, but in a current summer climate of mediocre generic releases it's refreshing to see a bombastic director such as Friedkin running far from any fence in sight. In a world of advertising and expectations that would conclude Spiderman, Batman, and any other comic book franchises are the only exciting releases on this year I for one revel in a film that though far from a masterpiece isn't afraid to push buttons, to offer some welcome ambiguity, and to be fearlessly stark in a season of caped crusaders and unnecessary prequel tie-ups and reboots.