Children Of Men (or, Things to do in Carlton when you're drunk)

It is refreshing to post on a movie release here in Australia when it hasn't as yet been released in the States. It is downright satisfying to post on an important and much anticipated film release here in Australia when the film is still two months from release in the States.

Good times.

I'm sure you've seen the trailer. All I can say is that the film delivers on everything it promised to deliver on. It delivers well. But there isn't anything mind-blowing going to jump out at you that you haven't been anticipating.

Clive Owen pouts and mumbles his way through the lead role, just as you expect him to; Julianne Moore is alluringly stern, just like you expect her to be; Michael Caine is brilliant as Michael Caine, just as you expect him to be; and Cuarón has crafted a solid, considered film with water-tight internal logic, just as you would have expected him to.

All that probably sounds like I'm down on the film. I'm not. It really does deliver. It is a solid film. It just isn't a blockbuster or a film of transcendental meaning. It is an interesting story, expertly told. Old skool film making.

Consider if you will the opening moments of A.I. (I know, I'm sorry to dredge up bad memories, but it'll be quick). Remember the four hours of exposition that William Hurt spewed at you so you could understand what was going to be going on in the film? There is none of that here. Cuarón does what Spielberg seems to have forgotten how to do; he chucks us into the middle of a world and lets us swim for ourselves. Nobody explains why women have stopped having children. Then, nobody would after 25 years. Nobody documents the globe's decline into anarchy. They don't have to. We can see it.

And nobody listens to new music. That is the beauty of the future, it is steeped in the past (though I doubt that anyone will be listening to Kula Shaker in the future). The world of Children Of Men feels real. It has the texture of a real future, which I suppose makes the vision all that much more harrowing. Of course, I would be surprised if in the future one drives to the Tate Modern/Battersea Power Station via The Mall.

Consider it recommended but with this caveat, I was drunk and fell asleep for around twenty minutes, only to awaken three minutes before the end of the film.

In other news, in checking if Michael Caine spells his name with an e, I found out this:

When Caine first became an actor, he adopted the stage name "Michael Scott". His agent soon informed him, however, that another actor was already using the same name, and that he had to come up with a new name immediately. Speaking to his agent from a telephone box in Leicester Square in London, Caine looked around for inspiration, noted that The Caine Mutiny was being shown at the Odeon Cinema, and decided to change his name to "Michael Caine". He once joked to an interviewer that had he looked the other way, he would have ended up as "Michael One Hundred and One Dalmatians".

There you go.

Tags: movie review, film