World War Zzzzzzz

I finally got around to watching World War Z last night and it's a perfect example of a paint-by-numbers zombie film packed with post-28 Days Later cliches.

The 2006 novel by Max Brooks on which this story is based feels like an entirely different entity, with so few similarities that it wouldn't be unreasonable for many casual observers to cry plagiarism.

Written in retrospect following the conclusion of the decade-long battle against the zombie horde, World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie Apocalypse was formed from a series of self-contained interviews with key characters who had taken central roles in the events of the preceding ten years.

It was well written, exciting and subtle, slowly building up the layers of the story to form a global view of the catastrophe as it took place. Using personal stories to tell a tale of global apocalypse developed strong bonds between the reader and the characters.

However much like those bitten by a zombie, nothing intelligent or all that interesting survived the conversion process.

The entire story rises from the grave as an undead slug-fest, peppered here and there with moments of what could be loosely considered exposition.

The formula is simple: after a hurried first act where we meet the Lane family, including former UN investigator, Garry, his wife and two daughters, we are thrown into the melting pot as zombies run amok amidst a traffic jam in downtown Philadelphia.

The family steals an abandoned RV, grabs some supplies from a supermarket, fights its way up a tower block and grabs a helicopter to take them to the United Nations flotilla out in the middle of the ocean. Garry is strong-armed into helping the UN find the cause of this outbreak and a potential cure, his family's place on the flotilla secure only through his assistance.

From here, the film relies on formulaic and seemingly entirely interchangeable set pieces, all of which involve Garry arriving at a location, the zombies attacking, Garry running away, Garry fighting a zombie, Garry going to the next location...repeat.

This is Garry running. This happens a lot. 

While some of the locations offered a sense of oppressive foreboding, they were by and large just reproductions of each other: contained areas with zombies in them through which Gerry at some point needs to pass.

The section on the AirBus was interesting but ultimately fatuous as it transposed Garry (plus zombie who had been hiding in the toilet...or something) from the ground to the air to - you guessed it - fight some zombies.

This melange of factory-produced zombie run-ins almost made me wish that something would come along and eat my brain.

This is a film that has little regard for anything that might siphon too much time away from scenes of Brad Pitt running away from stuff. That includes development of either plot or characters, with Pitt's wife and two daughters reduced to nothing more than mannequins, barely registering above set-dressing. The presence of these actors served to do nothing more than to tick the box for 'family in peril'.

The subplot involving their place on the UN flotilla hanging in the balance as everyone believes Gerry to be dead made almost zero impression, with their use as an emotional rock only really served to drag this film down into the realm of the entirely mundane.

"I warned you about those sunbeds, Hank. Didn't I warn you?"

Adding to this grating tedium, there was also never any sense that anything bad was going to happen to our Gerry. There was never a sense of peril. He was, after all, the nearly-invulnerable human being who survived waves of zombies, hails of bullets, nearby explosions, a plane crash and being impaled on a piece of shrapnel and then pretty much walked it off.

Good work, Gerry.

Brooks' novel didn't rely on or revel in the chaos of a zombie infestation; instead it focussed on the wider impacts, demonstrating the effects on long-standing social tropes of the devastating effect of the species being brought to the brink of annihilation. Some nations turned to barbarism, some withdrew entirely and some became theocratic.

I can see why the changes were made: the narrative structure of the book doesn't lend itself to a big screen conversion and would have needed to be made in more of a documentary style. This would have required thought on the part of the audiences, complexity on the part of the screenwriters, intelligence on the part of the director and ultimately, risk to the studios.

However much like those bitten by a zombie, nothing intelligent or all that interesting survived the conversion process. 

An original, more faithful script by J Michael Straczynski was apparently thrown out prior to the start of filming to make way for this unadulterated mess.  It was little surprise, therefore, to see that Damon Lindelof had been involved in the production, although only as a post-ampersand screenwriter.

Lindelof's portfolio reads like a resume of 'could have beens', including Lost, Star Trek Into Darkness and Prometheus, all of which were widely acknowledge as suffering from a number of issues relating primarily to plot.

Frankly, the most horrifying thing about this film was a clip of arch shitworm, Piers Morgan - complete with his pugnacious, fist magnet of a face - banging on about how the world was on the brink of collapse as part of a tired and tiresome montage of news reports played over the opening credits.

The fact that the UN's chief virologist and 'best hope of finding a cure' manages to shoot himself in the face within seconds of landing at the first destination on their world tour is a wonderful metaphor for this whole bloated, boring mess of movie.

I'm going to read the book again and try to avoid the two sequels that are apparently already in the works. 

Like nipples on the Batsuit, casting Ben Affleck could be another terrible decision by Warner Brothers

It was all going so well: Christopher Nolan had successfully breathed life back into the Batman franchise, creating an outstanding story arc that took the Bruce Wayne/Batman character neatly from cradle-to-grave, from origin story to the hanging-up of the cape and cowl.

Batman's gadgets were believable (within the context of any comic book movie), his allies and enemies were superbly crafted and the moral ambiguity of his self-appointed vigilante role as Gotham's defender was well balanced.

As with Inception, Nolan didn't pander to the audience and brought a back-to-basics approach to the character, eschewing the neon playground and nippled-Batsuit of the disastrous Schumacher years and drawing inspiration for each film from the storylines of the major comic book arcs themselves (including seminal titles such as Knightfall, The Man Who Laughs and No Man's Land).

The curtain falling on the third and final chapter of The Dark Knight Trilogy came with a sense of closure; this journey was over and it had set a remarkable precedent for all comic book movies to follow.

Then this morning it was announced that Ben Affleck will be playing Batman in Zack Snyder's next Man of Steel film, due out in 2015 (the Guardian summarised some of the Twitter comments on this topic here).

This could go either way.

Whatever your thoughts on Christian Bale, his delivery of Bruce Wayne was impressive and honest: broken and at times fragile, Wayne was trapped in a state of emotional arrested development, using the grief of the loss of his parents to focus his pain and anger at the injustice of the world around him.

As with Daniel Craig's current tuxedoed tenure as 007, The Dark Knight Trilogy offered something of a fresh start for both character and franchise, making it darker, grittier and hyper-real.

And this, I think, was part of the success of these movies: their representation of a flawed, broken and imperfect hero is zeitgeist, speaking to audiences grown cynical of the squeaky-clean image of heroes on the silver screen.

Therein lies my major concern: Affleck's previous pedigree as an actor is shaky at best and with his past so-so performances and lack of charisma hanging like a reputational millstone around his neck, it's difficult to say whether or not he will have the gravitas and depth of character to pull off a convincing portrayal of Bruce Wayne.

He has, of course, had moments of greatness, although they tend to be few and far-between. Changing Lanes with Samuel L Jackson was excellent, as were his turns in Dazed and Confused and of course Good Will Hunting. 

Whether or not this appointment is political and they're trying to woo him into directing the impending Justice League movie (as one friend pointed out this morning), my great fear is that Ben Affleck is going to bring the same level of charisma-free delivery that he did in Daredevil.

Remember this? Urgh. 

The Dark Knight Trilogy wasn't without it's flaws, of course, with plot-holes, issues with Bale's whisky-and-cigarettes delivery and the bizarre God-like voice of Bane in Rises. This was balanced against an outstanding supporting cast throughout all three films (Michael Cane, Gary Oldman, Aaron Eckhart, Heath Ledger, et al) which tugged the movie along through its poorer moments and helped you to overlook its inadequacies.

In Man of Steel, Snyder's offering was everything that a blockbuster should be: big, noisy, visually impressive and above all fun, with great turns from Michael Shannon and Henry Cavill. It, too, was imperfect, littered with plot-holes, shaky dialogue and incredible leaps of faith on the part of the viewer (Zod having his ass handed to him by a scientist at the start of the film despite his assertions that he was bred to be a perfect warrior was one of my favourites). 

While we are more readily accepting of these bumps in the narrative road, the question or whether or not Affleck will be able to cut the mustard as Wayne without turning Batman into a two-dimensional, one trick pony remains to be seen.

"Is it cold in here?"

Affleck is undoubtedly a talented film-maker and since 2010's The Town, his star is once again in the ascendancy, with a number of films currently in production, however he has proven recently that his real talent lie behind rather than in front of the camera.

As with George Clooney's turn as Gotham's Dark Knight - and Val Kilmer before him - it's been proven that it takes more than a popular actor with a good jaw line to play a convincing and reputable Bruce Wayne/Batman.

I like to keep an open mind and am hoping that I will be pleasantly surprised by an impressive turn from a third-rate actor best remembered as being Mr Jennifer Lopez, rather than Warner Brothers consigning one of its most successful franchises to the scrap heap of sentimentality.

But then again I'm an optimistic soul.

Alpha Papa is top of the UK box office, just where it belongs

I am very, very happy that Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa is currently at the top of the UK box office. 

I went to see it on Saturday and while Steve Coogan's greatest creation has never put a foot wrong (figuratively) in his endless hunt for fame and recognition on the small screen, there is always a sense of trepidation when it comes to anything-to-film conversions.

What if the studio gets in the way and demands changes? What if the script writing just isn't up to it? What if, what if, what if.

All fears were assuaged within the first five minutes, however, as what turned out to be the most consistently funniest 90 minutes that I've spent in a cinema for some time unfolded in front of me. 

Primarily, this is a film for fans with many a knowing nod and wink to Partridge's previous desperate clamber up the greasy pole of fame - charted so ably through two series of I'm Alan Partridge (1997) - following his monumental fall from the public eye after shooting a man dead with an antique pistol, live on his BBC chat show Knowing Me Knowing You (1994). 

Monkey Tennis, anyone?

By the time of 2010's Mid Morning Matters (and following a breakdown that involved a great deal of Toblerone), Alan had carved himself a comfortable niche at hyperlocal, DAB-only radio station North Norfolk Digital. 

And this is where we rejoin his story, as unhinged former employee Pat Farrell (played by the always watchable Colm Meaney) takes the station hostage in retaliation for being fired as part of a corporate buy-out. Believing Alan to be his only true friend at the station, Pat demands that Alan be his intermediary with the police, firmly putting Partridge back in the spotlight of the ensuing media glare.

The part where he appears outside the front of the building attached to an unseen Farrell with a rope to bargain with the police is truly exceptional. As is the sight of Alan breaking back in to the siege from which he's just accidentally escaped.

"I am siegeface"

Coogan is absolutely perfect as the aging Partridge, with the familiar supporting cast including his long-suffering, Jesus-loving PA, Lynn (Felicity Montague), sidekick Simon (Tim Key) who spends most of the film gaffa taped to a swivel chair, and former petrol station attendant and full-time Geordie, Michael (Simon Greenwell) all returning to help or hinder in their own way. 

Alongside the regulars are Spy actor Darren Boyd as a hostage negotiation expert left dumbstruck by the bumbling Partridge and serial growler Sean Pertwee providing his usual gravel-voiced hardman, this time in the guise of a police firearms specialist. 

At the heart of it, this is a movie about local radio and Partridge's magnetic return to the microphone at any available opportunity to pose questions to his listeners (such as whether or not you should provide a Christmas tip for a binman who has refused to dispose of a broken toaster) mid-siege, are gentle reminders that despite his lofty desires, this is truly where the Partridge roosts. 

Alpha Papa is a movie that taps-in to the heart of everything that has made Alan Partridge the legend of British comedy that he is today: the desperation not to be forgotten, complete social incompetence, rampant opportunism and overwhelming ego all drive Alan in a way that - while brilliantly farcical - Coogan makes believable within the context of the story. 

Partridge (left) and dog

With stalwart Partridge writers Coogan, Armando Iannucci and Peter Baynham putting together the story (along with screenwriting due Neil and Rob Gibbons) and with Iannucci's previous small-to-big-screen success in the shape of In the Loop (2009), this was always going to be in safe hands.  

Some of the moments are truly outrageously funny, such as Alan's daydream sequence, his plan of escape from the unhinged Farrell and in particular, Michael's 'distraction' near the end of the film, all of which are brilliantly played-out pieces of left-field physical comedy. 

The pace of the movie is matched by the machine-gun laughs, many of which Coogan can engender through Partridge's wry facial expressions, or - as with one instance - by just walking down a hallway. This film is by no means perfect and the final act fumbles its way along to a 'winner-by-default' conclusion, but any and all of its inadequacies can be forgiven. 

If you weren't aware of Alan Partridge before then you may not take away as much from this film as someone who grew up with Coogan's comic creation but I'd wager that you'd still leave the cinema satisfied that this was 90 minutes well spent.