Children of Men

Based on a short story by PD James, Alfonso Cuáron's dystopian fiction is yet another interesting change of pace for the Mexican director following his successful stint on the Harry Potter series. Set in the near future, Children of Men imagines a world in which human beings are no longer able to reproduce. The world has collapsed and only Britain soldiers on, albeit in a rather beleaguered fashion; in the opening ten minutes we see a bomb going off in a coffee shop, illegal immigrants being kept in cages and billboards covered in ominous graffiti such as "Whoever dies last, turn out the light".

Persuaded to help join his activist ex-wife Julian (Julianne Moore), Theo (Clive Owen) agrees to assist in gaining a young refugee woman, Kee (Claire-Hope Ashitey), safe passage to the coast. Although it is hidden from Theo at first, Kee reveals that she is pregnant and that she hopes to make her way to the Human Project, a group of scientists based in the Azores that hope to find a cure for human infertility.

The film drops us straight in the action, smartly offering us little in the way of exposition and instead positing itself as a franctic chase narrative as Theo and Kee attempt to make their way to the coast. Cuarón's vision of the not-too-distant future is spot-on. Murky, depressing and grey, it's not too far removed from today's London which, of course, makes the movie's political subtexts all the more apparent. Although the action scenes are undeniably impressive - especially a couple of outstanding one-shot sequences - the layered characterisation and performances (Owen in particular) help to invest the viewer in the outcome of the story. Technically flawless, this is testament to what a skilled writer/director Cuarón has become over the course of just six films.

Far From Heaven

A masterpiece of American cinema, standing at the pinnacle of Todd Haynes' career so far and featuring a career-best performances from Julianne Moore. Cathy and Frank Whitaker (Moore and Dennis Quaid) are, to all outward appearances, the perfect couple. He the successful businessman, she the doting wife and mother; the very image of familial bliss in 50s Hartford, Connecticut. Yet beneath this facade lies a different truth. Frank is a closeted homosexual and when Cathy catches his in the arms of another man she requests that he seek medical assistance in "curing" his condition. As Frank struggles with his sexuality, Cathy also reaches crisis point. Increasingly alienated from her husband, she turns to her black gardener, Raymond Deagon (Dennis Haysbert) for friendship. The close-minded residents of Hartford are quick to judge, and Raymond's daughter Sarah is forced to bear the consequences when a group of boys knock her unconscious after taunting her about her father's "white girlfriend". Meanwhile, Frank has fallen in love with a young man he met whilst holidaying in Miami and the Whitakers divorce. After her best friend turns her back on her, Cathy returns to Raymond only to discover that he is leaving town, believing it to be in Sarah's best interests.

Haynes is clearly inspired by the films of Douglas Sirk, specifically All That Heaven Allows. The colour palette, Elmer Bernstein's score and direction all point towards 50s melodrama. By recreating the feel of these so-called "women's pictures" today, Haynes is able to bring to the surface the various sexual, social and pyschological tensions that Sirk implied but was never able to say outright. The danger with any reworking is that it can come across as a smirking pastiche, something which this most definitely is not. It's a wonderfully constructed homage to Sirk, one that is able to make explicit all of his more troubling themes.

As such, this is a movie about surfaces. Not only the surface of a person's skin, or that of a "perfect" marriage but of how we perceive ourselves and each other as individuals. Both Cathy and Frank subject themselves to similar kinds of self-dellusion, that they are in love. Frank's revelation to Cathy that he has fallen in love for the first time and that he had no idea "how that felt" is heartbreaking, not just because it exposes the lie behind their marriage but because it exposes how Cathy feels towards Raymond. The Whitakers' separation is handled with an appropriate restraint; their final conversation with each other is over the phone and concerns Cathy's carpool days. The relationship between Cathy and Raymond is similarly subtle. The audience understands their connection (on a physical, emotional and an intellectual level) without their being any need of the script spelling it out.

The performances are all top-notch. Quaid and Haysbert have perhaps been overlook, both providing stellar work here, but Julianne Moore's Cathy is so perfectly realised, both by writer/director Haynes and by the actress herself, that she pretty much overshadows everyone else here. Never once drifting into camp, it's a masterclass in composed melancholy which has drawn comparisons to her (actually very different) performance in The Hours, which was also partly set in the 50s.

This was the movie that made Haynes, one of the most prominent figures of New Queer Cinema with Safe and The Karen Carpenter Story, respectable in Hollywood. No doubt it helped him enormously in gathering together an A-list cast for I'm Not There, his experimental take on the life of Bob Dylan. This, however, is likely to be the film for which he is remembered for some time, the perfect combination of director, writer and star.

Blindness

Fernando Mereilles has created a visceral film out of José Saramago's allegorical novel about an unnamed city that suddenly becomes blind. Unfortunately, and in spite of its obvious good intentions and faithfulness to the original source, the overriding impression is one of a rather clunky post-apocalyptic thriller. Mark Ruffalo and Julianne Moore play an opthamologist and his wife. He is one of the first people to go blind and she remains the one person who is unafflicted. Inititally, the blind are swept into an isolated facility so as not to infect the rest of the population. Moore's character claims blindness in order to stay with her husband and it's through her eyes that we see the ensuing descent into chaos.

Although the rest of the cast is strong, Julianne Moore is riveting. It's such a pity that she gave two such strong performances in 2008 (the other being in Savage Grace) that won't be seen by a wider audience. As the script doesn't seem overly concerned with character, its through Moore's expressive face that we feel the burden that she has to carry.

For a film that didn't really satisfy me, this gets an awful lot right. The direction and cinematography, both designed to emulate the sensation of blindness are varied and expressive, although those who have seen The Diving Bell and the Butterfly might note some similarities. Mereilles' vision of social degradation is remarkably convincing, scary even. It certainly helps that the location is so carefully established as an oppressive, frightening metropolis bleached of both colour and familiarity. This helps the movie to establish itself as an allegory, but it is this very thoughfulness that ultimately cripples the movie. In spite of Mereilles' careful use of location and a well-chosen cast, certain story elements don't carry over well from the source material. In the novel, the fact that none of the characters had names seemed conducive to Saramago's style of writing but here it appears obvious, patronising even; Danny Glover's voiceover doesn't help. The message of Mereilles' movie seems like one we've heard before, and the script doesn't have enough subtlety of expression to make us really care for these characters.

Having said that, the best scenes (notably an attack on Gael García Bernal's tyrannical inmate) are tense and frightening and any fans of Julianne Moore are bound to want to check this out.