'Dead Snow' directed by Tommy Wirkola

Zombies! Nazis! Zombie-Nazis! Did that get your attention?

Well, if it did then Dead Snow is the film for you. It is a claustrophobic Norwegian horror film which does not take itself too seriously, following more in the footsteps of Shaun as opposed to Dawn of The Dead.

At the start, a group of young, beautiful Norwegian students are on their way to an isolated cabin on a hillside which is several miles walk from the nearest road. What could go wrong I hear you cry?!

If you've seen just about any horror film in the last twenty years, you will already know the answer to that and there are absolutely no surprises in this one.

The exposition is mostly covered in five minutes with the inexplicable sudden appearance of a local middle aged man who tells the students about missing Nazi gold. He then somewhat contradicts the wise warnings he delivers about 'the hills being cursed' by electing to camp out on them. Quite what drove him to this bizarre decision is left as a mystery (or crater sized plot hole, take your pick).

This is the only point in the film that vague attention is required to the subtitles so if this is something that usually bothers you then you can rest assured that the rest of the dialogue is fairly redundant.

Nevertheless, there is some terrific slapstick to look out for, including an unfortunate attempt at throwing an improvised petrol bomb and the misuse of an outdoor toilet. There are clear visual nods to The Evil Dead and the aforementioned Shaun of The Dead  that work well.

The students get picked off one by one in increasingly brutal ways. They make the mistake of splitting up to cover more ground despite the dire warnings of movie geek Erlend (Jeppe Laursen) who seems to be the only one in this group who ever engages his critical faculties.

All of the rest of the students seem to merely be wallpaper for the zombies, who steal the show with a contemptuous ease that only Nazis on film are capable of.

And that's about it. A good, fun watch with a wafer thin plot. The rest is as braindead as the zombies themselves.

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the photograph used on this blog and will remove it at the request of the rights holder.

'Lockout' directed by James Mather and Stephen St. Ledger

About three quarters of the way through this film, a veritable Starfleet of space ships take off from a police station hovering above the Earth to attack an orbital prison that has been taken over by convicts.

Now, whilst this was a terrific visual trick with all the usual special effects that are associated with science fiction, it did beg the question as to whether such a facility would just be a massive white elephant for the US Government.

Despite these high production values and its glossy sheen, Lockout has been given something of a critical mauling, which seems a little harsh given that it  delivers a solid, if somewhat brainless, 95 minutes of entertainment.

Perhaps the central objection lies with Guy Pearce reprising his usual feckless rebel role. He does a fine job as Snow but it hardly stretches him and it feels like a slightly modified transplant of his Edward VIII from The King's Speech. Nonetheless, he delivers a series of witty ripostes in response to the unsurprising 'you're a loose cannon' sentiments that Snow receives from his handlers at the White House.

Maggie Grace offers a nice turn as President's daughter Emilie Warnock and between them, she and Snow develop an argumentative relationship between hostage and would be rescuer. Emilie is no ordinary first daughter, she matches Snow barb for barb and their constant interplay is a fun addition to an otherwise lacklustre script.

Brothers Alex (played by Vincent Regan) and Hydell (Joseph Gilgun) are the primary threat to the success of Snow's rescue attempt. These two could easily have walked away from an audition for Taggart and onto the set of Lockout, such is the malevolence in their Scottish accents.

Little knowing that they hold such a prominent hostage, the convicts pursue their devilish goals, which remain fairly unclear, and the whole thing develops the feel of a camped up version of Con Air in space. Hardly a moment goes by without a new psychopath with an odd tattoo stumbling into shot.

Indeed, this film is so full of such cliches that you find yourself wondering at times if it is attempting satire. The presence of Luc Besson among the scriptwriters suggests that it may be and much of the subplot which follows Snow's tumultous relationship with Shaw and Langral (his handlers) seems to be a slant on the morally grey world of spying.

Nevertheless, the film never really pushes its viewers as far as thinking. It is true Saturday night filler that seems a bit too pleased with itself.

A b movie with a a few laughs but one that will not live long in the memory.

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the photograph used for this blog entry and will remove it at the request of the rights holder.

'The Perfect Distance: Ovett and Coe: The Record Breaking Rivalry' by Pat Butcher

In the build up to the 1980 Olympic Games in Moscow, the narrative driven by the British media claimed that you were either a fan of Steve Ovett or Sebastian Coe. You could not be both. This distinction supposedly said a lot about who you were and what beliefs you held at the dawn of Thatcher's Britain.

The two men at the eye of this particular storm continued their training regimes, untroubled by such concerns. Ovett ran endless laps of Preston Park in Brighton with his close friends. Coe trawled over hills and dales in Yorkshire, closely observed by his father.

Their divergent personalities were by now well established on the track. Ovett was the 'bad boy' of Athletics, waving to the crowd from fifty metres out when the race was already won. Coe was the tireless, frail worker who ran from the front to avoid the crush of the brutes behind him in the chasing pack.

Ovett was unbeaten for two years over 1500 metres. Coe was the record holder at 800 metres. Surely the medals at Moscow would follow suit?

Well, as Pat Butcher tells us in his informal, readable style, nothing was ever so simple in races between Ovett and Coe, who met on a total of just seven occasions during their senior careers.

And yet, their rivalry is one that has endured in the public imagination. Coe and Ovett are as well known today as they were thirty years ago. The triumph of The Perfect Distance is to explain that enduring appeal.

Much of it lies in the contrasting backgrounds of the two men. Ovett was from working class stock, a young boy who discovered his talent for running and pushed it to its limit. He was a natural who destroyed the local competition. Whilst he was flawed academically (as with the author of this review, Ovett is a dyslexic) it was nonetheless clear that from an early age that he was destined to compete at the very highest level.

Coe's talent was less obvious. Privately educated and privileged, he was nevertheless pushed, some would say bullied, by his father Peter into becoming a middle distance runner. At 5'9" with a thin, wiry frame, Coe rarely measured up to the boys he was competing against. Yet, that unlikely frame hid a rare and fierce competitive spirit.

This is where Butcher's story is at its best, as he takes us into the minds of the protagonists of this unique sporting drama. Ovett largely comes across as relaxed, affable and a total oddball.

Coe by contrast is straight, measured and in every respect an establishment figure. His every sentence seems testament to the many letters that now follow his name.

Yet, it is Ovett who seems the more likable. He grants rare extensive interview time to Butcher, who rewards him with the portrayal of a man who was largely misunderstood at the height of his powers. However, it should be noted that Butcher is perhaps too quick to excuse lapses in his memory as a consequence of his dyslexia. It seems to me at least that Ovett has a selective memory and an almost inexplicable habit of forgetting defeats.

Coe seems polite, disciplined and somewhat distant by contrast. However, The Perfect Distance makes it exceptionally clear that the complex relationship with Peter, his father and coach, is a direct cause of that restrained public facade. The private Coe is portrayed in the book as racked with insecurity at the large shadow that Ovett cast over him.

After those battles in 1980 which came to define their careers, both Coe and Ovett casually swapped world records in the following years as they, with the help of Steve Cram, made Britain the dominant force in men's middle distance.

At this point in the story, Pat Butcher takes us on an entertaining, if unexpected diversion into the wider history and context of middle distance running. Whilst this is a mildly enlightening interlude, it also shows that he is stretching his material somewhat. Even with the addition of a chapter on Cram, the quality of Butcher's analysis fades somewhat as the section on the 1984 Olympic Games begins.

From that games comes the photograph used at the top of this review - Ovett, Cram and Coe at the front of the 1500 metres final. It was to be Ovett's final curtain at the Olympics. Coe had the last laugh as he stormed to victory. Yet, days earlier, in the 800 metres final, Coe had put a consoling arm around Ovett at the finish line having been beaten to gold himself and said to his great rival:

'We're too old to be playing with fire.'

The picture that accompanies this quote, of the two arm in arm, dismisses the widely held misconception that Coe and Ovett dislike each other. As Butcher repeatedly observes in this book, they may not have been close friends, but they held a constant bond of respect for each others ability.

Having interviewed widely and thoroughly for this book amongst many of the world's top athletes of this period, Butcher has certainly captured the wider context of these halcyon days for the sport.

Despite the wonderful summer that British athletics has just had, it is difficult to imagine a another Coe or Ovett emerging any time soon at middle distance. As Pat Butcher makes quite clear in his conclusion to The Perfect Distance, we would be very fortunate to see their like again.

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the picture used in this article and will remove it at the request of the rights holder.

'The End of The Party' by Andrew Rawnsley

This book, which charts the descent of New Labour from the height of its powers after a thumping election victory in 2001 to its final, chaotic months in 2010 is as much a psychodrama as a political history.

And at the head of that drama are the protagonists (or should that be antagonists?) of the era - Messrs Tony Blair and Gordon Brown. Andrew Rawnsley's story, whilst taking entertaining diversions into the vibrant personalities of John Prescott and Peter Mandelson amongst others, constantly returns to the flawed relationship between the two erstwhile friends.

Brown in particular is portrayed as a braying, authoritarian bully and there is a Jekyll and Hyde theme to Rawnsley's version of him which seems to chime with many of his public appearances. Often ill at ease with himself and uncomfortable with scrutiny, many of Brown's qualities such as his ability to negotiate deals in private with foreign counterparts never improved his popularity.

Conversely, Blair, as master actor and storyteller, was an expert at manipulating how others perceived him. Both in private and in public, Rawnsley takes us into the world of quick summaries, snap decisions and a theatrical, autocratic leadership style that characterised the Blair years.

Indeed, such leadership lent itself to the big, idealistic themes of Tony Blair's pet projects. This style served him well in Northern Ireland, negotiating tirelessly until a deal was reached. Unfortunately, such free thinking did not lend itself to a more ill advised venture into foreign affairs that later defined his premiership.

The relentless march by the British Government towards the Iraq War, as The End of The Party would have it, was characterised by a series of cock ups and notable by the panic that the prospect induced in a reluctant cabinet.

Whilst several forests worth of text have been written on the divisive subject of Iraq, The End of The Party is worth reading for this section alone, which provides a damning summary of a Prime Minister lured into a war by a hawkish President on the other side of the Atlantic.

The detail of the relationship between Blair and George W. Bush is astonishing. Quite what level of access Andrew Rawnsley actually had to private conversations they are supposed to have had is unclear. Whilst it is certain that he has multiple sources within the Blair camp, it seems far fetched that the recollections of any aide of the Prime Minister would include even off the cuff remarks by their boss.

Nonetheless, Rawnsley's mastery of detail is a tremendous asset that is combined with his naturally readable style to produce a work of history that reads more like a well written thriller. The only drawback with his style is that each page often requires re reading as three topics or a minor crisis are squeezed in. He clearly had much to cover when writing the book but at times the effect can be a little disorienting.

As are the brief forays into satire, for example, on eduction reform John Prescott is referred to as 'A big obstacle'. Whilst this is something of a cheap shot, there is a notable reduction in the number of humerous lines as Rawnsley takes us into the Brown years.

Gordon Brown's odd portrayal as a combination of Macbeth and Henry IV continues as he enters Number 10. His regime is characterised as well intentioned but disorganized. This perception is little helped by the man himself, whose moodswings seemed to become more extreme under the pressure of being Prime Minister.

Only at the moment of his greatest crisis during the early days of the Credit Crunch does Brown emerge with much credit from this book. He is otherwise seen as a hesitant and unpredictable leader whose thirst for the top job was not matched by his competence in it.

Whilst Rawnsley is wholesome in his praise of Brown for his handling of the Credit Crunch (which is no doubt irksome to more Tory inclined readers) he is brutal in his excoriation of him for the non existent election in 2007, the mishandling of Northern Rock and his general public demeanor.

Indeed, the book ends with Labour's future uncertain as Brown heads for defeat, the man himself seen by his own ranks as preoccupied by the media's disquiet.

Whilst the edition I read does not cover the indecisive result of the 2010 election, it provides a tremendous summary of Labour's successes and failures during the later part of its time in power. It is worth reading for the soapy melodrama of Blair and Brown's colossal rows but there is much else to admire and enjoy in this one.

Not just for the politics geek either - a worthwhile read for anyone who watches the news.

Disclaimer 1: I do not own the rights to the (frankly brilliant) photograph that accompanies this blog post and will remove it at the request of the owner.

Disclaimer 2: Whilst many of you will be aware of my political leanings (slightly left of centre), I have tried to make the preceding review as apolitical as possible. Please tell me if you think I have succeeded or otherwise.

'The Impossible' dir. Juan Antonio Bayona

Not for those of a squeamish or sensitive disposition, The Impossible spends most of its running time alternating between brutal depictions of emergency medicine and heart wrenching family splits or reunions.

Based on the true story of a Spanish family in the aftermath of the 2004 Asian Tsunami, this film, set in Thailand, instead depicts a British family suffering the same fate and it is unsparing in its take on the damage of a colossal natural disaster.

Naomi Watts plays the Mother, Maria, who finds herself split from the rest of her family with the exception of her eldest son, Lucas. After the Tsunami hits, she is badly injured. The film then largely follows her quest for medical assistance in the chaotic days following the wave.

Meanwhile, Ewan McGregor's Henry (the father) managed to keep hold of the two younger boys and get them to safety. He spends his time thereafter looking for a place to give them shelter. Once this is achieved, he sets off in search of his missing wife and eldest son.

Lucas (played with panache by Tom Holland) is a boy filled with decent intentions. Once his mother is taken to hospital, he attempts to reunite as many families as he is capable of when the overstretched hospital staff do not have time to do so. It is the first of many attempts by the film to establish a sentimental subtext.

In the background to all this is a strange, European dominated take on the Tsunami. Whilst many of the people who assist the family are of Thai origin, what becomes of the local victims of the disaster is somewhat skated over. I can therefore understand why some other reviews have pointed out that this may be evidence of a slight Colonial bias.

However, even though it is told from the perspective of a Westerner, the film persistently covers the point that the family recognise the advantages they have and how they were briefly stripped from them by a freak event. It did not seem overly patronising to those who lived with the aftermath.

The Impossible's greatest weakness is that it makes too much of its moments of hope as tone of the film veers towards saccharine sweetness, not that it is not a moving and interesting tale but it weighs in too heavily with the emotional hits for comfort.

Nonetheless, the action scenes are well balanced and the acting is for the most part impressive and despite some fairly redundant arty moments, Bayona largely does the script justice.

A non-fiction tale that is well told but that has been given too much of a Hollywood veneer to be as watchable as it might have been.

'Zoolander' dir. Ben Stiller

The fashionistas are out in full cry for this film, which takes a sideswipe at their world. Ben Stiller eagerly pokes fun at the industry, with his usual crew of Owen Wilson, Christine Taylor and Will Ferrell in tow.

Mawkish, self-obsessed male model Derek Zoolander (Stiller) is a man on a mission, not that he realises it yet. He is too busy perfecting his latest 'look'. The premise of the slightly redundant plot is that male models, who are easily manipulated and in peak physical condition, make ideal political assassins.

A particularly ruthless designer known as Jacobim Mugatu (Ferrell) aims to use Zoolander to assassinate the Malaysian Prime Minister, who has recently made some new laws which have upset the profit margins of Mugatu's company.

Whilst it seems that Stiller is taking a stab at a political point, namely the immorality of sweatshop labour for high fashion, most of the film is a ludicrous, slightly camp comedy about the odd, odd world of Derek Zoolander. His rivalry with Hansel (Owen Wilson) takes centre stage in a face off between characters who do not seem to share a single brain cell between them.

This rivalry leads them to a 'walk-off' in which the models pose with the intention of getting David Bowie to decide in their favour. This is the first of many cameos which become increasingly nonsensical as the scenes rattle along, a habit which Ben Stiller has never really grown out of. It becomes increasingly jarring in the latter stages when it seems some of the plot holes are covered by a game of 'who's this?'

Nevertheless, Christine Taylor offers welcome relief from some of the high jinks with a turn as journalist Matilda Jeffries but she seems a bit underused and her story comes to a particularly predictable end.

There is a lot of fun in this one and it is an easy watch. It set the mould for Dodgeball and many other Stiller comedies. Yet, despite its initial derision for physical beauty at the expense of character, it ultimately celebrates the world of Derek Zoolander in all its pretentious glory.

Despite a slightly tepid ending, Zoolander offers a solid evening of entertainment with a few belly laughs along the way.