Film Review – Patrick (2013)

Do you like horror films? Australian director Mark Hartley obviously does. His infectious, gleeful enthusiasm for his popular if sometimes critically reviled genre of horror makes this a blood-soaked treat for like-minded fans.  Having previously explored the rich if somewhat forgotten back catalogues of Australian exploitation cinema horror in his excellent doco Not Quite Hollywood, he takes the next logical step here, remaking Richard Franklin’s 1978 cult favourite B-movie.

The tagline of the original also serves as a neat plot summary: ‘He’s in a coma…yet, he can kill!’ He is Patrick, a patient who somehow maintains his excellent condition while those around him waste away in a vegetative state in a creepy, isolated hospital. When a young nurse makes a ghoulish discovery that leads to her grisly end, the bright young Kathy ‘Jac’ Jacquard (Sharni Vinson) is recruited to the facility, which is overseen by Dr. Roget (Charles Dance) and his dead-eyed daughter, Matron Cassidy (Rachel Griffiths).

Jac has just broken up with her boyfriend Ed (Damon Gameau) and is seeking a clean break. She soon finds an ally in the spirited Nurse Williams (Peta Sergeant), who fills her in on the shady happenings in the facility, a dimly lit Gothic hellhole. She takes a special interest in Patrick, who Dr Roget has adopted as his special project, administering electro-shock therapy and other techniques not prescribed in any medical journal.

Alarmed at the bizarre experiments and freaked out that the comatose Patrick seems to be able to communicate with her, Jac confides in Brian (Martin Crewes), a former doctor and writer who advises her to report Dr Roget to the authorities and get out of town. But this wouldn’t be a horror film if its hero took the safe option, and as Ed arrives in town to reconcile with Jac, he too gets drawn into the escalating terror wreaked by malevolent forces at the hospital.

Patrick rattles through genre tropes (creaky elevator shafts, dirty-looking syringes, zombie-like patients wandering blackened corridors, moments of silence shattered by a pounding at the door) with an expert’s assurance and a fan’s relish. This is a film that knows exactly what it is, and that recognises that some things are cliches for a reason.

Vinson, last seen in You’re Next (a more nasty and realist film than Patrick) makes for a plucky heroine, while it’s a shame Sergeant’s character fades into the background somewhat as Jac delves further into Patrick’s story. Their performances form part of an impressive film seemingly destined for cultish devotion. While Patrick may not convince the unconverted, horror fans will lap up every minute of its lean, gore-splattered running time.

Film Review – Thanks For Sharing (2013)

Genuine medical condition or convenient excuse for bad behaviour? Sex addiction has become a controversial affliction, but Thanks for Sharing comes firmly down on the former side of the argument. The directorial debut of Stuart Blumberg, who also co-wrote the Oscar-nominated screenplay for The Kids Are All Right, explores the travails of a number of sufferers linked by their attendance at a sex addicts support group.

The youngest member of the group is Neil (Josh Gad), who ruins his promising career as an emergency room doctor when he is caught filming up the skirt of his supervisor. After he appears in court on sexual harassment charges, he is directed to attend the support group for his addiction, where he meets the slick, charismatic Adam (Mark Ruffalo) and the group’s de facto leader, the somewhat smug Mike (Tim Robbins), a middle-aged man who has battled multiple addictions and come out the other side with a beatific demeanour and a gentle cynicism.

Low on self-esteem and fond of lying and defensive wise-cracking, Neil initially struggles to complete the work prescribed by the group, but is forced to confront the truth of his situation when he is adopted as something of a mentor to a new recruit to the group, the self-destructive Dede (Pink, credited as Alecia Moore). Meanwhile, Adam starts seeing the driven Phoebe (Gwyneth Paltrow), but is reluctant to reveal his past after she tells him her last relationship disintegrated because her ex was an alcoholic. Adam seeks guidance on this new development from Mike, whose estranged son Danny (Patrick Fugit), is suddenly back in town. Danny has battled a drug addiction but views the group therapy with suspicion and even hostility, leading to an uneasy truce with Mike, who suspects his son may not be as rehabilitated as he claims.

Not everything in Thanks for Sharing works — a subplot involving Adam’s ex-girlfriend Becky (Emily Meade) is a melodramatic misfire. It also has a curiously dated look and an often daggy sense of humour at odds with the potentially edgy material. Yet there’s much to admire here, including the strong central storyline and the committed performances. Josh Gad, recently the only good thing in the disastrous Jobs, is again terrific, while pop star Moore is an absolute revelation, bringing both a convincing toughness and a poignant vulnerability to the role of Dede.

While Thanks for Sharing doesn’t shy away from the potentially life-wrecking consequences of its characters compulsions (a scene where Mark Ruffalo fights his urges in a hotel room is particularly effective), ultimately this is a much softer film than the similarly themed Shame. That’s not a failing however; more a reflection that Blumberg’s film is just as interested in the makeshift community that forms amongst the addicts as the often harrowing details of their addictions.


Film Review – Blue Jasmine (2013)

We’re first introduced to Jasmine (Cate Blanchett), an unpleasant socialite who’s fallen on hard times, as she talks the ear off a poor woman on a plane to San Francisco, her fellow passenger having made the mistake of interrupting a monologue she was having with herself. It’s a fitting introduction to Woody Allen’s claustrophobic new drama, which follows Jasmine to San Francisco, where she hopes to start afresh after her husband, Hal (Alec Baldwin), is exposed as a fraudster and adulterer.

An unrepentant snob with a haughty bearing and a wardrobe full of designer clothes, Jasmine finds herself at odds with her adopted sister, Ginger (Sally Hawkins), whom she plans to stay with until she is back on her feet. Jasmine had little time for Ginger when she was living high on the hog in Manhattan and finds herself appalled at Ginger’s working-class lifestyle and new boyfriend, Chili (Bobby Cannavale), a mechanic.

Still clinging to her old luxurious lifestyle and increasingly embracing delusion, Jasmine finds she is so cut off from the modern world that she needs basic computer classes before she can even think about her lofty ambitions to train as a designer.

The story flashes back and forth between Jasmine’s glamorous New York life of polo matches and Hamptons holidays and her later comeuppance in California. Along the way, Ginger and ex-boyfriend Augie (Andrew Dice Clay) make a rare visit to New York, where Jasmine suggests Hal can invest money for Ginger and Augie. The flashbacks find Jasmine in wilfully ignorant bliss, raising the question of whether she should have taken more of an interest in his staggering accumulation of wealth.

There are definite echoes of Blanchett’s tour de force performance in A Streetcar Named Desire here, with Chili a kind of hot-blooded Stanley to Jasmine’s pretentious Blanche Dubois figure. As in the Tennessee Williams classic, the arrival of a down-on-her-luck heroine strains the relationship of her reluctant hosts, and Hawkins is terrific as the long-suffering Ginger.

The performances make up for the shortcomings in a script which is surprisingly slight at times, lacking for something new to say about the Bernie Madoff-like figure of Hal and his downfall. Still, the prickly figure of Jasmine, a character who is by turns contemptible and pitiful, washing Xanax down with vodka as she endlessly recounts stories from better times, is perfectly realised, and Blanchett’s compelling work lights up one of Woody Allen’s darkest films.

Film Review – Alan Partridge (Alpha Papa) (2013)

Alan Partridge (Steve Coogan) is a man with such a proficient ability to inject even the most banal of situations with toe-curling awkwardness that it borders on being a talent. A much-loved character that fans have followed over a range of TV series, specials, radio plays and his I, Partridge autobiography, this latest instalment (and the first big-screen outing for the character) is an unusually high-concept affair which makes the most of its delicious conceit.

Having schemed desperately (but unsuccessfully) for his old TV hosting job, Partridge is still clinging onto his local celebrity status, revelling in the  soul-crushingly inane show where he tackle questions such as “What’s the worst kind of monger? Fish, Rumour, Iron or War?”.

When the station is taken over by a corporation intent on rebranding the backwater North Norfolk Digital as a vibrant youth station, he barely survives the cull. The upheaval sees the ageing Pat (Colm Meaney) axed, a decision he responds to by returning to a station party with a gun and taking the staff hostage. By dumb luck, Alan finds himself outside the station as the siege begins, and as the only one Pat trusts, he finds himself pushed into being the go-between between Pat and the police tasked with ending the siege. Simultaneously fearful and puffed up with importance, he soon starts to think that being the face of the siege (or “siege face” in his words) could be just the tonic his forever ailing career needs.

Among those trapped at the station are the hapless Sidekick Simon (the hilarious Tim Key) and Angela (Monica Dolan), a co-worker so socially inept and desperate that she seems a plausible love interest for Alan. It also wouldn’t be a Partridge show without Alan’s long-suffering assistant Lynn (Felicity Montagu), who is on hand to massage Alan’s fragile ego and generally be bossed around and underappreciated.

It’s interesting to see how the character of Partridge has softened over the years. Initially a misanthropic buffoon with the soul of a parking station, Partridge now seems completely eccentric and devoid of self-awareness but an essentially sympathetic figure who you actually cheer for as he finds himself in way over his head.

The lighter tone hasn’t led to a lack of laughs though — whether singing along to Roachford, back-announcing his soft rock favourites with baffling non-sequiturs, losing his trousers while managing to lock himself out of the under-siege building or completely misjudging every single conversation he enters, the painfully funny Partridge remains exhibit A in the argument for Coogan’s status as a comic genius.

While the pitch-perfect slice-of-life series Mid-Morning Matters with Alan Partridge remains the high water mark of the now sprawling Partridge oeuvre, Alpha Papa is a beautifully written and performed work, likely to delight both long-term fans and introduce a broader audience to one of British comedy’s most inspired creations.

Originally appeared in: Concrete Playground