Film Review - Le Mans '66

I will start off by saying that Ron Howard’s 2013 epic Rush is a solid 9 / 10 for me and one of my favourite films ever. This mainly comes from the fact that I’m a huge Formula One fan and have been since significantly before the start of the turbo hybrid era in 2014. I know my history too, and that certainly had an impact when I watched that film for the first time. And that might have been enough for me to love the film, but what elevates it into greatness is how the sense of speed and danger is created. Not through gratuitous vomit inducing camera shake, but through cinematography and editing that, at the time, blew my mind. The speed, the precision, the fact that every shot seemed expertly engineered to create a feeling of being completely on edge, and having done an analysis of the closing scene from the film as part of my GCSE film studies coursework project, it only confirmed what I already knew. 

So, swap Ron Howard out for James Mangold and swap Formula One out for sportscars and you have Le Mans ‘66, a retelling of the Ferrari vs Ford war that was the main story going into the 1966 24 Hours of Le Mans, a world famous twenty-four hour endurance race in which manufactures dual to build the fastest and most reliable machinery for the best sportscar drivers in the world. In other words, a big deal. The stakes are high. My expectations are sky high. So, how’s the film? 

To the surprise of approximately no one, the film is absolutely amazing, and I’m so happy I found the time to finally see it. Is it better than Rush? I don’t quite think it is. There’s a magic to that film that is damn near untouchable, but the fact that this film gives it a run for its money across the board is a testament to James Mangold’s skills as a director. And, just like its spiritual predecessor, the film basically won we over straight away on cinematography and editing alone. It’s important to acknowledge that those two elements are way more important in a film like this than they might be otherwise, because, like it or not, there is only so much an actor can emote when they’re stuck behind the wheel of a sports car, even though Christan Bale certainly tests that limit. 

As such, the composition and weaving together of each shot has to be seamless at the very least in order to counteract the inevitable. And if you are going to use any word to describe this film, seamless would be the one. A big part of this is the lack of any obvious CGI on the cars, but the rest comes through in the subtle touches in the cinematography and editing. This film would make the perfect case study in how a shot composed ever so slightly in shallow focus, just enough to foreground the subject within the shot, can really tug at the heart strings; how it’s possible to communicate a sense of speed and danger without gratuitous camera shake; and how amazing direction and writing can elevate a film that could have so easily been another underdog story to forget. 

I’ve already talked about how the film has an exceptional grasp on how to precisely focus a shot (particularly when Miles is alone with his son in the dark on the track), but I’d be doing the film a disservice if I didn’t mention the framing of the shots at some point too. How the sweeping wide shots effortlessly pan across the cars as they hurtle by is something to behold, but the film also knows that it’s the relationship between man and machine that makes speed. As such, the combination of the wide shots and the close-up shots of the drivers, whether they be composed looking at the driver through the dirty windshield or being in the car with the driver, are an essential component in terms of establishing that relationship. 

And, speaking of relationships, that takes us nicely onto the narrative and the writing, which does leave something to be desired in places. For example, now little is made out of the emotion of losing the race in the end on the part of both Miles and Shelby; I would have loved to have seen his son’s reaction to the defeat given how much of the film focuses on his relationship to his dad. This is nitpicking to the extreme, but that bit did leave me cold. Even the whole ‘I’m the wife of a racing driver so I’m living in the constant terror of losing him in an accident whilst trying to care for a child and work myself’ narrative could have done with refining, especially given that she does end up losing him in the end. She does have one emotional outburst that is impactful, that highlights the confusion and unknowing on her part as she struggles to make up her mind about whether or not this is what she wants, but not much else to elevate her character past that. Although, it does make sense that her character arc is left slightly up in the air 

Where the writing really shines is in the subtext, though. Unlike Rush, which uses the danger of racing as its main motif throughout, Le Mans ‘66 takes a slightly different approach, as only those who know their history about how dangerous motor racing was in the 1960s will pick up on the subtext, until, while testing the new car, Miles inexplicably veers off the track as a result of a brake failure, and, on impact with a wall, the car explodes like an atom bomb. And, in that moment, in that ferocious impact, that sliver of subtext becomes text in the most brutal way imaginable. 

Frightening stuff, but necessary from a writing standpoint, especially considering what happens to Miles when all is said and done. And the circumstances of his death and the eerily parallel constructed between the narration and the visuals only adds to it. 

And the whole idea of the 7000rpm point where a car comes fully alive being the main motif that runs throughout the film and experiencing that being the circumstances in which Miles died in makes that moment hit with tremendous impact. 

Almost everything about this film clicks for me, almost to the extent that I would call it my favourite film of the year so far. I actually rewatched the film that it’s up against, Justin Baldoni’s teen drama ‘Five Feet Apart’ (I know, I’m that kind of person) recently, and the flaws of that film came right into focus for me on that second viewing. I can’t imagine the same being true of Le Mans ‘66. It’s my film to beat in 2019, and as we move closer to December and the release of Star Wars Episode IX: The Rise Of Skywalker, I’m excited to see what comes out on top.

9 / 10

Film Review - The Good Liar

Fresh off seeing this one, and I’m struggling to evaluate quite where I fall on it. On the one hand, the story, however well it connects, is clunky and awkward in its opening act, perhaps this was intentional to help capture the ‘anticipation followed by the let-down’ that is directly referenced in the text, but it certainly is not a captivating start. However, as the story coalesces there is certainly something of value to how the film tackles the instinct of lying; getting the idea of not telling the truth so embedded in your mind that you become obsessed with it and it therefore becomes impossible to distinguish the difference between the truth and lies in any social situation is certainly ambitious. Whether or not this was intended as a metaphor aimed at self-obsessed teens, and yelling at them to get a grip and pay attention to the real world could be a stretch, but considering there’s no other reason why the scene where the pair come out of the theatre having seen a war movie discussing how ignorant teenagers might assume that is what war is, the same ignorant teenagers who would likely be stuck in their phones at every opportunity. 

And, to be brutally honest, the extent to which you accept that critical layer of subtext is likely to impact how much you like the film. Because, if you don’t accept that, you might find the film a little lacking in substance and overwritten to enjoy all that much. At the end of the day the plot can be summed up very simply: greedy man wants money and ends up getting what was coming to him. Of course, that’s not everything. Betty McLeish (Helen Mirren) and Roy Courtnay (Ian McKellen) are the two characters you follow, but part of Betty’s elaborate plan is her ‘grandson’ Steven (Russell Tovey) who might end up as the most immediately problematic character in the story. If he is doing research for Betty on Roy, why be so upfront about it with him and reveal everything that he’s found out about him right to his face? Surely the best thing to do would be to ignore telling him all this and give him that false sense of security. Maybe it serves as a plot device to simply reveal to the audience how convolutedly written Roy is as a character, but even so, it damages the illusion that this is all calculated on Betty’s part. 

And the ending is particularly poor. I get the twist of Betty wanting to get Roy back for what he did to her when they were younger, but the abruptness with which the twist is revealed with, completely devoid of subtlety, kills the tension entirely. And when the film presents us with so few little enigmas to enjoy giving us any idea that something might be off with Betty (the man in the white Audi being the only one of note), the film feels less enigmatic and mysterious by the shot. That being said, for however convoluted the characters can feel, the story does mostly connect, and there is drama in the reveal that Roy raped Betty as a kid, drama that is completely undercut as director Bill Condon falls into the trap of presenting his audience with a very closed ending, completely unwilling to leave any enigma on the table, once again cannibalising any tension there could have been. 

And that’s why I’m conflicted with a film that seems to undercut itself at every major opportunity that I would otherwise be inclined to dismiss, if it wasn’t for good acting and some fascinatingly framed subtext, but even that subtext feels more than a little clichéd, especially considering the actors. The story might be generally strong, but I’d have to be incredibly forgiving to call this any better than kind of decent. And given how fixated the narrative is on historical events, perhaps that’s a sign that this one is destined for the history books. 

6 / 10 

Film Review - Sorry We Missed You

There was no way I was going to miss this, especially given the contextual knowledge I had gained since seeing I, Daniel Blake for the first time, which included watching his 1966 fictionalised documentary Cathy Come Home. And if you’re expecting another film that falls into that category, you might wind up a little bit disappointed with Sorry We Missed You. Making the easy comparison to I, Daniel Blake, a film which sought to expose the corruptness of the systems, this film is more grounded in a narrative focused more on the personal implications of those systems. It goes without saying that both of those things are relevant to both films, but you can tell that the weighting has slightly shifted since I, Daniel Blake. 

As a result, I didn’t find Sorry We Missed You quite as politically cutting with how the emphasis is placed on the personal narrative as oppose to the politics, but Ken Loach has done it again with another moving story chronicling the inherent flaws with the world around us, that can sometimes be uncomfortable to engage with. But that’s the thing. It might be uncomfortable, sure, but when you present it as plainly and honestly as Ken Loach does, it demands to be taken seriously, and the film is all the better for it. 

We follow a couple with two children who had been severely affected by the economic crash in 2008 (and that political context, however subtle it might be, does weigh hard on the film) that are constantly jumping from place to place trying to find any security they can, with Ricky (Kris Hitchen) working as a delivery driver and Abbie (Debbie Honeywood) working as a carer for several different clients. The conflict comes with them having to juggle those immense responsibilities and huge working hours with two children who have clearly been significantly affected by the whole situation: Sebastian (Rhys Stone) and his younger sister Lisa Jane (Katie Proctor). 

And it’s Sebastian’s ways of dealing with the whole situation that anchors the personal narrative, especially when, considering how hard the family has to work, there is no one making sure that he even goes to school or looks after himself. And that's where the problem stems from. He is struggling emotionally with his best friend leaving him (and, if I were to criticize, I do wish the two of them were given a bit more intimate screen time together to show a bit more chemistry), he channels his frustrations into doing graffiti, and other things his parents don’t approve of. A gripping reminder that the world is not as empathetic a place as it might seem to us. Not for them, at least. 

These contradictions create panic and that panic escalates into drama, but what I adore about this film and pushes it solidly into greatness for me is how the possibility of things getting better at the end and reaching that happy ever after is captured in the subtleties of the writing. Every now and again Ricky will suggest that everything will be alright in a few months or a year's time, as if the light in the tunnel is getting closer, even as it seems to dim before his very eyes to everyone watching from the outside, to the extent that, by the end, it seems like a desperate hope indeed. 

But the ending is what makes it. Something I’ve observed about ambitious filmmakers is that they seem committed to presenting the audience with total closure by the end of their film, completely unwilling to challenge their audience in the same way Ken Loach is clearly committed to. As such, the unsettling close up of the side of Ricky’s face as he drives away, his world crushing beneath him as he comes to terms with the decision he has made hits with tremendous impact. Furthermore, the suggestion of death in the text and subtext as the film makes its final fade to black makes the ending hit with the kind of chilling, frightening precision as you watch a man in what might end up being the final moments of his life succumb to the choices he has made. 

In many ways it is similar to the ending of I, Daniel Blake, but instead of crying out for change like Dan did at the end of that film, by the end of Sorry We Missed You, Ricky is left broken; desperately hoping that things could change for the better, but also knowing from experience that it takes a whole lot more than just hope. 

To conclude this, and however much I don’t feel like I’m adding an awful lot to the conversation, the film is great. I don’t think it was quite as ruthless and blunt in highlighting the political injustice as I, Daniel Blake was before it, but trading that out for a personal narrative was refreshing enough to comfortably push this film into greatness. Definitely take the time to chance to check this out.

8 / 10