Peter Mullan, who we last saw playing a violent alcoholic in his 2010 film, Neds, takes on the similar role of Joseph. This time around he’s an angry, perhaps lonely, widower. His often uncontrollable rage is tinged with a sense of bitterness and resentment, and prone to surfacing whether he be nursing a pint or wielding a baseball bat. Mullan presents a character whose actions are far from justifiable, and yet his attacks on people, objects and even animals often seem to be as much an act of self-destruction as they are of harm to those upon whom they are inflicted.

Mullan stars opposite Olivia Coleman who, perhaps until now, will have been best known for her role as Sophie Chapman in Channel 4′s Peep Show. Tyrannosaur sees her demonstrate her extraordinary ability as a film actress by taking on the role of Hannah, a middle class charity-shop worker, privately suffering unimaginable domestic violence at the hands of her husband, played with terrifying malice by Eddie Marsan.

Joseph initially dismisses Hannah’s compassion and offers of prayer, and you don’t have to be an angry alcoholic to sympathise. However, as their encounters become more regular, he begins to see this apparently content and composed woman unravel, living in much more tragic circumstances than even he might have expected.

The key to this gripping depiction of a rather bleak suburbia lies largely in complexity of Considine’s characters. Born out of his 2007 acclaimed short film, Dog Altogether, the actor-turned-director has expanded upon Joseph and Hannah, in order to evoke a sense of cinematic truth which tends to be almost exclusively reserved for films from the likes of Alan Clarke, and perhaps more recently, Considine’s regular collaborator, Shane Meadows. Yes, we see Joseph antagonising those who do not deserve it, and acting cruelly towards many who have not provoked him, but we also witness the more tender moments which he shares with his dying friend, the surprisingly protective friendship which he has with a young neighbour, and even his own vulnerability as an ageing man.

In lifting the veil on Hannah’s happy charade, Tyrannosaur reveals a world just as damaged by alcohol dependence and hidden humiliation. The setting for this tale is too destitute for it to be a love story; instead it is a much more touching depiction of the way lost souls often gravitate towards each other. Granted, there is all the grey scenery and tensed fists that you might expect, but the sense of misery – which is more-or-less mandatory when dealing with such brutal subject matter – is permeated with unlikely moments of tenderness and even humour.

Those who missed the cinematic release of Tyrannosaur may have escaped seeing this harrowing tale blown up larger than life, but worry not – this is a film which is  just as affecting watched on a smaller screen. With incredibly powerful performances from both Mullan and Coleman, Considine’s disturbing directorial début feature is nothing short of remarkable.

Tyrannosaur is available on DVD and Blu-Ray from 6th February 2012.

The film is directed by UK-based, Iceland-born Elfar Adalsteins, who dreamed up the story after his grandfather died. Both the death of a grandfather and the director’s Icelandic origins both shine out clearly. Adalsteins gives an old man the dignified ending that is denied to so many of our elderly relatives, it also plays out against an element that has defined Iceland as much as any: the sea.

John Hurt’s old man lives in an old people’s home by the sea and after his morning visit from a nurse, he packs his suitcase and makes a break for freedom. This all starts with a cunning and amusing diversionary tactic before he heads down to the docks where he steals a sailing boat and heads out to sea on his ‘last great journey’ as the publicity material puts it.

The old man is entirely silent and largely alone, but his trip still takes us on a powerful emotional journey. The film is a poem of shifting emotional tones: sly wit, dignified resilience, elegiac wistfulness, loneliness and melancholy, and grim resolution. This is all conveyed by Hurt’s subtle acting and a lovely squeeze-box and cello driven folk music composed by Richard Cottle.

It will be interesting to see what Mr Adalsteins gets up to with a larger canvas, because he is has created a work of great poignancy when working in miniature. Sailcloth may be as brief as a summer squall, but packs an elemental punch.

See the Sailcloth trailer here:

Putting family life under a microscope has long been a popular device for filmmakers, but very few do it quite like Roman Polanski. In Carnage he takes four civil, up-standing New-Yorkers and reduces them, in the space of 79 minutes, to their true unapologetic selves.

With a name like Carnage, you’d be forgiven for expecting a slasher film to rival the Saw franchise. On the contrary the film is a ‘warts and all’ portrayal of parenting, that is bitingly funny and disturbingly accurate.

Here are a few subjects you should not broach in a social situation with another family: you should not insult their children, criticise their parenting, their careers, or mention leaving your daughter’s hamster out on the pavement because you were sick of it.

Everyone agreed these are big no nos? So what happens when these rules are ignored? Carnage explores this with brilliant wit.

Polanski had genius material to work with: the film is based on the comedy play ‘The God of Carnage‘ written by Yasmina Reza, and he also drafted her in to adapt it for the screen. The play has enjoyed successful runs in Paris, London and on Broadway since its premiere in 2006 and Polanski reportedly saw the play’s potential immediately.

The film certainly lives up to its source material. There is never a pause in what so easily could have been mundane and boring. Instead we have two families, the Longstreets (Foster & Reilly) and the Cowens (Winslet & Waltz), locked in a showdown over their children. Set in the Longstreet’s apartment, the four adults get together to discuss the issue at hand. Passive aggressive banter soon escalates, revealing each adults’ contradictions and hypocrisy.

Much of the genius lies in the unpredictable nature of the story. Of course there are certain aspects that you do see coming. Alan Cowen’s (Waltz) phone will go off every other minute, and the impending explosion from four strong personalities clashing is inevitable, but you can’t predict each adult’s reactions to one another. It’s delicious to find out. Alan reprimands the Longstreets for implying his son ‘disfigured’ their son, but in the next breath describes his own son as a maniac. It’s these contradictory moments that the comedy is at its most powerful and we get many of the biggest laugh-out-loud moments.

The film is in real-time just like the play, which is possibly Polanski’s biggest triumph. As an audience you are made to feel like you are in the room with them, although at a safe enough distance to observe without implication. Polanski cleverly toys with those basic human instincts that make us judge others and laugh at our own failings. The only detriment I could find was, the entire film takes place in one setting, which becomes a little tedious after a while.

A lot of credit has to go to to the four actors. They play off each other so well. Polanski reportedly scheduled them for weeks of rehearsal, performing the screenplay like the play it’s based on. It shows; the scenes flow very naturally.

Despite our reluctance, we gradually feel empathetic with each character. Kate Winslet (The Reader) for example, gives an outstanding performance as the demure and aloof Nancy. At first she seems cold , but by the end, after she has stopped trying to mediate proceedings, you might find you don’t mind her after all. Unlike Jodie Foster’s (Panic Room) character; the liberal writer Penelope, who seems pleasant in the beginning but by the end is a hysterical sobbing wreck. John C Reilly also deserves a mention too, for his comedic timing, and Waltz is deliciously nasty throughout.

The most amusing thing though, is so much of the conflict could have been avoided. A bite of the tongue here and there, and avoiding certain subjects would have caused far fewer problems. But where’s the fun in that?

Carnage is out in cinemas across the UK from the 3rd February 2012.

I’m well-versed in Smith cinema, and I’d say all of his work up to Red State has been easily identifiable. This time around, however, only a few lines of dialogue in the film struck me as typical of the New Jersey-born director known for crafting crude humour and talk-heavy cinema. There are short moments of humour, each an island in a sea of blood and religious extremism. Red State is not a film I’d recommend to those seeking yet another Smith comedy.

The main issue some viewers will run into is that there are little-to-no likeable characters. Everyone is either enacting immoral orders from a higher power, or acting in a way that renders them vile and unappealing. The plot, however, is a curious mix of Smith and serious cinema, and that’s what’s likely to keep you engaged after the initial fifteen minutes.

Three boys living in a southern state of the US have a Friday night plan – to meet a woman off the internet who has offered the school kids the opportunity to get a little intimate with her, all at the same time. This being Kevin Smith’s script, they are without reservation in how crude and single-minded they become, and this leads to their inevitable downfall. The woman – who happens to live on land owned by local Christian fundamentalists – turns out to be part of the group.

They’re Westboro. Let’s not mess around here. From the homophobic signs to the chanting, to their leader – Abin Cooper, played by the talented Michael Parks (of Kill Bill vols. 1 and 2, and From Dusk Till Dawn). At one point, government agent Keenan (John Goodman, of every film this incredibly talented man has been in) comments to his boss that “no, they’re not like Westboro,” but this feels like a get-out clause for a director who, thanks to Dogma, has already suffered death threats from religious individuals incensed by his parody of their beliefs and lifestyles.

Once these crazed individuals seize the boys, a police officer is shot and the government rolls in,  you’re torn between which faction to identify as the villain of the piece. But really, the only hero in the film is Keenan, the government agent torn between his orders and need for his salary, and his morality. Everyone else is perverted in some way, and their faults lead them straight to a dark finish, in short order.

It’s a hard film to discuss simply because it’s so negative and nothing good comes of the entire narrative, but that’s the point. It’s not supposed to highlight the good in the government, the pervy schoolboys, or the fundamentalists. It’s a tale of domestic terrorism and the flaws in character that will lead one to ruin if the wrong mistakes are made. If anything, it definitely proves that Smith has a whole lot of serious-story talent up his sleeve, and I look forward to other offerings from him in future without the religious undertones, just to see how well he does without dogma and his God-fearing childhood as a springboard.

The Tin Drum (Die Blechtrommel) is an adaptation of Gunter Grass’s highly acclaimed 1959 novel that charted the tribulations of the first half of twentieth century Germany. It is directed by Volker Schlöndorff, who, alongside Werner Herzog, Rainier Maria Fassbinder and Wim Wenders, were key members of the New German Cinema movement of the 1960s and 1970s. Critics loved the film and in 1979 it won both the Palme d’Or at Cannes and also the Oscar for Best Foreign Film.

Set in Danzig, or Gdansk as it is now known, The Tin Drum follows a young boy and his family from the mid 1920s until the end of World War II. Danzig at the time had sizeable populations of Germans, Poles and Kashub, (another ethnic group) and was a semi-independent ‘free city’. The Matzerath family is a similar melting pot: Agnes Koljaiczek (Angela Winkler) is Kasubian and her husband Alfred (Mario Adorf) is a German, and it turns out the real father of the boy is most likely Jan Bronski (Daniel Olbrychski), a Pole. Likewise, Gunter Grass’s father was German while his mother was Polish-Kashubian.

Grass’s book is one of those works of literature that are often called ‘unfilmable’. It is told through the eyes of a boy who is so frustrated with the adult world that, at the age of three, decides he will stop growing. The book contains surreal free association, philosophical digressions and other literary devices that don’t translate very well onto the screen. Schlöndorff seems to have vaulted over these apparent limitations by treating them as a licence to exercise creativity.

The director does have the advantage that little Oskar Matzerath (played by 11-year-old David Bennent) is a very curious hero indeed. Not only has he stopped growing, but Oskar has an obsessive attachment to his toy tin drum and has a high pitched scream that can break glass. He likes to use both to mischievous effect. Oskar maintains his child’s eye view of the adult world as he ages; he is both a detached observer and a naughty prankster.

One particularly striking scene occurs when Oskar’s mother takes him to the doctor after he stops growing. The doctor considers the boy’s case in a surgery surrounded by cupboards carrying glass specimen jars each containing a creature stored in pickling solution. He becomes upset and starts shrieking, the jars shatter and deposit their gruesome contents, including a human foetus, all over the floor.

As well as containing unsettling moments such as these, The Tin Drum has plenty of funny and bawdy episodes. One of these is the brief liaison between his grandmother with a wanted man in the middle of a potato field – the diminutive fellow hides under her voluminous skirts – and his mother is born nine months later. Gradually, these family stories become more entwined with Nazism. The picture of Beethoven above the piano is replaced with one of Hitler.

Symbolism and allegory like this are used frequently. Little Oskar attends a Nazi rally where his drumming gets the goose stepping ranks dancing to the Blue Danube. Although he is not taken in by the follies of Nazism, Oskar himself is can be seen to represent the dark political realities of inter-war Europe. His disruptive illogic holds a mirror to Hitler’s irrational passions. The way his family adapt to the little tyrant in their house, is similar to how they approach Hitler.

Too much allegory in our literal age can weigh a film down, and working out what it all means can be a bit confusing. Schlöndorff doesn’t let it become tedious however, his characters are too earthy and his beady eye too scabrous for that. If the film is not entirely likeable, it is because neither Oskar nor any of the other characters are either. Not surprising given the savagery of the time.

Find The Tin Drum Dual Format Edition at Amazon.co.uk, special features include:
- High Definition and Standard Definition presentation of the original theatrical version [1080p]
- High Definition presentation of the Director’s Cut [Blu-ray only 1080p]
- New restoration of both the theatrical version and the brand new Director’s Cut approved by director Volker Schlöndorff
- 5.1 DTS-HD Master Audio
- Audio commentary with director/co-screenwriter Volker Schlöndorff
- Interview with Volker Schlöndorff on the new cut of The Tin Drum (2011) [Blu-ray only]
- Making The Tin Drum, Volker Schlöndorff remembers making the film and his collaborators (2001) [DVD only]
- Original Trailer [DVD only]
- Comprehensive booklet featuring brand new writing on the film by George Lellis and Hans-Bernhard Moeller, authors of Volker Schlondorff’s Cinema: Adaptation, Politics and the Movie-appropriate, as well as extracts from Volker Schlöndorff’s diary, writing by Jean Claude Carrière and Günter Grass, illustrated with archival stills.
- Artwork presentation packaging featuring newly commissioned artwork and three original posters

When you hear the name Madonna followed by ‘film’, scepticism will most likely follow. I mean, if you were to take away her Golden Globe for her performance in Evita, her film career is nothing to shout about. However, when Madonna tries her hand at directing, you can’t help but be curious.

W.E. is actually her second attempt in the director’s chair, and as a feature it was an enormous undertaking, considering the two-tiered nature of the romantic drama she penned. The plot couples the affair between King Edward VIII and American divorcée Wallis Simpson in the 1930s, with the contemporary romance between a married New York woman and a Russian security guard.

This type of narrative has been done successfully before now, of course. The Hours, starring Nicole Kidman and Meryl Streep for example, merges three generations of women and their separate stories together beautifully. Sadly in this case, W.E. doesn’t quite succeed.

We’re told the story of King Edward (James D’Arcy) and Wallis Simpson (Andrea Riseborough) from Simpson’s perspective, a unique view-point considering her usual portrayal as the heartless woman who tore apart the royal family after Edward abdicated the throne. Rather than make a period film like The King’s Speech however, Madonna preferred to set the story in 1998 and look back.

The historical side of the film is interesting. To learn about Wallis Simpson’s past, from her abusive first marriage through to her first meeting with the King is intriguing, and the sheer amount of research involved is clear. The parallel narrative between Wally Winthrop (Abbie Cornish) and the security guard, Evgeni (Oscar Isaac) on the other hand, is quite dull.

The idea sounds promising on paper: A young woman having a hard time in her cold marriage uses the historic romance as a way to take her mind off her own problems. As she learns more, she finds parallels between herself and Wallis Simpson that surpass her initial expectations.

The trouble is the past and present do not weave together seamlessly. The transition between the two narrative strands is clunky, and I found myself confused a lot. In the first five minutes alone, the images flit between past and present so sporadically, I wasn’t sure which time-line I was in.

Even when things began to gel, I couldn’t connect to the central character, Wally. Too much time was devoted to her problems. I didn’t believe in her storyline, and there is more than one scene that could easily have been cut. Whether it was intentional or not, Wally’s character came across as wooden and seemed to maintain one facial expression for the entire film: think Kristen Stewart in Twilight.
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Shots ran on longer than necessary too, and the fascination with watching Abbie Cornish walk slowly down corridors from the back was baffling. I have no doubt it was supposed to raise tension or remind you she is attractive, but on the contrary it made the film awkward.

If you do venture out to see W.E. do it for Andrea Riseborough. She shone as Wallis Simpson, and was the perfect force to counter Cornish. I found myself paying attention every time she appeared on screen. James D’Arcy was also charming as King Edward, while the supporting cast that include: Katie McGrath, Richard Coyle and Laurence Fox, support the main cast brilliantly.

It’s a shame really that the good didn’t outweigh the bad. I wanted to enjoy this film, having seen countless films merge the past and present together wonderfully. On this occasion, Madonna didn’t quite hit the mark. That said, I doubt the notorious perfectionist will allow this failing to deter her from future attempts, and her name alone will put bums on seats.

W.E. is in cinemas across the UK now.

Every once in a while, a film will arrive on the scene that strikes you as something a little different from the endless supply of comic book adaptations, slasher-shockers and rom-coms. For me, Troll Hunter was that film. A Norwegian mix of Cloverfield and The Blair Witch Project, it presents itself as the footage of three college students making a documentary about illegal bear hunting in Norway.

What they don’t realise is the true nature of the suspicious man they start stalking. At first, they assume the bear hunters of Norway are correct in their judgement: this odd loner must be unlawfully killing the big furry animals. But they’re wrong. Only some of them are furry, and they’re not bears. They’re trolls.

I won’t spoil the nature of the rest of the film for you, because there are some great twists and turns, although it can sometimes feel slightly predictable – mainly because the opening paragraphs all but outline the fate of the documentary makers before it’s even under way. But suffice to say it’s one of the more creative fantasy efforts I’ve seen.

Trolls are expanded on as a species – they are not merely enigmatic, roaring monsters, but we learn about a wide range of sub-species and behavioural traits, not to mention the biological inner-workings of each mythical creature. This stands quite at odds with the weird, rarely-seen giant monster and its smaller friends in Cloverfield, and I’m glad – if there’s one thing that bores me in monster films, it’s never being able to get a real glimpse of the monster in question.

Trolls aside, the one person who really shines in this film is Hans, the eponymous troll hunter, played by Otto Jespersen. Mysterious, strong-willed and fed up with his role as the go-to fellow for troll problems in Norway, he paints a picture of a tired old man, modest about being seen as a “hero” in the eyes of the documentary crew and, indeed, by the audience. There’s a sorrowful edge to his knowledge of trolls and fearless approach towards the predatory, intimidatingly large killing and eating machines, and it gives the film a more emotionally developed feel than you’d be right to expect.

The cinematography is nothing new, though it’s worth seeing it in Blu-Ray for the crystal-clear shots that make the film a little nicer to look at. The usual mix of hand-held charges through foliage in night-time and the occasional dropped camera make for a standard mix of “amateur” mockumentary cinematography. But that’s what makes the film appealing – if Troll Hunter had been shot with big-budget equipment, it would’ve been a terrible monster flick. It’s the amateur nature of it that makes the CGI work so well, and the tension and horror remain consistent as things go from terrifying to awe-inspiring.

Troll Hunter is certainly a step in the right direction, and seeing people implant great special effects into pseudo-amateur footage makes all of these monster mockumentaries that little bit more epic. My one criticism of Cloverfield and The Blair Witch Project is that I never fully understood the terror of what they had seen, what they ran from. I understand trolls. I’ve seen them. They’re damn scary. Watch this flick, and find out – you’ll never look at the Lake District the same way again.

The two previously worked together on McQueen’s 2008 feature Hunger, focusing on Irish republican Bobby Sands who goes on hunger strike in prison. For Hunger, Fassbender embarked upon a strict diet to ensure his body would look authentically starved. As if we needed any more proof that the German-born actor doesn’t mind getting physically stuck into a role, Shame (out in cinemas now) sees him bearing all in the interests of authenticity.

Do not be fooled into thinking that because the film centres around sex addiction, it is all glamorous hotel rooms and raunchy scenes. Shame features none of the enjoyment of sex and all of the sordid, empty searching that addiction brings. You will not find the storyline of a typical film here. Instead, Steve McQueen has created a character profile of a high-flying, successful New Yorker who has everything, and nothing – deep, right?

Fassbender, also known for appearing in Inglourious Basterds, Jane Eyre and 300, plays Brandon, who lives in a fantastic apartment and is the top man at work. However, he has a secret life that he hides behind the expensive coats, stylish scarves and high-flying job. His life revolves around an addiction to sex. Whether or not you believe that this type of addiction really exists is irrelevant, as it becomes apparent that this compulsive behaviour could be about many different things.

The loneliness of being at the top, the disappointment of realising that you have everything and are still not satisfied, the feeling of being trapped by circumstance. As all of these themes are dealt with it becomes clear that Brandon’s position is more universal than his unusual predicament. He brings to light all the indulgences and extravagances flawed human beings use to cover up their true characters and desires.

Fassbender gives a performance that is so relentlessly believable that it makes for some awkward viewing at times. When Brandon’s equally messed-up sister Sissy, fantastically played  by Carey Mulligan, bursts into his life, Brandon is forced to hide the way he has been living. This is the first time he sees himself as he really is, when forced to confront his life and realise that he is ashamed of it. There are some moments of tenderness between the siblings, but all the way through the film it is clear that they have huge underlying issues.

Brandon’s problem now is that for him, sex has become a sordid affair that has lost any romance it might have had. Gone is enjoyment or intimacy, rather he is desperately looking for a satisfaction that he cannot find. The sex scenes are sad and desperate, showing Brandon at his most vulnerable yet also at his most alive. As sex has become something he needs, it can no longer make him happy. In one scene, you see the desperation on his face as he begins to break down and realise that he is not being satisfied.

On a date with a co-worker who Brandon actually likes and respects, the physical side of their relationship comes to nothing. He is unable to think of her in the same way that he sees one-night stands and prostitutes, he has forgotten how to be romantic, and no longer seems to desire it. In a key scene set in a bar, Brandon’s boss (James Badge Dale) leers over women while Brandon is quiet and appears respectful, not making any moves. Brendan feels the need to hide his desires, while his sleazy boss who does not have a sex addiction, experiences no shame about wanting to hit on women.

As well as a startling character study and boundary breaking piece of cinema, Shame is a stark portrayal of New York. One particularly spectacular scene follows Brandon as he jogs through the city at night, filmed in one long smooth shot that ends on a broken traffic signal – symbolism at its best. Shame‘s New York is a city that really never sleeps and has everything a high-flier could want. But if that person is ultimately flawed, then there is nothing that the city can give them, apart from an unforgiving playground to indulge in their sordid pleasures.

In the end, Shame is not so much about the storyline as it is an exposé of a character and how the people around him affect his inner world. It is a film that deals with its subject matter brilliantly and will leave you sitting in your seat well after the credits have finished rolling.

Like most dance acts, the duo spend most of their time twiddling knobs and pressing buttons, rather than prancing around the stage interacting with the punters. This could make for a rather dull movie, especially as there is virtually no dialogue or behind-the-scenes action. The film’s director, Adam Smith, does everything in his power to make sure our attention doesn’t flag.

Smith obviously put quite a lot of thought in to how best to immerse a cinema audience in the throbbing day-glo spectacle that is the Chemical Brothers playing live. He also has the advantage of having worked with the duo for almost 20 years. Along with Joe Wright, director of Hanna and Atonement, Smith was a part of Vegetable Vision, who projected visuals at raves and early Chemicals gigs.

The images explode on the screen: paint balls pop, bugs scuttle, robots march and nothing stays still for very long. Considering the concert visuals support much of the movie’s weight, I found myself caught up in them for the greater part of the film with only the odd moment when it occurred to me that ‘you probably had to be there’, or rather ‘I wish I was there’.

Pretty pictures are not the only thing to keep the attention. Smith also uses plenty of audience shots taken using small cameras in the audience to take us right into the heart of the action. The cameras also stay with a limited number of individuals which allows Smith to create a narrative (of a sort) as people bliss out, get the fear and gaze at the stage.

He even plants a woman in the crowd who he uses to give an insight into the state of mind of the audience as she loses herself in the music and later wanders around in a daze near the food stalls. Smith explained that her perceptions are created by allowing “some of the images from the show to head off the screens and invade the festival.” So the little robots on the screen appear walking around in the woods.

The film was shot at Fuji Rock, the largest music festival in Asia, in the summer of 2011. This adds an interesting twist as the  Japanese audience seem to be really open to the experience, more so than a typically jaded Western one – everyone really gets into it. At least, Smith doesn’t select any footage of show-offs or poseurs like you might see over here. Some of the dancers’ gurning, mashed-up expressions are really funny.

Don’t Think starts with an eerie, soul version of The Beatles’ Tomorrow Never Knows. Sung by Memphis Blues singer Junior Parker, the sample finishes with the line, “lay down all thought, surrender to the void”. This psychedelic maxim sums the film’s tone: the gig is trippy and absorbing, and the film works to drag you under too. There is no voice-over nor talking heads reflecting on the moment, it’s not that sort of film.

In order to surrender it certainly helps if you don’t think. While this is probably quite a lot easier if you’re dancing on a Japanese mountainside and in the ‘right frame of mind’, Adam Smith does his best to take us there.

Don’t Think is screening around the country on Feb 3^rd, for more info / tickets check out dontthinkmovie.com

As well as directing, Fiennes takes on the title role on this Shakespearian tragedy – just as he did in the stage production of this play over ten years ago. The fact that Fiennes evidently knows the work inside out benefits both his performance and the updating of the script. This, along with the assistance of Gladiator scriptwriter John Logan, allows Coriolanus‘ Roman politics plot to be seamlessly shifted to what appears to be modern-day Balkan territory – a setting that really suits this story.

Coriolanus is a military hero, returning home to the delight of his devoted wife Virgilia (Jessica Chastain) and proud mother Volumnia (Vanessa Regrave). However, after some all-too-familiar media manipulation of his words and a spate of bad PR, the state turn their back on their former victor and he is banished from the city. Lost and betrayed, he finds himself compelled to join forces with his past enemies, the Volscian army, headed up by Gerard Butler’s Aufidius.

Modernising this age-old tale generally works in Coriolanus‘ favour. Although the TV broadcast narrative devices, complete with cameo appearance from Channel 4′s Jon Snow, owe a great deal to Baz Luhrmann’s take on Shakespeare, although they are particularly effective within this context. There are perhaps one or two moments when such modernisations are slightly distracting: rioters capturing events on their camera phones seems a little gimmicky, if accurate, and the Jeremy Kyle-inspired talk show takes away from the film’s general seriousness. In general, however, techniques such as these allow the film to follow successfully in Romeo + Juliet‘s footsteps, in that it embraces the Shakespearian dialogue, while encouraging modern audiences to see the relevance of the story it tells.

Fiennes hogs the camera, as you’d expect, but his performance deserves the limelight. Yes, it’s a tad theatrical, but that doesn’t make it any less captivating and intense. Chastain, on the other hand, plays a woman who is as unfortunately wispy and weepy as her character in Malick’s The Tree of Life earlier this year. As a result, she is permanently overshadowed by Redgrave, who gives an incredibly powerful performance, finding a finely tuned mid-point between the two extremes – either calm or fiery – with which Volumnia tends to have been portrayed over the years.

Aside from the Shakespearian credentials, Coriolanus works surprisingly well as a stand-alone political piece. With cinematographer, Barry Ackroyd, bringing a touch of The Hurt Locker to the action scenes, it’s a film which should hold the attention of an extremely diverse audience. As for Fiennes’ himself, it’s an impressive directorial début, and one which is likely to stand him in good stead when it comes to future film-making ventures.

Coriolanus is released in UK cinemas on 20th January 2012.