A little bit less than a year ago I was approached at work by a former student of mine. It was obvious he had something on his mind and that there was a burning question he was dying to ask me. Although we no longer had a formal relationship of any kind, I am always honoured and happy to help out in this sort of situation, and mentally prepared myself for what would very likely be a perceptive and thoughtful question concerning rarefied details of linguistics, culture and social behaviour. As I suspected, he got straight to the point and asked me the question uppermost in his mind.
'Why did Dr Strange give Thanos the Time Stone? It's stupid, it didn't make any sense.'
Well, we discussed the answer for some time, as you would, but even as we talked I found myself feeling a great sense of pride that my former student still had his priorities straight and that I had placed his feet so firmly on the path of virtue. And so it felt entirely appropriate that we went to the cinema together, this week of all weeks, to enjoy – well, actually, we went to see Neil Jordan's Greta, as the other film you may be thinking of only opened at midnight and there's no way I can stay up until 4am on a work night and still function the next day. So it goes.
Still, we had a pretty good time watching Greta, because Neil Jordan is never less than competent as a director – that said, you're never quite sure what you're going to get from him, as the description 'eclectic' barely begins to do justice to his filmography – he's done fantasy films, thrillers of various stripes, and comedies. His last film, Byzantium, was about pole-dancing vampires, and I still regret not actually going to see it. Hey ho.
Greta is set in New York City and concerns Frances (Chloe Grace Moretz), a young woman working as a waitress in one of the metropolis' swankier restaurants. She has recently lost her mother and has a somewhat fractious relationship with her pa, both of which are relevant to the plot, as is the fact she is sharing an apartment with her best friend (Maika Monroe). The best friend is brash and somewhat self-interested; Frances is kind and thoughtful. The wisdom of this as a lifestyle choice is thrown into doubt after Frances finds an expensive handbag on the metro one day and resolves to return it to the original owner. This turns out to be Greta (Isabelle Huppert), a pleasant but lonely lady of a certain age. Greta's husband has passed away, her daughter is living abroad, and she doesn't even have a dog any more. Frances' sympathies are stirred, to say nothing of the fact she is missing a maternal influence in her life, and the two quickly become close.
And then, of course, because it's fairly obvious from the start what kind of movie this is and how it's all going to go, there is the big moment of revelation: while round at Greta's house, Frances looks in the wrong cupboard and comes across a whole pile of handbags of the same kind she found, each one labelled with the name and phone number of the person who returned it to Greta. But where are these thoughtful people now? What exactly is Greta up to?
I think you would have to be pretty wet behind the ears yourself not to have some idea which way this movie goes, for it is apparent from quite close to the start that this is one of your old-fashioned obsession-themed psycho thrillers, not all that different from the likes of Fatal Attraction, Single White Female or The Resident. Greta doesn't seem particularly interested in moving the genre on at all; its main innovations are that the traditional bit with a kitchen knife is reimagined to make use of a biscuit cutter, and that it is completely, ravenously, roaringly bonkers. Not particularly in the story, which is standard stuff as I have noted, but in the treatment of it. I was really anticipating something subtle and classy, given Jordan's involvement, with a long build-up before the onset of the screaming ab-dabs, but the film has other ideas and is really, really keen to get to the proper psycho killer meat of the story. The ominous strings and twitchy smash-cuts are introduced rather abruptly, not to mention quite early on, which means the film has to go further and further out there to maintain its momentum as it continues. I have to say I found the results to be highly entertaining, but the film is preposterous rather than any kind of scary.
Which leads one, of course, to wonder exactly what an actress with the stellar reputation of Isabelle Huppert is doing in this kind of tosh. Huppert is in majestic form and carries off the whole movie effortlessly, bringing a lovely lightness of touch to her role as a frothing maniac: she barely needs to get out of first gear to dominate the film. But still, why is she in it at all? The only explanation is that she feels she needs to raise her Hollywood profile a bit so she can compete for good parts in American films; this is the reason why Nigel Hawthorne made an equally unlikely appearance in Demolition Man, after all. Then again, I suppose there may also be a financial component involved – Laurence Olivier, during that point at the end of his career when he routinely turned up in things like The Boys from Brazil, The Jazz Singer, Dracula, and Clash of the Titans, responded testily to questions as to why he did so many lousy movies with the reply that it wasn't just a question of artistic merit. Anyway, Huppert is very far from the first class act to slum it in dodgy genre fare, and it's not as if she's alone here – Chloe Grace Moretz is also a feted performer (not so much for her recent work, admittedly), and she does good work here too. Also, just to make sure everyone is certain this is a Neil Jordan film, his regular collaborator Stephen Rea turns up in a small role; students of film history will understand what I mean when I say that Rea is in the Martin Balsam part.
As I say, I enjoyed the ridiculous extremity of Greta more than anything else, because there's little substantially new about this film, and Jordan really only does a workmanlike job as the director – there's an interesting sequence where the boundaries between reality and fantasy seem to start breaking down, but this doesn't really lead to anywhere interesting. But the movie is worth seeing even if it's just for the sight of classy actors having fun; by that same token, of course, I have to say that if this film had been made with a less distinguished cast, it would almost certainly have gone straight to DVD.
Also This Week...
...Red Joan, in which another innocuous old lady (Judi Dench) turns out to have a secret – in this case she has a history as a Russian spy inside the British atomic weapons programme, back when she was a young woman (Sophie Cookson). A fairly routine hats-and-ciggies British costume drama, with some potentially interesting material drained of all its value by a corny script mostly focused on the main character's romantic concerns. The kind of film you feel like you've seen before, possibly several times, although it probably wasn't so turgid on that occasion.
...Avengers: Endgame, a low-budget art-house movie which may just about manage to scrape onto one or two screens here and there around the world. Following the annihilation of half the life in the cosmos in the last Avengers movie, Iron Man, Captain America, Hulk and the rest of the team embark on a desperate attempt to restore the world as we know it. The kind of film which is so huge it generates its own weather; full review to follow next week, provided I can persuade the editor to let me write about superheroes yet again.