FILM REVIEWS: BY DEMETRIOS MATHEOU

FIRST PARA

DECEPTION
DIRECTOR: MARCEL LANGENEGGER
RATING:

REFRESHINGLY for a movie star, Ewan McGregor has no qualms about playing bland. Arguably he was a little too bland in the Star Wars films, though his Obi-Wan did have to play second fiddle to the wooden Hayden Christensen's Darth Vader. But in the thriller Deception, the actor is clearly enjoying the challenge of finding life where none can be detected, and the spirit in the fall guy.

His Jonathan McQuarry has "chump" plastered across his pasty forehead. An accountant who audits large Manhattan firms, he's so absorbed by his work that life is passing him by. However, the readiness with which he accepts a joint, late one night in the office, from lawyer Wyatt Bose (Hugh Jackman), suggests that the shy and clueless Jonathan craves an opportunity to live a little.

The charismatic Bose seems just the guy to help, introducing McQuarry (why not just call him McPrey and be done with it) first to dope, then bars, then women - the latter through a very novel sex club for high achievers with no time for foreplay.

Now, when Jonathan's phone rings and a stranger asks "Are you free tonight?", he knows that an evening of "intimacy without intricacy" is on the cards. Preposterous? Actually, no. The website Craigslist has a well known "casual encounters" section, for exactly this purpose. The world in which Jonathan finds himself is not unlikely at all, and therefore all the more fascinating.

McGregor handles all this very well - the initial unease in his own body giving way to the confidence gained through a string of consenting women. Moreover, this is a non-judgemental world: Jonathan does not back off when he encounters a much older woman (albeit the still very sexy Charlotte Rampling); nor does she when she exclaims: "I'm a sucker for bashful boys."

Making his first feature, Marcel Langenegger is most assured in these atmospheric early scenes, which evoke a nocturnal, naughty side to Manhattan and, when Jonathan falls in love with his latest casual encounter (Michelle Williams) in a rain-soaked Chinatown, the sort of romanticism routinely shot by Wong Kar-Wai.

But the presence of the sweet stranger marks the end of Jonathan's honeymoon in this secret world, and the end of the film as a viable concern. Bose isn't all he seems, of course, but the way in which Jonathan is being manipulated isn't original, or interesting, the script becoming less cogent, even on its own terms, by the minute.

It's a shame, because the opening promises much; though perhaps with such a trite, very 1980s title, we should have known better. McGregor's real mission should be to play dull in a film that isn't.

STOP LOSS
DIRECTOR: KIMBERLY PEIRCE
RATING: One could complain of a "glut" of films about the war on terror, yet the variety is impressive, with directors questioning America's involvement on every level: the barbarous behaviour of troops in Iraq (Redacted, Battle For Haditha); the torture of terror suspects (Rendition); the ineptness of political strategy (Lions For Lambs); the dehumanisation of US soldiers to the point where they kill each other (In The Valley Of Elah).

Stop-Loss looks at yet another angle: the fact that the US military has invoked a measure designed for wartime to force more than 80,000 soldiers to return to Iraq after they have served their contracts; despite the fact, as the film's lead character disdainfully declares, "the president says the war is over".

In Boys Don't Cry, Kimberly Peirce tackled the tragic true story of Brandon Teena - a Nebraska transgender who was raped and murdered - with sensitivity, empathy and without a hint of sensationalism. I'd characterise her work here in the same way. This is a sober and even-handed study of young men pushed to breaking point, and the families, wives and girlfriends who must watch them self-destruct.

The story follows three friends returning as war heroes to their Texas town. But these soldiers are damaged goods, a conflicting mess of loss, self-disgust and hatred - each a time bomb of sorts, though with very different fuses. Of the three, Brandon (Ryan Phillippe), happy to have served his last tour, is most in control of his emotions. Then he's informed that he has been "stop-lossed" and must return to the desert. And his own fuse starts to burn.

Rather than erupting in bloodshed or portraying its Texan youths as black-and-white rednecks, the film instead calmly plays out the scant options left to a man riling against the order to kill, or be killed.

FORGETTING SARAH MARSHALL
DIRECTOR: NICHOLAS STOLLER
RATING: Whatever one thinks of Russell Brand (preening, overhyped, absurdly dressed narcissist), he is very funny. And though he may never be able to add variety to his screen persona, it works a treat in Forgetting Sarah Marshall.

The latest effort from the prolific Judd Apatow stable of male-centred comedies, this concerns struggling composer Peter (Jason Segel), who is dumped by his TV star girlfriend Sarah Marshall (Kristen Bell) and becomes a gibbering wreck. To make matters worse, when Peter goes on holiday to Hawaii to lick his wounds, he finds himself in the same hotel as Sarah and her new beau, the preening, absurdly dressed, narcissistic rock star Aldous Snow (Brand).

While the sex-obsessed humour is hit-and-miss, Segel makes for a believable, likeable fool, the locations are mouth-watering, and then there's Brand, riffing as he does, but with the good sense to make his character a decent chap under all the bravado 
and eyeliner.

Based on her autobiographical graphic novels, Marjane Satrapi's Persepolis is an engaging, revealing, very saddening account of life in Iran. "Coming of age" stories often involve conflict within families or communities: in contrast, Persepolis depicts a young girl's growing pains as effected by the repression of the Shah's regime (children become so inured to violence that they play "torture" in the playground), then the fundamentalist intolerance of the Islamic revolution, and the bombs of the Iran-Iraq war.

The film's novel history lesson is enlivened by the spunky rebelliousness of its heroine, impressive in a land where women are forced under the veil, and comically fuelled by her changing musical tastes, from Abba to Iron Maiden to Michael Jackson.

Both the English-language and French-subtitled versions are being released in the UK (check individual venues for times and details). As much as I like Sean Penn and Gena Rowlands, their American accents grate, but the stunning black and whiteanimation crosses all boundaries.

The Eye stars Jessica Alba as a blind woman who undergoes a cornea transplant, only to open her eyes and find that she can see a lot more than she bargained for.

Since this is yet another Hollywood horror movie pilfered from Asia, what this means is the spirit world, in the form of grim reapers whose guttural cries elicit the familiar spine tingles. They still work, but are the only chills we get from a film that quickly becomes repetitive (one more scene in the lift and you want to tear your own eyes out) and wearing.

London Underground drivers aren't happy with what they perceive to be the unsavoury jokes made by Three And Out at the expense of those who fall under their trains. It's a silly objection: if they watched the film, they'd see there is no glee. The greater offence here is that it's such a bad film.

Bug-eyed Mackenzie Crook stars as Paul, a depressed tube driver whose mood is worsened by two accidents under his train. When his colleagues erroneously declare that one more will qualify him for dismissal on psychological grounds - and a hefty pay-off - he decides to find the victim himself.

Although this is a dark premise, with potential, the film is effectively over once Paul has found a willing candidate (Colm Meaney), then stupidly befriends him. Crook's listless performance does nothing to carry us along with the very dull Paul; it also typifies a film that has no idea if it's a comedy or a drama.