Poetry: RUTHLESS AVENUE

One can scarcely dodge
the Sun
on Ruthless Avenue
where the Park named
Peace
groans under myriad
Pieces of carelessly tossed
garbage
The church upstairs is emblazoned with
a giant beer ad
"Enjoy Well Cold!"
like revenge
but few follow
that recipe
Girls in shorts and
skirts wound tighter than
ghetto tempers
Saunter by in their
honey-dripping
cakewalk
Crossing gorges of
refuse
through which human rejects  - among them a
wannabe reggae legend - wade and stumble
in their coke walk
Whilst those feeding off the
ego's neediness
cruise by imperious in ersatz
limousines

Killing Season: OldSoldiers Never Die....they just develop terrible accents

 John Travolta and Robert De Niro are both excellent actors a little past their primes. Both came to public cinematic notice in the 1970s, Travolta in the breakout disco story "Saturday Night Fever" and De Niro a few years earlier in "The Godfather II". Both have their share of winners and clunkers. If anything Travolta has been more of a tabloid target in recent years, owing to death of his son Jett, his adherence top Scientology and rumours about his sexuality.

So this story of two veterans of the Bosnian War, one American, one Serbian, who clash in the Appalachian Mountain wilderness has a certain sense of inevitability about it in terms of bringing the two together. Ford (De Niro) is a former American soldier who fought on the front lines in Bosnia. When the story begins, he has retreated to a remote cabin in the woods, trying to escape painful memories of war. The drama begins when Kovac (John Travolta), a former Serbian soldier, seeks Ford out, hoping to settle an old score. What follows is a cat-and-mouse game in which Ford and Kovac fght their own personal World War III, with battles both physical and psychological.

And the physical quotient is certainly high - meaning this is not a film for the squeamish: Travolta his his lower jaw "nailed" to a wall courtesy of an arrow fired by De Niro and he in turn exerts similarly harsh physical punishment on his rival. This back-and forth takes up most of the film's running time, with a barely mentioned subtext of De Niro estrangement from his son (Milo Ventimigilia) and his grandson.

By the end of the flm, old wounds are opened, suppressed memories are drawn to the surface and long-hidden secrets about both Ford and Kovac are revealed, including of course that they were  in much closer quarters in the war than Ford had any memory of. Director writer Mark Stevenson keeps things pretty murky throughout, as he did with "Daredevil" and other features, but the action is absorbing enough and almost covers for Travolta's wretchedly contrived Bosnian accent.

Nigga - Pleeez!: Django Unchained

So, it probably wouldn't surprise you if we said that Quentin tarantino is something of a pyromaniac -in fact its a spoiler alert (hint: its similar to what he did to the Nazis in "Inglorious Basterds") . But for some 2 1/2 hours before that Django Unchained signals a return to form for Tarantino, at least a return to the form of Kil Bill and "Basterds" as opposed to say, Man with The Iron Fists.

Jamie Foxx is Django, a black slave in the Deep South two years before the Civil War (according to the film; our informations says the conflict began in 1861, whiuloe the film's opening scene says 1858, but we wont nitpick)  and Waltz taking on the role of Dr King (get it?) Schultz, the sharp-shooting ‘dentist’ who so unexpectedly frees him from his chains and offers him a deal.

If Django will help him track down the Brittle brothers, notoriously brutal plantation overseers and now wanted men, he will give him his freedom. As these are the same Brittle brothers who branded and humiliated Django and whipped and then sold his beautiful slave wife, he doesn’t take long to say ‘yes’.

Act Two begins with Schultz and Django setting off to find Django’s wife, the gloriously named Broomhilda von Shaft (Kerry Washington). 

This change of gear proved close to disastrous in Inglourious Basterds but works a lot better here, thanks to  DiCaprio’s captivating turn as the charismatic plantation-owner Calvin Candie, who likes to be called Big Daddy by his slaves but Monsieur Candie by his white peers.

A lot of speechifying by fine southern gentlemen and the growing suspicion that the actors might be having more fun than we are will be a test for some, but the verbal pyrotechnics are a Tarantino trademark, DiCaprio has never been better and, best of all, there is, of course, some serious shooting to come.

This is a film about revenge, and when the bad guys get what’s coming,  as they do ever more frequently, they certainly deserve it.

Tarantino’s screenplay, which has already secured him an Oscar nomination and won him a Golden Globe, is as terrific as his direction in the first half, filled with all the clever dialogue one would expect such an unusual situation (an ex-slave as a bounty hunter) to conjure up. 

A scene in which a Ku Klux Klan lynch-mob have to rethink their murderous plans because they can’t see out of the eye-holes cut in their hoods is straight out of Blazin Saddles in ternms of the madcap ultimately deprecating humour. Samuel L Jackson, virtually on contract to Tarantino since Pulp Fiction, is also a standout as the house "nigga" all teeth bared and slyly malevolent smiles. 

Of course, some will be u[ in arms over the use of thr so-called "n-word" but its obvious that's what Balcks were universally referred to in that period so this writer, admittedly geographically removed from that complex, doesn't see the fuss.

What I do see is a very enjoyable revenge fantasy (the type Tarantino seems to do best). Violent, yes, almost vulgar in that regard, but also quirky smart and hip - he's even got Franco Nero in there. Look that one up.

Paradise Unlikely: Island

The Outer Hebrides - windswept, foggy, deathly cold and dark by 4pm. Not on most people's list of prime vacation spots.

They are prime real estate, however, for late teen girls seeking revenge against the mothers who abandon them, or, in this iteration, the creepily compelling Natalie Press (Red Road, My Summer of Love), who's dropped in to confront the mom (Janet McTeer) who abandoned her as a little girl.

It just so happens that the woman has a son (Colin Morgan), thus technically the young woman's step brother. This does not preclude our "heroine" from developing an oddball romance with him, despite her stoic mum's faint protests.

Working mostly from the novel by Jane Rogers, co- directors Elizabeth Mitchell and Brek Taylor squeeze out every ounce of bleakness their largely unforgiving landscape has to offer, and the story trundles to it's somewhat inevitable conclusion. The trick is that the performers behave as if they've never seen or been in one of these before. Press, in particular, imbued her character with both the self- righteousness of someone wronged and the unravelling of one unable to do right. Morgan is a likeable but doomedoddbLl, and McTeer is all winces and scowls and sullenness.

Island is a timely reminder that, as bad as things appear, there's always someone going through a greater he'll than yours -and just as desperate to get out.

Killing at Will: Faster Movie Trailer Official (HD)

Forget squiring alien kids, or posing like a hero cop. Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson is pissed off.

Right from the get-go, he makes this clear, by storming into into an office, heading straight for the cubicle of his intended target, putting a bullet between the hapless subject's eyes and storming off in a Chevy SS, all with nary a word.

Billy Bob Thornton, on the other hand is conflicted. He's days from retirement, but still light years away from kicking his crack habit, not to mention navigating separation from his wife and young son. he happens upon the case of the rampaging Johnson, and finds accommodation in the person of a female detective (the excellent Carla Gugino).

Oliver Jackson-Cohen, the third wheel in this mix, has a lot to prove. He's been hired to "hit" Johnson and he swears its his last job and even proposes to his girlfriend, with promises that he's leaving the hitman life behind.

And so, in trails of exhaust, blood and body parts, this curious revenge tale unfolds. Rock's character, really through no fault of his own (OK well maybe a little), is in the unfortunate position of  anti-hero to whom the audience starts out unsympathetic and actually grows to hate even before the film's end. Not even a religiously-charged yet oddly enthralling confrontation between him and Adewale (remember him from HBO's "Oz"?) can redeem him. We feel more sharply for Thonton's unsavoury cop.

Faster is a brutally violent, highly charged, but ultimately tedious and insipid action film - the return of the "strong, silent" anti-hero (whatever that is).