The Girl on the Train

Warning: contains spoilers for The Girl On The Train
 Seems odd to write about this so soon after The Girl with All the Gifts, a very different film with a very similar title.  Be very careful about the ticket you ask for at the cinema, folks.  But it also falls into the category of “films based on books I have read”, so it’s also odd to write about this so soon after watching Room.  Maybe next I will read The Girl with All the Gifts, and this will come full circle in some way…

The Girl on the Train is based on the 2015 novel by Paula Hawkins and was one of best-selling books of last year.  In a nutshell, it’s the story of Rachel (Emily Blunt), an alcoholic divorced woman who becomes involved in a missing persons investigation after noticing and fantasising about a couple that she sees every day from the train window.  She’s sure she knows something about the missing person, but is piecing together fragments of memories from her drink-addled mind.

Disclaimer: I’m not sure what I think of this film, and my hesitation is partially due to my viewing experience (in which a drunk man repeatedly disrupted the film because he had lost the beer he had brought with him and was most insistent that he should find it again*).  So I’m not as convinced by my own opinion on this, but my overall feeling was that I didn’t particularly care for the film.  Part of the rationale for that is that the film employs a couple of tropes that just really bug me.  I don’t know if they’re universal issues, or just specific to me, and wouldn’t mind hearing what you – dear reader – think about these.

Issue 1:  Inner Monologues. 

When a book has been made into a film, it is difficult to take a character’s inner monologue and make it evident on screen.  The quickest and most used method of doing this is for there to be a series of shots of the main character doing various innocuous things while a voiceover basically reads out the appropriate “character exposition” chunks of the book.  And then we get on with the action.  The problem with this, for me, is that it’s usually the first thing that happens on screen and I’m not quite settled into the film yet.  The closest analogy I can make to explain is introducing a character is a bit like a conversation – there’s a bit of inconsequential small talk in which you can learn a little about the other person – and after rapport has been established, you can then move into more significant chat.  If someone was just to walk up to you and start telling you the contents of their heads (“hello – I’m an alcoholic and I always take this train and I like the look of this couple I see when I look out the window”), you would not engage much further with that person, short of finding out if there was someone with them who would look after them, before beating a hasty retreat.  An exception to this is children (“hello – I like dinosaurs and I like the flying ones best and my friend is Jack and he has a fine hat but he stole my crayons today and I have a cat!”).  For some reason, it’s fine when children do this, although the adult response is usually the same...

Actually, I might watch that film...

The Girl on the Train is guilty of this when introducing not one, but three of the main characters.  All of whom appear on screen and spell out their motivations.  I really dislike this – I’m watching a film, so I expect to see this play out.  If a film can’t convey this to me in any other way than reading me the book, should it be made into a film?  Arguably not.

Maybe this woman could just tell me the film.  That's another option

Issue 2:  Info-dumps.

This seems to be something that’s becoming more and more prevalent, or maybe I’m just becoming more aware of it.  It’s particularly widespread in films that involve crime, politics or superheroes.  Main characters will spell everything out, once, usually 5 minutes into the film, leaving a very confused me halfway into the film thinking “wait – which side is he on?  Who is that?  What was the very important plot point I had to remember?”

I would argue that the average viewer needs a Donna Moss character – one who mainly functions to ask “what did you say half an hour ago?  Why’s that important?  What happens if we blow this up exactly?”  Or for the story to be told better – example 1: The Girl With All The Gifts where significant plot points are introduced gradually, as the audience gets to grips with each in turn.  Example 2:  The Magnificent Seven (2016): will they explain exactly why everything’s going on?  No.  It’s not important and you don’t need to know.

Needless to say, The Girl on the Train takes a few info dumps and I disapprove.

Emily Blunt is a good enough actress that you’ll follow this character and be interested, but her character is a very clean functioning alcoholic.  You can tell when she’s drunk because she has cracked lips and slightly messy hair.  Sobriety is indicated by lipstick and a hairbrush.

Oh no, she's such a terrible mess(!).  How has she let herself get in this state?!

 

Flashbacks are used frequently and confusingly so that it’s difficult to tell what’s actually going on, and when and how.  Arguably, this could be tremendously symbolic of the incomprehensible lifestyle of the main character, except that the same techniques are used for the other (not alcoholic) characters, so this is not a deliberate motif.  Which is a shame.

The final third suddenly lurches into focus, and things become tense, taut and interesting, but after sitting through nearly two hours of meandering, it’s too little too late.

It’s not a dreadful film, and certainly not the worst I’ve seen (not even the worst I’ve seen this year), but it’s disappointing because it could have been better.  It could have been thrilling.  I was not thrilled.  I was more interested in the shenanigans of the drunk man in the cinema on his quest for beer*, and that’s not a great review for any film.
 

*  My husband insists I make it clear at this point that I am not referring to him

Room

Warning: contains spoilers for Room (both the book and the film).

Many moons ago, I bought Emma Donoghue’s book Room on the Kindle because it was on offer and pretty much no other reason.  It quickly became a favourite for reasons too numerous to discuss here.  Room is the story of Jack, a five year old who lives with his mum (Ma) in a room.  Jack has never been outside Room – in fact, he isn’t even aware that there is a world outside.  Every night, Jack goes to sleep in Wardrobe and Old Nick comes to visit Ma.  There are mentions that the bedsprings squeak, and Old Nick makes some strange noises.  What quickly becomes apparent is that Ma was abducted seven years ago by Old Nick, who has locked her in Room by herself, visits and rapes her nightly, and Jack is the product of that life.  Pretty grim, no?

Except in the book, it’s not.  Jack’s naivety means that he is living a happy life in Room, completely satisfied that Ma is his whole world and he wants for nothing.  We know something is wrong because we, as readers, can fill in the gaps.  So, for example, Ma and Jack have routines of things to do – one of which is standing underneath Skylight and seeing who can scream the loudest.  Jack thinks this is a fun game – the reader knows that Ma is still trying to attract attention and get rescued.

I mean, it's not a laugh a minute either...

The book breaks down into 5 separate but distinct chunks – Jack’s life before he knows about the Outside World, their Escape Attempt, Life Together Outside, Life Apart Outside, Life Together Outside Again.  Each chunk provides new challenges, new understanding, new changes in the relationship between Jack and Ma.

I was intrigued when the film was announced, because I just couldn’t see how the film could be anything less than grim.  Emma Donoghue (writer) and Lenny Abrahamson (director) make a good attempt at trying to put the book on screen.  Brie Larson (who won the 2016 best Actress Oscar for the part) and Jacob Tremblay (a 5 year old actor who was nominated for a raft of awards on the back of this film) are a great pairing, and their relationship is very believable throughout.  They quickly and effectively set up Room as cramped, claustrophobic, but Jack’s whole world.

Does it work?  I’m not convinced. 

It’s easy for a book to be read through the eyes of one character, it’s more difficult to translate that into film.  Although the film starts off entirely from Jack’s point of view, and we’re encouraged to understand the world in which he lives, that dissipates quickly and Jack becomes quieter and more unreadable as the film progresses.  To the point, arguably, that Jack seems to quickly get over his traumatic start to life with no real notable consequences.  This is a real shame, because the book is an interesting exploration in how a life in captivity could affect someone physically, psychologically and sociably.  Ma’s progress feels more believable, and Brie Larson gives a nuanced performance as a woman who loves her child (though struggles with his paternity), wants what is best for him, knows that there’s a better life outside of Room, but is a nineteen year old who is in extraordinary circumstances and massively out of her depth who won’t be able to just get over what has happened her. 

Yep - the shiny statue is well deserved.  Enjoy.

Sadly, my criticism is the ever annoying “the film’s not as good as the book”.  A fairly common cry.  But maybe it comes down to this – not every book should be a film, and maybe we should move away from the belief that the ultimate accolade for a good book is to translate it into a different medium.  Some books will naturally lend themselves to film or television, some won’t.  I don’t believe this one did.

This is not to criticise either Larson or Tremblay, who give outstanding performances (and Tremblay’s is particularly impressive because he is so young – he is precocious without being too knowing, cute without being saccharine. 

Look - a not-annoying child actor.

A good child actor is hard to find, and a lot of this film rests of his very tiny shoulders.).  But until a decent way is found to express a character’s inner monologue (that isn’t just the actor reading out sections of the book in voiceover), maybe some books should just be read.

The Girl With All The Gifts

Warning: contains spoilers for The Girl With All The Gifts

I want to like zombie films.  I really do.  I like the idea of them becasue I like the questions that they pose.  I like the analogies that can be drawn, and I like that zombie movies have historically pointed to the things that society fears most and said "yeah?  What would you do about this?".

TV has explored a vast array of possibilities in zombie-land.  Example: In The Flesh, which essentially asks "if you could 'cure' zombie-ness, how would you reintegrate all those people back into society, and how would you make that society safe?" (analogies to crime, punishment, and addiction).  Example: The Walking Dead, which asks "if society as we know it were to end right now, would we cling to the social structures that we've always had (even though the society they were created for is now defunct) in the hope that society 'grows back' to what it was, or would we start a new set of rules and social structures, and who would make those?

All very interesting things to muse. 

Problem:  I don't really like zombie films.  Mainly because of the complete and utter lack of hope in them.  As a character in a zombie film, you run and run and hide and hide and ultimately it is all for naught because just when you think you're safe you get got.  No matter how clever or how dumb, no matter how careful or how reckless.  Now, maybe that's a big old metaphor for life, but that in itself is a depressing thought so I'll not look at it too closely.

So very bleak...

Why did I go to see The Girl With All The Gifts?  I don't know.  Can't remember.  Seemed like a good idea at the time.  But what did I think...

Actually, this is a great piece of storytelling.  It opens with Melanie (Sennia Nanua), a ten-ish year old girl whose room is a cell, who willingly hops into a wheelchair every morning and allows herself to be shackled by armed guards and taken to a classroom full of children just like her - tiny Hannibal Lecters in their tiny orange tracksuits.  She seems bright, interested and eager to please.  The soldiers hate her.  They hate all the children.  The exceptions to this are Helen (Gemma Arterton) - her teacher, who seems distressed by the children's plight, and fills their minds full of the stories of Greek mythology - and Dr Caldwell (Glenn Close) - who engages with Melanie and poses her puzzles and riddles, with curiousity and scientific detachment.  We aren't really sure why any of this is happening, until Ed (Paddy Considine) angrily reminds Helen why they don't touch the children as he holds his arm in front of one child, who goes rigid and rabid and tries to bite him, teeth chattering like clockwork toys.  They are the "Hungries" (our word for "zombies" in this film).

Melanie as baby Hannibal Lecter

As per zombie film rules, the status quo is destroyed, the defences are breached and a small central group find themselves having to work together in order to survive - namely Melanie, Helen, Ed, Dr Caldwell and Kieran (another soldier). Along the way they consider each other, their safety, their biases and their motivations.  Each persons argument is equally wrong and right based on their direct experience.  There is no "bad guy".  Except simultaneously, everybody is kind of the "bad guy".  The zombie-creator in this instance is a fungus, which essentially uses the host as a kind of grow bag and , eventually consumes it from within.  The zombies (when not attacking) look peaceful, vacant, mouldy.

The film stands out because of its storytelling.  There are no massive info dumps, no long conversations about why things are as they are (which makes sense - all the characters have lived through this apocalyptic crisis.  They have no need to question what they already know).  The questions get answered at the point where the audience are starting to ask them.  Unusually (possibly because the film is based on a book) some of the most horrible points come from a throwaway line by a character, not necessarily the action that we see (for example, the retelling of where Melanie came from). 

Just look at the trailer and tell me you're not intrigued...

Visually, the film is beautiful.  London has the same emptiness as 28 Days Later, with added foliage.  The overgrown BT Tower is particularly noteworthy.  It's a world that is very familiar but very other.  We can pick out the familiar, but it's not quite of our world.  There are small tiny inadvertent jokes, like the zombies herding below a sign for M&S "Simply Food".  The soundtrack by Cristobel Tapia de Veer (he of Utopia and National Treasure) adds unnerving discord and pathos.

The conclusion was divisive amongst the group I saw the film with.  I found the ending bleak, as per my experience of zombie films.  Others found it hopeful and uplifting based on the fate of Helen - she survives in a mobile lab, isolated, teaching two different generations of zombie children.  She is alive and well, but unable to experience the outside world - the only one left of that particular generation.  But life goes on.  And maybe that's where the hope is.  it's not necessarily the life that we know, or even the one we would choose, but life continues.  It always continues.

Afterthought:  what does the title refer to?  Melanie has a gift - she is one who is not quite one of the "Hungries", nor one of the humans.  She is a human Venn-diagram and can move between both groups in relative safety.  And that's a gift.  What are the others?