There are few spectacles more unedifying than that of a director who knows they have made a lousy film blaming critics for their failure. When Kevin Smith's Cop Out was justifiably trashed by critics, the director had the gall to liken the reviews for his lame, lazy Bruce Willis vehicle to the playground bullying of a "retarded kid'" (his words, folks). Yet for proof that Smith knew that he had sold out, one need look no further than Red State (2011, Entertainment One, 18), a low-budget throwback to the indie-spirited glory days of Clerks that marks a sparky – if haphazard – return to form. Believe me, no one who could make a film as ballsy as Red State could be under any illusions about the dreadful balderdash of Cop Out.
Made for a reported $4m (around a tenth of the cost of its ill-fated predecessor), this raggedy thriller centres on a group of horny America teens searching for online sex and finding instead a renegade fundamentalist church with a torture-porn-inflected take on the evils of fornication and sodomy. At the heart of the madness is Abin Cooper, a zealous monster played with deeply unsettling passion and conviction by Michael Parks who should rightly have picked up some supporting actor nods in the recent rounds of awards ceremonies. With his fire and brimstone rap and sultry southern drawl, Parks is a mesmerising presence, the calm eye of a gathering storm that soon erupts into a gun-toting, Waco-style siege.
That Smith's latest should veer all over the shop in terms of tone is no surprise. Such previously ill-disciplined (but none the less interesting) outings as Dogma have long prepared us for the unpredictable mix of comedy, shock and quasi-religious philosophising that has become the writer/director's stock in trade. Indeed, the sense that the film is utterly out of control merely adds to Red State's anarchic charm, reminding us why Smith seemed like such a breath of fresh air all those years ago.
It's not just the trumpets of the apocalypse that are sounding in the background – the whole film moves forward like a ship in heavy fog merrily sounding its siren for fear of hitting something and doing major damage. John Goodman is fun as the world-weary stooge waiting for the feds to turn everything into a godawful bunfight and Oscar winner Melissa Leo is every bit as punchy as she was in The Fighter. As for Smith, can the critics who said he had no business making anything as deeply rubbish as Cop Out now expect an apology?
Having achieved international notoriety with the explicit shock tactics of Romance and Anatomy of Hell, agent provocateur Catherine Breillat branches out with Bluebeard (2009, New Wave, 15), a reimagining of the classic fairy tale that plays like a thematic companion piece to the altogether more controversial A ma soeur! Describing herself as "a film-maker, not a social worker", this proudly "irresponsible" auteur conjures another tale of sibling rivalry, with twin stories investigating a sisterly power struggle spun around the reading of Charles Perrault's timeless tale of a homicidal husband and his endangered bride. It's a handsomely mounted affair, with fine performances from Lola Créton and Dominique Thomas, and an eerie sense of fabulist threat (the 15 certificate is for "infrequent gory moments") lurking amid medieval shadows. DVD extras include an interview with Breillat who remains a singular voice.
The reteaming of Zombieland director Ruben Fleischer and leading man Jesse Eisenberg promises plenty of laughs, a promise on which 30 Minutes or Less (2011, Sony, 15) somewhat fails to make good. Eisenberg is reliably dorky as the pizza delivery boy unwittingly enlisted by dopey wannabe criminals Danny McBride and Nick Swardson who strap a bomb to his chest and order him to rob a bank. Imagine Nick of Time retold for the slacker generation with added knob gags and you're in the right area. It's workaday fare, not without the odd chuckle admittedly, but hardly the rip-roaring fun fest one may have expected.
It is, however, infinitely more entertaining than The Change-Up (2011, Universal, 15), which finds carefree lothario Ryan Reynolds and married dad Jason Bateman experiencing a Freaky Friday body swap after pissing together in a magic fountain. Classy. Jokes about masturbation, ejaculation and noisy excreta follow, to the delight of no one in particular; in the US, this needlessly costly comedy failed to recoup its budget, despite the usually saleable combination of star names and crass lavatory humour.
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory star Freddie Highmore comes of age in The Art of Getting By (2011, Fox, 12), a somewhat navel-gazing account of disaffected teen angst in which our hero wrestles with the same kind of problems (the end of the universe, the futility of existence) that troubled young Alvy Singer in Annie Hall – albeit with far fewer laughs. Highmore is a talented actor and an engaging screen presence, but Gavin Wiesen's noodly movie doesn't do him justice.
Why not cheer up and celebrate instead with The British Guide to Showing Off (2011, Verve, 15), an exuberant portrait of homegrown eccentric Andrew Logan and his ongoing efforts to mount the gloriously gaudy spectacle that is The Alternative Miss World. Brian Eno, Zandra Rhodes, Richard O'Brien et al drift in and out of the likable chaos as adventurous contestants from around the world battle it out in garb that is often closer to architecture than costume. Lovely to see the sainted Derek Jarman enjoying the hell out of himself as a winner while David Bowie failed to make it through the front door!
