Due Date

The current IMDB rating of Due Date (7.1), when compared with that of its oddly hailed predecessor, The Hangover (7.9) may indicate a slip in public affection towards crass, blokey American comedies. A shame, as it has an ace up its sleeve in the form of Robert Downey Jr, bringing his entertainingly twitchy persona to bear on a film that is beneath him. He also has the ability to make his somewhat unpleasant character halfway watchable, something which counts very much in Due Date's favour; after all, The Hangover also featured a dearth of likeable characters but, crucially, there was no A-list baggage to pull us out of the rut.


So, while Due Date is no masterpiece, it is a considerable improvement on the mean-spirited adolescent mindset of The Hangover, benefiting not only from Downey Jr's star chops but his obvious tendency to get co-stars on their A-game. He plays highly strung (and borderline misanthropic) businessman Peter Highman, who, after an altercation with aspiring actor Ethan Tremblay (Zach Galifianakis) on his plane back to Los Angeles, finds himself stranded. He needs to return home in time for the birth of his child, Michelle Monaghan making such a non-existent appearance that you could not blink and still miss her.


Lucky then that Tremblay has also vacated the plane and is willing to offer Highman a lift to 'Hollywood' as he naively refers to it in one of the film's more effectively subtle gags. Predictability clearly doesn't count in Due Date's favour but once Highman and Tremblay hit the road, it comes to enjoy a (largely) easy, laid back rhythm, riffing on the likes of Planes, Trains and Automobiles and Midnight Run. It doesn't come close to those landmarks but the road movie structure nonetheless remains an effective device, and a more emotionally engaging one than the tiresomely juvenile, strung together set-pieces of The Hangover.


Consequently, the string of mishaps thrown in the characters' way carry more of a rib-tickling urgency than an ostentatious nastiness, although certain scenes come close (a dual wanking gag and a needlessly elaborate car crash go nowhere, indiscriminately placed to draw the juvenile audience). We're also allowed to grow into the characters properly over the course of their journey; Downey Jr, in spite of the fact he spits on a dog at one point, invites a degree of empathy in his frustration while Galifianakis is surprisingly endearing in forging a character more plausible than his similarly styled idiot in The Hangover.


It also allows for a richer palate of pratfalls and verbal gags (Tremblay's Texaco/Mexico confusion is a screamer, as is Highman sucker punching the child of one of Tremblay's dope suppliers played by a game Juliette Lewis). And while director Todd Phillips can't entirely decide whether to pull in the direction of his earlier hit or let the journey speak for itself, ultimately he shows both more technical flair (in the form of some lovely on-the-road photography) and a surprising poignancy in a running theme about wanting to see the Grand Canyon. In the end, we can take or leave the stoner gags and the 12 year old snickering at a key character's mincing gait, but it's the Downey Jr/Galifianakis chemistry that we remember, making likeable two deeply unlikeable fools

Iron Man 2

Let's get the groundwork out of the way first: Iron Man 2 isn't an improvement on the terrifically entertaining original, but is, at least, it’s equal. Guilty (inevitably) of trying to have its cake (or ten) and eat it too, there’s far too much to work through this time, threatening to turn a light soufflé into a stomach bothering carb fest. Not content with its central hero-villain axis adding Mickey Rourke’s Ivan Vanko and Sam Rockwell’s Justin Hammer to the mix, now there has to be conflict coming at Robert Downey Jr’s impossibly chipper Tony Stark from all angles, be it the shifting loyalties of best friend Rhodes (Don Cheadle replacing Terence Howard), a redundant dead father angle and the attentions of SHIELD agents Sam Jackson and Scarlet Johansson (as Black Widow).

However, there are numerous saving graces, not least of which is director Jon Favreau whose deft storytelling keeps the balls juggling in the air much better than Sam Raimi did with Spiderman 3, keeping the tone light in spite of Justin Theroux's overstuffed screenplay. It’s also tremendous fun, just like the first, never shoving a moral sermon down our throat when Downey Jr’s delightfully anarchic hero can instead get drunk in his own suit as a way to solve his issues. Favreau is also a helmer who knows how to use effects, well, effectively, blending smooth CGI with a loud (but not aggressive) sound design to bring Marvel’s hotrod hero to life.

But while he may be fine on the side of the good, there’s a sense he’s less interested in the Dark Side. With Downey Jr such a show-stopping swirling vortex, inevitably Rourke’s vendetta-led, bird-loving Ruskie feels swept aside, odd as he’s the crux of the main plot. Seeking vengeance on Stark for the disgrace done to his father (who worked with Tony’s father, only to be extradited to Siberia) amid US Senate calls to hand the suit over to the military, he’s soon creating chaos in Monaco with an electric whip before teaming up with Rockwell’s incompetent weasel, always a step behind everyone else. Meanwhile Gwyneth Paltrow’s Pepper Potts (still enjoying crackling chemistry with Stark) is elected major responsibilities of her own, Johannson’s notary has her own agenda, and Cheadle has ideas of his own for Iron Man. Oh, and Stark is being poisoned from within by his own technology, forcing him to search for an alternative.

It’s less too many cooks spoil the broth than too many rivets ruin the chasse: a more earthbound, somewhat heavier sequel that comes with built-in franchise expectation, more exposition to wade through and more set-pieces to knock out of the park. It is though as good looking, shiny, sleek and energetic as ever, bolstered by a muscular John Debney score. Performances also register excellently despite the screentime wavering drastically between each character. Rourke is intimidating as an undercooked villain; Rockwell fares much better on that front as the slippery, useless flipside to Stark; while Paltrow and Cheadle (facing a thankless task) offer great alternate romantic/comic relief. Only Johansson feels like a cipher, a set-up for the third act, and Jackson's appearance inevitably leans towards the same.


Yet Favreau’s main attention is, ultimately, on his hero and Downey Jr. not only more than validates his casting as the man in the iron mask: he is by far the most interesting thing about the whole film, an inspired piece of counter-casting that has worked dividends, a mumbling, energetic anti-hero who more often than not shrugs off his troubles in order to save the day. It's the man inside the suit (whom Favreau pleasingly cuts to often in the midst of the carnage) who draws our fascination the most. More, please

Sherlock Holmes

Guy Ritchie has needed a hit for years - and his slick revamping of deerstalker-wearing icon Sherlock Holmes will surely bring it. Yet don't be fooled by the MTV packaging - his so called 'reinvention' is more traditionally entertaining and old-fashioned than it appears.

Not that this is a bad thing; rebranding Arthur Conan Doyle's classic hero for the Youtube generation was after all met with much derision, and so it proves that the focus on the recognisable nuts and bolts of yore - spotting clues, references to Empire, London on the brink of change - is inevitably where the film derives the greatest pleasure. Impossible to reinvent the wheel? Try a much beloved literary creation.

So, after a snappy opening salvo, where Robert Downey Jr's rogeuish Holmes and Jude Law's more dapper Watson foil a sacrificial offering by Mark Strong's sinister Lord Blackwood, Ritchie stops trying to be a wise-ass and lets us go with the flow. When the deliciously evil Strong is reported to have risen from the grave, it doesn't take long for Holmes, stagnating after a long period with no work, to get the grey cells in gear. The re-emergence on the scene of his ex and equally devious crimebuster Irene Adler (Rachel McAdams) complicates the agenda. And this is when our interest really takes hold.

For a supposedly modern take on a legend, Ritchie perhaps forgets that his notion is less than fresh, borrowing equally from 1987's Without a Clue (the notion that Watson supplies Holmes with intelligence) among others. It may be a spangly jumpsuit on the top but ultimately carries the feeling of a pipe and slippers, meaning what it gains in comfy familiarity (Holmes deducing info from seemingly arbitrary clues) it loses in the slickly packaged areas (Holmes and Watson's buddy movie rapport, for one) designed to pull in younger viewers.


Law's Watson, although likeable, therefore suffers from the tinkering, becoming an anonymous sidekick who could be slotted into any actioner, period or otherwise, while a miscast McAdams is far too perky when she should be conveying mystery. The main attraction of course is Downey's Holmes whose babbling, nervy energy is the perfect fit for a character whose pragmatism comes at the expense of others. Maintaining a perfect clipped accent, his is not the aristocratic Holmes of old but a down-at-heel one, a vessel through whom Ritchie can explore the grime covered streets of the capital.


This is the one area where Ritchie most successfully breaches the modern audience, capitalising on Downey's newly energised star status and lending a staid character some much needed attitude. And of course there's no-one better at the moment at projecting a view of London (albeit exaggerated) from the ground up: Phillipe Rousselot's washed-out photography, Hans Zimmer's inventive, jangly score and Sarah Greenwood's sets brilliantly draw us into a grubby world nonetheless palpably on the cusp of change.


And that, after all, is the essence of Doyle. For all Ritchie's whizz bang aplomb in staging slo-mo fights, explosions and the like, it's terrific to see his devotion to the core constraints, from a pulpy Gothic vein of horror weaving through to ruthless Blackwood's plans to consolidate a new Empire. Nice also, to have a major blockbuster that wraps up most, if not all, the story strands, in uniquely Holmesian fashion. Elementary, it seems, is best after all.