Parky at the Pictures (In Cinemas 15/1/2015)

On Armistice Day in November 1918, Vera Brittain (Alicia Vikander) wanders through the rejoicing crowds in London lost in her memories. She thinks back to the summer of 1914, when she went swimming at her Derbyshire home of Melrose with her 18 year-old brother Edward (Taron Egerton) and his inseparable Uppingham School pals, Roland Leighton (Kit Harington) and Victor Richardson (Colin Morgan). Having just turned 20, Vera is keen to become a writer and has pleaded with her parents, Thomas (Dominic West) and Edith (Emily Watson), to allow her to continue her education at Oxford. However, Thomas is an old-fashioned, nouveau riche conservative (who made his money with a pair of paper mills) and he sees no reason why a girl of marriageable age would ever need to study.

As Edward has successfully applied to New College and Roland is due to go up to Merton, they rally to Vera's cause and her father allows her to sit the entrance exam. Much to her delight, she is offered a place at Somerville, where she comes under the watchful eye of Classics tutor, Hilda Lorimer (Miranda Richardson). However, the crisis foretold by an array of ominous newspaper headlines finally breaks and war is declared on Germany on 4 August. Roland and Edward immediately defer their college places to volunteer for action, although Victor is turned down on the grounds of ill health. Edward enlists with the 10th Sherwood Foresters, where he befriends Geoffrey Thurlow (Jonathan Bailey), while Roland arranges a transfer to the 7th Worcester Regiment so he can get to the Western Front as soon as possible.

Before he leaves, Roland (whose mother is fleetingly played by Anna Chancellor) manages to evade the beady eyes of chaperone Aunt Bella (Joanna Scanlon) long enough to make his feelings known to Vera and they become engaged. However, when Vera sees the effects of shell shock on Geoffrey and hears dreadful stories of the mounting casualties, she decides to take leave from Oxford in the summer of 1915 to train as a nurse. Initially, she is stationed at a hospital close to her Buxton home, but she applies for the Voluntary Aid Detachment and is sent to the First London General Hospital at Camberwell. But, even though Vera witnesses suffering on a daily basis, it is only when Roland comes home on leave and they spend a few days together by the Suffolk coast that she recognises the psychological damage that trench warfare is inflicting upon the troops.

She tries to rationalise Roland's emotional distance and looks forward to their Christmas wedding. But, on the day before he is due to come home, Roland is killed by a sniper as he repairs the barbed wire by a full moon and the heartbroken Vera struggles to continue with her duties. The scenario departs somewhat from the book here by condensing her time in Malta, during which Victor (who had been accepted by a top brass in desperate need of fighting men) was blinded at Arras on 9 April 1917 and Geoffrey was killed at Monchy-le-Preux on St George's Day. Vera returns to London in time to minister to Victor before he dies. But Towhidi further tinkers with the timeline by dispatching Vera to nurse Edward at a field hospital at Étaples under the supervision of Matron Hope (Hayley Atwell)., when he was actually wounded in the thigh at the Somme and she cared for him at Camberwell.

Such changes might make dramatic sense, but they will frustrate those familiar with Brittain's own account. The script even has Vera meet future husband George Catlin (Henry Garrett) well in advance of their first encounter following a lengthy correspondence. However, Vera would abandon her vocation after Edward recovered and was sent to the Italian front, where he lost his life at San Sisto Ridge during the Battle of Asiago in June 1918. Having become so disillusioned with the conflict that she readily agreed to nurse German wounded, Brittain became a lifelong pacifist and later returned to Somerville, where she would complete her degree and become friends with fellow writer Winifred Holtby (Alexandra Roach).

But the final third of the book has been discarded to retain the focus on the war years and the shattering effect on Brittain of losing her brother, her fiancé and her two closest male friends in such a short space of time. By opting not to depict soldiers going over the top, Kent wisely coerces the audience into sharing Vera's imagined impressions of the horrors of the trenches and keeps the emphasis on the broken bodies and tormented minds of the lost generation. Rob Hardy's camera is allowed to rove briefly over the frontline, while another crane shot at Étaples reveals a landscape filled with stretchers in an image that is bound to draw comparison with the Atlanta station sequence in Victor Fleming's Gone With the Wind (1939).

A soft-focus wild flower montage over a reading of Leighton's 1915 poem `Violets' represents another borderline miscalculation. But Kent (a first-time feature maker, in spite of having an impressive TV CV) largely resists such stylistic flourishes and concentrates on reinforcing the classical sense of time and place impressively generated by Jon Henson's production design and Consolata Boyle's costumes. He might have toned down Max Richter's saccharine score, but he works well with his actors, with Vikander pretty much note perfect whether she is reading from Brittain's letters or capturing her bluestocking assertiveness and virginal vulnerability. She inherited the role from Saoirse Ronan, who had earned an Oscar nomination for Atonement, and it should be noted that the BAFTA electorate has overlooked Testament of Youth entirely. Obviously, accolades are no guarantee of quality, but their absence can only be regarded as a misfortune in the case of a picture that is being so fulsomely marketed as a prestige product.

The same year that Brittain's bestseller was published, the Marx Brothers starred in Leo McCarey's Duck Soup (1933), which is back on general release to support a short retrospective at the National Film Theatre. This was the siblings' fifth and final feature for Paramount and it marked the last time that Chico, Harpo, Groucho and Zeppo would appear together on screen. It proved quite a swan song, as the pot shots taken at tyranny, corruption, isolationism and bellicosity were deemed highly contentious, as the Great Depression continued to bite and the newly elected Nazi Party began transforming Weimar Germany into the Third Reich. But the fearlessness of the madcap satire remains evident eight decades later, while some of its comic set-pieces continue to influence equally irreverent and unrepentant entertainments like Family Guy.

Such is the state of Freedonia's finances that wealthy socialite Mrs Teasdale (Margaret Dumont) insists that the small Ruritanian nation accepts Rufus T. Firefly (Groucho Marx) as its new president before she will consider further bequests of financial aid. However, Trentino (Louis Calhern), the ambassador of the expansionist country of Sylvania, is determined to intervene and dispatches spies Chicolini (Chico Marx) and Pinkie (Harpo Marx) to dig up some dirt on Firefly that will discredit him with his people. Meanwhile, Trentino also seeks to drive a wedge between Firefly and Teasdale by making a play for the widowed benefactress while femme fatale Vera Marcal (Raquel Torres) attempts to seduce Firefly.

Naturally, the worst laid plans fail to come to fruition, as Pinkie and Chicolini draw attention to themselves by opening a peanut and hot dog stand on the main square and getting into a fight with a lemonade vendor (Edgar Kennedy). Liking the cut of their jibs, Firefly makes Pinkie his chauffeur and ruffles the feathers of the Chamber of Deputies by appointing Chicolini his Secretary of War. However, the situation escalates when Firefly takes the advice of private secretary Bob Rolland (Zeppo Marx) and tries to provoke Trentino so that he will leave Freedonia. But Firefly slaps Trentino after being called an `upstart' during a heated exchange and the neighbours are left on the brink of conflict.

Trentino learns that the battle plans are hidden in Teasdale's safe and orders Chicolini and Pinkie to steal them. They disguise themselves as Firefly, but are caught in the act and Chicolini is put on trial. The proceedings are predictably anarchic and result in a declaration of war being made. Pinkie and Chicolini throw in their lot with Freedonia amidst a frenzy of wild patriotism that is carried over into the slapstick skirmish that sees Firefly shoot at his own troops. Mercifully, Trentino is easily vanquished and is pelted with fruit until Teasdale becomes the target when she starts singing the national anthem in a shrill operatic voice.

A synopsis can never do justice to the breakneck zaniness of a Marx Brothers picture. The visual and verbal gags come thick and fast, with Chico punning furiously in a cod Italian accent and Groucho relishing the wisecracks littering the screenplay penned by Bert Kalmar and Harry Ruby and their cohorts, Arthur Sheekman and Nat Perrin. Harpo also has his surreal moments, as he leaves Groucho stranded whenever he is supposed to be driving him somewhere and shares a bath with a flirtatious woman and her husband before matching Groucho move for move in the celebrated broken mirror sequence. The songs are also amusing, with Groucho laying out his shameless political manifesto in `Just Wait 'Til I Get Through With It' and the entire ensemble lampooning jingoism in `The Country's Going to War'.

Given that the Great War had only ended 15 years earlier and that diplomatic tensions were beginning to mount in Europe, such risqué jokes struck many as distasteful and Duck Soup was censored in many countries and was banned outright by Benito Mussolini. However, by the time the Marx Brothers returned in Sam Wood's A Night at the Opera (1935), the Production Code had been strengthened to curtail such licence. Moreover, new boss Irving G. Thalberg wanted their MGM comedies to be more structured and he blunted the trio's edge by saddling them with musical interludes and romantic subplots. Margaret Dumont would continue to be the best stooge in screen history, but Marx mayhem would never again be so gleefully manic.

Bearing in mind the events of the last week, it's hard to imagine a less propitious time to release an offbeat Parisian comedy about a violent death and the Holocaust. Yet Vincent Lannoo's Paper Souls might just attract an arthouse audience eager to show solidarity with the French people and their courageous bid to uphold the right of free expression. The festive setting might dissuade those suffering from the new year blues, but this melancholic treatise on love, loss and loneliness is disarmingly droll in a Woody Allen sort of way. Moreover, it carries the contrivance at its core with such insouciant conviction that it slowly starts to exert an irresistible charm.

In the five years since his wife's passing, novelist Stéphane Guillon has been stricken with writer's block. Consequently, he ekes out a living writing funeral eulogies for grieving relations when not keeping an eye on his eccentric neighbours. Claudine Baschet (who lives with her stuffed dog, Nougat) and Jewish hoarder Pierre Richard, who spends his days desperately trying to find something in his archive to reconnect him with the brother who perished during the Second World War.

Richard also enjoys trying to matchmake Guillon with his clients and is particularly taken with Julie Gayet, a demure widow who wants him to write an appreciation of her long-dead photojournalist husband (Jonathan Zaccaï) for son Jules Rotenberg's eighth birthday. Guillon protests that he only accepts commissions on behalf of the recently deceased, but Gayet is concerned that Rotenberg never talks about his father (who was killed in an explosion while on assignment in Mauritania) and hopes that hearing positive things about him will enable him to deal with his grief and move on.

Reluctantly, Guillon agrees and arrives at Rotenberg's birthday party with the testimonial and a tin monkey toy that Richard assures him can grant wishes. The boy is pleased with his gift and wishes for snow. Touched by their easy rapport, Gayet persuades Guillon to babysit for Rotenberg when she goes out for the night and they doze off together in an armchair after Guillon tells the boy a story about Santa. When they next meet, Guillon allows Rotenberg to eat ice-cream and he repays him by confiding that Zaccaï used to make the best chicken tagine and that Gayet occasionally has sleepovers with strange men.

One snowy night, there's a knock at Guillon's door and he is astounded to see Zaccaï standing in the corridor. He seemingly has no idea that he is dead, but equally has no memory of his previous life. Unsure what to do, Guillon asks Richard to guard his visitor while he tracks down Alain Azerot, the guide who had survived the attack that killed Zaccaï. As luck would have it, he catches him in a taxi bound for the airport and Azerot shows Guillon a photograph of Zaccaï's broken body. He also suggests that his spirit may have returned to close the door on the past.

Guillon breaks the news to Zaccaï on the Pont des Artes and he can't understand how he can be a ghost when passers by can see him. He agrees to return to Guillon's apartment and is even more crestfallen when Gayet comes to see why Guillon has been staying away and he learns that she is his widow. The next day, Zaccaï goes to watch Rotenberg at his fencing class and winds up having a fight with Guillon on the pavement outside Gayet's bookshop on the Canal Saint-Martin.

Naturally, she is shocked to see her husband. But Zaccaï declares that he survived the blast and is delighted when Rotenberg reveals that he had wished on the tin monkey for his father to come home. Distraught at the prospect of losing Gayet to a spectre, Guillon gets drunk and calls her in the middle of the night. However, she is not amused by his behaviour and accuses him of toying with her affections. Guillon opens a box containing his wife's keepsakes and realises that he needs to compose an oration in order to release her spirit and get on with his own life. As he writes, Zaccaï wanders around Gayet's apartment and is haunted by the notion that he no longer belongs.

Nonetheless, he decides to make the most of his second chance and has a long chat with Rotenberg about the things his son remembers about their time together. After putting him to bed, Zaccaï asks Gayet to dance to their song on the stereo. But she recoils when he asks her if she has had the scar on her neck removed. Meanwhile, Guillon pays Richard a call to disclose his confused feelings and he surmises that Guillon has summoned his lamented spouse and that she has somehow become bound up with Zaccaï. He also explains how he keeps hoping to find the memento tin that his brother put together in the Warsaw Ghetto, as this will be the sign that they had found each other again after decades of cruel separation.

The following day, Guillon meets Zaccaï on the Pont des Artes, which is famous for the padlocks that have been left behind by lovers who have tossed the keys into the Seine. He reminisces about old times with his wife and is moved by the fact that the part of her that is inhabiting Zaccaï has clear memories of them, too. They go to dinner with Gayet and Rotenberg and Zaccaï realises that his time is up when the boy gives Guillon a drawing showing him as part of their family. However, Guillon is called away when Richard starts rampaging through his rooms and Rotenberg screams out when Zaccaï disappears in the middle of reading him a bedtime story.

Guillon and Zaccaï rendezvous on the bridge and agree that the time has come for the latter to close the door behind him. He is glad that he got to know his son, but accepts that Gayet now loves Guillon and that it would be unfair to stand in their way. As Zaccaï returns to the apartment to say his farewells, Richard awakens and reaches out to clutch a drawing that somehow seems familiar. Gayet hugs Rotenberg in his bedroom, as Richard lies down with the picture pressed to his chest and fondly intones a parting `zai gezunt' as the snow begins to fall outside.

There is much to like about this quirky romcom, which is played with affable restraint by a well-cast ensemble. Some may be intrigued to see Julie Gayet in light of the Hollande affair, but she has less to do than Guillon and Zaccaï, who bring to proceedings a deftly contrasting stillness and kineticism. However, while Lannoo and screenwriter François Uzan wisely refuse to provide any metaphysical justification for their storyline, they don't entirely succeed in weaving together the various plot strands before tying up the loose ends a touch too neatly in the last act. Moreover, they tend to skirt over such emotive issues as death, grief, memory and renewal, with the result that the more poignant passages feel somewhat superficial.

Nevertheless, Véronique Sacrez's sets are splendid, with Richard's cluttered apartment being particularly atmospheric. Vincent Van Gelder's views of the less familiar landmarks are also effectively used, while Gast Waltzing's score has a lilting charm that reinforces the subliminal link to Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris (2011), which, of course, included another presidential paramour in its cast. However, this has clearly been achieved on a smaller budget and it marks a pleasing change of pace for Lannoo after more full-on offering like Vampires (2010) and In the Name of the Son (2012).

Such is the versatility of Québecois director Jean-Marc Vallée that dramatic changes of scenery have become the norm. Since debuting with the award-laden serial killer saga Black List (1995), he has made a Western (Los Locos, 1996), a revenge thriller (Loser Love, 1999), a period study of homophobia (C.R.A.Z.Y., 2005), an historical biopic (Young Victoria, 2009), a cross-decades love story (Café Flore, 2011) and an Oscar-winning, fact-based AIDS drama (Dallas Buyers Club, 2013). So, in choosing to hook up with novelist Nick Hornby to adapt Cheryl Strayed's bestselling account of the trek that changed her life, Vallée is simply following his impressive instincts. But, while Wild may look magnificent and may well snag Reese Witherspoon an Academy Award nomination for Best Actress, this 1000-mile rite of passage is hamstrung by the tonal lurching and sketchy characterisation that seem to be an unavoidable by-products of its structural convolution.

It's the summer of 1995 and Cheryl Strayed (Reese Witherspoon) is only partway through her three-month odyssey from along the Pacific Crest Trail from the Mojave Desert in Southern California to the Oregon-Washington border. She is already beginning to regret bringing such a heavy backpack (which she has dubbed `the Monster') and now wishes she had taken more time choosing her footwear, as her hiking boots are a size too small and they have just removed a toenail. As she inspects the damage, one of the boots falls down a chasm and Cheryl tosses the other after it in frustration.

Forced to make do with a pair of sandals customised with some duct tape, she struggles on and the action flashes back to the phone call she made to her ex-husband, Paul (Thomas Sadoski), to ask him to support her by dispatching supply packages to pick-up points every 100 miles or so along the route. He agrees to help, in spite of not being able to fathom the reason for the enterprise, and we see Cheryl struggling in a pseudo-slapstick montage to pack her haversack and then carry it on her back.

Heading out to the gas station from her motel room, Cheryl hitches a lift with a friendly couple and a song on the radio prompts her to recall her younger self (Bobbi Strayed Lindstrom) dancing with her mother, Bobbi Nyland (Laura Dern). However, the reverie proves all-too-brief, as Cheryl is dropped at her destination and ventures into the wilderness. As she camps for the night, she writes an entry in her journal and thinks back to how Bobbi had always been there for her and how she had once ticked off her younger brother, Leif (Keene McRae) for expecting their mother to wait on him hand and foot.

Fortified by porridge, Cheryl makes steady progress and has covered 30 miles by the end of Day Five. However, her food supplies have so dwindled by the eighth day that she asks a farmer named Frank (W. Earl Brown) if there is anywhere she can buy some food. He is working with his tractor and tells Cheryl to wait in his truck until he has finished for the day. Having little option, she agrees, only to spook herself out when she finds a gun in the vehicle. She feels even more insecure when the stranger suggests she comes back to his place for a shower and a hot meal and she sips with some trepidation from his hip flask. However, even though she warns him that her husband is waiting for her further along the trail, Cheryl still accepts some liquorice and is mighty relieved to find that Frank is married to the no-nonsense Annette (Jan Hoag), who not only welcomes her inside, but also jokes that she might just join her the following day to get away from her trying spouse.

Amused by her hosts' banter, Cheryl thinks back on the end of her marriage to Paul and remembers the surprise on the face of the tattoo artist when he learned that they were getting inked to forge a permanent bond that would outlast their divorce. They had managed to stay together for seven years, but Cheryl doesn't blame Paul for calling it a day, as she had not made life easy and had cheated on him endlessly. She feels more remorse the next morning when Frank drops her back on the trail and lets her know that he doesn't blame her for being a bit scared of him the night before.

He wishes her luck in her endeavours. But even though she succeeds in lighting a fire, Cheryl begins to wonder why she has set herself such an onerous challenge, especially when she has to make a detour to avoid a snake. An incident with an insect also terrifies her and Cheryl thinks back to her friend Aimee (Gaby Hoffmann) telling her that she has nothing to prove and that she should quit at any time the going gets too tough. This causes her to think about a blazing row with Paul and how she gave up too soon with him and has now lost him to another woman.

However, just as her spirits plunge around the 80-mile mark, Cheryl spots a fit young man named Greg (Kevin Rankin) skinny-dipping in the river. She is embarrassed, therefore, when he calls over to her and reveals that he has been averaging 20 miles a day since he set off. He suggests that she checks into a campsite and rethinks her plan of campaign and this jolts her back to the first time she heard about the Pacific Crest, when she found a guidebook in a shop while waiting with Aimee for the results of a pregnancy test. She had been angry and vowed not to keep the baby, as it would interfere with the lifestyle she had envisaged for herself.

Now back on the path, Cheryl feels pleased with herself for negotiating a difficult climb. She is also happy to bump into Greg at Kennedy Meadows, where his friend Ed (Cliff De Young) shows her how to pack `the Monster' more efficiently. His kindly guidance reminds her of a debate she had with Bobbi when they found themselves on the same Minneapolis campus about the merits of James A. Michener's writing, in which the 22 year-old Cheryl insinuates that her mother lacks her intellectual sophistication. Shortly afterwards, however, they are informed that the 45 year-old Bobbi has a tumour on her spine that she is not expected to survive.

Arriving at Reno, Cheryl calls Paul to let him know she is faring well. However, she decides to hitch a ride and is put out when Jimmy Carter (Mo McRae) accuses her of being a vagabond. He writes for The Hobo Times and speculates that Cheryl has been inspired to wander because she couldn't face up to a trauma. She is stung by his remarks and his casual chauvinism. But she still accepts a care package and feels decidedly uncomfortable when he accepts a lift from a woman and two men, one of whom keeps ogling her as they drive along.

Her eye is drawn to the photograph of a young boy who was killed by a speeding truck and she harks back to the anguished times she spent urging Bobbi not to give up her fight. This fortitude helps Cheryl through the snow that falls heavily on Day 30 and she dismisses the skiers who tease her that she has lost her way and wandered back into California. As she notices a fox watching her, Cheryl recalls remonstrating with the doctor who had given Bobbi a year to live and now cannot explain why her condition has deteriorated so rapidly.

The pain of loss continues to haunt Cheryl for the next week and she wonders why Leif resisted visiting his mother in the hospital when he knew how much he meant to her. Eventually, she persuades him to come. But, while they say their goodbyes, they hardly make peace and Cheryl goes seriously off the rails and not only begins cuckolding Paul, but also starts using heroin and not even Aimee can bring her out of the slough. That is, until she decides to separate from her husband and she finds the trail guide by serendipity.

There is more to endure on the path before Cheryl reaches journey's end. She has encounters with a snarky park ranger (Brian Van Holt), fears being stalked by a pair of bow hunters in the woods (Charles Baker and JD Evermore) and shares her experiences with another solo female trekker (Cathryn de Prume). But, much to her surprise, she also meets Jonathan (Michiel Huisman), who invites her to a gig after they sleep together and she writes Paul's name in the sand for the last time to signify she is no longer dependent upon him and can stand on the two feet that have carried her to the brink of a fresh start.

A clutch of films have focused on intrepidity in the great outdoors since Sean Penn directed himself as Christopher McCandless in Into the Wild (2007). Standing just 5' 1", Reese Witherspoon certainly deserves to be mentioned in the same breath as James Franco and Mia Wasikowska for their respective efforts in essaying Aron Ralston in Danny Boyle's 127 Hours (2010) and Robyn Davidson in John Curran's Tracks (2013). She may be a decade too old for the role (and, indeed, is only nine years Dern's junior), but she conveys a wider gamut of emotions here (while under extreme physical duress) than she exhibited in her Oscar-winning turn as June Carter Cash in James Mangold's Walk the Line (2005).

Moreover, Witherspoon also co-produced the picture, which seems destined to become a feminist classic, even though it was written and directed by males. In truth, Hornby strains a little too hard to find audio and visual cues to trigger the flashbacks, but Vallée (masquerading as John Mac McMurphy) and co-editor Martin Pensa amusingly avoid seamless transitions, as if self-guyingly to draw attention to occasional gaucheries like the match cut between a panting Witherspoon emerging from a hedge and her wilder self gasping during a vigorous bout of coitus. However, some of the promiscuity and smack-taking montages feel mannered, as does the inclusion of snippets of poetry by Emily Dickinson and Robert Frost. Moreover, too many of the soundtrack prompts appear to have been selected to manipulate audience response during moments of sinister suspense that turn out to contain red herrings rather than rapacious predators.

Yet, this is a slickly assembled picture, with Yves Bélanger's widescreen imagery often taking the breath away, as it emphasises Witherspoon's insignificance in the grander scheme of things. On screen throughout, she excels whether persevering in the face of physical and psychological upheaval or having the awareness to recognise the landmarks on her way to xelf-discovery. Dern provides admirable support, but there is something Sirkian about the positioning of her demise within the narrative and this tendency towards melodrama in the flashbacks has an undeniably enervating effect. But Vallée's sincerity can never be doubted, while Witherspoon proves (as she has done previously with Alexander Payne's Election, 1999 and Robert Luketic's Legally Blonde, 2001) that, when she finds the right role, she is one of the finest screen actors of her generation.