Silent Storm. (12A.)
Directed by Corinna McFarlane.
Starring Andrea Riseborough, Damian Lewis, Ross Anderson, Kate Dickie and John Sessions. 97 mins.
There isn't a storm (though there is plenty of storming about) and it isn't silent. This is a joyless, austere drama about joyless, austere religious folk, living on a beautiful, remote, joyless and austere Scottish island. The island location is so austere that at the start of the film everybody leaves it to go to the mainland for work. The only two who remain are the preacher (Lewis) and his put upon wife (Riseborough.) His world view is “to expect happiness in this world is a form of arrogance.” Then their life is interrupted by the arrival of Fionn (Anderson) a troubled youth from the mainland, that he is to straighten out.
A lot goes unsaid, but there is still plenty of noise to make up for it. It's a stark, simple life and decorum would suggest a modest, quiet approach. The film though is bellicose: when the wind isn't howling, the furniture is being smashed or the actors are bellowing at each other, and any lulls are filled by an overpowering score.
This is McFarlane's debut and you can imagine at the end of each day's filming she sat through the day's rushes and was pleased with what she saw, that she was making a contemporary equivalent of The Piano. Individual scenes and shots must've looked impressive on their own, but when you put them all together it doesn't work at all. The script is sparing with dialogue but what it chooses to articulate is so bland you lose faith in the back story. It would help if she had cast performers who fitted in with the landscape.
Lewis doesn't convince as the preacher. As ever with Lewis he is so busy acting you never see past him to the character he's playing. Here he wants to be intense and it looks like he's put in some ill fitting contact lenses to make his eyes constantly red and watery. (Chillingly the film is partly produced by Bond bosses Barbara Broccoli and Michael G. Wilson – can I take back my scepticism about Idris Elba.) I'm not sure Riseborough is objectively any better (her accent sounds mostly Irish but occasionally skips across to Scandinavia) but she has a presence that seems effortless. Whenever she is in a two shot I found myself instinctively looking at her, even if she was just in profile, because her face seemed more realistic, more compelling and more truthful than whatever she was up against.
Directed by Corinna McFarlane.
Starring Andrea Riseborough, Damian Lewis, Ross Anderson, Kate Dickie and John Sessions. 97 mins.
There isn't a storm (though there is plenty of storming about) and it isn't silent. This is a joyless, austere drama about joyless, austere religious folk, living on a beautiful, remote, joyless and austere Scottish island. The island location is so austere that at the start of the film everybody leaves it to go to the mainland for work. The only two who remain are the preacher (Lewis) and his put upon wife (Riseborough.) His world view is “to expect happiness in this world is a form of arrogance.” Then their life is interrupted by the arrival of Fionn (Anderson) a troubled youth from the mainland, that he is to straighten out.
A lot goes unsaid, but there is still plenty of noise to make up for it. It's a stark, simple life and decorum would suggest a modest, quiet approach. The film though is bellicose: when the wind isn't howling, the furniture is being smashed or the actors are bellowing at each other, and any lulls are filled by an overpowering score.
This is McFarlane's debut and you can imagine at the end of each day's filming she sat through the day's rushes and was pleased with what she saw, that she was making a contemporary equivalent of The Piano. Individual scenes and shots must've looked impressive on their own, but when you put them all together it doesn't work at all. The script is sparing with dialogue but what it chooses to articulate is so bland you lose faith in the back story. It would help if she had cast performers who fitted in with the landscape.
Lewis doesn't convince as the preacher. As ever with Lewis he is so busy acting you never see past him to the character he's playing. Here he wants to be intense and it looks like he's put in some ill fitting contact lenses to make his eyes constantly red and watery. (Chillingly the film is partly produced by Bond bosses Barbara Broccoli and Michael G. Wilson – can I take back my scepticism about Idris Elba.) I'm not sure Riseborough is objectively any better (her accent sounds mostly Irish but occasionally skips across to Scandinavia) but she has a presence that seems effortless. Whenever she is in a two shot I found myself instinctively looking at her, even if she was just in profile, because her face seemed more realistic, more compelling and more truthful than whatever she was up against.
