The Life of Pi - review

An extravagantly decorated cake of a film with nothing inside but the wisdom of a fortune cookie.

The Life of Pi (PG)
dir: Ang Lee

Ang Lee is the eclectic’s eclectic, a Taiwanese director who has ranged freely between English period romance (Sense and Sensibility) and Chinese wartime espionage (Lust, Caution), martial arts swashbuckler (Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon) and gay melodrama (Brokeback Mountain). In his 3D adaptation of Yann Martel’s Booker Prize-winning novel, Life of Pi, Lee surprises us once more: I would never have suspected he could make something quite so facile.

The lion’s share of the screen time is given over to a tiger and a teenage boy stranded on a boat in the Pacific Ocean. The lad is Piscine “Pi” Patel (Suraj Sharma), while the tiger, incongruously named Richard Parker, belongs to Pi’s father, who is transporting his zoo animals from India to north America when their boat is struck by a typhoon. Lee is nothing if not a director who knows how to wring every drop of tension from a set piece, and he peaks early in Life of Pi with a storm sequence that finds within terror a dislocated beauty. The underwater shot of a zebra paddling past Pi in the submerged ship, with the doggedness of an afternoon swimmer completing his laps, is so bewitching it hardly matters the trailer spoiled it for us months ago.

Once calm descends, Pi must simply survive. Viewers nostalgic for the innocent charms of Disney’s The Incredible Journey will find little succour. The film focuses squarely on the practicalities of how one might remain alive while confined to a lifeboat with a ravenous tiger.

Like Avatar, this is a movie that couldn’t be realised until the technology was available: you would get through a few crew members trying to extract from a real tiger the sort of performance given by a computer-generated one. But Lee overestimates the effect of his visual coups. The animals suffer in certain shots from that lack of heft that remains the Achilles heel of CGI. The seascapes and horizons have a deliberately synthetic, storybook quality but the marvels that pepper the voyage – a berserk wave of flying fish that whip the sea into a froth, or a majestic whale looming out of the ocean – feel self-consciously spectacular. Then there is the use of 3D. There’s a nice eerie effect when the camera gazes up from the ocean bed at Pi swimming so that he appears to be floating in the sky but the film’s colours are fatally dulled by the grey tints on our 3D specs; I kept peering over the top of mine to see how ripe the cinematography would look without them.

The late Michael Crichton once told me that he had been downhearted after seeing Terminator 2: Judgment Day, that watershed moment in CGI, because he knew there would no longer be any barriers to what could be conjured up on screen. The dream, I suppose, would be that other aspects of the film-making process would be fortified: screenplays might become more complex, the camerawork innovative, to keep pace with technology. If this is the future, Life of Pi is a disastrous advertisement. David Magee’s screenplay is hamstrung by the banality of the points in Martel’s novel about the intersection between storytelling and faith. The film begins with the adult Pi promising he has a tale that will make anyone believe in God. It ends with a twist – well, more of a mild kink – that provides a new definition of anti-climax. The impression you take from Life of Pi is that of an extravagantly decorated cake with nothing inside but the wisdom of a fortune cookie.

 

Ryan Gilbey is the New Statesman's film critic. He is also the author of It Don't Worry Me (Faber), about 1970s US cinema, and a study of Groundhog Day in the "Modern Classics" series (BFI Publishing). He was named reviewer of the year in the 2007 Press Gazette awards.

This article first appeared in the 24 December 2012 issue of the New Statesman, Brian Cox and Robin Ince guest edit

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Anthony Horowitz’s New Blood is the most accurate portrayal of London millennial life on TV

 “Do you know how hard we work? How little we earn? This city never gives you any chances.”

The police procedural is hardly the most cutting edge televisual format, burdened as it is by generic clichés and tired characters. But every now and then, one comes along attempting to do something new with an old format – from Life on Mars to Happy Valley. The latest effort is the BBC’s New Blood. Created by Anthony Horowitz, it follows two (extremely handsome) junior investigators, both second-generation immigrants in their early twenties living in London: Arash Sayyad (Ben Tavassoli), working for the Met, and Stefan Kowolski (Mark Strepan), who works for the Serious Fraud Office.

On the surface, there is nothing revolutionary about this programme – it has all the usual hallmarks of its genre. Stefan and Rash dislike each other at first, but find circumstance thrusts them together on numerous unlikely occasions – who woulda thunk these two oddballs would become partners in crime prevention!!! Both have older bosses who raise exasperated eyebrows at their unconventional but often effective methods. Each work on cases at first, seemingly unrelated to one another, but each time slowly are revealed to be intertwined.

But there is something slightly strange about this programme that’s apparent from the very first episode. As Radio Times critic Huw Fullerton wrote in his review of the show’s opening case, New Blood is “obsessed” with the London property market:

“Throughout the first few episodes lead characters Stefan and Rash regularly suspend their investigations into murder and corruption to fret about getting on the housing ladder, the rights they have to fixed rent and the logistics of getting a mortgage on a low salary.  Even one of the series’ villains couldn’t resist getting in on the property action, evilly swilling a glass of wine and threatening his niece with eviction from her rent-free Zone 1 flat if she didn’t keep supplying him with illicit information.”

“I know how hard it is for young professionals in London,” the villain in question purrs. “House prices are ridiculous.” And as further cases have unfolded, including last night’s finale, this streak has only become more extreme. Some of the series most significant events are motivated by people hoping to preserve the value of their luxurious central properties; Rash’s sister gives him the details of a potential room in Wandsworth as a kind of present; Stefan and Rash are thrown together by their shared desperate need to find somewhere affordable to live. One of the highest-octane moments of the series’s final episode involves an action montage of the pair running across London after a traumatic car accident to make their scheduled time for a flat viewing. It’s almost laughable.

But it’s not just property that drives the characters and plots on New Blood. It’s all the concerns of millennial life in London – immigration levels, transport, the environment, isolation and mental health. Stefan and Rash cycle to their insecure jobs (both are constantly being fired) and undercover meetings with big pharma bosses and property developers, trying to right the great wrongs of the city. Stefan uses his Polish language abilities to communicate with the low-paid workers often exploited by the villains of each case – one of whom says to him, “Do you know how hard we work? How little we earn? This city never gives you any chances.”

Debates about high-rise developments and corporate greed nestle in with chatty dialogue about being underpaid, unappreciated and undermined by the city. Even the deaths seem to play on urban anxieties: a man tumbles to his death from an E3 tower block, while a woman suffers a fatal fall from a tall escalator at an underground station, her death calmly declared in an announcement that continues, “There is a good service on all other lines.”

The result is an overly earnest but surprisingly accurate portrait of a certain kind of young professional in London – the only thing that stopped me laughing at the constant overwrought references the housing crisis was thinking of how much of my own brain-space is dedicated to thinking about rent, and how much I talk about it as a result.

It also means the show has a refreshing take on villains – there are no stereotypical lone-wolf terrorists or crazed spurned women here. Instead, Stefan and Rash repeatedly attempt to arrest the uber-rich and powerful: criminals who can hide behind facades of legitimacy and wealth. The show’s very premise – the Serious Fraud Office and the police teaming up to form a heroic young double act – rests on the idea that the city’s greatest injustices are made by corporations and corrupt governments hoping to fleece the ordinary individuals that live there.

Many reviewers have criticised the show for being too on-the-nose in its urban criticisms, but for me that’s where the hilarity and the joy of this show lies. Where else could the line, “You wouldn’t want that, any more than you would want to lose this flat” be delivered with such delicious venom?

Anna Leszkiewicz is a pop culture writer at the New Statesman.