Film in 2013 - the year of DiCaprio unchained

What to look out for on the big screen this year.

Since the dawn of time, mankind has been guided through life by the passing of the seasons, the phases of the moon and the patterns of the film release schedule; 2013 is no different. There is the usual January logjam of awardsseason heavyweights: you shall know them by their extravagant length. One, Quentin Tarantino’s slavery revenge thriller Django Unchained (18 January), is one of three new films starring Leonardo DiCaprio. Having at last shed his formerly foetal demeanour, DiCaprio is up to the job of playing his first villain, a sadistic plan - tation owner. The actor will be a good fit, too, in the title role of Baz Luhrmann’s The Great Gatsby (May), opposite Carey Mulligan as Daisy. Before the year is out, he’ll be seen as the jailed stockbroker Jordan Belfort in The Wolf of Wall Street, his fifth collaboration with Martin Scorsese. (There’s an extra DiCaprio treat: a Valentine’s Day rerelease of Luhrmann’s febrile Romeo + Juliet. A new film of the play, adapted by Julian Fellowes, follows in October.)

Carey Mulligan and Leonardo DiCaprio in "The Great Gatsby"

The appetite of Park Chan-wook for Jacobean excess far outstrips mine but I am looking forward to Stoker (March), the Korean director’s forthcoming horror film starring Nicole Kidman and the translucent Mia Wasikowska. Oldboy, the gruesome thriller that made Park’s name, will rise again in October in the form of Spike Lee’s US remake. Anyone fancy putting a few squid on whether its star, Josh Brolin, will replicate the original film’s unsimulated liveoctopus- eating scene?

Ben Affleck and Rachel McAdams in the upcoming Terrence Malik film "To the Wonder"

We can no longer look to Terrence Malick for tantalising hiatuses between projects – a mere two years after The Tree of Life, he offers To the Wonder (February), featuring Ben Affleck, Rachel McAdams and very little dialogue, and has been shooting his next two movies simultaneously. Fortunately Wong Kar-wai is available to take up the mantle of Elusive Genius. Hopes are high for The Grandmaster, his first film in five years, starring Tony Leung as Yip Man, the martial arts master who trained Bruce Lee. The picture opens the Berlin Film Festival in February. The wait has been even longer for fans of the British director Jonathan Glazer. Nine years will have elapsed since his last film (Birth) by the time we see Glazer’s adaptation of Michel Faber’s novel Under the Skin. Scarlett Johansson wears a brown wig to play an extraterrestrial on a killing spree in Scotland.

Blockbusteritis prevents me from mentioning 2013’s numerous sequels. However, the film about which I am most excited is also technically a sequel, albeit a belated and idiosyncratic one. After ambling through Vienna in 1995 as twentysomethings in Before Sunrise and breezing around Paris nine years later in their thirties in Before Sunset, Jesse (Ethan Hawke) and Celine (Julie Delpy) hit middle age in Greece in the conclusion to Richard Linklater’s freewheeling trilogy. One wag has pointed out that the new film’s title, Before Midnight, surely refers to the hour that Jesse and Celine have to be in bed these days.

Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy in "Before Sunrise"

As someone the same age as the characters, I can chuckle knowingly at that. I’ll be seeing the movie – just not at a late show.

Leonardo DiCaprio in Quentin Tarantino's "Django Unchained". The actor stars in three big releases this year.

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 07 January 2013 issue of the New Statesman, 2013: the year the cuts finally bite

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Daniel Day-Lewis is a genius, but I'll shed more tears for actors who don't choose to stop

I've always felt respect rather than love for the three-times Oscar winner.

Imagine learning of the closure of an exquisite but prohibitively expensive restaurant that you only got round to visiting once every four or five years. There would be an abstract feeling of sadness, perhaps, that you will no longer be able to sample new, satisfying flavours twice a decade in that establishment’s uniquely adventurous style. A nostalgic twinge, certainly, relating to the incomparable times you had there in the past. But let’s be realistic about this: your visits were so infrequent that the restaurant’s absence now is hardly going to leave an almighty black hole in your future. If you’re completely honest, you may even have thought upon hearing the news: “That place? I hadn’t thought about it for yonks. I didn’t even know it was still open.”

That sums up how I feel about the announcement this week that Daniel Day-Lewis is retiring. What an actor: three Oscars, a method genius, all of the above. But prolific is the last thing he is. It would be disingenuous to say that any of us had imagined seeing too many more Day-Lewis performances before we finish strutting and fretting our own hour upon the stage. I’m 45; Day-Lewis’s first, brief screen appearance was in Sunday Bloody Sunday, which came out the year I was born. So even allowing for another 30 years on this planet, I still wasn’t reckoning on seeing new screen work from him more than five times in my life. It’s a loss but, given the proper support and counselling, it’s one I can live with.

Looking at Day-Lewis’s recent work-rate helps bring some perspective to the situation. He is currently shooting the 1950s-set fashion drama, Phantom Thread, for Paul Thomas Anderson, who solicited from him a towering, elemental performance in There Will Be Blood, which won him his second Oscar. But before that, the last time we saw him on screen was four-and-a-half years ago in Lincoln (Oscar Number Three). Prior to that, a full three years earlier, was Nine, a woeful musical spin on Fellini’s that is one of the few blots on an otherwise impeccable CV. In 2007, it was There Will Be Blood; in 2005, The Ballad of Jack and Rose, directed by his wife, Rebecca Miller; and in 2002, Scorsese’s Gangs of New York—the film that enticed Day-Lewis out of his first retirement.

Oh yes, there was an earlier one. The retirement which didn’t take. After making The Boxer in 1997 with Jim Sheridan, who directed him in My Left Foot (where he got Oscar Number One for playing the writer Christy Brown) and In the Name of the Father, the actor went off to become a shoemaker’s apprentice in Florence. A Daniel Day-Lewis spoof biopic surely couldn’t have come up with a more characteristic career swerve than that. This, after all, is the man who lived in the wild for weeks before making The Last of the Mohicans, and who endured physical deprivations to prepare himself for In the Name of the Father, in which he played Gerry Conlon, one of the Guildford Four. He also famously stays in character, or at least refuses to drop his assumed accent, posture and demeanour, between takes on set—an easily-ridiculed trait which actually makes a poetic kind of sense. Here’s how he explained to the Guardian in 2009:

“If you go to inordinate length to explore and discover and bring a world to life, it makes better sense to stay in that world rather than jump in and out of it, which I find exhausting and difficult. That way there isn’t the sense of rupture every time the camera stops; every time you become aware of the cables and the anoraks and hear the sound of the walkie-talkies. Maybe it’s complete self-delusion. But it works for me.”

So the method immersion and the physical consequences (he broke two ribs during My Left Foot and contracted pneumonia while shooting Gangs of New York) make him a target for mockery. There have been accusations, too, that his workings-out as an actor are often clearly visible in the margins. “All that screaming and hyperventilating,” remarked the filmmaker and Warhol acolyte Paul Morrissey. “You may as well have a ‘Men at Work’ sign when he’s on screen.”

But no workman operating a pneumatic drill ever announced his retirement through the world media. (And with such petulant phrasing from his official spokesperson: “This is a private decision and neither he nor his representatives will make any further comment on this subject.”) Making plain this retirement, rather than simply getting on with it quietly and without fanfare, serves a number of functions. It’s going to be very beneficial indeed to Phantom Thread when it opens at the end of this year: the distributors can go right ahead and advertise it as Day-Lewis’s final performance without fear of contradiction. That’s the sort of promotional boon that only usually happens in the case of posthumous releases. And coming right out and saying “It’s over” also helps remind the world that Day-Lewis is still there, even if he won’t be for very much longer. It puts him right back in the headlines. It’s a wise career move—to use the words with which Gore Vidal responded to news of Truman Capote’s death—for a career that is now at its flickering end. 

But I’ll save my tears for the next actor whose life ends prematurely—another Philip Seymour Hoffman or Heath Ledger—rather than one who has the luxury of being able to call “Cut!” on his career at a time of his choosing. Perhaps I’m taking this news better than some of my colleagues because Day-Lewis, though a master of his craft, has always been an actor who engendered respect rather than love. One component of his mastery in recent years has been a studious coldness. No one has yet put it better than the comedian Adam Riches, who described Day-Lewis as “the greatest actor never to have appeared in anyone’s favourite film.” 

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.

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