During the 132 minutes of Pacific Rim I failed to have a single thought - not always a bad thing

Director Guillermo del Toro has spoken with open passion about this ludicrous, ludicrous film. In fact, he's right: it's pretty good.

“Entertaining” has become a euphemism for “crap, but with pretty set-pieces": a pleading entreaty offered by sci-fi apologists to save face when discussing yet another underwhelming summer movie we were foolish enough to get excited about.

It becomes an ever weaker descriptor as the years go by, cheapening in value with every genre movie that doesn’t quite work. The rush of excitement when the BBFC card appears on screen deflates quicker and quicker each time, leaving only a distracted internal voice that gnaws on plot holes and wonders when it will all be over.

Sitting through Prometheus last year, and then World War Z and Star Trek earlier this summer, that voice was as loud as popcorn. I began seriously wondering whether satisfying genre movies were even possible anymore or whether – worse yet – my brain was burnt out on effects-driven movies, jaded to spectacle and doomed to overthink any piece of simple fun.

During the full 132 minutes of Pacific Rim, however, I don’t think I actually had any thoughts.

Before a single critical neuron could fire, the film grabbed my mental wrist like the ancient mariner and gruffly set out its pitch with a relentless opening montage. “Here” it said, “is a story about people getting in huge robots to have fights with monsters, and it’s going to be loud”. Leaving no time for me to digest this, it proceeded to launch into the most astonishing fight between a robot and a monster.

Then there was more, and more, and more. The film stuck with its preposterous internal logic with complete attention to detail, and was paced in such a way as to never really leave time for reflection.

Director Guillermo del Toro has spoken with open passion about this ludicrous, ludicrous film. His single-mindedness triumphed in the finished product. Rather than the lumpen, episodic structure so familiar from the design-by-committee approach to blockbusting, Pacific Rim successfully maintained a constant escalation of pitch.

The visual storytelling was superb, with fights choreographed and shot more in the manner of a sports movie than a typical effects-led effort. There was no shaky-cam, no loss of spatial awareness or sense of scale, and no confusing, staccato smash cuts to flailing metal of the kind that the Transformers movies were so rightly pilloried for.

The world of the film was relentlessly imaginative, from the way city streets were built around the skeletons of fallen monsters, to the alien skin parasites collected and sold by black marketeers, right down to the patches and insignia on the uniforms of the heroes (yes, heroes. Pacific Rim is not the kind of film that has ‘protagonists’).

Everything could have been generic and still have contributed to something that was just as marketable, but instead reeked of hours and hours of careful design. 

In fact, the only thing to give my suspension of disbelief a wobble was Burn Gorman’s demented parody of a bookish scientist. Even though his role was written with the same level of operatic lunacy as the rest of the film, it felt awkwardly off-the-shelf in a way that nothing else really did.

In general, the human drama in Pacific Rim was inevitably going to be its weak point. But everyone involved could act, and the attempt to tackle real emotion was far enough in advance of the genre standard to make it seem mean-spirited to make a meal of the issue.

Certainly, Idris Elba bellowing “we are cancelling the apocalypse” came pretty close to unpardonably silly, but after two hours of gigatonne punching, that level of cheesiness seemed genuinely necessary in a way that I can’t honestly explain after the fact.

And that is, essentially, where any conversation on this movie ends for me. I can’t necessarily explain how del Toro got away with it, nor do I feel any real need to understand why. I simply really, really enjoyed how it felt to be watching the film. As I understand it, that’s entertainment.

I am robot. A still from Pacific Rim.

By day, Fred Crawley is editor of Credit Today and Insolvency Today. By night, he reviews graphic novels for the New Statesman.

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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.