The Night Manager packs so much promise with its cast, crew, and material that it would’ve definitely made our Top 10 Anticipated were it not designed for the small screen. And while we’re mostly all about movies here on Way Too Indie, this BBC/AMC co-produced miniseries gets special coverage for a number of reasons. It’s the latest John Le Carré material adapted for the screen, it packs a wallop of an ensemble cast in Tom Hiddleston, Hugh Laurie, Olivia Colman, Tom Hollander and Elizabeth Debicki, and it’s directed by Oscar-winner Susanne Bier. So there was very little standing in the way of me catching the first two episodes at the Berlinale, and I’m happy to report that the pieces are aligned just right to make this one of the most talked-about TV events of the year.

Hiddleston plays Jonathan Pine, a hotel night manager with a mysterious past who becomes privy to a massive state secret involving aspiring British Lord and all-around millionaire entrepreneur Richard Roper (Laurie). Together with British intelligence handler Angela Burr (Colman), who’s got something of an obsession with catching the crooked Roper, Pine will infiltrate Roper’s inner circle in an attempt to build enough surefire evidence to bring him down once and for all.

That’s the gist of it, and the first two episodes lay the foundation in tantalizing fashion. Beginning with a sleek, sexy, opening credit sequence that sees fighter jets morphing into champagne bubbles and a chandelier crashing in a mushroom-cloud puff, the world of The Night Manager is one of elite danger. The golden color tones, postcard locales (especially breathtaking once the story moves to the alpine top of Zermatt, Switzerland), and lavish lifestyles that festoon the series create an impossible-to-decline invitation. This being a John Le Carré story, the air is full of suspense and intrigue from frame one, when we meet our hero during the eve of the Arab Spring in Cairo.

As one might expect, the actors fire on all cylinders. Hiddleston gets to show why he’d make a perfectly cool (if perhaps still a little too dainty) James Bond, Colman steals every scene she’s in, Laurie is absolutely scrumptious as the sleazy, serpentine Roper, and Hollander makes a fantastic early impression as Roper’s Iago-esque right-hand man Corcoran. If there’s a weakness to be detected, it’s in the series’ iffy structure involving time-jumps and a weak groundwork in establishing a key relationship between Pine and one Sophie Alekan (Aure Atika). Regardless, the first two hours of this miniseries flew by thanks to the story’s reliable espionage elements and tangible charisma seeping through every element. The cliffhanger that ends the second episode had me digging my nails into the seat, so April 19^th—which is when the series is to premiere stateside on AMC—can’t come soon enough.

Rating:
8/10

Can we have more musicals like this, please? Rufus Norris adapts Alecky Blythe’s and Adam Cork’s stage musical, London Road, for the big screen, and the result is a jolt of much-needed electricity into a dreadfully deflated genre. It tells the true story of the “Suffolk Strangler” murders that shook a tiny community in Ipswcich. An alarming number of prostitutes started blemishing the refined reputation of this quaint little British town, until someone took it upon themselves to start killing these women. Now, murder and crime get added to prostitution and the residents decide to do something about it.

What makes this such a mirthful experience is the genius choice of turning real-life testimony from witnesses and bystanders into songs, verbatim. In doing so, every “um,” “like,” and “you know” become integral parts of the lyrics, blending tragedy and comedy into wholly unique ways. The magnificent Olivia Colman and Tom Hardy are the name-actors, but Hardy’s only in it for a minute, while Colman thankfully gets to do, and sing, much more. The real stars, however, are the interviewees and the TV anchors, whose harmonies over Adam Cork’s various pop and dance beats give London Road its verve and vitality. A musical unlike any other, you’d do well to seek this one out as soon as it plays near you.

How does one even begin to describe the enigma that is Yorgos Lanthimos’ The Lobster? Since reading a brief description of its bizarre narrative months ago, it has been one of my most anticipated films of the year (and made our list for most anticipated films of 2015), and those familiar with Lanthimos’ previous work (most notably his 2009 Academy Award nominated film Dogtooth) are probably aware of how strange his work can be—but never without justification. The Lobster tells the story of David (Colin Farrell), a man who has recently been left by his partner and decides to check into The Hotel, where he has a month and a half to meet a new, suitable partner, otherwise he will be transformed into an animal of his choice.

The Lobster functions as part absurdist comedy, part dark romance and part social satire. The comedy is sharp and the romantic elements provide it with a sense of lightness which would have otherwise been absent; the execution of its societal commentary, however, is what sends it into uncharted territory, and the main reason why it comes across as such a deeply original work. Lanthimos pokes fun at certain commonalities of the modern romantic relationship, such as the notion that “birds of a feather flock together,” by utilizing the element of exaggeration. For instance, each character in the film has their singular unique characteristic. David is nearsighted, and thus is only interested in finding a woman who is nearsighted as well. The Limping Man (Ben Whishaw) pursues a woman who suffers from frequent nosebleeds, so in order to capture her attention and fool her into thinking that they are a match, he begins inflicting trauma on his nose, causing it to bleed when in her presence.

When I first saw Dogtooth, I praised it for its technical mastery: its carefully framed static shots, sharp editing and claustrophobic production design. Still, something held me back from fully embracing it, and looking back on the viewing experience now, I’m certain it was that I had a difficult time trying to figure out what it was saying about civilization. Its surreal and otherworldly, for sure, but what sort of comment is it trying to make about the human condition? It is indeed a tough egg to crack. The Lobster, on the other hand, is much more coherent (and dare I say accessible) in its satire. I don’t want to get ahead of myself, as I never thought I would be describing a Lanthimos film as accessible, but I definitely think people will have an easier time figuring out the meaning behind all of the madness here.

The technical elements of The Lobster are just as sound as those of Dogtooth, and aesthetically similar. The camera is almost perpetually static, and much attention is paid to the framing of certain shots, which is interesting because it allows the director to isolate aural elements such as off-screen noises that, though they cannot be seen, having a significant bearing on specific scenes. The musical score is jarring, but not in a negative way; I imagine it will be one of the first technical aspects that viewers take notice of, as its a loud and powerful score which makes itself known within the first few minutes. There isn’t much that I would change about The Lobster; if I was to suggest anything to the editors, it would be to pick out and remove certain scenes which might not seem as pertinent as others, for the film does exhaust a bit in its third act. Aside from that, it is a hilarious and biting critique of interpersonal relationships that is sure to appeal to a wider audience than Lanthimos’ previous works, and may bring him back into the limelight when award season rolls around.

Nowadays, superheroes punching each other in the face and flipping over cars is the hottest ticket in Hollywood. Steven Knight’s Locke takes an actor, Tom Hardy, who’s no stranger to the comic book movie landscape, and dares to not punch him in the face. Virtually the entire movie, in fact, focuses on his face in medium close-up as he drives in a BMW at night on an urban motorway in England. A BMW that, in fact, does not flip over at any point in the movie. What is this? Witchcraft?!

No, Mr. Knight hasn’t employed the dark arts to conjure up this riveting piece of concentrated cinema. It is magical in it’s own way, though: After spending 99% of the film in a cramped space, watching Hardy gab on the phone and blow his runny nose periodically, not for one second does the experience stagnate or disengage. On the contrary, the film is utterly gripping.

Knight has reduced the modern notion of movie storytelling to its bare essentials, without sacrificing entertainment value in the slightest. There are twists, turns, and close calls throughout, but none of them have to do with Hardy swerving to avoid disaster on the road. They’re all figurative, emotional, and brilliantly written by Knight, primarily known in the industry as a screenwriter, though that may change quickly if Locke is any indication of his directorial capabilities.

Hardy plays Ivan Locke, a bearded, successful (judging by his slick ride) family man and construction manager who we at first see leaving a massive construction site (the most important project of his life) at night, his destination revealed gradually throughout the film. Locke is a man who operates on the calm–cool–collected side of the alpha-male mindset, priding himself on maintaining unwavering pragmatism in the face of adversity. When problems arise, he habitually reverts to seeking out “the next practical step.”

His even temper is pushed to its breaking point, however, as phone conversations with panicked co-workers, distressed family members, and a mysterious woman reveal that he’s perilously close to losing his career, home life, and reputation, all while driving on the two hour stretch from Birmingham to London. (Locke plays out in semi-real time, suggesting small passages of time through strategically implemented edits.)

At first, Locke seems well equipped to handle the cellular juggling act, assertively dictating orders to his fidgety co-worker Dolan (Andrew Scott) and easing the nerves of his anxious wife Katrina (Ruth Wilson) and the mystery woman (Olivia Colman) with soft-spoken, deliberate confidence. But as the calls grow in urgency and frequency, with Locke scrambling to resolve one issue while another freaked-out caller waits on the other line (signaled by a panic-inducing “call waiting” message), cracks begin to form in his rock-solid exterior and a menacing side of him begins to show. Locke’s world is hanging by a thread, and he’s trying very, very hard not to lose his grip. “The traffic is okay. It’ll be okay,” he says to Katrina in his easy Welsh accent, and one wonders if he’s trying to abate his wife’s hysteria or his own.

In films taking place entirely in enclosed spaces (Buried, Phone Booth), casting of the lead role is paramount, as their face is almost all we see. Hardy, with his deep, soulful eyes, and unique bone structure, is a perfect choice. He’s perhaps the best shape-shifter working in Hollywood today, and a lot of his chameleon-like versatility can be attributed to his fascination with off-kilter accents, of which he’s tried on many in his career. His vocal performances always elevate his onscreen presence to great heights, and the potential of his gift is maximized here. His Welsh accent is round and assuring, elegantly English, and yet also rough around the edges; his rolled r’s sound like the deep purr of a lion.

Hardy’s most astonishing flashes of brilliance happen when he makes us believe he’s going to erupt in a fit of rage at any moment…and then doesn’t, putting a cap on his rage at the very last second. In a standout exchange with Scott, the two engage in a furious debate, which instead of boiling over dissipates in a wonderful way: The two begin to laugh with and at each other because, well, there’s simply no where else for them to go. It’s smart, organic choices like this that make Locke much more than a close-quarters gimmick movie.

Visually, Knight rises to the main challenge the man-in-a-box format presents, keeping the film visually interesting top to bottom. The boozy, blurred lights that dance and swirl on the windows of the car are moody and expressionistic. It’s unavoidable that the film runs the danger of visual monotony, but Knight sidesteps this pitfall with the phone conversations, which transport us from the theater of the car to the theater of the mind as we visualize what’s going on on the other end of the line. It’s a brilliant device. Riding shotgun with an actor as mesmerizing as Hardy is an enthralling moviegoing experience that shouldn’t be missed.

 Locke trailer

In Steven Knight’s experimental chamber piece Locke, we follow construction manager Ivan Locke (Tom Hardy) who, while driving on a highway late at night, has his whole world crumble around him as he desperately tries to keep his calm, cool exterior. Locke’s composure is tested as he juggles ongoing phone conversations with his wife (Ruth Wilson), his co-worker (Andrew Scott), and a woman with whom he’s been inextricably, unwillingly, linked. The entirety of the film takes place in Locke’s car on his night drive from Birmingham to London, with Hardy occupying the screen at virtually all times.

In our sit-down interview, Knight spoke with us about his fascination with cars driving on highways at night, keeping the one-location film visually interesting, Tom Hardy’s accent, why the movie isn’t quite in real time, and more.

Locke opens this Friday, 5/2 in San Francisco. Check back then for our full-length review.

What is it about a car moving through an urban environment at night that you love?
Steven: I’d just finished directing a conventional film. We tested the ALEXA cameras before we started shooting to see how sensitive they were to light at night when filming in London. We drove around with a camera and shot roads and buildings at night. When we sat in the cinema to watch that footage, I found it absolutely fascinating. I thought it was beautiful. One of the first thoughts was that it could be an art installation where you just leave the camera and just see stuff. The lights go by, the cars become spots of light as they go out of focus…Maybe it’s just me.

I thought, maybe you could make that car a theater. The screen then becomes a theater with those images on it. That’s your theater. You then put an actor into that theater and shoot a play as he drives. I write a lot of conventional film scripts in all kinds of different genres. This is a deconstruction of the journey, the character arc, the three acts…all of those things. The car journey is a real journey. The character arc doesn’t change much, but we’re completely looking at his character. I sincerely believe that, no matter what the budget and no matter what special effects, when people look at the screen, they look at the eyes of the actor. That’s where they’re looking. That’s where the answers are; they want to know what’s going on inside that person’s head, no matter what the film is.

I just thought, is it enough if you concentrate it down to that? Everything’s simplified: The journey is a journey. The eyes of the actor are all you’ve got. The future is through the windscreen and the GPS. The past is the rearview mirror. Everything’s simple in the car, and the world around it is chaos: lights and movement. You have a concrete man in the middle trying to bring order to it. Of course, it’s not possible, but he tries.

“It’ll be okay.”
Steven: “Let’s move on to the practical next step.”

The obvious challenge for films shot in a single, enclosed space like Locke is that there are only so many spots you can place your camera, and yet you have to keep the film visually interesting throughout. There’s a great shot where the camera is planted on the side of the car, you can see Tom in the side mirror, and he looks a million miles away.
Steven: It was fun. For everybody concerned, it was sort of a holiday from what they do, including myself. People dread doing car stuff. It’s so difficult and painful, and continuity is so difficult, normally. With this film, the initial thought was that all of the phone conversations have to take place on the same part of the same motorway, for continuity. That’s nonsense. Who cares what the lamp posts look like? You can get rid of continuity and do anything you want. We had three cameras rolling at all times: one that was conventional, one that was a bit less conventional, and one that was having fun. You set up these cameras while it’s still daytime, you get it all ready, and off you go.

The Red camera has a memory card of 30 minutes, so every 27 minutes we’d pull over like a Formula 1 pitstop. Everyone knew what they were going to do: change the memory card, change the lens, change the angle. Everybody leaves Tom alone because he’s in character. Then, you set off.

We got all of the other actors into a conference room in a hotel, opened up a phone line from that conference room. I was on the back of the truck with Tom, and I would cue the actors in sequence to make their calls. We shot the whole film, beginning to end, twice a night. We didn’t always manage to get twice a night–some were lighter–but we ended up with 16 movies.

And you’ve seen them all!
Steven: Yeah. The one we chose has all the best bits. We found that we kept returning to the same nights, the same sequences. It was usually around 2, 3 in the morning when everyone was a bit down. Suddenly, everything worked perfectly. Then, we just cut between the three cameras that were rolling.

Tom has a fascination with accents.
Steven: Yes!

He loves trying them on. Is it a Welsh accent in the film?
Steven: The point was that I wanted him to be from a poor background, a difficult upbringing. Most British working-class accents come with a lot of baggage. They’re quite harsh. With the Welsh accent, it’s very plausible that he’d be from a poor background, but it’s quite lyrical. He listened a lot to Richard Burton reading “Under Milk Wood”, the Dylan Thomas thing, before we’d start shooting. Rather than do accents, he’ll do someone with that accent. He knows someone with a Welsh accent, so he just becomes him for a bit, in terms of the voice. There’s no voice coach saying, “This is what a Welsh accent sounds like.” I think that’s death for any actor. Welsh was perfect.

Some of the best moments in the film are when you feel, “Any second now, he’s going to burst. I can see it in his eyes. Any second now.” But then…he doesn’t. The few times he does erupt are great, but the times when he doesn’t are so much fun.
Steven: If you’re going to have someone on screen the whole time, they’d better be good, and I think Tom’s the best we’ve got. Before writing the script I was meeting him for something else, and I said, “I’ve got this idea for the theater of this moving image. A man’s life unravels, and he’s the most ordinary man in the world.” He was really engaged. You need someone who people want to look at for that long. You also need him to keep the emotion down…keep everything under control. Everybody else can go mad and break down, but he can’t. “You’re the driver. You can’t.”

My favorite scene is when Locke is so frustrated with Donal, and they’re both absolutely furious, screaming at each other. Then, they begin laughing, because it’s the only place for them to go from there!
Steven: They’re good friends Andrew and Tom. We did it various ways, and one night, Andrew just started going, “FUCKIN’ HELL YOU FUCK!” Tom just started laughing and we went with it. It’s brilliant. It’s the only time you see him laugh, in that moment. The world is falling apart, but we’re human, and when something funny happens, you just laugh. Andrew is so good.

The supporting actors in the film deserve a lot of credit. They’re great.
Steven: In the UK, they’re the best character actors we’ve got. Our first choices all said yes, which is amazing. All we were offering them was 9pm to 4am in a conference room with some red wine and some biscuits. That was it, and they all said yes. Olivia Colman, Ruth Wilson and Andrew Scott are the best.

What’s great about those conversations–especially in a movie like this–is that, as a storytelling tool, you can transport us from the theater of the car to the theater of the mind, where we’re visualizing what these other characters are doing even though we can’t see them.
Steven: Absolutely. Absolutely. One of the best comments that I get from people who have seen the film is that they forget they haven’t seen the other characters. They’ve made them up themselves. The way films are made with budgets and special effects is, you sit in a room, they turn the lights off, and there onscreen is someone else’s imagination. It’s complete. You don’t have to do or add anything. It’s all there. With this film, it’s more like you’re telling a kid a story, and they’re staring off into space because they’re seeing it in their mind. People see the house where Locke’s wife is and the kids are watching football on the TV. They see it all themselves. I think it’s really good to have to use your imagination like that.

The movie’s not quite in real time.
Steven: The reality is that the journey he makes from Birmingham to London is about 2 hours. As a personal policy, I don’t want to make people sit in the cinema for 2 hours. I think it’s too long. In other words, I suggest that there are gaps between calls that we edited. We believed we’d need to pull the camera out and see the car objectively, often, to give people relief. When we showed that to people, they really rejected that. They wanted to stay in the car. It was the reverse of what we thought people wanted.

If I understand correctly, Tom didn’t have enough time with the script, so he didn’t memorize all of his lines.
Steven: We met in November and were shooting by February. I wrote it in between. It’s a 90-page script, which would have been impossible to learn. We put teleprompters in the car. I thought that he’d want to go off script and ad lib. I said that that was perfectly fine, but he said that he prefers to go off the page, which is great for me as the writer. The end product is word-for-word the script, with a couple of small exceptions. The great thing for him was, once he had the teleprompter in front of him, he didn’t have to remember the lines, which causes such anxiety in actors. He’s reading from the page, and it also means that he’s liberated to improvise the performance of everything. I think it works really well.

The production sounds like it was a lot of fun.
Steven: It was cold and wet, but because it was short, everybody gave me a burst of enthusiasm and excitement. It didn’t grow stale. It didn’t matter if they got no sleep, because they knew it was going to be over soon, so they gave it everything they had.

This film ostensibly seems like it would be a compact, restricted production, but in reality, it was quite the opposite. It seems it was freeing for you, creatively.
Steven: It was great. We were left alone completely by IM Global, who financed it. They were brilliant. On the back of two paragraphs, they financed it fully. None of us knew if it was going to work or not, and we didn’t know until Venice, the first screening to the public. The lights went up and it was overwhelming. There was no negativity. There was emotion and tears, a standing ovation. We were completely astonished.

You were surprised?
Steven: Sort of. I thought it was good. Then we showed it to people we liked. Middle aged men who were dragged to the screening were like, “Oh god, this is me. This is my life. I’ve done this. This is my dad’s life.” Really personal stuff. But, maybe it was just because they were people we knew. Then, in Venice, it was again a lot of people I suspected didn’t want to come, but saw something of themselves or their life in the film. Sundance was fantastic. Then, we went to Salt Lake City. Middle America. I thought, this is quite a religious place. It’s not going to go well. But it was the best reaction. You know, long handshakes after the screening. It was always some personal thing.

You weren’t expecting personal reactions to the film?
Steven: Not at all. I was really pleased. It’s certainly not an arthouse response we get. It’s not, “The film was experimental and it’s made me wonder about how we make films.” That’s fine, but it was much more, “That’s made me think about my dad a lot,” do you know what I mean? Really personal comments like that. “This is really close to home.” It’s great. It’s exactly what you want.

Tyrannosaur is the first feature film by actor Paddy Considine (Submarine) who switched up his traditional role for writer and director on this film. It is a dark look into a lonely man whose life is filled with drinking and anger that at times can be hard to watch. Tyrannosaur is this year’s feel bad movie of the year (tied maybe with We Need to Talk About Kevin) that does not offer much for hope nor does it shy away from domestic violence and abuse. Domestic abuse is one of the scariest horrors in film, because it is the most realistic kind.

To say that Joseph (Peter Mullan) has anger management issues is a huge understatement. There are random moments where his anger explodes out of control. He will be the first to say that he is not a good human being. In the very first scene we see Joseph getting so upset with his dog he ends up kicking it to death. Shortly after that he shatters a store’s window with a rock without reason.

Joseph spends much of his time around local pubs where it is not uncommon for him to get into fights with other people. He is an Irish widower whose wife died of cancer. But you get the sense that his aggression has been with him his whole life.

One day Joseph stumbles into a charity thrift shop that a young lady named Hannah (Olivia Colman) runs. Hannah is a proud Christian and is quick to offer him a prayer knowing that his man is lost in this world. She is one that forgives easily or so it seems. Joseph is a little perplexed as to Hannah’s kindness to a total stranger.

On the outside Hannah has a happy-go-lucky attitude but there is more to her than meets the eye. That is until you see her eye is bruised one day as she is opening up the shop. When asked about it she lies and said she fell. In the back, she is seen taking swigs of alcohol.

She is more like Joseph than you would believe. However, she is not the one with the anger issues or the abuser but rather the abused. Just like when Joseph came to her when he was at his lowest point Hannah comes to him at hers. Maybe he sees the damage he has done in the past through her but even when you see his kindness shine through, it is not without boundaries.

As you probably have guessed the black eye was not caused by her falling. It came from her husband James (Eddie Marsan) who beat her after seeing her merely talking to Joseph. This is the kind of man who comes home drunk, urinates on her purposely as she pretends to sleep and ignore it. But everyone has a cracking point where enough is enough, Hannah is reaching hers quickly.

Peter Mullan is undeniably exceptional in his performance as Joseph in Tyrannosaur. His unrelenting anger sets the whole bleak tone of the film. When the time called for it, which was not often, he showed his character had some kindness to it. Olivia Colman was just as equally as impressive.

Tyrannosaur is a grim tell-it-how-it-is kind film that is more of a character study than plot based. It is a brutal film that does not reward you with much salvation or uplifting message. Instead, the reward is the amazing performances by the cast members. It is one you have to be in the right mood to see.