(Reviews of The Last Front; and The Problem With People)
THE LAST FRONT.
It's deeply frustrating when film-makers expand a short to feature length and opt against making the original available for viewing in the run-up to the big-screen release. How is anyone going to know how they have approached the material or gauge the decisions they have made in developing plotlines and characters for the longer format? Belgian debutant Julien Hayet-Kerknawi is the latest to go down this route and it's entirely his right to do so. But it would make The Last Front far more intriguing if one could compare it to The Broken Man (2015).
As German troops march through a quiet Belgian village in the late summer of 1914, commander Maximilian von Rauch (Philippe Brenninkmeyer) is unable to prevent his hot-headed lieutenant son, Laurentz (Joe Anderson), from exacting revenge upon the locals when his men are fired upon. The sound of the conflict can be heard by farmer Leonard Lambert (Iain Glen), who had hoped that the Kaiser's army would respect Belgian neutrality and continue its march towards France without incident. But affairs close to hand are of more concern than military matters.
Son Adrien (James Downie) has fallen in love with doctor's daughter, Louise Janssen (Sasha Luss). Sister Johanna (Emma Dupont) is angry because her sibling is leaving her to do all the chores while he moons around Louise. But Leonard also has his doubts about the liaison, as he had also married a town girl and he reminds Adrien of how unhappy Elise (Trine Thielen) had sometimes been on the farm before she died. Tossing his blonde locks, Adrien refuses to listen and Louise is equally headstrong when confronted by father Harold (Koen De Bouw) and mother Brigitte (Caroline Stas) after she flirts with Adrien at church, as they considers themselves socially superior to their rustic neighbours.
Father Michael (David Calder) is amused by Dr Janssen's snobbery and the pride he takes in his motor car. But he is anxious about the fact that the Germans have established a camp outside the village and he insists on showing Leonard the rifles he had hidden in a locked room in the crypt, in case things turn nasty. The farmer protests that he is not a fighting man and his misgivings don't sit well with Irish exile Fergal (Kevin Murphy) at a hastily called parish meeting, as he knows all about having to take up arms for the cause.
The next day, Von Rauch comes to the farm to requisition supplies. He orders Sergeant Schultz (Leander Vyvey) to oversee the operation. But Laurentz takes offence at Adrien's look of defiance when he tries to intimidate Louise. Things quickly get out of hand when Adrien rushes the German and is shot dead. Johanna is also wounded when Leonard pleads for restraint. Furious with his son for refusing to behave like a German gentleman, Von Rauch takes his leave with his provisions. En route to the village, however, he comes across Janssen, who is driving to the Lambert place to fetch Louise home. Laurentz insists on confiscating the vehicle and callously tosses the doctor's spectacles on to the roadside.
Realising that Johanna is alive, Louise persuades Leonard to let her take his daughter to her father's surgery. Along the way, Louise finds the spectacles and worries that something untoward has happened. In the village, Von Rauch asks Janssen to hand over his petrol supply. When he prevaricates, Laurentz brandishes a gun in his face and uses it when Fr Michael tries to intercede. Undaunted by his father's dismay, Laurentz orders Schultz to escort Janssen to his house to confiscate the fuel. However, Brigitte greets them with a rifle and shoots the kindly German, an act of panic that provokes Laurentz into taking pitiless reprisal.
Anxious for news of Johanna, Leonard goes to the village. He finds his daughter patched up at the surgery and extends his condolences to Laura for the loss of her parents. Desperate to get Johanna some help, Leonard decides to make for the French border. Remembering Fr Michael's weapons stash, he leads some of the villagers to the crypt and leaves them in hiding while he and some volunteers go in search of supplies for the journey.
After skirmishes in the street, Leonard, Fergal, and Henri Maes (Sam Rintoul) return to the church. Some of the older residents are reluctant to leave the only home they have known and Leonard understands their sentiments, as he leads the willing through the woods with the aim of following the river to the frontier. Unfortunately, Laurentz finds the fugitives and terrorises one into naming Leonard as the leader of the resistance movement. As Von Rauch has vowed to strip him of his commission when they return to Germany, Laurentz feels he has nothing to lose in pursuing the man who has dared to defy his authority.
Realising that Johanna is too weak to get far on foot and that Louise is carrying his grandchild, Leonard decides to risk a night raid on the German camp to recover his horse and cart. As they are making their escape, Von Rauch is killed and Laurentz becomes more determined than ever to have his revenge.
Waking on a beautiful morning that seems a world away from the trauma in which she finds herself, Louise rallies Camille (Anna Ballantine) and Maria (Emma Moortgat), and is deeply touched when Leonard calls her his daughter. He has a plan to ambush Laurentz and puts Louise in charge of the cart, while the menfolk take their stand. Not everyone makes it, as the Belgians detonate barrels of fuel and create a wall of flame that engulfs the Germans. Reuniting with Johanna and Louise, he sends them on ahead, while he says his farewells to Elise, whose spirit has been beside him throughout his heroic resistance.
Eight years elapsed between script and final cut, but Hayet-Kerknawi needed only 30 days to shoot this well-meaning, if schematic saga that seeks to show another aspect of the Great War away from the trenches on the Western Front. Given the 1914 setting, it's perhaps apt that the narrative has the feel of a D.W. Griffith melodrama, as the father-son relationships on either side of the wartime divide meander towards their inevitable conclusions. Moreover, some of the dialogue concocted by Hayet-Kerknawi and co-scenarist Kate Wood also feels like it's been transcribed from florid intertitles.
Nevertheless, the lengthy opening sequence on the farm effectively establishes the bucolic normality that will be shattered by the invading forces. However, the clichéd cross-class romance between Adrien and Louise is little more than a MacGuffin, as the film's real focus is Leonard's evolution into a resistance hero. Despite the quiet nobility of Iain Glen's performance, this is often undermined by both the sloppiness of the storytelling involving the sketchily delineated villagers and the scenery-chewing histrionics of Joe Anderson, as the caricaturedly villainous Laurentz.
Filming with vintage cameras and lenses, cinematographer Xavier Van D'huynslager capably captures the beauty of the countryside and helps Hayet-Kerknawi present warfare as an aberration against humanity and nature. But he never establishes the geography of the setting or why the villagers feel they would be safer crossing into France rather than making for the nearest Belgian town with a hospital where Johanna could be treated. He also fails to explain why well-trained and mobile German soldiers prove so incapable of catching up with a slow-moving party of refugees.
Obviously, a degree of dramatic latitude has to be allowed, particularly in the case of a first-time feature with laudable thematic and stylistic ambitions. But, while it should be commended for examining the civilian toll taken by an unprecedented conflict, this never quite convinces or compels.
THE PROBLEM WITH PEOPLE.
Having worked mainly in television, notably with Rich Hall, director Chris Cottam follows The Lives of the Saints (2006) and A Christmas Number One (2021) with his third feature, The Problem With People. It marks the second scripting assignment for actor Wally Marzano-Lesnevich, who had previous penned Almost Paris (2016) as a vehicle for himself and director Domenica Cameron-Scorsese, whose father has occasionally dabbled in pictures. This time, however, it's co-scenarist (and co-producer) Paul Reiser who has written a plum role for himself, as he seeks to return to comedy after finding a horror niche as Dr Sam Owens in Stranger Things (2016-).
In a small town in County Wicklow, retired undertaker Fergus Gorman (Des Keogh) reminds son Ciáran (Colm Meaney) of the feud between his grandfather and his brother, which has meant that the Irish and the American sides of the family have never met. As he is on his death bed, Fergus orders Ciáran to track down his cousin, Barry (Paul Reiser), who is seemingly a successful real estate broker in New York.
Having just been divorced and suffered a heart attack, Barry is sceptical when Ciáran calls out of the blue to extend the hand of friendship. However, daughter Natalya (Jane Levy), who is raising her infant son alone after splitting from her girlfriend, urges Barry to fly to Ireland and convalesce, while she takes care of business. Fergus is happier about the impending visit than Ciáran. But, with TV news bulletins being filled with reports from warzones, he is prepared to do his bit to heal a wound and restore a little harmony to the world.
Picking up Barry from the station, Ciáran tries to make conversation in the car. But it's soon clear that they have markedly different approaches to life and humour. Billeting his cousin at the town hotel, where owner June (Sheila Flitton) warns her guest that the Gormans are a sneaky lot, Ciáran reports back to Fergus, who insists that he stays on his best behaviour.
That night, Fergus and his pal Seamus (Niall Buggy) make their way to the pub run by Fiona (Lucianne McEvoy), so he can welcome Barry in person. Ciáran complains to assistant Pádraig (Parick Martins) about the fuss that everyone's making, as Barry is quizzed about accents by likely lads Deacon (Rory Corcoran) and Malachy (Sean Burke), fed black pudding by Mrs Brophy (Norma Sheehan), and pressed about law and order in the Big Apple by Garda sergeant Lizzie McGrath (Eimear Morrissey) and her deputy (Liam Tims).
Encouraged by the locals, Fergus relates the story of the estrangement and sepia-toned pseudo-rotoscoped animation shows how the brothers had travelled for many miles to board a boat to the Land of Plenty, only for one to stay behind after falling in love at first sight and for the other never to forgive him. Touched by the tale, Barry and Ciáran hug before drinks flow and everyone dances to the pub band.
The next day, Ciáran takes Barry to watch a game of Gaellic football and shows him the view of the lake from the family property. As they're now pals, he reveals that his ancestor had acquired all but the last few yards of the land, as he reasoned that no one else would buy it and he could enjoy the lake for free. Barry compliments them on coming from such sagacious stock, but their bonhomie deflates when they find Fergus dead in his bed and Ciáran discovers a letter under the pillow in which his father declares his intention to change his will and give Barry an equal share of his inheritance in order to right a wrong.
Angered by Barry's blubbing at the graveside, Ciáran snubs him at the wake, as he shows Fergus's letter to Pádraig and Fiona. They insist he honours his father's wishes and tick him off when he tries to fob off Barry with Fergus's pipe as a memento. Bumping into Barry in town, Fiona tells him the truth and he is so furious with Ciáran for trying to cheat him that he gets Natalya to purchase the strip of land abutting the lake and hires Deacon and Malachy to build a wall high enough to block Ciáran's view.
Steaming, Ciáran reports the incursion to Sergeant McGrath. But she's powerless to stop Barry from bringing in the trucks. However, he has a change of heart when Ciáran appeals to his better nature and agrees that they can do better than tit-for-tatmanship. Unfortunately, Ciáran gets it into his head that Barry is making a play for Fiona, who is accused of being Ciáran's co-conspirator when Barry discovers that she's his ex-wife. With the gloves off again, Barry lets some sheep loose in the funeral parlour and, when Sgt McGrath arrests him for rustling, Ciáran posts online a photo of his cousin in handcuffs that goes viral and results in him losing a major building project back home.
Storming on to the Gaelic football pitch next day, Barry throws a ball into Ciáran's face and immediately has a heart seizure. Unsurprisingly, he finds himself having to share a hospital room when Ciáran is admitted for concussion and they wind up arguing about the width other electric curtains separating Barry from a view of the window. As they concede that they have allowed things to get out of hand, Natalya flies in to see her father and promptly falls head over heels with Fiona.
A few months later, they marry beside the lake, with Sgt McGrath conducting the ceremony. Ciáran and Barry ponder the unpredictability of life, as Natalya's son biffs Fiona's nephew in the sandpit before the film ends with Barry occupying the Gorman place while Ciáran gets used to his high-rise apartment with a view of the New York skyline.
Joining the growing ranks of cine-shamrockery, this genial comedy passes the time pleasantly enough while raising the odd smile. There's no great chemistry between Paul Reiser and Colm Meaney, but that's rather the point. But, with so many secondary characters being stock Oirish eccentrics, the lack of ready audience identification with either of the cursing cousins occasionally leaves the well-meaning, but rarely subtle action marking time before the writers start resorting to increasingly convoluted set-pieces to keep the conflict simmering.
Without summoning much charm, Cottam directs steadily enough, while cinematographers Richard Kendrick and David Odd wisely avoid too many chocolate box images of the verdant scenery around Blessington. Steven Argila's score is less restrained it its use of Irish twinkles and twiddles, but the temptation must be too great to resist, especially when there would inevitably be a carping critic somewhere if Argila had not gone down the céili route.
Despite the reference to Bill Forsyth's Local Hero (1983), the more obvious filmic influence is John Ford's The Quiet Man (1952), the Best Picture-winning culture clash comedy in which about an American on the Emerald Isle. It's a shame there's nothing to match the donnybrook that erupts between John Wayne and Victor McLaglen, but Reiser and Meaney are a little old to be indulging in long-distance fisticuffs.
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