Review: Frank

If there's one thing that this year in film seems to be trying to teach us, it's that being a musician REALLY sucks. From the monotonous loop of Inside Llewyn Davis to the stories of the astonishingly talented but marginalised back-up singers of 20 Feet From Stardom, one of the most glamorous and bright professions has never looked so dark. And Frank, the fourth film from Irish director Lenny Abrahamson, does a lot to reinforce this idea.

It's a film of two halves really - the first is full of laughs, a whimsical soundtrack and Michael Fassbender capering in the Irish countryside with a paper mache head on that seemingly represents the ideas we perceive of the fun it must be to be a musician, The second half, which finds the film's location shifted to America as the band await their first "big" gig at SXSW is a jarring change in tone, revealing the true darkness of mental illness, the music business and social media. We're led through both halves of the film by Domhall Gleeson's Jon, a budding musician from an unnamed suburban town who works in an office and attempts to compose (really, really awful) songs on his keyboard. After the band's keyboardist attempts to drown himself in Jon's sleepy seaside town, he finds himself being swept up into the madness of the band, simultaneously idolising and being confused by Frank.

It's a shame really that we're forced to spend so much of the film with Gleeson, because he really is one of its biggest downfalls. His simultaneously overly mannered and expressionless acting pushes the audience (or at least this audience member) away from him, when he's supposed to be a character that we really sympathise with. Because of this, every single bad thing that happened to Jon throughout the course of the film elicited a grin from me - not, as far as I know, the reaction that Abrahamson was hoping for. Luckily, the film is saved by an array of good performances from its other actors, especially Michael Fassbender's titular Frank. True, it's rare for Fassbender to give a less than excellent performance and many's been the time that his performances have saved a film from being utterly dire - Prometheus immediately springs to mind - but here he is really set free. Due to him wearing a large paper mache head, it's a highly physical performance, and it's an utter delight to see a normal straight laced and sinister character actor leaping around. Scoot McNairy is also excellent as the band's manager and ex-keyboard player who, just like Frank has a dark yet oddly comical quirk, and although her character's rather one note, Maggie Gyllenhaal really puts her all in.

To quote the film itself - how to describe Frank? It's rather hard, owing to the film's fragmented nature. Just as you settle into the tone of the film, it abruptly changes, and while I found myself enjoying both halves of it, the latter, and especially the film's final musical number, is what I found lingering in my mind. Frank tries to comment on a lot of issues, some more successfully than others, but Abrahamson has certainly made a valiant effort to say a lot in a short amount of time. But despite all of its faults, the film is really about two things - the music and Fassbender. If you're looking to see thought-provoking comments about social issues, then this may not be for you. But if all you really want is to see everyone's favourite Irish/German actor playing guitar in a variety of cardigans and a giant head, then you've found your perfect film.

3/5

Grace Barber-Plentie