Alive

1972: a plane crashes in the Andes. Despite sub-zero temperatures and scarce supplies, the survivors hold out for a rescue party. On the eighth day, they hear a radio report: they've been given up for dead. Little by little, the unthinkable becomes unavoidable. If they are to survive, they must cannibalise the corpses frozen in ice. In adapting Piers Paul Read's account of the Andes air disaster, Marshall and screenwriter John Patrick Shanley address any moral squeamishness head-on: in this do-or-die situation, they insist, the greater sin would be to die. It's not quite fair to say that this is the first tasteful cannibalism picture (the crash itself is a tour de force, and the camera never shies away from the meat of the matter), but this spiritual disaster movie does sometimes feel like a papal injunction. Within 30 seconds we're in the presence of God - or at least bearded John Malkovich is musing to that effect. Rosaries, prayers and carols are never far away after that, and over the end credits Aaron Neville lets fly with Ave Maria. Skilfully crafted and doggedly performed, the film pushes too hard and too far; it strives for the inspirational but falls well short of inspired.