Blood From The Mummy's Tomb (Seth Holt)
Certainly not Hammer's finest hour but neither is it the least. But with its utterly nonsensical plot and lack of any actual creepy bandaged mummies its surely a candidate for one of the most tedious. Add to this the cheap sets, flat cinematics and a distinctly rushed feeling, all shows up its second feature status most obviously (maybe it played second fiddle to a bandaged Christopher Lee??)
But to be fair, it's still occasionally camp fun - even the worst of Hammer will have that going for it! Namely, Valerie Leon (in an unnecessary wig) flouncing about in a series of revealing black or pink nighties, pouting excessively and rolling her heavily mascaraed eyes, killing off the rest of the (wasted) cast - seemingly armed with nothing more than a few Egyptian artifacts and her very ample, and admittedly quite impressive, cleavage.
Her nervous co-stars are a mixed bag of (mostly quality) character actors (supplementing their theatre work no doubt) wasted in thankless rolls: James Burden sweating to death - probably from wearing a worse wig than Leon's; Poor George Coulouris doing what is required - hamming maniacally and hysterically to death; Rosalie Crutchley being typically granite-faced to the end (maybe this was the look she gave to her agent?); And (poor man's Peter Cushing) Andrew Keir being... well, boring, bearded and bed-ridden. Only marvelous James Villiers comes out with any shred of dignity. But that's maybe more to do with his playing it suave and aloof.
Incidentally the ironic ending is, surprisingly, rather good and very nearly made the effort to get there bearable. Someone, with their tongue still wedged firmly in their cheek, is definitely teasing us for the disappointing sparsity of anything as thrilling as actual creepy bandaged mummies!
originally posted on Flixter April 12th 2010
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Making it all worth while
The Tree of Life (Terrence Malick)
I have often wondered over the years if Malick is the laziest [genius?] film-maker on the planet. I have had a notion that he may not be worth my patience - this is only his fifth film in 38 years. I had an idea that The Thin Red Line, as great as it is, was not quite worth waiting 20 years for (I still think so). I have even had a thought that, as great as Days of Heaven and 'The Thin Red Line' are, that they don't quite come up to scratch when compared to Badlands (surely his debut is the one film of his that has influenced many of the very best film-makers working today). So I was a little off the radar when The New World was released (and I've still to rectify this criminal oversight). Now we have his fifth film. Seeing the trailer for 'The Tree of Life' reminded me a little of what was great about 'Badlands'. To say I was a little apprehensive would have been an understatement.
There was no need. It far exceeded my expectations.
Most film-makers know what donkeys we have become and they play the pre-publicity game to death - except the carrot is never quite in reach (doesn't anyone ever tire of the disappointment??) and is forever snatched away for the next big tease. Malick, in the meantime, has been cooking up an absolute feast to reward our patience and I for one thoroughly enjoyed the banquet (are we really gonna get dessert next year already?).
Part tone-poem, part contemplation on life, the universe and everything (yes, the reference is intentional) and part abstract meditation on [mostly] memories of childhood, rather than straight-forward piece of cinema - not only does it lack a narrative flow but much of the dialogue, whether spoken by the characters in context or narrated in voice-over, never actually carries a story as such. Dialogue is minimal and never more than incidental; scenes are random, fractured and often ambiguous in intent and the characters' voice-overs are more introspection [and prayer] rather than real thought processes. Much of the time we only have music and visuals (it really is almost a crime to even blink at such marvellous music and imagery), which all serves to add to the overall abstract feel. I will concede that the music [and sometimes even the imagery] is occasionally a little intrusive - loud, orchestral and choral sometimes felt too random and was not always appropriate. Any message or meaning is constantly in danger of being lost as we marvel at the glorious soundtrack.
If you like Terence Davies' early films you will certainly approve. Despite Malick's unique qualities, Davies is the most obvious comparison here and deserves a mention. Though the themes of the fall of the Garden of Eden (the telegram at the start of the film is a constant reminder that this perfect childhood of the 50s will give way to the harsh brutalities of the 60s), spirituality and a cruel [to be kind] mother nature (here most notably represented by the mother and father respectively) are all recognisably Malick. But the loose non-linear narrative, the use of carefully placed evocative music and sounds, also put me in mind of The Long Day Closes and Distant Voices, Still Lives.
I fear some will dismiss much of 'The Tree of Life' as pretentious and a bit of a head-scratcher. Maybe even a tad bored? (except for the closing moments, I wasn't for a single moment). And some may take umbrage at what could be perceived as two and a half hours of religious rumination (I'm agnostic so I get to take from it what I like!).
But what makes great cinema is somewhat twofold. It's partly about how much we take from it as an individual; how we interpret cinema's rich tapestry of imagery, music, themes and subtexts should be as much a personal thing for us as it is for the film-maker. Also the best kind of cinema stays with us not just because it throws up all the big questions but when we aren't given all the answers - better to have to find [and interpret] some ourselves. 'The Tree of Life' perfectly encapsulates all this like no other film I can think of.
In the closing moments things begin to unravel and the film begins to lose its way somewhat. I could have done without Penn, as the middle-aged Jack, on an immense beach and surrounded by what? Ghosts? Memories? Somnambulant extras?? Things teeter into mawkish navel-gazing. It was as if no-one knew how to end things (apart from the end of the everything of course). But, up until this final misstep, 'The Tree of Life' really is a magnificent piece of cinema and a true work of art.
By the way, you HAVE to see it on the big screen. I demand you do before it gets dwarfed onto a small screen.
originally posted on Flixter July 16th 2011
I have often wondered over the years if Malick is the laziest [genius?] film-maker on the planet. I have had a notion that he may not be worth my patience - this is only his fifth film in 38 years. I had an idea that The Thin Red Line, as great as it is, was not quite worth waiting 20 years for (I still think so). I have even had a thought that, as great as Days of Heaven and 'The Thin Red Line' are, that they don't quite come up to scratch when compared to Badlands (surely his debut is the one film of his that has influenced many of the very best film-makers working today). So I was a little off the radar when The New World was released (and I've still to rectify this criminal oversight). Now we have his fifth film. Seeing the trailer for 'The Tree of Life' reminded me a little of what was great about 'Badlands'. To say I was a little apprehensive would have been an understatement.
There was no need. It far exceeded my expectations.
Most film-makers know what donkeys we have become and they play the pre-publicity game to death - except the carrot is never quite in reach (doesn't anyone ever tire of the disappointment??) and is forever snatched away for the next big tease. Malick, in the meantime, has been cooking up an absolute feast to reward our patience and I for one thoroughly enjoyed the banquet (are we really gonna get dessert next year already?).
Part tone-poem, part contemplation on life, the universe and everything (yes, the reference is intentional) and part abstract meditation on [mostly] memories of childhood, rather than straight-forward piece of cinema - not only does it lack a narrative flow but much of the dialogue, whether spoken by the characters in context or narrated in voice-over, never actually carries a story as such. Dialogue is minimal and never more than incidental; scenes are random, fractured and often ambiguous in intent and the characters' voice-overs are more introspection [and prayer] rather than real thought processes. Much of the time we only have music and visuals (it really is almost a crime to even blink at such marvellous music and imagery), which all serves to add to the overall abstract feel. I will concede that the music [and sometimes even the imagery] is occasionally a little intrusive - loud, orchestral and choral sometimes felt too random and was not always appropriate. Any message or meaning is constantly in danger of being lost as we marvel at the glorious soundtrack.
If you like Terence Davies' early films you will certainly approve. Despite Malick's unique qualities, Davies is the most obvious comparison here and deserves a mention. Though the themes of the fall of the Garden of Eden (the telegram at the start of the film is a constant reminder that this perfect childhood of the 50s will give way to the harsh brutalities of the 60s), spirituality and a cruel [to be kind] mother nature (here most notably represented by the mother and father respectively) are all recognisably Malick. But the loose non-linear narrative, the use of carefully placed evocative music and sounds, also put me in mind of The Long Day Closes and Distant Voices, Still Lives.
I fear some will dismiss much of 'The Tree of Life' as pretentious and a bit of a head-scratcher. Maybe even a tad bored? (except for the closing moments, I wasn't for a single moment). And some may take umbrage at what could be perceived as two and a half hours of religious rumination (I'm agnostic so I get to take from it what I like!).
But what makes great cinema is somewhat twofold. It's partly about how much we take from it as an individual; how we interpret cinema's rich tapestry of imagery, music, themes and subtexts should be as much a personal thing for us as it is for the film-maker. Also the best kind of cinema stays with us not just because it throws up all the big questions but when we aren't given all the answers - better to have to find [and interpret] some ourselves. 'The Tree of Life' perfectly encapsulates all this like no other film I can think of.
In the closing moments things begin to unravel and the film begins to lose its way somewhat. I could have done without Penn, as the middle-aged Jack, on an immense beach and surrounded by what? Ghosts? Memories? Somnambulant extras?? Things teeter into mawkish navel-gazing. It was as if no-one knew how to end things (apart from the end of the everything of course). But, up until this final misstep, 'The Tree of Life' really is a magnificent piece of cinema and a true work of art.
By the way, you HAVE to see it on the big screen. I demand you do before it gets dwarfed onto a small screen.
originally posted on Flixter July 16th 2011
Duffle coat introspection
Submarine (Richard Ayoade)
In Richard Ayoade's assured debut feature he seems to be asserting his cinephile credentials by wearing his influences proudly on his sleeve. 'Submarine' most obviously evokes the Nouvelle Vague - especially Truffaut and Goddard - but there's a few surprising nods to 'Harold and Maude' and 'Don't Look Now'. But what lifts it all from slavish homage is the sheer joy and fun of it all. And the precocious leads are really great. Most especially Craig Roberts as Oliver - his dead-pan presence is like a warmer (less creepy?) Bud Cort as Harold (from 'Harold & Maude') - the duffle coat and lank mop are surely there to reinforce this. He hardly ever expresses more than a laboured grin and his downbeat monotone narration stops things getting too mushy (despite my irritation of most voice-overs). But his puppy-dog eyes encourages us to warm to him a little more than he sometimes deserves (he's not really grumpy, just a repressed intellectual) so that we forgive his pompous allusions & affectations and the rotten way he treats Jordana - as played by Yasmin Paige. She's good too - Jordana has a defiance of all things sentimental which is a perfect foil for Oliver's pretensions.
Unfortunately the grown-ups are given short shrift. Sally Hawkins manages to shine through with genuine warmth as Oliver's mother. But Noah Taylor's miserable 'dad-in-a-dressing-gown' and Paddy Considine's caricature of the 'other man' are somewhat one-dimensional and decidedly irritating. This is probably the intention - teenage coming of age tales usually have little time for the grown-ups and distance is often required when emphasising the isolation. But such scant regard for characterisation made it hard to empathise and so had me scratching my head wondering, not only why the parents would stay together but why this woman would even consider the phoney smarm of the alternative. It's only a minor quibble though. It's still a thoroughly entertaining little flic, with enough cinematic allusions and tricks to keep me interested in what Richard Ayoade may come up with next.
originally posted on Flixter May 25th 2011
In Richard Ayoade's assured debut feature he seems to be asserting his cinephile credentials by wearing his influences proudly on his sleeve. 'Submarine' most obviously evokes the Nouvelle Vague - especially Truffaut and Goddard - but there's a few surprising nods to 'Harold and Maude' and 'Don't Look Now'. But what lifts it all from slavish homage is the sheer joy and fun of it all. And the precocious leads are really great. Most especially Craig Roberts as Oliver - his dead-pan presence is like a warmer (less creepy?) Bud Cort as Harold (from 'Harold & Maude') - the duffle coat and lank mop are surely there to reinforce this. He hardly ever expresses more than a laboured grin and his downbeat monotone narration stops things getting too mushy (despite my irritation of most voice-overs). But his puppy-dog eyes encourages us to warm to him a little more than he sometimes deserves (he's not really grumpy, just a repressed intellectual) so that we forgive his pompous allusions & affectations and the rotten way he treats Jordana - as played by Yasmin Paige. She's good too - Jordana has a defiance of all things sentimental which is a perfect foil for Oliver's pretensions.
Unfortunately the grown-ups are given short shrift. Sally Hawkins manages to shine through with genuine warmth as Oliver's mother. But Noah Taylor's miserable 'dad-in-a-dressing-gown' and Paddy Considine's caricature of the 'other man' are somewhat one-dimensional and decidedly irritating. This is probably the intention - teenage coming of age tales usually have little time for the grown-ups and distance is often required when emphasising the isolation. But such scant regard for characterisation made it hard to empathise and so had me scratching my head wondering, not only why the parents would stay together but why this woman would even consider the phoney smarm of the alternative. It's only a minor quibble though. It's still a thoroughly entertaining little flic, with enough cinematic allusions and tricks to keep me interested in what Richard Ayoade may come up with next.
originally posted on Flixter May 25th 2011
Could even I be anticipating the The Avengers... not quite
Thor (Kenneth Branagh)
More comic-strip than comic-book - in other words fun, more than a bit camp and always unpretentious (which doesn't mean this is anything more than slightly akin to Joel Schumacher or Mike Hodges - though I'm sure the humourless won't agree with me).
The love interest is completely disposable and is far less important than the Shakespearean (ahem)/Greek tragedy (don't scoff)/soap-opera at the heart of 'Thor' - two brothers, only they're not (far be it from me to inject the queer reading here), one misunderstood, one 'different' (still not saying it's queer) slug it out for the approval of their father - and the throne. Or not.
Having the story (kind of) split in two, not only makes things feel a little like having two films for the price of one (epic fantasy and Superman type comic-strip) but also makes for a real lip-smacking sense of self-deprecation and is the film's biggest delight - the histrionic fantasy of the Gods clashing with Earth-bound mundanity is genuinely funny and also helps to create a warmth that is usually lacking in much of the more po-faced comic-book flics (usually about Knights who are a bit uptight or, more more apropriately, 'dark'). It's an 'in-joke' that never feels smug and knowing.
The visuals and the costumes are the right side of kitsch and are quite stunning - got to love the under-light bridge & 'disco-ball' gateway, complete with a gold larme'd bouncer (Idris Elba).
The story of the Gods is a bit simplistic but the villains are villainous and the characters are never less than likable (excepting that I'm ignoring the potential for queerness and prefer that Thor had taken a shine to spunky Darcy rather than winsome Jane).
What can I say? It's a lot of fun and It made me feel 12 again.
...those wetting themselves over the anticipation of 'The Avengers' flic don't need me to remind them to wait for the post-credits tease either. But if this is indicative of what's to come then I may be riding the wave myself (who am I kidding??)
originally posted on Flixter May 22nd 2011
More comic-strip than comic-book - in other words fun, more than a bit camp and always unpretentious (which doesn't mean this is anything more than slightly akin to Joel Schumacher or Mike Hodges - though I'm sure the humourless won't agree with me).
The love interest is completely disposable and is far less important than the Shakespearean (ahem)/Greek tragedy (don't scoff)/soap-opera at the heart of 'Thor' - two brothers, only they're not (far be it from me to inject the queer reading here), one misunderstood, one 'different' (still not saying it's queer) slug it out for the approval of their father - and the throne. Or not.
Having the story (kind of) split in two, not only makes things feel a little like having two films for the price of one (epic fantasy and Superman type comic-strip) but also makes for a real lip-smacking sense of self-deprecation and is the film's biggest delight - the histrionic fantasy of the Gods clashing with Earth-bound mundanity is genuinely funny and also helps to create a warmth that is usually lacking in much of the more po-faced comic-book flics (usually about Knights who are a bit uptight or, more more apropriately, 'dark'). It's an 'in-joke' that never feels smug and knowing.
The visuals and the costumes are the right side of kitsch and are quite stunning - got to love the under-light bridge & 'disco-ball' gateway, complete with a gold larme'd bouncer (Idris Elba). The story of the Gods is a bit simplistic but the villains are villainous and the characters are never less than likable (excepting that I'm ignoring the potential for queerness and prefer that Thor had taken a shine to spunky Darcy rather than winsome Jane).
What can I say? It's a lot of fun and It made me feel 12 again.
...those wetting themselves over the anticipation of 'The Avengers' flic don't need me to remind them to wait for the post-credits tease either. But if this is indicative of what's to come then I may be riding the wave myself (who am I kidding??)
originally posted on Flixter May 22nd 2011
Letting the Nazis in through the back door - definitely no pun intended
The 49th Parallel (Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger)
I have a real soft spot for The 49th Parallel. It's certainly not held up by many as the best of Powell and Pressburger but it's one of those films I find myself drawn to again and again - P&P's warm and involving characterisation, the landscapes of Canada, Vaughn Williams' evocative score (given its due reverence as an 'honorary' character in the title sequence) are all scrumptious trimmings to a thoroughly exciting story.
Along with Hitchcock's WWII propaganda films Lifeboat and Foreign Correspondent and Cavalcanti's Went the Day Well?, it is the very best of its type - a call to arms that also happens to be cracking good cinema.
The cast list reads like a roll-call of all the great (mostly) British character actors of the day and, excepting the misfire of Olivier's phony accent, no-one puts a foot wrong. And how marvelous that Powell & Pressburger made such a successful piece of anti-Nazi propaganda and still managed to sneak in not just one of their trademark 'good' Germans but two - Anton Walbrook as Peter, the 'leader' of the (German!) Hutterite commune [his blistering speech is deeply moving and is certainly the heart of the film's message] and Niall McGinnis as Vogal, the German soldier who finds his conscience just a little too late - his demise being the quiet tragedy of a man who wanted a return to a simple life baking bread, instead of being an unthinking killer!
I have a real soft spot for The 49th Parallel. It's certainly not held up by many as the best of Powell and Pressburger but it's one of those films I find myself drawn to again and again - P&P's warm and involving characterisation, the landscapes of Canada, Vaughn Williams' evocative score (given its due reverence as an 'honorary' character in the title sequence) are all scrumptious trimmings to a thoroughly exciting story.
Along with Hitchcock's WWII propaganda films Lifeboat and Foreign Correspondent and Cavalcanti's Went the Day Well?, it is the very best of its type - a call to arms that also happens to be cracking good cinema.
The cast list reads like a roll-call of all the great (mostly) British character actors of the day and, excepting the misfire of Olivier's phony accent, no-one puts a foot wrong. And how marvelous that Powell & Pressburger made such a successful piece of anti-Nazi propaganda and still managed to sneak in not just one of their trademark 'good' Germans but two - Anton Walbrook as Peter, the 'leader' of the (German!) Hutterite commune [his blistering speech is deeply moving and is certainly the heart of the film's message] and Niall McGinnis as Vogal, the German soldier who finds his conscience just a little too late - his demise being the quiet tragedy of a man who wanted a return to a simple life baking bread, instead of being an unthinking killer!
I've a feeling we're not in Holland Park anymore
Vinyan (Fabrice Du Welz)
Think Don't Look Now crossed with Lord of the Flies but with characters drawn with such extreme bourgeois naivety that it's impossible to elicit the slightest sympathy for (precursors to the punchable leads of von Trier's Antichrist for sure). The longueurs would be fine and cinematic if we liked or empathised with these people - I would have been quite thrilled by the slightly abstract, lingering close-ups of Sewell and Béart if the overwhelming urge wasn't to slap some sense into them.
However it's still a very intriguing tease that gets so under the skin that it's hard to shake off too thoroughly without shuddering. Seared with some genuinely sinister and gothic sequences - horrid dream sequences that blur the line between what's real and imagined/dreaded, a vile dirty jungle so reeking of death and decay that you wonder why anyone would think anything living could be found there - it's not till it's over that, apart from humans, you realise we haven't seen a single living beast or insect (though we always here them). It's nothing less than a descent into Hell of course.
And the totally over the top, completely bonkers finale suddenly makes things worth the effort. Horrific, beautiful, disgusting and disturbing all at once. I would have laughed my tits off at it's final shots if I wasn't more than a little terrified.
originally posted on Flixter September 26th 2010
Think Don't Look Now crossed with Lord of the Flies but with characters drawn with such extreme bourgeois naivety that it's impossible to elicit the slightest sympathy for (precursors to the punchable leads of von Trier's Antichrist for sure). The longueurs would be fine and cinematic if we liked or empathised with these people - I would have been quite thrilled by the slightly abstract, lingering close-ups of Sewell and Béart if the overwhelming urge wasn't to slap some sense into them.
However it's still a very intriguing tease that gets so under the skin that it's hard to shake off too thoroughly without shuddering. Seared with some genuinely sinister and gothic sequences - horrid dream sequences that blur the line between what's real and imagined/dreaded, a vile dirty jungle so reeking of death and decay that you wonder why anyone would think anything living could be found there - it's not till it's over that, apart from humans, you realise we haven't seen a single living beast or insect (though we always here them). It's nothing less than a descent into Hell of course.
And the totally over the top, completely bonkers finale suddenly makes things worth the effort. Horrific, beautiful, disgusting and disturbing all at once. I would have laughed my tits off at it's final shots if I wasn't more than a little terrified.
originally posted on Flixter September 26th 2010
The most misleading title in cinema?
Monsters (Gareth Edwards)
A genuinely moving story about two lonely people trying desperately to get home against seemingly impossible odds - the occasional giant squid-like alien being the biggest hurdle of course. Along the way they (very) gradually fall in love so that by the end of their journey they realise - too late - they don't want to go home anymore.
As a travelogue/road movie it's quite stunning - in spite of and because of it's premise, the jungles and sunsets of Mexico punctuated by the odd ancient pyramid as well as the huge man-made walls and fences (to keep the alien threat at bay) are breathtaking. And the two leads are very effective too - with minimal dialogue, we are given so much more with looks and quiet moments where the simple gesture of a hand on a shoulder tells us all we need to know. The film's finale is somewhat quietly devastating and its irony puts it on a par with the great cinematic love stories.
As it happens, the title is a bit of a red herring and many expecting the obvious will be sorely disappointed. However, I was pleasantly surprised
originally posted on Flixter December 5th 2010
A genuinely moving story about two lonely people trying desperately to get home against seemingly impossible odds - the occasional giant squid-like alien being the biggest hurdle of course. Along the way they (very) gradually fall in love so that by the end of their journey they realise - too late - they don't want to go home anymore.
As a travelogue/road movie it's quite stunning - in spite of and because of it's premise, the jungles and sunsets of Mexico punctuated by the odd ancient pyramid as well as the huge man-made walls and fences (to keep the alien threat at bay) are breathtaking. And the two leads are very effective too - with minimal dialogue, we are given so much more with looks and quiet moments where the simple gesture of a hand on a shoulder tells us all we need to know. The film's finale is somewhat quietly devastating and its irony puts it on a par with the great cinematic love stories.
As it happens, the title is a bit of a red herring and many expecting the obvious will be sorely disappointed. However, I was pleasantly surprised
originally posted on Flixter December 5th 2010
A Lazy Update
Once again my rambling is much overdue - has it really been 10 months?? Shocking I know. I would like to say that I have been leading some hectic social life and been quite preoccupied. I would be lying of course. I'm just lazy.
So today I will be just as lazy and simply upload some of my cine-thoughts of the past 10 months that have appeared elsewhere
So today I will be just as lazy and simply upload some of my cine-thoughts of the past 10 months that have appeared elsewhere
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Not a bio-pic... non, c'est un musical!
Gainsbourg (Joann Sfar)
In bio-pic terms, 'Gainsbourg' is maybe somewhat of a missed opportunity - despite its bio-friendly length, not much about the man is delved into too deeply, as incidents and character are skimmed over rather scantily and haphazardly. This is a shame, seeing as I for one don't know very much about him aside from his public persona - his songs, especially those with his loves Birkin and Bardot, that he drank a lot and that he always had a cigarette wedged in his mouth.
However, I don't think a typical dry bio was the intention here and if, like me, you are grinning from ear to ear at the vaguely retro cartooning of the title sequence then you may just appreciate the many incidental pleasures that make up the first 75 minutes or so of what follows. Director, Joann Sfar has imagination and flair for sure (his daring use of animation and puppetry helps to stop things feeling dry) and he has certainly paid homage to the man and, if nothing else, this will certainly rejuvenate interest in the music.
Eric Elmosino is terrific in the title role and just like Marion Cotillard before him, in that other flawed bio of an Icône française, he manages to transcend simple convincing impersonation to become the man totally (and there is NO lip-syncing the songs here either, as the cast use their own voices).
Special mentions: A suitably lusty and far too brief turn by Yolande Moreau as Fréhel. The cafe scene where the young Gainsbourg meets her is a joy. As is Sara Forestier - very funny as the cheeky France Gall.
I have to admit that Laetitia Casta's big glam entrance as Bardot left me a little breathless and is one of the film's most indulgent highlights - all thigh-high boots, leopard print, lush blonde tresses and mascara as the distinctive instrumental of 'The Initials BB' trumpets away on the soundtrack. It just couldn't be anyone else.
And the songs! In fact 'Gainsbourg' feels closer to being a musical bio-pic. Or, to be more precise, it's a musical homage - as the songs, staged with originality, poignancy and sheer fun, are always never less than reverential to the artistry of the man (including acknowledging that he was an accomplished painter) if not always telling us something about his character or propelling the story. Look out for what they do with 'Comic Strip' (I just wanted to jump up and cry "more, more!"), not to mention the scene when when we finally hear THAT song - it's a little surreal and quite hysterical. Much like the film actually.
In bio-pic terms, 'Gainsbourg' is maybe somewhat of a missed opportunity - despite its bio-friendly length, not much about the man is delved into too deeply, as incidents and character are skimmed over rather scantily and haphazardly. This is a shame, seeing as I for one don't know very much about him aside from his public persona - his songs, especially those with his loves Birkin and Bardot, that he drank a lot and that he always had a cigarette wedged in his mouth.
However, I don't think a typical dry bio was the intention here and if, like me, you are grinning from ear to ear at the vaguely retro cartooning of the title sequence then you may just appreciate the many incidental pleasures that make up the first 75 minutes or so of what follows. Director, Joann Sfar has imagination and flair for sure (his daring use of animation and puppetry helps to stop things feeling dry) and he has certainly paid homage to the man and, if nothing else, this will certainly rejuvenate interest in the music.
Eric Elmosino is terrific in the title role and just like Marion Cotillard before him, in that other flawed bio of an Icône française, he manages to transcend simple convincing impersonation to become the man totally (and there is NO lip-syncing the songs here either, as the cast use their own voices).
Special mentions: A suitably lusty and far too brief turn by Yolande Moreau as Fréhel. The cafe scene where the young Gainsbourg meets her is a joy. As is Sara Forestier - very funny as the cheeky France Gall.
I have to admit that Laetitia Casta's big glam entrance as Bardot left me a little breathless and is one of the film's most indulgent highlights - all thigh-high boots, leopard print, lush blonde tresses and mascara as the distinctive instrumental of 'The Initials BB' trumpets away on the soundtrack. It just couldn't be anyone else.
And the songs! In fact 'Gainsbourg' feels closer to being a musical bio-pic. Or, to be more precise, it's a musical homage - as the songs, staged with originality, poignancy and sheer fun, are always never less than reverential to the artistry of the man (including acknowledging that he was an accomplished painter) if not always telling us something about his character or propelling the story. Look out for what they do with 'Comic Strip' (I just wanted to jump up and cry "more, more!"), not to mention the scene when when we finally hear THAT song - it's a little surreal and quite hysterical. Much like the film actually.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Oh, don't be such a sissy!
The Haunted House of Horror (Michael Armstrong)
What sounded like camp, spooky fun actually does start well - looking rather pretty in it's very dated 60s way: lots of boutiques, big hair'd skinny girls and even girlier (but not always) pretty boys. Granted, the acting is a bit laboured but we shouldn't expect too much from a 'Tigon' production - apart from giving us such classic (and somewhat undervalued) chillers as Witchfinder General and Blood on Satan's Claw, it's really not too unkind to say 'Tigon' was a poor cousin to 'Hammer' and 'Amicus'.
But all hope of some fun or chills is lost when you realise no-one bothered to make any effort at all. Zero screenplay/plot/direction/logic! Lazy and pointless doesn't even cover it.
The gist of the story beggars belief: their 'groovy' party gets boring so they decide to move on to an old derelict house that's reputed to be haunted (of course). A seance is suggested (it was either that or an orgy). More accurately, they hold hands and stare at each other until a door creaks. They split up to investigate the noise, when one of them is hacked to death. Much hysterics (by the girls) and face-slapping (by the girly boys) ensues. Instead of leaving the house and calling the police they decide to bury the corpse of the man who was previously their friend. And not tell anyone... for absolutely no reason at all. Well, except that one of them convinces the others that it just has to be one of them that did the deed (well of course it is). So now it all makes sense...?? Ahem...
For the rest of the flic the players carry on bumping into each other, aimlessly wandering about; all with no conceivable purpose beyond being hysterical, or looking nervous, or bored (managing a combination of all three would have been far too much to ask for I imagine). Along the way, poor Denis Price pops up. Hoorah! Then, for a handful of scenes, he sleepwalks in an utterly redundant part and then promptly disappears again (in search of his agent I don't doubt).
It all climaxes with Frankie Avalon getting stabbed in the cock (I kid you not) when the least scariest killer in the history of cinema is revealed - who is then stopped in his limp-wristed rampage when the lights go out, causing him to run off in hysterics, screeching into the night... because he's terrified of the dark (?!).
I would have wondered here that maybe someone was overcompensating for an ambivalent audience with a bit of a joke ("last one to the exits is a rotten bit-part in a stinker of a film") but I was already nodding off and wondering how many people did the makers seriously think would have been left in the theatre at this point.
Where's Terence Fisher when you need him?
The trailer promises an "orgy of horror". The liars!
What sounded like camp, spooky fun actually does start well - looking rather pretty in it's very dated 60s way: lots of boutiques, big hair'd skinny girls and even girlier (but not always) pretty boys. Granted, the acting is a bit laboured but we shouldn't expect too much from a 'Tigon' production - apart from giving us such classic (and somewhat undervalued) chillers as Witchfinder General and Blood on Satan's Claw, it's really not too unkind to say 'Tigon' was a poor cousin to 'Hammer' and 'Amicus'.
But all hope of some fun or chills is lost when you realise no-one bothered to make any effort at all. Zero screenplay/plot/direction/logic! Lazy and pointless doesn't even cover it.
The gist of the story beggars belief: their 'groovy' party gets boring so they decide to move on to an old derelict house that's reputed to be haunted (of course). A seance is suggested (it was either that or an orgy). More accurately, they hold hands and stare at each other until a door creaks. They split up to investigate the noise, when one of them is hacked to death. Much hysterics (by the girls) and face-slapping (by the girly boys) ensues. Instead of leaving the house and calling the police they decide to bury the corpse of the man who was previously their friend. And not tell anyone... for absolutely no reason at all. Well, except that one of them convinces the others that it just has to be one of them that did the deed (well of course it is). So now it all makes sense...?? Ahem...
For the rest of the flic the players carry on bumping into each other, aimlessly wandering about; all with no conceivable purpose beyond being hysterical, or looking nervous, or bored (managing a combination of all three would have been far too much to ask for I imagine). Along the way, poor Denis Price pops up. Hoorah! Then, for a handful of scenes, he sleepwalks in an utterly redundant part and then promptly disappears again (in search of his agent I don't doubt).
It all climaxes with Frankie Avalon getting stabbed in the cock (I kid you not) when the least scariest killer in the history of cinema is revealed - who is then stopped in his limp-wristed rampage when the lights go out, causing him to run off in hysterics, screeching into the night... because he's terrified of the dark (?!).
I would have wondered here that maybe someone was overcompensating for an ambivalent audience with a bit of a joke ("last one to the exits is a rotten bit-part in a stinker of a film") but I was already nodding off and wondering how many people did the makers seriously think would have been left in the theatre at this point.
Where's Terence Fisher when you need him?
The trailer promises an "orgy of horror". The liars!
When did escapism become such a dirty word?
Deception (Irving Rapper)
Coming as it does, not only on the cusp of Hollywood's golden age but also Davis's at Warners, 'Deception' is often forgotten or dismissed in favour of the previous classics she made with Warners or the gothic hysterics of her later films. Not fair!
A recent re-evaluation has convinced me that this is a bit of a classic. And, I have to admit, an out and out camp classic. But, more than this, the camp of 'Deception' is positively elevated to high art. The story is complete hokum of course and is performed with such overwrought feeling and pungent relish that you are constantly expecting the characters to burst into song. Opera-noir anyone??
But this was still a time when people cared and cynicism hadn't taken over so much that now anything not total po-faced realism (outside of a comedy proper) is sneered at knowingly or declared "so bad it's good" by a seemingly more 'sophisticated' audience. It was a time when they cared enough about high production values and reveled in artifice, glamour and the pure indulgence of escapism. Pah! When did we learn to stop letting go of grim reality??
Some would have us believe that 'Deception' is one solely for the die-hard Davis fans - those more willing to forgive her more arch mannerisms or looking a little 'past it'. But, despite withering opinion, those not enamoured of Davis's charms will still find much to smack their chops over as well.
Korngold's stunning score is not merely a refreshing change to Warner's over reliance on Max Steiner's often intrusive bombast - it's actually one of the best scores of the period. It also helps that Davis and Henreid don't look phony when 'playing' the music - Davis is particularly convincing because she could actually play the piano and Henreid, despite looking a little awkward, was helped with the same trick as Garfield in Humoresque. Rains, having an absolute field day as the unhinged musical genius, bangs and smacks at the poor keyboard as an unhinged musical genius in a camp melodrama would.
The sets are incredible and have a whole life of their own - huge luxurious drawing rooms, shadowy stairwells, grand staircases made for dramatic death scenes, lots and lots of cine-rain spattering windows and flooding the street of the evocative opening sequence. Combined with the noirish lighting and deep focus of Davis's favourite cinematographer Ernie Haller, all goes to making 'Deception' a visual feast for any jaded cinephile.
Less than four years after 'Deception' came All About Eve. It seen as possibly Davis's finest performance (she is great). But, as ever, a performance is what it is (Davis the original show-off). 'Eve', despite its high critical pedigree, is very much the beginning of the end for Davis as a 'serious' screen actor. As Margot, she is the absolute star of the production - positively chowing down on the furniture in one of her most hand-swivelling and eye-rolling turns. She will never top Margot. As any drag queen worth her weight in false eye-lashes will testify, from this point on, her most significant roles are never less than monstrous or crazy - Dead Ringers, Baby Jane, The Anniversary, The Star, Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte. 'Deception' feels almost subtle in comparison (who am I kidding??).
What 'Deception' doesn't deserve is to languish in the shadows of these inferior (though hugely entertaining) efforts. At the very least it's the equal of her well-known previous classic films (time has been kinder to it than The Old Maid or Dark Victory). It may be no masterpiece, but it's still a marvelous example of the golden age of over-ripe melodramas and that's surely good enough reason to drag it out of the closet and brush the cobwebs off.
Coming as it does, not only on the cusp of Hollywood's golden age but also Davis's at Warners, 'Deception' is often forgotten or dismissed in favour of the previous classics she made with Warners or the gothic hysterics of her later films. Not fair!
A recent re-evaluation has convinced me that this is a bit of a classic. And, I have to admit, an out and out camp classic. But, more than this, the camp of 'Deception' is positively elevated to high art. The story is complete hokum of course and is performed with such overwrought feeling and pungent relish that you are constantly expecting the characters to burst into song. Opera-noir anyone??
But this was still a time when people cared and cynicism hadn't taken over so much that now anything not total po-faced realism (outside of a comedy proper) is sneered at knowingly or declared "so bad it's good" by a seemingly more 'sophisticated' audience. It was a time when they cared enough about high production values and reveled in artifice, glamour and the pure indulgence of escapism. Pah! When did we learn to stop letting go of grim reality??
Some would have us believe that 'Deception' is one solely for the die-hard Davis fans - those more willing to forgive her more arch mannerisms or looking a little 'past it'. But, despite withering opinion, those not enamoured of Davis's charms will still find much to smack their chops over as well.
Korngold's stunning score is not merely a refreshing change to Warner's over reliance on Max Steiner's often intrusive bombast - it's actually one of the best scores of the period. It also helps that Davis and Henreid don't look phony when 'playing' the music - Davis is particularly convincing because she could actually play the piano and Henreid, despite looking a little awkward, was helped with the same trick as Garfield in Humoresque. Rains, having an absolute field day as the unhinged musical genius, bangs and smacks at the poor keyboard as an unhinged musical genius in a camp melodrama would.
The sets are incredible and have a whole life of their own - huge luxurious drawing rooms, shadowy stairwells, grand staircases made for dramatic death scenes, lots and lots of cine-rain spattering windows and flooding the street of the evocative opening sequence. Combined with the noirish lighting and deep focus of Davis's favourite cinematographer Ernie Haller, all goes to making 'Deception' a visual feast for any jaded cinephile.
Less than four years after 'Deception' came All About Eve. It seen as possibly Davis's finest performance (she is great). But, as ever, a performance is what it is (Davis the original show-off). 'Eve', despite its high critical pedigree, is very much the beginning of the end for Davis as a 'serious' screen actor. As Margot, she is the absolute star of the production - positively chowing down on the furniture in one of her most hand-swivelling and eye-rolling turns. She will never top Margot. As any drag queen worth her weight in false eye-lashes will testify, from this point on, her most significant roles are never less than monstrous or crazy - Dead Ringers, Baby Jane, The Anniversary, The Star, Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte. 'Deception' feels almost subtle in comparison (who am I kidding??).
What 'Deception' doesn't deserve is to languish in the shadows of these inferior (though hugely entertaining) efforts. At the very least it's the equal of her well-known previous classic films (time has been kinder to it than The Old Maid or Dark Victory). It may be no masterpiece, but it's still a marvelous example of the golden age of over-ripe melodramas and that's surely good enough reason to drag it out of the closet and brush the cobwebs off.
Friday, October 22, 2010
"To a new world of Gods and monsters..." and genetic gender-bending wife swapping??
Splice. (Vincenz Natali)
A nicely sinister title sequence gives way to a rather flatly executed but fairly intriguing story of brilliant genetic engineers, in the age-old tradition of playing God. Who are they kidding??
Never mind the fact that we all know such ideas are ALWAYS doomed to end in the death and/or mutilation of all around but I had a real problem in believing such incredibly stupid people as these two could ever EVER in the imagination of even the most demented chimpanzee ever really be considered brilliant?? Maybe if brilliant equals behaving like a confused and concussed five year old, who after falling down a particularly long flight of stairs and banging his head on every stair on the way down, then carries on chasing the big red shiny balloon going “lalalalalala..lah!” because it’s soooo pretty.
And, as the film progressed (nay, descended) on it’s demented way, they plummet to new-found depths of utter ineptitude and crassness. Maybe they just got bored of inserting marbles up there nostrils when they realised it wasn’t going to come out of one of their lugholes and only made their brain itch? Come to think of it, mine was beginning to feel scratchy.
I could be here all day making mealy-mouthed pot-shots at this totally bonkers ‘film’ but I think I would give myself a migraine (how long have you got?).
I will admit that I haven’t laughed in the cinema this much in a long time (who’d have thought rape, child-abuse, pissed-off hormonal turd-things in a tank and Adrien Brody’s cum face could be so funny??). But I think it would be unfair to say that all the laughs were unintentional and a touch mean-spirited to ignore that the makers had imagination and chutzpah to spare – at least caring enough to be daring and original, not to mention still appealing to the cinephile with the many references to the classics.
However, by the time of it’s ludicrous and protracted finale, a tiny part of me was dying inside and I was beginning to feel my soul being sucked right out of my arse. And as I groaned at its sphincter-squeezing epilogue (consoling myself with the fact that most of the cast were dead) I began to wonder if self-harming was so bad after all.
The audience I saw it with howled throughout and and were enjoying it as much as I dared to admit. But as we sheepishly filed out of the cinema, our mutual bemusement and deep shame was most palpable. I for one felt more than a little defiled as I wondered if I would ever be able to erase the images in my head of the most excruciating ‘sex’ scenes ever put onscreen (and I thought Elizabeth Berkley, thrashing about like a harpooned dolphin in a jacuzzi with Kyle MacLachlan was the pinnacle!)
A nicely sinister title sequence gives way to a rather flatly executed but fairly intriguing story of brilliant genetic engineers, in the age-old tradition of playing God. Who are they kidding??
Never mind the fact that we all know such ideas are ALWAYS doomed to end in the death and/or mutilation of all around but I had a real problem in believing such incredibly stupid people as these two could ever EVER in the imagination of even the most demented chimpanzee ever really be considered brilliant?? Maybe if brilliant equals behaving like a confused and concussed five year old, who after falling down a particularly long flight of stairs and banging his head on every stair on the way down, then carries on chasing the big red shiny balloon going “lalalalalala..lah!” because it’s soooo pretty.
And, as the film progressed (nay, descended) on it’s demented way, they plummet to new-found depths of utter ineptitude and crassness. Maybe they just got bored of inserting marbles up there nostrils when they realised it wasn’t going to come out of one of their lugholes and only made their brain itch? Come to think of it, mine was beginning to feel scratchy.
I could be here all day making mealy-mouthed pot-shots at this totally bonkers ‘film’ but I think I would give myself a migraine (how long have you got?).
I will admit that I haven’t laughed in the cinema this much in a long time (who’d have thought rape, child-abuse, pissed-off hormonal turd-things in a tank and Adrien Brody’s cum face could be so funny??). But I think it would be unfair to say that all the laughs were unintentional and a touch mean-spirited to ignore that the makers had imagination and chutzpah to spare – at least caring enough to be daring and original, not to mention still appealing to the cinephile with the many references to the classics.
However, by the time of it’s ludicrous and protracted finale, a tiny part of me was dying inside and I was beginning to feel my soul being sucked right out of my arse. And as I groaned at its sphincter-squeezing epilogue (consoling myself with the fact that most of the cast were dead) I began to wonder if self-harming was so bad after all.
The audience I saw it with howled throughout and and were enjoying it as much as I dared to admit. But as we sheepishly filed out of the cinema, our mutual bemusement and deep shame was most palpable. I for one felt more than a little defiled as I wondered if I would ever be able to erase the images in my head of the most excruciating ‘sex’ scenes ever put onscreen (and I thought Elizabeth Berkley, thrashing about like a harpooned dolphin in a jacuzzi with Kyle MacLachlan was the pinnacle!)
Forgiving a Cinephile's Indulgence is Easy
Shutter Island (Martin Scorsese)
From the opening sequence on the boat, where the two leads meet, seemingly for the first time, I knew with very little doubt where this story was leading. I think anyone with a passing interest or familiarity with this kind of genre will do. If you haven't within the first half hour then you really do need to get out more!
But predictability of plot strands is maybe not the be-all and end-all of what is at play here. This is Marty for God's sake! Every cinephile's favourite cinephile.
Just as with Vertigo, the twist is almost an irrelevance (it's why Hitch gave it all away half-way through) and you follow the story with this in mind so that it then becomes a different story entirely. Of course 'Shutter Island' is no masterpiece of cinema to compare with 'Vertigo' but it's a lot more fun than the naysayers missing the point would have us believe.
About three quarters the way through 'Shutter Island', one of the patients of the asylum informs our hero, "this is a game and it's all for you". Just as Leo's opener, "Pull yourself together" is the film's most winkingly obvious clue to its audience, this line is equally conceited and knowing and is most assuredly the film's catchphrase. Someone is certainly smacking their lips here.
The story is a real hodge-podge piece of cod-psychology and gothic hokum gone literally over the hill and so far away with the fairies that we can only try our best to keep up. In the hands of cinephile Martin Scorcese, who seems here to have become something of a gleeful plunderer of all we know and love, the film becomes something - to put it mildly - akin to an insane pastiche/homage to every noir pulp, B movie, Hitchcock or Stephen King horror there ever was. As he piles cliche atop of cliche, as glaring continuity errors jump out the screen and the caricatures jostle for centre-stage, it brings out the cynic in much of its audience - woe betide anyone not sneering at this potboiler's over-ripe melodramatics and blindingly obvious 'twist'.
So, cry "rip off!" if you want to be thick. Groan and roll your eyes at the twist if you want to miss the point. Sit with your arms folded and remain pursed-lipped if you want to be humourless. But I defy you to turn away.
Don't sneer. Just give in! If you don't then it really is your loss because this is one marvelous piece of work. A real one-off that treads that very thin line between screaming camp and utter palm-sweating jaw-dropping cinematic insanity.
Just go with it! Enjoy the over-familiarity. Snigger slightly at the melodramatic set-pieces, as the rain lashes down and trees are toppled and eyes roll and jaws drop (ours as much as those on screen!). Take pride in your knowledge of all that's being referenced. Wonder at the rich cinematography, the juicy cameos from Max von Sydow and Patricia Clarkson, the elaborate and very improbable sets, the bleak landscapes. Let your skin tingle at the incredible soundtrack - a rich musical assemblage that includes Penderecki, Ingram Marshall, Mahler, John Cage and Schnittke (it really is great!).
Yes it's a mess. Yes it's utterly flawed. Yes the 'twist' is (intentionally) reduntant. But it's not boring for a single second and, from a cinephile perspective, is possibly the most fun I've had in the cinema since 'Basic Instinct'!
From the opening sequence on the boat, where the two leads meet, seemingly for the first time, I knew with very little doubt where this story was leading. I think anyone with a passing interest or familiarity with this kind of genre will do. If you haven't within the first half hour then you really do need to get out more!
But predictability of plot strands is maybe not the be-all and end-all of what is at play here. This is Marty for God's sake! Every cinephile's favourite cinephile.
Just as with Vertigo, the twist is almost an irrelevance (it's why Hitch gave it all away half-way through) and you follow the story with this in mind so that it then becomes a different story entirely. Of course 'Shutter Island' is no masterpiece of cinema to compare with 'Vertigo' but it's a lot more fun than the naysayers missing the point would have us believe.
About three quarters the way through 'Shutter Island', one of the patients of the asylum informs our hero, "this is a game and it's all for you". Just as Leo's opener, "Pull yourself together" is the film's most winkingly obvious clue to its audience, this line is equally conceited and knowing and is most assuredly the film's catchphrase. Someone is certainly smacking their lips here.
The story is a real hodge-podge piece of cod-psychology and gothic hokum gone literally over the hill and so far away with the fairies that we can only try our best to keep up. In the hands of cinephile Martin Scorcese, who seems here to have become something of a gleeful plunderer of all we know and love, the film becomes something - to put it mildly - akin to an insane pastiche/homage to every noir pulp, B movie, Hitchcock or Stephen King horror there ever was. As he piles cliche atop of cliche, as glaring continuity errors jump out the screen and the caricatures jostle for centre-stage, it brings out the cynic in much of its audience - woe betide anyone not sneering at this potboiler's over-ripe melodramatics and blindingly obvious 'twist'.
So, cry "rip off!" if you want to be thick. Groan and roll your eyes at the twist if you want to miss the point. Sit with your arms folded and remain pursed-lipped if you want to be humourless. But I defy you to turn away.
Don't sneer. Just give in! If you don't then it really is your loss because this is one marvelous piece of work. A real one-off that treads that very thin line between screaming camp and utter palm-sweating jaw-dropping cinematic insanity.
Just go with it! Enjoy the over-familiarity. Snigger slightly at the melodramatic set-pieces, as the rain lashes down and trees are toppled and eyes roll and jaws drop (ours as much as those on screen!). Take pride in your knowledge of all that's being referenced. Wonder at the rich cinematography, the juicy cameos from Max von Sydow and Patricia Clarkson, the elaborate and very improbable sets, the bleak landscapes. Let your skin tingle at the incredible soundtrack - a rich musical assemblage that includes Penderecki, Ingram Marshall, Mahler, John Cage and Schnittke (it really is great!).
Yes it's a mess. Yes it's utterly flawed. Yes the 'twist' is (intentionally) reduntant. But it's not boring for a single second and, from a cinephile perspective, is possibly the most fun I've had in the cinema since 'Basic Instinct'!
Sunday, November 08, 2009
For hopeless romantics everywhere
Bright Star [Jane Campion]
I find it hard to talk about this one without it bringing a lump to my throat.
This kind of achingly beautiful and unashamedly romantic tale is deeply unfashionable now and it's such a crying shame. Campion has surely bested herself here with this subtle and divinely lyrical love poem - so making The Piano feel almost like galumphing over-ripe melodrama in comparison.
I'm sure that much of today's impatient audience will be snoring into their popcorn at Campion's leisurely and smoldering drip drip pace. And the long scene's of poetry reading (it's no mean feat to read poetry with emotional conviction so Whishaw and Cornish should be cherished for sure), the quiet and often silent moments heavy with bated breath and the melancholy longueurs of love unrequited will sorely test the patience of many.
But us hopeless romantics will (quietly) cheer and find rich rewards. Bright Star has a precious, almost nameless, quality that will linger in your heart and consciousness long after it's utterly sublime credit sequence has faded and I really do pity those that don't fall under its mesmerising spell.
Exquisite.
I find it hard to talk about this one without it bringing a lump to my throat.
This kind of achingly beautiful and unashamedly romantic tale is deeply unfashionable now and it's such a crying shame. Campion has surely bested herself here with this subtle and divinely lyrical love poem - so making The Piano feel almost like galumphing over-ripe melodrama in comparison.
I'm sure that much of today's impatient audience will be snoring into their popcorn at Campion's leisurely and smoldering drip drip pace. And the long scene's of poetry reading (it's no mean feat to read poetry with emotional conviction so Whishaw and Cornish should be cherished for sure), the quiet and often silent moments heavy with bated breath and the melancholy longueurs of love unrequited will sorely test the patience of many.
But us hopeless romantics will (quietly) cheer and find rich rewards. Bright Star has a precious, almost nameless, quality that will linger in your heart and consciousness long after it's utterly sublime credit sequence has faded and I really do pity those that don't fall under its mesmerising spell.
Exquisite.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
A Rather Enjoyable Failure. Well, at least it's a British film!
Awaydays (Pat Holden 2009)
A really badly made film in many respects and the zero budget is glaringly obvious right from the start. Of course a low budget doesn't make a bad film and can often go in the film's favour, helping to give a film a raw, gritty and more credible feel for example. But good direction doesn't cost anything and here they don't seem to have bothered at all. It often feels like the actors were left to get on with it by themselves - unwise with a cast of [mostly] unknowns. The story is all over the place and characterisation is hamfisted and mealymouthed. So why did I like it so much??
Maybe cus it's British and cheaply made and, funnily enough, it's not some dumb horror? Maybe cus there are no big stars, or celeb endorsements, or product placement, media hype, explosions or smug knowing in-jokes. Maybe it's cus The News Of The World slagged it off? Maybe it's the fantastic soundtrack (The Cure, Echo And The Bunny Men, Ultravox pre-Midge Ure, Human League - pre-split, Joy Division, Teardrop Explodes, to name a few). Or maybe I'm just a sucker for a story about a homo, tortured by self-loathing and unrequited love? Maybe cus it's a failure but at least they tried?
Actually it's all of the above. It's certainly nowhere near in the same league as Control or the best of Shane Meadows (to which some lazy critics have compared it) but despite (and sometimes because of) it's many flaws it's not a bad little film and I really enjoyed it.
A really badly made film in many respects and the zero budget is glaringly obvious right from the start. Of course a low budget doesn't make a bad film and can often go in the film's favour, helping to give a film a raw, gritty and more credible feel for example. But good direction doesn't cost anything and here they don't seem to have bothered at all. It often feels like the actors were left to get on with it by themselves - unwise with a cast of [mostly] unknowns. The story is all over the place and characterisation is hamfisted and mealymouthed. So why did I like it so much??
Maybe cus it's British and cheaply made and, funnily enough, it's not some dumb horror? Maybe cus there are no big stars, or celeb endorsements, or product placement, media hype, explosions or smug knowing in-jokes. Maybe it's cus The News Of The World slagged it off? Maybe it's the fantastic soundtrack (The Cure, Echo And The Bunny Men, Ultravox pre-Midge Ure, Human League - pre-split, Joy Division, Teardrop Explodes, to name a few). Or maybe I'm just a sucker for a story about a homo, tortured by self-loathing and unrequited love? Maybe cus it's a failure but at least they tried?
Actually it's all of the above. It's certainly nowhere near in the same league as Control or the best of Shane Meadows (to which some lazy critics have compared it) but despite (and sometimes because of) it's many flaws it's not a bad little film and I really enjoyed it.
2D or not 2D? That is the question. Or "Why I'm just not that impressed with Hollywood's latest gimmick"
Coraline (Henry Selick 2009)
It's heartening to see that someone is still using traditional stop motion animation - I was beginning to think everyone had sold their souls for CGI! It's a pity they felt they had to cop out with the latest gimmick though. 3D is a new technology that is still leaving me a little underwhelmed as well as dismayed. (I'm also beginning to wonder if the migraine I have had for the past week is a throw-back to going cross-eyed from wearing two pairs of glasses in the dark watching this for nearly two hours!)
The last film I saw in 3D was Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. They at least they had the common sense to use it sparingly for a handful of key scenes. Rather disconcertingly, Coraline is in 3D from start to end and it was all a little vomit inducing (you really can have too much of a good thing). and very distracting. Also, I have to say, 3D really is a bit crap when it comes to movement - anything moving too quickly and it was the equivalent of the sausage effect created when someone waves their figures in front of a TV screen! As well as rather boring when you get past the novelty value (remember a few years back when all those idiots stood staring at those optical illusions in shop windows till a unicorn appears??) That's hardly worth spending a fiver on!
I really do hope that 3D dies a death cus all this flashiness does is detract from what we are there for - a piece of cinema. As we bill and coo over how clever it all is, is anyone actually taking anything in beyond surface level? Is anyone interested in subtext, cinematography, direction, acting... depth??? I did take my glasses off at one point as I was naive enough to think we would be given the choice of watching it in 2D. Of course we aren't. That pissed me off!
Coraline is an excellent piece of animation and very nearly the equal of The Nightmare Before Christmas. Nightmare is more fun of course but Coraline has the edge when it comes to characterisation and darker more adult friendly subtexts. But the 3D totally ruined it for me. Some of us don't have that sweet a tooth and being force-fed is so not appreciated.
It's heartening to see that someone is still using traditional stop motion animation - I was beginning to think everyone had sold their souls for CGI! It's a pity they felt they had to cop out with the latest gimmick though. 3D is a new technology that is still leaving me a little underwhelmed as well as dismayed. (I'm also beginning to wonder if the migraine I have had for the past week is a throw-back to going cross-eyed from wearing two pairs of glasses in the dark watching this for nearly two hours!)
The last film I saw in 3D was Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. They at least they had the common sense to use it sparingly for a handful of key scenes. Rather disconcertingly, Coraline is in 3D from start to end and it was all a little vomit inducing (you really can have too much of a good thing). and very distracting. Also, I have to say, 3D really is a bit crap when it comes to movement - anything moving too quickly and it was the equivalent of the sausage effect created when someone waves their figures in front of a TV screen! As well as rather boring when you get past the novelty value (remember a few years back when all those idiots stood staring at those optical illusions in shop windows till a unicorn appears??) That's hardly worth spending a fiver on!
I really do hope that 3D dies a death cus all this flashiness does is detract from what we are there for - a piece of cinema. As we bill and coo over how clever it all is, is anyone actually taking anything in beyond surface level? Is anyone interested in subtext, cinematography, direction, acting... depth??? I did take my glasses off at one point as I was naive enough to think we would be given the choice of watching it in 2D. Of course we aren't. That pissed me off!
Coraline is an excellent piece of animation and very nearly the equal of The Nightmare Before Christmas. Nightmare is more fun of course but Coraline has the edge when it comes to characterisation and darker more adult friendly subtexts. But the 3D totally ruined it for me. Some of us don't have that sweet a tooth and being force-fed is so not appreciated.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Wicked Women? You decide...
Leave Her To Heaven (John M. Stahl 1945)
Don't be fooled by the sugar coated first half of Leave Her to Heaven: The cute and romantic way the leads meet, Gene Tierney's luminous beauty (quite something in Technicolor), and the way everyone seems so happy! It's almost cornball. But it's easy not to spot that this particular angel cake contains one or two razor blades beneath the sweet icing.There is the occasional hint at the wickedness bubbling below the surface - the appearance of Vincent Price, her jealousy, her unnatural fixation with her dead father (not to mention the breathtaking scattering of his ashes), but nothing prepares you for the first jarring cut of those hidden blades.
Up until the first shocking realisation of Ellen's wickedness, I was on her side. After all, she only wants to be alone with her man, Richard (Cornel Wilde looking as bland as ever - Technicolor making him a lovely shade of beige!) And her crushed expression when her whole family turn up at their love-nest is so perfect, it makes me laugh out loud that Richard can't see it! - they are already sharing with Richard's invalid brother (who says "Gosh!" far too much) and Richard's friend (the rather annoying Chill Wills). When the mother admits to Ellen's sister that they shouldn't have come, you think "Hell, yes!" they are on their honeymoon!!
Well, she has had enough and resolves to do something about it and when it happens... your jaw hits the floor! (This is a woman who is quite unhinged) Then she does it again and again! She will stop at nothing to stop anyone getting close to her man.
There are moments of pure cinema here and Tierney captures the moment perfectly - even when she is hidden behind sunglasses, her monotone delivery and glacial expression says it all. And the scene with the staircase, she knows what to do and her eyes tell you everything you need to know about what she's thinking.
Gene Tierney is a stunningly beautiful actress and quite often she is dismissed as a serious performer because of this. But under the right director she can be electric. Her films with Otto Preminger are a case in point and she is also very good in The Ghost and Mrs Muir. This for me though is her finest performance.
By the end of the film though, I wonder to myself how evil Ellen really is. Yes, she does really wicked things but obviously this is a manifestation of here mental illness. Yet no-one does anything to help her! Her mother especially, many times in the film, admits to knowing something is amiss with her daughter. Then do something - wringing hands never helped anyone! Incidentally, even Ellen's jealous paranoia of her husband's fidelity is, ultimately, shown to be justified!
Is Ellen Berent really a monster or a victim?? In 1945 it would have been easy to say "hang the bitch" but in our more enlightened times our analysis has to be less black & white.
A Woman's Face (George Cukor 1941)
Sometimes I actually prefer 'A Woman's Face' over Mildred Pierce - Cukor seems to have subdued Crawford a little, making her seem less histrionic - softer and less brittle. But I suppose that's why it's less popular - we want the brittle glamour and we love to see Joanie "suffering in furs". In 'Mildred Pierce' we don't quite believe her as a frumpy house-wife, wearing a pinnie, baking pies, so as soon as she dons the shoulder-pads and starts bashing Vida about, we cheer! But Anna Holm is a great character too and just as exciting to me. The 'softening' of her performance adds an extra layer of ambiguity to what could have otherwise been a more obviously villainous character.Scarred physically as well as mentally, Anna takes her misfortunes out on the silly 'beautiful' women of the film with blackmail. It's not long before she is falling for the insidious charms of Conrad Veidt and is seduced into the worst of all crimes - the murder of a child. This poses a troubling flaw in her characterisation (probably not intentional) as you don't know till the end of the flic whether she carries out her heinous act or not, (this being Hollywood you maybe have a fair idea though). But the fact that she, at least, considers it seriously is infinitely harder to forgive than her blackmail endeavours. It does add to your interest in Anna but at the same time you sympathise with her less.
It's a marvelous film and Crawford is great - possibly my favourite performance of hers. Veidt, as usual, is wonderfully malevolent as the villain of the piece and their scenes together are eery and spellbinding (despite some seriously dodgy dialogue) .
Many of the minor characters do a fine job too - I particularly liked Albert Bassermann's crusty old Consul and Ossa Massen is a delight as one of Crawford's 'silly' victims (Crawford gets to give her a good slapping). Melvyn Douglas, on the other hand, is only adequate. To me he seems to be in the wrong movie - his screwball and matinée idol pedigree doesn't ring true in such a dark and gothic tale.
It's surprisingly cinematic for a Cukor pic (as great as I think his films are, sometimes I do find them a little visually flat), looking very noirish and gothic (as ever, Crawford is perfectly lighted). And it has a very exciting chase in the snow for a finale.
Even though both films instill a certain amount of ambiguity and doubt about how 'evil' either woman really is, personally I don't feel that either of the women are really bad. I'm more inclined to think Anna Holm is more of a villain than Ellen Berent, as Anna seems to act through spite and greed whereas Ellen's actions seem to be dictated by a mental illness. Yet, ironically, poor Ellen is portrayed less sympathetically (not showing remorse for her actions for example) so of course Hollywood dictates that she should pay the ultimate price. To me that makes her the more tragic of the two.So, would I invite Ellen or Anna round for tea and biscuits? Well I'm sure I would feel quite safe... but I may just hide the knives!
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Unfairly Neglected: Hitchcock's Sabotage and Number 17
**The following contains spoilers**
Sabotage (Alfred Hitchcock 1936)
Tick... tick... tick...
Sabotage is a great film that is unfairly neglected - chiefly because of the supposed central flaw. I do believe this criticism is totally unjustified - especially viewed through more modern and less timid eyes: What was seen as cruel or just too dark in the 1930s is relatively tame to our less sensitive palettes. Hence, with Sabotage, the bomb on the bus sequence is a tour de force of suspense that works better today than it did in 1936 - it's tragic outcome is shocking and that shock hangs in the air for the rest of the film, becoming the driving force of the story and it's mousey heroine (the incredible dinner table finale would be nothing without it). It was a bold move by Hitch and not only does it pre-date the shock/twist of Psycho by some 24 years it's actually a better film! But for most of his life he had to concede to the cretinous critics who assured him it was a mistake. It was probably the same critics who slated Stage Fright for it's 'lying' flashback (they are wrong - its a great cinematic trick!), who think Spellbound is a great film (it's not, it's a dud!) and think the remake of The Man Who Knew Too Much is an improvement on the original (it's only more polished and Americanised - give me Edna Best with a rifle to Doris Day's warbling any day).
Sylvia Sydney and Oskar Homolka (a touch of James Mason but with bushy eyebrows) are both excellent as is Desmond Trenter as little Stevie. Sydney didn't like working with Hitchcock and didn't get on with him at all which is a shame because here, she is adorable (cute in the little 'sailor-boy' outfit) and very touching especially in the genuinely moving 'Cock-Robin' sequence and the quintessentially Hitchcockian dinner table finale. Unfortunately John Loder doesn't even register to me - Hitch's first choice, Robert Donat, would have been great but was too ill.
Beware dodgy DVD transfers of this great little film. For a while it wasn't widely available (especially in the UK) and so there are some very poor quality disks out there. But over the past few months we have been treated to a couple of quality box sets of Hitch's early British films and if you shop around you may get them at a bargain price.
Number 17 (Alfred Hitchcock 1932)
"Coo blimey, if it ain't my lucky day! I'm a murderer, I'm a liar and now I'm a b-bathroom fitting!"
Number Seventeen is criminally under-rated! Point out the plot-holes, shaky camera, toy town special effects and ropey acting and you are SO missing the point. 17 is meant as a comic parody of the spy story (with a large dose of The Cat and the Canary thrown in for good measure). Who cares about the plot flaws and ropey acting when everyone is having such a lark, including Hitch - like a child playing with his toy set - literally! I really enjoy this more than the generally more revered Murder and Blackmail (so the acting in those films isn't ropey??).It's quite a surreal and odd little film - for the first half of the film people seem to keep appearing and then disappearing again at such an alarming rate it's hard to keep up with who's who - but that's part of it's charm (even in the last few minutes more identities are being revealed!).
At just over an hour it manages to cram in many of the elements we have come to recognise as Hitchcockian: staircases (lots of them!), the 'bad' girl done good, handcuffs and bondage, trains and chases on trains, bathrooms, people not being what they seem (who are the villains and the heroes?), a macguffin (the necklace), gallows humour and so on. It's no masterpiece but it's a lot of fun and never boring. It's certainly not the dud it's dismissed as.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
If you can't look away then pull back. For God's sake, pull back!
Irreversible (Gaspar Noe)
***Spoiler warning***
It's rather difficult to talk about Irreversible without giving things away.
There are many great examples of the 'non-linear narrative' style of film-making. In fact, two of the greatest films ever made are prime examples of this: The multiple flash-backs of Citizen Kane and the different character viewpoints of the events of Rashomon. Film-makers as revered as Godard, Bergman, Fellini, Alain Resnais, Robert Altman and Nicolas Roeg have all made this style of film-making their own. A lot of directors working today, such as Stephen Soderberg, Paul Thomas Anderson, Darren Aronofsky, Christopher Nolan, Wong Kar-wai, Gus Van Sant, Richard Linklater, Quentin Tarentino (most notably with Pulp Fiction) and of course David Lynch - who often tries the patience of his audience with his seemingly random jumble of plot strands. These film-makers know that it doesn't have to be 'beginning, middle and end' and they exploit this idea to the hilt. Quite often with astonishing and rewarding results. It can enrich and deepen our perception of, what is sometimes quite a straight-forward story - making us examine it in a different, maybe more profound way. It also can make a film seem original and ground-breaking when in fact they are, quite often, at best, pastiching ideas from other film-makers and at worst simply stealing them (Tarentino anyone??). But I don't think I had seen a film go (literally) backwards before I saw Memento. It starts with the end of the story, going backwards a scene at a time until we get to the beginning of the story. The reasoning was partly a plot devise and partly so we empathise more with the character's problems with memory: It's a jigsaw puzzle of a murder mystery that begins with a murder and we go back in time to discover the motivations and reasons behind the death. Along the way we discover he has the memory of a goldfish (almost!) - forgetting everything after a short period of time, making everything a renewed experience for our hero as it is for us, the audience. Unfortunately the film doesn't stand up to more than a couple of viewings. Once we have the answers there's not a lot to come back for. The same is true with The Prestige and The Usual Suspects.
Now we have Irreversible. On a superficial level, it seems unoriginal - using the same device as Memento of a backwards moving narrative to discover the events leading up to a murder. But with rather different intentions and certainly more profound results. It worked for Christopher Nolan but it has more emotional depth and purpose here.
Irreversible is a gruelling and extremely troubling film that not only tests our patience and stomachs but our sense of morality and empathy too as it literally forces us to endure the hellish events of the characters on screen. Right from the start, we are plunged, unflinchingly, into the hellish events of it's protagonists. Though calling it unflinching would be a massive understatement.
The film opens with a camera rolling and undulating through the air. We see a building, it's windows and bricks coming and going into shot. Seemingly random and without reason. And then we move into a room within the building. In it are two men, one naked and one clothed, talking. The room is lighted with a harsh yellow light that makes the walls and, consequently the men, look kind of greasy and damp. Instead of light that cleanses, here it seems to be exposing something unclean and corrupt. The camera carries on moving in and out, rolling and undulating. Like someone drunk or high. It has a disconcerting affect and I'm still not sure of the reasoning behind it - are we being put off guard in some way maybe? Are we being reminded that we are watching? I already had in mind the opening sequence of Psycho. Except, in that film, we are less aware of the camera, as it smoothly tracks across the city skyline and straight through the window into the bedroom of the illicit lovers. But here, we are constantly reminded of the camera. Made less comfortable in our voyeurism if you like. This devise is carried on through to the next scene as the camera seems to move out the window and we observe the events going on outside. This is really where the story begins (ends?). From this point on, the film - and accordingly, the camera - becomes much more frenetic and disturbing. The scene prior, feels more of a prologue - almost soporific in feel (despite the subject of their discussion!) It gives us a clue as to how we'll feel by the end of the film, as one character says "time destroys all things". But before we can get to the end (beginning?) we have Hell to contend with!
A dizzying and very disturbing montage of shots and sounds - entwined bodies, grunts and groans, whip cracks, the flash of an erect penis, heads bobbing, men wanking etc - hurtles us headlong into the goings on in an S&M nightclub. The story has now begun to move backwards and we are plunged straight into what is, undoubtedly, the most realistically explicit (simulated) murder ever put on film. Totally unflinching - there's no camera turning away here. It's up to us to turn away. It's our choice. I strongly suspect, this is where a lot of people began to leave the cinema. That's their loss.
Ironically, as the story progresses (regresses?), we realise this scene requires us to pay more attention than we realise. Or feel comfortable with! Especially when we discover who the real villain is in this story!
From this scene on, the story carries on backwards. The frenetic camera going into overdrive - at one point seemingly see-sawing in and out of a closed car window for example. It's disconcerting of course but totally necessary. A static camera would have had a relaxing effect that wouldn't have felt right and I think we'd empathise less.
When we first see Monica Bellucci as Alex we only see her from behind. The camera stays with her all the time. Not cutting away. We have to stay with her. The camera tells us we are not gonna leave her. We can't (there is only a brief cutaway as the camera quickly looks to the subway sign and back at Monica) We follow her down to the subway and straight away we know it will happen here - in the subway. Just like the nightclub, the subway is blood red. Just as Pierre and Marcus descended into Hell when they entered the nightclub, so now has Alex in the subway.
I am still in two minds as to how necessary I feel it was for the rape to be so utterly unflinching and relentless. During the attack, for the first time in the film, the camera is static. It's at Alex's level throughout. Not just encouraging our empathy but forcing us to endure the assault with her. It's the most draining and upsetting piece of cinema I have ever seen (excepting the real-life events depicted in the Russian film Come and See). But the violence that is inflicted on Alex after the rape was a push too far for me. We have already gone through the rape with her - the tears and the knot in my stomach are testament to that - so the violent assault that followed, seemed, not just redundant but felt a bit like rubbing our faces in it. Up till we see Alex for the first time the camera hasn't stopped moving - jumping about, undulating and swaying, seeming to move straight through car windows. But during the rape, as I said, the camera has been static - at Alex's level. We empathise with her so completely we go through the assault with her. It's a draining and deeply upsetting scene that tests our tolerance levels to the limit. (I can totally relate to those that walked out of the cinema at this point). Then the makers simply cross the line. Just when we think it is over the violence resumes, and at one point the POV changes from Alex to us, the audience. The camera swiftly and very obviously moves around the protagonists as if to 'get a better look' at her face as it is pummelled on the ground. It's a deeply unpleasant moment that actually reminds us of what we are - an audience. We may think we are empathising but we are still watching. Just like the men who watch the murder in the nightclub, they do nothing and simply enjoy the spectacle. Unlike the stranger that wonders into the background and walks off doing nothing to help, we are worse - we stay and watch. I felt a bit of deja-vu here and was reminded of Haneke's Funny Games. A film so totally devoid of humanity it disturbs me immensely that it has been given the Hollywood make-over.
But the film's final half hour gives us what Haneke's vile little film didn't. Not only relief but humanity.
From this moment on the film becomes a cleansing experience. As time goes ever further backwards - before the murder, before the rape - we see the characters how they were - happy, normal, in love, looking forward to the future. The backwards narrative begins to have a healing effect. Cleansing if you like. For the characters but more so for us, the abused and battered audience! Those that left the cinema during the murder or the rape miss the relief these scenes give us. It would seem that they are left only with the horror.
The scenes that come after the rape (precede the story) become brighter and far less frenetic. I have to say the scene of the lovers, Marcus and Alex, naked and bathed in a warm orange glow, are some of the most beautiful and natural (and sexy!) I have seen in a film. It made me weep. Maybe part of it was because of it's cleansing quality? It really feels like a couple happy and in love. Totally comfortable with each other.
The film culminates in the shots of Alex, alone, at turns looking radiant and at peace, holding her stomach - her unformed, unborn child. We can imagine that as the story has gone backwards that maybe the hellish events never happened. Or, in some way, we have been purged. After all, it's only a film! And this is the end really. Not the beginning. The closing shot of Alex, lying in a park, reading the book she mentioned earlier that she can't finish ("the future is already written") is almost Technicolor in look and how it makes us feel. The camera rolls away and over the lawn as children run in and out of shot, playing on the grass. The screen is filled with the a wonderful bright green from the grass. Green being the most calming and relaxing of colours (the reason it's used so much in hospitals). The screen fades to white, completing the cleansing theme. It's a truly beautiful moment. Can we relax? Not quite.
There is Beethoven on the soundtrack (a composer who alludes to 'fate knocking at the door' in his music) to remind us and the camera begins spinning wildly round and round as it did at the beginning of the film above the ambulances outside the nightclub. And when the screen goes white, it's not quite the cleansing white we need but a kind of grey that then begins to flicker wildly like a strobe light reminding, in case we get too comfortable of the hell that has gone before and in effect is to come for the protagonists.
The final shot is of the words "time destroys all things". It is a bit like hammering the message home but maybe we need it after being battered and beaten with such horrific imagery as the first half of Irreversible!
***Spoiler warning***
It's rather difficult to talk about Irreversible without giving things away.
There are many great examples of the 'non-linear narrative' style of film-making. In fact, two of the greatest films ever made are prime examples of this: The multiple flash-backs of Citizen Kane and the different character viewpoints of the events of Rashomon. Film-makers as revered as Godard, Bergman, Fellini, Alain Resnais, Robert Altman and Nicolas Roeg have all made this style of film-making their own. A lot of directors working today, such as Stephen Soderberg, Paul Thomas Anderson, Darren Aronofsky, Christopher Nolan, Wong Kar-wai, Gus Van Sant, Richard Linklater, Quentin Tarentino (most notably with Pulp Fiction) and of course David Lynch - who often tries the patience of his audience with his seemingly random jumble of plot strands. These film-makers know that it doesn't have to be 'beginning, middle and end' and they exploit this idea to the hilt. Quite often with astonishing and rewarding results. It can enrich and deepen our perception of, what is sometimes quite a straight-forward story - making us examine it in a different, maybe more profound way. It also can make a film seem original and ground-breaking when in fact they are, quite often, at best, pastiching ideas from other film-makers and at worst simply stealing them (Tarentino anyone??). But I don't think I had seen a film go (literally) backwards before I saw Memento. It starts with the end of the story, going backwards a scene at a time until we get to the beginning of the story. The reasoning was partly a plot devise and partly so we empathise more with the character's problems with memory: It's a jigsaw puzzle of a murder mystery that begins with a murder and we go back in time to discover the motivations and reasons behind the death. Along the way we discover he has the memory of a goldfish (almost!) - forgetting everything after a short period of time, making everything a renewed experience for our hero as it is for us, the audience. Unfortunately the film doesn't stand up to more than a couple of viewings. Once we have the answers there's not a lot to come back for. The same is true with The Prestige and The Usual Suspects.
Now we have Irreversible. On a superficial level, it seems unoriginal - using the same device as Memento of a backwards moving narrative to discover the events leading up to a murder. But with rather different intentions and certainly more profound results. It worked for Christopher Nolan but it has more emotional depth and purpose here.
Irreversible is a gruelling and extremely troubling film that not only tests our patience and stomachs but our sense of morality and empathy too as it literally forces us to endure the hellish events of the characters on screen. Right from the start, we are plunged, unflinchingly, into the hellish events of it's protagonists. Though calling it unflinching would be a massive understatement.
The film opens with a camera rolling and undulating through the air. We see a building, it's windows and bricks coming and going into shot. Seemingly random and without reason. And then we move into a room within the building. In it are two men, one naked and one clothed, talking. The room is lighted with a harsh yellow light that makes the walls and, consequently the men, look kind of greasy and damp. Instead of light that cleanses, here it seems to be exposing something unclean and corrupt. The camera carries on moving in and out, rolling and undulating. Like someone drunk or high. It has a disconcerting affect and I'm still not sure of the reasoning behind it - are we being put off guard in some way maybe? Are we being reminded that we are watching? I already had in mind the opening sequence of Psycho. Except, in that film, we are less aware of the camera, as it smoothly tracks across the city skyline and straight through the window into the bedroom of the illicit lovers. But here, we are constantly reminded of the camera. Made less comfortable in our voyeurism if you like. This devise is carried on through to the next scene as the camera seems to move out the window and we observe the events going on outside. This is really where the story begins (ends?). From this point on, the film - and accordingly, the camera - becomes much more frenetic and disturbing. The scene prior, feels more of a prologue - almost soporific in feel (despite the subject of their discussion!) It gives us a clue as to how we'll feel by the end of the film, as one character says "time destroys all things". But before we can get to the end (beginning?) we have Hell to contend with!
A dizzying and very disturbing montage of shots and sounds - entwined bodies, grunts and groans, whip cracks, the flash of an erect penis, heads bobbing, men wanking etc - hurtles us headlong into the goings on in an S&M nightclub. The story has now begun to move backwards and we are plunged straight into what is, undoubtedly, the most realistically explicit (simulated) murder ever put on film. Totally unflinching - there's no camera turning away here. It's up to us to turn away. It's our choice. I strongly suspect, this is where a lot of people began to leave the cinema. That's their loss.
Ironically, as the story progresses (regresses?), we realise this scene requires us to pay more attention than we realise. Or feel comfortable with! Especially when we discover who the real villain is in this story!
From this scene on, the story carries on backwards. The frenetic camera going into overdrive - at one point seemingly see-sawing in and out of a closed car window for example. It's disconcerting of course but totally necessary. A static camera would have had a relaxing effect that wouldn't have felt right and I think we'd empathise less.
When we first see Monica Bellucci as Alex we only see her from behind. The camera stays with her all the time. Not cutting away. We have to stay with her. The camera tells us we are not gonna leave her. We can't (there is only a brief cutaway as the camera quickly looks to the subway sign and back at Monica) We follow her down to the subway and straight away we know it will happen here - in the subway. Just like the nightclub, the subway is blood red. Just as Pierre and Marcus descended into Hell when they entered the nightclub, so now has Alex in the subway.
I am still in two minds as to how necessary I feel it was for the rape to be so utterly unflinching and relentless. During the attack, for the first time in the film, the camera is static. It's at Alex's level throughout. Not just encouraging our empathy but forcing us to endure the assault with her. It's the most draining and upsetting piece of cinema I have ever seen (excepting the real-life events depicted in the Russian film Come and See). But the violence that is inflicted on Alex after the rape was a push too far for me. We have already gone through the rape with her - the tears and the knot in my stomach are testament to that - so the violent assault that followed, seemed, not just redundant but felt a bit like rubbing our faces in it. Up till we see Alex for the first time the camera hasn't stopped moving - jumping about, undulating and swaying, seeming to move straight through car windows. But during the rape, as I said, the camera has been static - at Alex's level. We empathise with her so completely we go through the assault with her. It's a draining and deeply upsetting scene that tests our tolerance levels to the limit. (I can totally relate to those that walked out of the cinema at this point). Then the makers simply cross the line. Just when we think it is over the violence resumes, and at one point the POV changes from Alex to us, the audience. The camera swiftly and very obviously moves around the protagonists as if to 'get a better look' at her face as it is pummelled on the ground. It's a deeply unpleasant moment that actually reminds us of what we are - an audience. We may think we are empathising but we are still watching. Just like the men who watch the murder in the nightclub, they do nothing and simply enjoy the spectacle. Unlike the stranger that wonders into the background and walks off doing nothing to help, we are worse - we stay and watch. I felt a bit of deja-vu here and was reminded of Haneke's Funny Games. A film so totally devoid of humanity it disturbs me immensely that it has been given the Hollywood make-over.
But the film's final half hour gives us what Haneke's vile little film didn't. Not only relief but humanity.
From this moment on the film becomes a cleansing experience. As time goes ever further backwards - before the murder, before the rape - we see the characters how they were - happy, normal, in love, looking forward to the future. The backwards narrative begins to have a healing effect. Cleansing if you like. For the characters but more so for us, the abused and battered audience! Those that left the cinema during the murder or the rape miss the relief these scenes give us. It would seem that they are left only with the horror.
The scenes that come after the rape (precede the story) become brighter and far less frenetic. I have to say the scene of the lovers, Marcus and Alex, naked and bathed in a warm orange glow, are some of the most beautiful and natural (and sexy!) I have seen in a film. It made me weep. Maybe part of it was because of it's cleansing quality? It really feels like a couple happy and in love. Totally comfortable with each other.
The film culminates in the shots of Alex, alone, at turns looking radiant and at peace, holding her stomach - her unformed, unborn child. We can imagine that as the story has gone backwards that maybe the hellish events never happened. Or, in some way, we have been purged. After all, it's only a film! And this is the end really. Not the beginning. The closing shot of Alex, lying in a park, reading the book she mentioned earlier that she can't finish ("the future is already written") is almost Technicolor in look and how it makes us feel. The camera rolls away and over the lawn as children run in and out of shot, playing on the grass. The screen is filled with the a wonderful bright green from the grass. Green being the most calming and relaxing of colours (the reason it's used so much in hospitals). The screen fades to white, completing the cleansing theme. It's a truly beautiful moment. Can we relax? Not quite.
There is Beethoven on the soundtrack (a composer who alludes to 'fate knocking at the door' in his music) to remind us and the camera begins spinning wildly round and round as it did at the beginning of the film above the ambulances outside the nightclub. And when the screen goes white, it's not quite the cleansing white we need but a kind of grey that then begins to flicker wildly like a strobe light reminding, in case we get too comfortable of the hell that has gone before and in effect is to come for the protagonists.
The final shot is of the words "time destroys all things". It is a bit like hammering the message home but maybe we need it after being battered and beaten with such horrific imagery as the first half of Irreversible!
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