Well fuck me it’s darn weird being back here again, after many, many months of neglect. I could barely remember my password let alone the functions of writing a blog post, so please bear with me as I reconnect with an old but terminal exercise. The good news (I guess) is that I’m going to commit to a few year closedown posts of timid length and analysis, the bad news (if anyone really cares) is that this will lead to a final execution of this ten year project once and for all as the day job has officially overtaken this now redundant blog. What have I been doing? Phase 2 of this. What am I involved in from January 2018? This. As such I need to be spectacularly careful of my digital footprint, wary of the press for reasons myriad and numerous, especially since I’m more than positive that some of the comments and jokes I have made on here could easily be located and exploited out of context with horrific consequences. Anyway, back to the matter at hand, here is the usual December montage which isn’t particularly transcendent, and as such representative of a rather average year;
I have been relatively active over the axial orbit movie going wise, but due to project pressures I completely missed the LFF this year (didn’t see a single screening or event) as my schedule simply didn’t gel with other priorities. Ironically I am on target for seeing over 500 films this year on various eyeball assaulting formats, and have managed to cram in some mini seasons on Eric Rohmer, all of Soderbergh’s 21st century material, a revisit of Kieślowski’s Three Colours trilogy, all of the Jarmusch films on Amazon Prime, Ōkami’s Lone Wolf & Cub series and even a revisit of a John Cassavettes box-set. I still don’t chime with the love for him, as much as I can appreciate his ground-breaking achievements in championing independent American filmmaking before Sundance was a faltering glint in Robert Redford’s azure eyes. More montage mischievousness here;
So in order to temper expectations here are my films of the year thus far, presented without commentary or debate and in no particular order – make of this what you will ; Wind River, Personal Shopper, Get Out, Blade Runner 2049, Thor: Ragnarok, Moonlight, mother!, Lady Macbeth, The Death Of Stalin, Logan and maybe Malick’s Song To Song and the eerily prescient Nocturama. Alas I didn’t see The Florida Project, You Were Never Really Here, Brawl In Cell Block 99, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing Missouri, Good Time, The Killing Of A Sacred Deer nor The Shape Of Water, some of which I’m sure could have arisen to the 2017 Menagerie pantheon if I’d seen them at the LFF. As it stands the ultimate event of 2017 was of course David Lynch’s spectacular bookend to his incredible career, maybe there more there will be more on that……later;
Released thirty years ago today, one of the all time great teen apathy movies was made, which for me is up there with Rebel Without A Cause, A Clockwork Orange, Gummo, Over The Edge, Spring Breakers and The Outsiders and as one of the all time great teen movies. Tim Hunter, who went on to direct a few episodes of Twin Peaks crops up now and again on TV projects;
Dennis Hooper, fresh off Blue Velvet paired with Crispin Glover is quite a cult movie combination. Some of the films memorable lines are still exchanged between me and my friends when the situations requires, hence the post title. Here’s a brief documentary;
Released thirty years ago today, one of the all time great teen apathy movies was made, which for me is up there with Rebel Without A Cause, A Clockwork Orange, Gummo, Over The Edge, Spring Breakers and The Outsiders and as one of the all time great teen movies. Tim Hunter, who went on to direct a few episodes of Twin Peaks crops up now and again on TV projects;
Dennis Hooper, fresh off Blue Velvet paired with Crispin Glover is quite a cult movie combination. Some of the films memorable lines are still exchanged between me and my friends when the situations requires, hence the post title. Here’s a brief documentary;
A rare musical interlude, as I have secured a lucrative new contract in deepest darkest Lambeth I went celebratory clubbing last night for the first time in a very long time, and saw the titan of electronica Andrew Weatherall at the Xoyo club – it was quite an experience;
I haven’t danced like that for many a moon, the club had a great atmosphere, and bizarrely I don’t even have a hangover today – that four hours of throwing shapes must have sweated the impurities out I guess. Just to confirm the rumors yes he has lost his epic beard, and for some real old school nostalgia here is his classic Essential Mix from the last century;
Serendipitous timing as always, as we head into my birthday weekend a lovely compendium of rarities of one of the greatest films of all time washes up at the Menagerie shore;
So, things should be a little quiet for a few days as one celebrates one’s irreversible slow creep toward oblivion, we will have a Man Of Steel and a John Carpenter movie review published early next week – everyone seems to be refering to the former as ‘The Clark Knight’ which has been making me chuckle. Now, as it’s my birthday and some of you have been reading my portentous opinions for free over the past few years, may I humbly suggest you contribute just a little to the drive for my Canadian colleagues to appropriately cover the Toronto International Film Festival this year? I’m flying out there under my own steam so its nothing to do with me, but this does help the site purchase film tickets (which creep as high as $50 a pop) to distribute amongst it’s staff, a lifeline which helps the site keep going for another year. So don’t be a fucking cheapskate, just a fiver would help here……
My first and probably only music gig of the year this week, the almighty Depeche Mode at my local Greenwich squatting venue. The Basildon bred boys are on the road to promote their latest album Delta Machine, the closest they’ve come to my mind in equalling their two most prosperous albums Violator and Songs Of Faith & Devotion a mere twenty years and change ago, to be charitable their output has been somewhat erratic ever since musical bulwark Alan Wilder fled the scene after the obliterating Devotional tour which left one of them in a loony bin, and the other two of them in rehab – you can take the boys out of Essex etc. So as I’m sure I’ve previously mentioned I’ve seen them on tour every time since 1990 (apart from the greatest hits tour which doesn’t count – I was on holiday OK?) and this was one of their strongest performances in line with one of their strongest albums of the past two decades, so here’s a few selected highlights of the night;
One of my favourite post 1990 tracks there, and the first time they’ve played in live in quite a while. Similarly for the first time in a very long time I actually quite enjoyed the new album tracks, the openjng chords of ‘new stuff’ usually signal a run for the bar to replenish dwindling alcohol stocks, but they worked this time around and actually filled the space, with this little bruiser being quite effective in getting the crowd going after the mid-set ‘slow’ track Martin Gore section – although he did serenade us with a terrific stripped down version of Higher Love.
I’m guessing most people don’t pick up on these things and pay attention to parochial things such as the music and performance (I’m joking) but as always the visual design of the tour is fantastic, something that the band is renowned for pioneering with their groundbreaking early world tours, with a through line in triangular graphic design which runs through the lighting patterns, screen projections, set design and marketing compositions of sleeve design, posters, t-shirts and other merchandise – although what really got the crowd roaring was of course the music, specifically some of the older stuff;
I do like the O2 as a venue, all too often with stadium gigs the tension of the music can get lost in the cavernous space (Earls Court anyone?), Dave Gahan’s tumultous vocals were clear and powerful, and they were smart enough close the main set with arguably their two best known singles Personal Jesus and Enjoy The Silence, possibly the best version of the latter I’ve ever seen them perform;
OK, I’m starting some (forgive me) ‘Blasphemnous rumors’ here as they actually finished the main set with this which is a new one and it was alright, I’d have preferred something a little more upbeat but here we are. Overall the set list was solid, although I’d have preferred some substitutions you can’t have everything, and even the presence of one of their very early bubble gum pop didn’t quite elicit the groans it normally does – although I do wish they’d look into reviving more of their 1984 – 1986 material for future shows. Good interview here, gig review here, but let’s finish predictably with one of the all time greatest audience participation tracks – yup you guessed it they finished on the obvious;
Given this perpetual winter weather, a persistent mild cold which refuses to be cured and continual economic trembling I reckon I’m due for a laugh, and numerous laughs I got from Louis CK who made his first UK stage appearance in six years at the o2 venue last night. Outside of hardcore comedy aficionado circles he’s perhaps not as well-known here as he is in the States, across the pond he’s something of firmament of the comedy culture and his recent series Louis – now onto its third season – has been securing howling praise across the board, a series which has proved impossible to legally source in the UK until Season 1 began broadcasting on some satellite channel earlier in the year. Other than a few scattered random clips I haven’t watch a single stand alone episode yet, I much prefer waiting for boxed sets to become available and then voraciously devour them in a weekend or staggered over the course of a week (Just mainlined Season 2 of Game Of Thrones, better than the first I thought and great fun) here’s a good example which like the rest of his material is very NSFW;
I’m not sure the gargantuan venue of the o2 was best suited to his brand of slightly confessional, vaguely dirty, mirthfully risqué material, but once he got into his stride he won the 12,000 of us over with particular highlights being the exquisite, ‘c’est magnifique’ status of freshly born ‘straight out of the pussy’ tuna for sharks spinning out from how lucky we are as a species to have evolved beyond the food chain, the usual subjects of sex and dating during middle age, how terrific post divorce life can be, and he even managed to be genuinely insightful and hilarious about one of the most tediously obvious subjects of current debate – social media, the technology and communications revolution and how that is fucking transforming our behaviour and relationships. Now I’m betting my chin-stroking analysis is just lubing up your funny bones isn’t it?;
I like him ‘cause he isn’t just occasionally ‘offensive’ by common cultural standards for the sake of being controversial, it’s clearly in service of making you look at the world and certain issues and aspects of life from a different perspective , the fact that he’s a well honed stage presence, has terrific timing and is a calm improviser doesn’t exactly hurt either. Like any good comedian he left the strongest material for last, fans will be aware of his excellent ‘of course…but maybe’ set closer, if you’re easily offended then it’s probably best to give this strand of his material a miss;
This was the first stand-up show I’ve seen since Doug Stanhope about three years ago, given that I’m remotely fascinated with the stand-up comedy world and the types of people it attracts – I’m a voracious listener to the WTF podcast after Reginald D. Hunter mentioned it in some interview – I really should try harder on the comedy front, I mean jeez, I’ve never even set foot inside the famous Comedy Store after twelve years of London living. Finally, just a very quick RIP to British horror maestro James Herbert. Like any spooky kid the ancient triumvirate of Herbert, Stephen King and Dean Koontz pretty much encapsulated my first graduation to ‘adult’ literature at the age when any young weirdo was graduating from YA material, inquisitively encountering an exciting secret world of gruesome violence and eye-opening sex scenes, particularly in the case of Herbert with some scenes from The Fog warping my adolescent brain. It’s been amusing reading similar reminiscences of my peers across the internet, I’m glad I’m not the only one who has scenes indelibly etched in my mind, and yes one can only hope that the residents of Bournemouth don’t decide en masse to walk into the sea nor the priest administrating his funeral decide to amusingly re-enact that scene from the book. In terms of the movies yes he was adapted a few times but without anything of real merit being summoned, although I was surprised to see that an adaptation of perhaps his best known book The Rats finally got made, or more specifically not that a film had been made but that I’ve never seen or heard of it before this week’s sad news – I don’t think I’ve missed much;
Interesting timing to stumble across a few shiny new things. Well, one of the Menagerie’s Melbourne correspondents is in the UK and we caught up over a few beers on Friday, in fact we caught up to the point that I spent all of Saturday in recovery mode. I did however manage to catch a movie today which was a bit of a disappointment, not that I had huge expectations or anything but it was a very pedestrian affair, more on that later next week. In the meanwhile this pleasant slice of retro goodness surfaced on my twitter feed, and here’s the new teaser for Sofia Coppola’s next movie – it doesn’t look to me like she’s moving very far away from her interest in the beautiful people;
That Gondry videoshop link brings back some fond memories of old jobs stacking shelves and serving idiot customers, my career was a lot easier back then when yelling at people didn’t result in reports to HR for ‘interpersonal training’ and ‘behaviour realignment’ – fucking Philistines eh? As if early Peckinpah wasn’t appropriate material for a 12 year olds birthday celebration, I mean I was watching the likes of this at that age and I turned out OK (twitches)….right? Finally, as a little tribute it’s amazing how alcohol can loosen the tongue, who’d have thought that this classic scene would be our Melbourne based colleague’s favourite sequence in cinema history;
I was never a massive fan back in the day but understood the incendiary importance, I have seen them live during that strange reunion which was quite the sonic experience, so I’ll join the electronic choir and admit this is an amusing meander down memory lane;
Nevertheless this whole enterprise strikes me as nostalgia porn which my generation is as afflicted with as much as the last two or three cultural displacements, please enjoy this distraction as our glorious leader launches a new generation of combat in North Africa. Fuck it, I might have been reading too many political sites this week, this track is immortal though;
Well, whilst I can’t speak for you illuminated souls I’ve had better years. A brief spell in hospital wasn’t the most auspicious of starts, and my growing suspicions that my meatspace world career has been finally wrecked by the 2008 bail out, the slow economic tsunami finally emanating out to gouge local government resources seem to have been finally and depressingly realised. For the uninitiated that was where the powers that be and the politicians in thrall to the wealthy and powerful took my and your tax payers money that we have invested into the system, into society for the universal benefit of all was plundered to bail out the malignant thieves, liars and crooks who now continue to pay themselves millions and millions and millions of pounds of bonuses whilst the rest of society stagnates – quite honestly the pharaoh kings of old can only be looking down on this new class of self entitled, greed driven liars and shake their heads in quiet respect, at least they didn’t collude with terrorists and murdering drug cartels which are raping an entire series of South American countries. I’m really not sure what on earth I’m going to do in 2013 and frankly it’s pretty fucking scary, so let’s dispense with the politics and ignore the mass shootings, devastating weather events, incompetent and destructive right-wing economic and social politics and….well I could go on, it’s been a wretched year in many spheres but let’s take succor in the eternal movies….
Halfway through the year and this was looking like a particularly poor cycle, a few highlights to be sure but on a consistency level a fairly erratic beast, but the Autumn and Winter months has reassuringly seen an explosion of talent across the board with a number of works that have thankfully raised the median to higher levels. Of course I’ve delivered my two most proficient film seasons, the David Lynch series back in February which I’m immensely proud of and my subsequent oodles of spare time gave me the opportunity to delve much deeper into the BFI Hitchcock retrospective that previously anticipated, with no fewer than 15 reviews and 7 associated features which is now the ballistic baseline to beat. My best screening experience of 2012 was unquestionably that ravishing digital print of Vertigo – more on that technological division later on – following Camille Paglia’s fascinatingly enthusiastic lecture, if I have one regret it has been in not visiting many new cinema locations in London, an oversight that I intend to rectify in 2013. We also have my 1,000th post zeroing in with the unerring accuracy of OCD afflicted kamikaze pilot, although I think I’ve finally cracked the subject matter of that significant milestone, all I need to do now is select the examples and write the damn thing. I managed to cover some bona fide classics – Jaws, Lawrence Of Arabia, Casablanca, The Evil Dead – and although I missed quite a few festivals the LFF was a sanity saviour, and on the smaller screen I managed mini-retrospectives of Theo Angelolopous (I can see the adoration but he mostly left me cold), a shotgun scattering of David Mamet films (before he went right-wing loony brigade he made some great films) and Louis Malle which was a treasure trove of gallic gems, as I was particularly uneducated on his early continental films. I bookended these activities with a second look at some of Dennis Hopper’s lesser known material from both sides of the camera, ignoring the likes of Easy Rider, Speed and Blue Velvet in favour of the likes of The Hot Spot, Hoosiers and Catchfire (AKA Backtrack), a curious blend of twitched performances in unremarkable films, and sultry toned neo-noirs which made a pleasing change to my usual auteur led traditions. I’d quite like to repeat this with another actor or actress next year, maybe Gloria Grahame or Robert Ryan for a historical change of pace. I’m also thinking about changing the graphic design format of the blog, using larger photos for a start and maybe a change a WordPress theme in terms of the colours, fonts and design, thus I’d welcome any feedback – but for now let’s get on with the business of show…..
The Films Of The Year
A mixed bag as usual, veering from the art house to the blockbuster, the genre busting to the horrific, as usual the auteurs are out in force as is my preferable idiom – it’s just what jacks my celluloid concerns. So let’s start proceedings with this list which I’ve expanded out to a full ten for the first time ever, I warn you now that this is predominantly a very grotesque year of occasionally challenging material, if the movies reflect the current temperature and agenda – and of course they do – the malfunctions run deep and one hopes the influx of SF material warping in for 2013 may redress the gloomy balance. As always these are presented in no specific order of merit, simply kicking off with one of the years biggest films, SPOILERS BEWARE and a very sad tale of computer malfunction;
The Dark Knight Rises – From the autumn browns of Batman Begins to the electric blue of The Dark Knight I did predict a seasonal drift to the icy ivory of The Dark Knight Rises, and if I hear one more pedantic idiot whine about the lack of explanation of how Bruce got back to Gotham then I’ll fucking scream. This triumphant peroration of the psychological nitroglycerine of Bruce Wayne’s furtive odyssey pummeled that all so elusive demographic mix into submission, both the passing cinema-goer and the fanboys being given the respect and treated with the intelligence that Hollywood frequently abhors. How the Nolan brothers with David S. Goyer have circled the story into a self-contained chronicle of how one tortured man mastered his demons is state of the art Hollywood filmmaking, smart enough to know where you need the gadgets and pyrotechnics alongside the character development and core narrative, commissioning elite-class technical crews and core creative collaborations (I think Hans Zimmer’s scores are 25% of the brilliance of these films), with a firm grasp of new technologies such as IMAX formats and visual effects, all nested within a visual and thematic iconography that permeates from film to film.
It’s scenes such as this where Nolan and his team didn’t so much as nail but crucify their take on the iconic Batman, his dark heroism and neurotically driven crusade, toying with the very notions of what it is to be a hero in the modern world, all lacquered with a throughly electrifying action thriller which has the audacity to blend in some pungent political commentary. That scene above is the moment when it comes to this trilogy that I passed from Batman fan into eternal champion mode disciple, for first time ever, ever, I genuinely was moved and cared about a character in such a cardboard comic book multiverse, and that is the ultimate and unique achievement of this blockbuster series. In terms of material I have spent the past six months accruing links and articles, but due to some malfunction they’ve all vanished in some anarchic electronic massacre, from memory however I humbly submit this and this, here is a side post on costume design and this has been doing the rounds (Not as funny as it thinks it is, but Bruce’s Batwing driving music made me laugh) and finally here is a terrific interview with Nolan which may answer some key questions on his ideas and purpose throughout the trio of films, a brilliantly epic nocturnal compendium here.
Killer Joe – I was recently reading Pauline Kael’s 1971 review of The French Connection, in which she remarks that the film is as fundamentally existential as Popeye Doyle is reprehensible, a racist goal-driven character who is compelled to get that sweet smack off the streets not due to any personally derived civic or social duty, but because he is a twisted obsessive and that is the only motivation for his unorthodox methods. It’s a useful insight that we can apply to Killer Joe, Friedkin’s most compelling work for thirty years, a film which keeps surfacing out of the subconscious to remind me of its wicked, draining and giggling power. Amidst the summer when one is besieged by movies designed for kids and adolescents it was a pleasure to be brutally assaulted by this powerful little bastard, this slimy, ugly, deep-fried tale of sexual malevolence, treacherous greed and seething Grand Guignol glee, making you laugh in uncomfortable uncertainty as Matthew McConaughey’s Oscar worthy lawman goes about his hysterical business – more like this please Mr. Friedkin who has recently become my Facebook friend, I’m anxiously waiting for updates on his legal case to finally get Sorcerer released in an appropriate restored format as I’m ashamed I’ve never seen it. Finger licking good etc….
West Of Memphis – As much as I love a good documentary it’s rare for them to crack my yearly top ten, however two candidates emerged this year, although I was deeply moved by the celestial scrying of Nostalgia For The Light the more earthly concerns of the horrendous West Memphis 3 miscarriage of justice yields closer to current concerns of institutional, bureaucratic corruption. The arrangement is exquisite – firstly just telling the facts from an independent perspective – who was killed, when, who was arrested and charged on the basis of what evidence – before delving beneath the surface to obliterate the prosecutions claims, and in the best tradition of the likes of The Thin Blue Line decouple the empirical facts of the case and its protagonists ulterior motives, before finally identifying a credible culprit. I’m told my review went as they say viral and got plastered onto their official Facebook feed which is encouraging, and a sober thought is that such incidents happen all the time, this just happens to be one occurrence when the authorities were exposed.
The Master – Harking back to transformative, robust performances of James Dean and Marlon Brando The Master has an umbilical connection to an earlier period of American cinema when the performance was the nucleus of a film rather than any high concept idea, and this is clearly a film of dense characterisation and mutual symbiosis. Having seen this twice it remains mysterious and is slightly more elusive on repeat, the widespread speculation on the ‘a-roving’ scene baffles me though as it is pretty clearly signalled that it’s all in Freddie’s chaotic head. Here’s a strange and sad connection – Jeremy Blake, the visual artist responsible for the colourful kaleidoscope mood interludes in Punch Drunk Love committed suicide with his girlfriend, both were scientologists who reputedly fled the church and were then remorselessly hounded to their death. P.T. Anderson once again displays what Sight & Sound cite as his ‘gun-slinging’ artistic bravery – think of the unexpected doughnut shop bloodbath in Boogie Nights, the pulverizing climax of Blood or the biblical rain of frogs in Magnolia, moments of bizarre and unexpected interlude that puncture the established realism, the auditing exchange and that long take as Freddy approaches the Master’s yacht for the first time are amongst the greatest single sequences of the year.
Amour – As cinema screenings go this was a smothering experience, a combination of sheer terror, grief and perversely exhilaration, as I realised I had just absorbed a melancholic masterpiece that was meticulously planned and executed. Amour is a deeply moving masterpiece – and I use that word with the respect deserves – like a film such as Irrerversible it’s a film that I hugely admire but never want to see again, you know those stories about Normandy veterans who were refered to a therapist after watching the opening of Saving Private Ryan? I imagine the same reaction for anyone who has had to nurse a loved one to their inevitable void. In a recent interview Haneke who is edging into his Seventies stated that his only professional regret is not making a SF series – the mind boggles.
Excision – It’s a rare occurrence these days given my iron cinematic constitution but sometimes a film can be genuinely and absolutely shocking, even for an old-school gore hound such as yours truly. This high-school horror film from debutante Richard Bates is a staggering debut, if you’ll forgive me I’ll go to the writers cliché dictionary and describe it as Heathers on meta-amphetamines or perhaps a better metaphor would be Todd Solondz fisting a Chuck Palahuink screenplay under the bleachers during the big homecoming game (if you find that excessive image troublesome then you need to avoid this film), you don’t cast teenage porn starlet Traci Lords as a conservative, self-righteous mom or John Waters as a sneering priest unless you’re clearly aiming to broach truly transgressive territory. There is an astonishing central performance from Anna Lynne McCord as the deranged Pauline, as a metaphor for the pain and awkwardness of your adolescent years Excision works as a terrific teen movie, before wrenching you down to a vision of suburban, clinical hell in a brilliantly orchestrated, incredibly horrifying and fitting finale to an occasionally uneven but uniquely idiosyncratic piece of work – this is a new talent I’ll be keeping an eye on.
Killing Them Softly – We continue with the comedy, (Jesus, looking back over this list it has been an extraordinarily bleak year) with Andrew Dominik’s pilloried crime tale, I am immensely discouraged at just how savaged this film has been in the US by critics who really should know better – it just shows goes to show the nerves that the film has politically and culturally grazed. Now, as agreed the film is very much a blunt force instrument and not very subtle, but criticisms such as James Gandolfini’s assassin ‘never doing anything’ – presumably uttered because he doesn’t go on some ‘cool’ killing spree – well, this level of intellectual rigour should be dismissed with the contempt it deserves. Yes it’s an exceptionally bleak and sour evisceration of the American dream and the current world we live in, fractured through the lens of a criminal genre piece, but that’s what effective crime and criminal movies have always been about on one level, on economic and social realities which shine a light on the margins of society where we won’t like what we see. It’s rare enough to see such a serious genre piece on-screen with such an uncompromising position in almost forty years, so as a major fan of urban material on both the printed page and silver scream this has definitely grown on me and will be more rewarding with future viewings, if this was Domink’s immediate sequel to Chopper I’ll bet my meagre pay cheque it wouldn’t have been quite so stigmatized. An ideal festive companion piece to Killer Joe on the ‘developed’ worlds body politic during this incrementally declining decade, although you may wish to have the Samaritans on speed-dial….
The Cabin In The Woods – Whilst many critics have been going crazy for Holy Motors serpent eating its tail post-modern deconstruction of cinema I have to opt for this frequently hilarious evisceration of the horror genre, this perhaps being the closest beast on my list to a comedy movie, a laugh-riot which just happens to feature the brutal massacre of young students and the annihilation of mankind – like I said it’s been a tough year. It is certainly diminished on a small screen re-watch and does shrink to the diminutive dimensions of a special extended episode of Buffy or Angel, but as an unprepossessing cinema visit this was just so much darn fun, dreadfully entertaining and amusing with a central bloody mystery which kept my neurons firing in uncertain anticipation. Heck, I could also get into how like all good horror it does confront some uncomfortable issues of the day, in this case the sacrifice of a younger generation in order to maintain the status quo and the exalted position of the elite baby-boomer generation but let’s not get into that here….
Headhunters – Clearly I’m a fraud as this is probably the real ‘comedy’ on my list, and who’d have expected a Norwegian thriller to infiltrate the top ten? I love a good caper movie and Headhunters takes a risk in portraying its hero as an arrogant bastard who identifies potential marks by posing as a senior CEO recruitment consultant, acquiring intelligence to steal and fence their expensive art portfolios, usually the protagonists in this pedigree of pictures are loveable rogues such as Clooney in the Ocean’s movies or Robert Redford in The Hot Rock. This was just a brilliant script with more twists than a spaghetti supper at M.Night Shyamlan’s lair, and a gruesome line of pitch-black gallows humor which had me roaring in disgusted mirth. It’s also got a neat line in corporate espionage and malfeasance which gives the nightmare a contemporary edge, Hitchcock would have loved this MacGuffins and all, and you can’t praise a thriller higher than that.
The Hobbit – An Unexpected Journey – Yeah, it just made it. This might be a surprise inclusion given my initial tepid to warm review, but on a second and indeed third 2D, 24fps view many of my disagreements faded into insignificance, and on reflection this is another superb addition to the beloved franchise. When you think about it, what other film series has been lavished with six three-hour movies (not to mention the Extended Editions, an extra 25 minutes has been confirmed for TH:AUJ already) with a consistent team of director, screenwriters and core creative personnel who display such an obvious love, reverence and understanding of the source material? I have my issues that I won’t rehash here, but the fanboy wailing over certain changes and amendments to make these films more cinematic are absurd, and I charge them to think of exactly which world they would prefer – the Jackson take on just one three-hour movie which was always the anticipated treatment? In this case the 3D and 48fps works beautifully and not since Avatar has an event movie delivered the goods in such a ravishing fashion, narrative, tone and pacing issues aside this is genuine cinema as event, film as spectacle, and how this installment sets up the next two episodes is a truly glorious achievement – I’m starting the petition for The Silmarillion in 2021 now.
Special mentions to God Bless America, Moonrise Kingdom, Berberian Sound Studio, Haywire, Margaret, End Of Watch, Silver Linings Playbook, Argo, Dreams For Sale and Looper, as I said I was despairing at how poor this year was maturing but then there was an abrupt volte face after Summer season when a whole crop of stronger material was harvested. I have to say the small screen still out distances cinema by a small margin when you factor in their ability to develop character and themes over numerous hours of transmission, Mad Men, Justified, The Walking Dead, Treme, the overrated but undeniably entertaining Breaking Bad and my personal favourite Boardwalk Empire have all had superior seasons, although I think I might finally drop the likes of Dexter and True Blood as they are both anemic parodies of their earlier, entertaining incarnations. For comparison purposes on the film front, this is useful.
I warn you now, anyone looking for some festive cheer best look elsewhere, it’s been a fucking tough year and these films continue in that dark vein of experience (sobs uncontrollably)……
Vinyan (Fabrice Du Welz, 2008) – In this psychological horror a distressed couple – Rufus Sewell and Emmanuelle Béart)- travel to the remote jungles of the Thai-Burmese border to look for their young son who was swept away in the 2004 Asian tsunami, a choking starting point for the real horror to come. The final images of those pint-sized, mud cloaked wraiths swarming around a steamy, misty jungle ruins obviously brings to mind Apocalypse Now, but this is more of a companion piece to Antichrist or Possession with the devastating loss of a child driving an increasingly emotional and violent wedge between the two frantic parents. This also treads similar mud-caked ground to next years The Impossible by the looks of things, but this is a much more submerged piece of work that gnaws at the very souls of the protagonists, a genuinely unsettling work that cautiously descends into a sweltering heart of darkness.
Son Of Frankenstein (Rowland V. Lee, 1939) – As I’ve mentioned I’ve been on a trawl of the Universal horror movies, whilst the majority of them are clearly swiftly lensed, badly written movies designed as a quick cash cow that would be knocked out if the studio were in financial danger, Son Of Frankenstein is a genuine sequel after 1935’s Bride Of Frankenstein (considered as superior to the original in some circles), as this third entry to the cycle was clearly considered and designed with those evocative expressionist contours (the stairs of the Baron’s castle remind of a horizontally arranged tombstones), evidenced by its expansive run-time – most of the knock-offs average about 70 minutes, Son being a fully fleshed 100 minutes. With Basil Rathbone as the Frankenstein’s genial son, Boris Karloff’s last appearance as the ‘monster’ and Bela Lugosi as the snivellingly malicious Ygor this is terrific fun, with a fairly exciting and explosive finale. If you dig mist shrouded moors, pitchfork and torch wielding baying mobs, and monosyllabic, misunderstood monsters then you can’t go wrong, even if one can’t fail to be reminded of Young Frankenstein which culled many of its characters from the picture.
Spartan (Mamet, 2003) – ‘Where’s the girl? Where’s the girl?’ David Mamet’s rare foray into action cinema may sound clichéd on paper – the presidents daughter is kidnapped and Val Kilmer is despatched as an elite special forces officer to bring her back – but like a great Michael Mann flick it’s the attention to detail that makes this work. The infiltration techniques, the survival skills, the combat clinician, the clandestine tricks of the trade, all these elements have been impeccably researched and are superbly portrayed through a state of the art warrior operating at the peak of his profession. As you’d expect from Mamet some of the narrative twists and turns will have you questioning what has gone before, and some faintly ludicrous reveals are subsequently fleshed out to make all the pieces drop into place like a well oiled plot machine, sure you have to abandon any pretence to realism early on but as action movies go this is nourishing slug of water in the dehydrated desert of recent American combat conflicts. Considering Mamet’s lurch to right-wing politics after 9/11 it is surprising that this dossier remains intensely critical of the American war machine whilst celebrating its fearless soldiers, a taut and tense combat flick that knocks both Taken movies dicks in the dirt.
The Turin Horse (Tarr, 2011) – At two and a half hours of gloomy insights into the empty, bruising and difficult lives of two peasants which centres around their deeply repetitive daily tasks of pure survival, of getting dressed, boiling potatoes, chopping wood, drawing water from the well and conducting chores this will not be for everyone (that’s the understatement of the year) but this caught me in exactly the right reflective mood, and I loved the repetitive yet lyrical score reminiscent of Philip Glass from the brilliant ears of Mihály Vig, this example from the earlier collaboration on the Wreckmeister Harmonies has entranced me for the past few months. The Turin Horse is more Tarkovsky than Bresson in terms of pacing and its wider religious questioning, yes it’s a very academic, parched and dare I say it depressing film but if you embrace its monochromatic idiom of the absurd and abyssal pointlessness of life then you might just achieve some strange, infinite nirvana. Apparently Tarr has exhaustively hurled down his viewfinder and abandoned his fruitless quest for artistic succor in the face of overwhelming disgust of the modern world, sometimes I know how he feels…..
The Keep (Mann, 1982) – Where to begin with this rarely exhumed Nazi inflected Grimm’s fairy tale that received a rare UK screening on Film4 last month? Sandwiched between the twin urbanity of Thief and Manhunter this is the one true oddity in Michael Mann’s clenched career, a film he has completely disowned due to its butchering in the editing suite by the film’s philistine producers, consequently it’s a difficult behemoth to track down with only inferior region 1 DVD’s available to the truly committed fans of Mann. It’s very much a film of two halves, the dialogue and performances are simply atrocious, particularly Ian McKellen’s Jewish academic and Robert Prosky’s Romanian Priest out chomping each other to decimate the Lovecraftian scenery, but it eclipses these barbarities with the evocative obsidian production designs of UK legend John Box, some eerie mist drenched haunting cinematography, and a palpitating score from Tangerine Dream which has become a cult collectors item in its own right. The editing is horrendous with characters arriving with no prior explanation (Scott Glen’s Jesus inspired saviour being particularly egregious) and it’s apparent how much of this languishes on the cutting room floor, but that barbarity is what alludes to its potential as the shell of a terrific film is incorporeally evident, it has a very odd, itchy vibe, and even the old school optical printing and reverse cranking SFX hold a strangely magnetic fascination for us cult movie aficionados. It’s an angular companion piece to Prince Of Darkness (or even Prometheus for that matter) with a grinding fairy tale aura, with notions of the seduction of overwhelming power lurking over the titular citadel like disembodied charcoal clouds, a pale cult item that is obsequiously flawed yet nebulously fascinating.
Films To See In 2013
Some repeats from last year and some material that has already been blessed with an international release, we Europeans might get certain texts early – Killing Them Softly for example only just opened in the States yet clipped the UK months ago – yet we must be patient with other material. Django goes without saying, its been getting extraordinarily good reviews, even from those who aren’t usually enamoured with Tarantino’s celluloid circle-jerks. I am filled with a quiet gnawing horror at the prospect of one of my favourite ever books finally galloping its way to the screen, on the one hand it does have some talent involved – Hans Zimmer on symphonic strides, Caleb Deschanel on lighting duties – but it’s being directed by the cretin who wrote the rightly loathed Batman & Robin and is responsible for a host of retch-inducing Ron fricking Howard pictures – uurrgghh. I guess we’ll see a trailer soon and the budget being slashed to $46 million also doesn’t bode well, then again Jennifer Connelly is in it and she’s always worth watching – and once that restraining order is lifted etc. etc. Anywho, the main theme is fairly obvious for 2013 – there must be something lurking in the distant grinding nebula as a glut Science Fiction projects are finally warping in for battle;
Gravity – Well, maybe this will actually dock next year, still no scans of the trailer so we’ll have to look back to Children of Men to remind ourselves of Cuaron’s astounding camerawork. Pushed back from an initial November 2012 release schedule the project seems to be beset with production problems, with supporting players to George Clooney’s lead orbiting through Scarlett Johansson to Sandra Bullock in the female astronauts chair, and detecting the merest fragment of production photos, SFX designs or that rarest of treasures an actual trailer has been as elusive as detecting H2O on the dusty plateaus of Mars. Still we SF fans are a patient breed, and we await this potential new evolutionary step in genre machinery and robotics with a baited, audible breath. It’s been granted an MPAA certificate so it must be in the can, perhaps they’re just polishing some of the visuals and then nervously deciding when to launch it into the stratosphere….
The Grandmaster – The wildly talented Wong Kar Wai returns to the screen after the disappointing My Blueberry Nights with this martial arts biopic of the legendary sensei Ip Man who famously taught Bruce Lee his memorable skills. This film has been beset with production problems and delays, as I understand it re-shoots are currently being conducted for the international market, but it opens in China next week and should secure world-wide distribution in the new year. A look at that trailer promises some ravishing images, with his frequent muse Tony Leung in the title role and the elfin Zhang Ziyi (Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon) one guesses that a passionate love affair will also be on the cards. This has also reminded to finally track down Chungking Express, I can’t believe I still haven’t seen that supposed classic of world cinema yet…..
Stoker – Well, something else with an actual trailer, so that’s nice. How will a director with Park Chan-wook’s affectations and obsessions translate into an English language dark mystery drama, with a reasonably heavyweight cast including Nicole Kidman, Mia Wasikowska and Matthew Goode? That’s an intriguing cast combination in this film which is supposedly inspired by Hitchcock’s Shadow Of A Doubt which gives me some signals as to what it might be about, I’m pulling something of an embargo on this now to keep expectations fresh. Stoker also has a Clint Mansell score and this is always a good thing.
Upstream Color – Shane Carruth, he of 2004’s Primer fame finally returns to the big screen (Where has he been? Stuck in a box somewhere?) with this Sundance premiering paradox, very little is known on this other than this curious tagline – ‘A man and woman find themselves drawn together as they struggle to reassemble the fragments of their wrecked lives’. Carruth seems to have been paying the rent with script consultant duties on the likes of Looper, whether he’s back in time travel territory remains to be seen. There’s no-one particularly famous in the cast, thus I assume it’s another lo-fi budget effort, I hope he can match the confusing yet alluring heights of his debut – Sundance hits in January so not long to wait for initial reactions. For those confused (obligatory Primer link) about the prospects of his long gestating A Topiary I hear that film would be very expensive given the SFX requirements inherent in the script, so this is probably a ‘bridge’ film where he has to prove himself as a filmmaker with talent and a certain degree of critical popularity – he has after all been off the scene for eight years – before the purse holders at the major studios are persuaded to break out the cheque books…..
Cloud Atlas – Yesterday’s papers for our US and Canadian cousins, the more I’ve heard about this box-office failure (which can mostly be attributed to its misjudged, staggered release pattern) the more I’m curiously intrigued. Opinions have verged from a horrendous muddled mess with embarrassing Charlie Chan make-up to the more Aint It Cool style breathlessly gushing sites citing the film as a ‘life changing experience’ – although that does not bode well truly ambitious cinema of the $100 million plus range is all too rare, and I look forward to making my own mind up come February. At the very least Cloud Atlas is going to be a different experience with articles citing the current experimentation with traditional film structures mapping the film with the likes of The Master, Holy Motors and Life Of Pi, the very fact that the Wachowski’s got this made at all through private funding – one possible reason for the lack of screens and poor advertising hobbling the films opportunities – is a minor miracle in itself. I just hope that with their supposed disregard of narrative continuity that they haven’t thrown the baby out with the proverbial bathwater.
What does next year hold in store retrospective wise? Well the BFI are hosting a Polanski retrospective in January which I’m musing over, and I have this rather strange urge to revisit the Hong Kong John Woo gangster films of the Eighties and Nineties, I have no idea where this impulse has sprung from but I like the idea of also seeking out ancillary material by other filmmakers of the era, a period of genre cinema I’m not entirely au fait with. I’m also going to see what I can do about covering more festivals, I’ve had opportunities which I failed to follow-up on due to sheer laziness (the Nordic Film Festival, the South Korean Film Festival), and certainly Sundance O2 which returns to the UK in February. The two biographies Hitchcock and Lincoln are of course on the playlist as is the new Malick picture To The Wonder and Kathryn Bigelow’s Zero Dark Thirty, on the genre front I’m also looking forward to The Canyons, Neil Blomkamp’s Elysium, a Cruise to Oblivion should be surpassed by Del Toro’s thundering Pacific Rim, the Star Trek sequel should be fun, romantics will get woozy as Linklater concludes his international romanticism with Before Midnight and the epic Cornetto trilogy closes with World’s End, hopefully a re-teaming of Frost and Pegg with Edgar Wright will actually, y’know, make them funny again after the horrendous failure of Paul.
So finally let’s wave a melancholic goodbye to analogue film which is certainly what 2012 will be remembered for, with Kodak ceasing major production of film stock and theatres now all but abandoning 35mm projection, I’m no Luddite as I do embrace the technical marvels of 3D and CGI when used effectively and appropriately, but I can’t help but feel that something tangible has slipped away, a physical capture of reality through a tactile storage and delivery device. Holding a frame of 35mm or 70mm film stock up to the light to judge its contents is obviously more romantic and idyllic a symbol of the magic of the movies, of letting light pour and permeate through an image to illuminate a fantastic illusion is infinitely more affecting than plugging a hard drive into a throbbing bank of hardware but that’s just me, a digital beeping of zeroes and ones simply can’t cut it as the world shifts to a more impersonal and diffused fashion of communication, ‘social’ media be damned. The format won’t completely die out of course, certain films will continue to be shot photo-chemically on a probable sliding, declining scale – I’m not entirely sure what the status is with shooting practices away from Hollywood in the likes of Bollywood, in the strong indigenous industries of Japan, South Korea and Hong Kong, or even the recently emerging powerhouses such as Nigeria – but commerce is always the watchword and if costs are reduced in the never quenched search for product then the writing is clearly on the wall. I think there will always be some movement of analogue lovers who demand traditional projection from original, physical masters and dupes, maybe like formats such as vinyl it will become increasingly marginalised but that loyal and rabid fan base should stick around for another generation at least – so farewell film, Rest In shattered, indiscriminate Pieces;
Forgive me for posting a personal moment or two, away from the usual film stuff. My friends know me all too well, it’s my birthday today and I’ve been blessed (+1) with a DVD rip of the second season of this;
…..combined with a magnificent aquistion of this;
….alongside the critical escapades of my favourite group;
Ah, sweet nostaglia. I may very well regret this post in hours to come, but Byrne’s run on FF was classic, no?
My first musical endeavour of the year, and this is gonna be nigh on impossible to best. This was the first run of Philip Glass and Robert Wilson’s collaboration Einstein On The Beach in the UK after its international debut back in 1976, this is the first of Glass’s ‘portrait’ trilogy of Operas (you may recall I saw Satyaghara a couple of years ago), here’s a brief BBC primer. I’ll mostly let the music and performances speak for themselves, although I would say that the acoustics in the Barbican are phenomenal, I’m pretty sure this was the first ‘gig’ I’ve been to there – I’ve caught plenty of movies in the enclave of new brutalist of course – here are some reviews which articulate the event better than I manage. Nevertheless, here’s the best material I can trace from this run which is all on shakycam I’m afraid, but hopefully it might give you a flavour of the auditory assault;
I was a little hesitant at the four-hour and change runtime given my incapacitated condition but it rattled through its four acts and intermezzos – that’s me pretending to know what I’m talking about – in what felt like a quarter of the time. Now we all know that I love me some movie style entertainment – I think we’ve established that – but there is something to be said for the immediacy of a ‘live’ performance experience;
Words almost fail me, it really was quite an evening, just Akhnaten to see now and I’ll have achieved the full set. Proof positive that when we turn our minds to it, our species can produce some remarkable experiences;
Do you spend your life getting into, or avoiding tense situations? If you’re of the latter persuasion then get the fuck out of here you goddamn hippy square, we’re here to talk about Repo Man, one of the more genuinely niche cult movies of the irremediable eighties, the spiky debut of British born director Alex Cox whose patchy career has never equalled the delirious highs of this original, delinquent drive. I use the phrase ‘cult’ movie advisedly; it’s a notoriously slippery and elusive phrase that requires some clarification in this context, given its wide net of interpretations and assignations it is sometimes deployed lazily by commentators and critics like yours truly, so bear with me while I briefly accelerate down this tangent. The moniker ‘cult’ denotes a slavishly devoted and committed fan-base, passionate fans who devour every morsel of information on a favourite film’s production, who obsessively hunt down alternate versions of the film across numerous territories, habitué’s who can parrot details of the film’s production designer, gaffer or location manager, and more often than not also regale their terrified audiences with a half-dozen other releases that such crew worked on, or interject fascinating information on the numerous movie posters they have and the specific track listing on the Dutch soundtrack import they recently acquired which has a slightly extended version of track seven which is not available on the original Hong Kong imprint. OK, I exaggerate slightly but under that broad definition Star Wars, Harry Potter and Lord Of The Rings could all be termed as cult movies given their notoriously obsessed acolytes, despite these being the most successful films ever made which are household names, what I’m driving it are films off the beaten track, films with unique and unusual ingredients that appeal to specific fans for specific reasons, I’m talking Detour or Turkey Shoot, Matango or Night of The Hunter, Fear & Desire or The Day The Clown Cried, oddball, offbeat and obscured episodes of cinema that don’t exactly end up on a Sunday afternoon terrestrial television but movies when dropped into casual conversation will immediately give you a signal as to the relative discerning merits of your companion – I don’t think I could dislike anyone who enjoyed The Keep for example. This is a very long, circuitous journey of coming to probably the most ‘cult’ of my favourite movies (although on reflection Assault On Precinct 13 probably flags a close second), a movie which has finally bagged a long awaited Blu-Ray release under the highly regarded Masters Of Cinema home entertainment imprint, so let’s begin with those scorching, shrieking titles;
In cinemas finest example of a Sci-Fi inflected, nuclear nightmared, LA centred, punk-surf-comedy-romance Repo Man features the adventures of Otto (Emilio Estevez), a disenfranchised and disaffected teenager who quits his soul crushing retail job in a pique of existential ennui, before being hoodwinked by the grizzled Bud (Harry Dean Stanton in iconic cult movie gear) into stealing a car under the illusion that it’s his property and he needs to get it out of a bad neighbourhood. Yup, Otto has suffered his first introduction to the inalienable laws of supply and demand, and soon he is indoctrinated into the seductive, dangerous yet lucrative world of the Repo Men, those crazy, independent souls who live by their own twisted brand of ethics in pursuit of the reclamation of vehicles from recalcitrant clients, a motley crue of reprobates who operate on the fringes of the law in a sweltering, Reganite Los Angeles which is ‘Morning in America’ with a pulverizing hangover and amphetamine fuelled comedown. When a ’64 Chevy Malibu hits the news with a juicy $25K bounty Otto’s colleagues and their vicious opponents the Rodriquez brothers are soon on the case, little do they realise that the (literally) radioactively hot vehicle has been sequestered by the insane nuclear scientist J. Frank Parnell (Fox Harris, evidently Dennis Hooper was too expensive) who is transporting a lethal top-secret cargo, as the Feds and a miasma of different groups close-in on their quarry Otto may have a few lessons to learn from some unlikely auxiliaries;
It’s difficult for me to be neutral when commenting on this jalopy as it was and remains one of my all time favourite vehicles, not because of its innate technical qualities or daring narrative functions, not because of its groundbreaking characterisations or genre bruising dexterity, it’s just the fact that I grew up with my best friends quoting the dialogue, digging on the soundtrack and most importantly appreciating the films irrelevant ethos, it still has a genuine, irrepressible spraycoat of authenticity that half the contemporary Sundance or other US independent movies lack, a throbbing purity under the hood which delivers misappropriated mirth, automatic amusement and some slight political commentary in a final, glowing aperitif. Cox managed to catch lightning in a bottle with this one, from Robby Müller’s terrific photography (he of course went on to illuminate the films of Wim Wenders and Jim Jarmusch with such brilliant passion), from the soundtrack which is a sampler snapshot of the alternate music scene of the time, and most importantly a genuine sense of place and time both politically and culturally, if you recall this was the year that disembodied spirits were being hilariously tracked through the big apple and incompetent crew of buffoonish civilians were being training for law enforcement, so its nice to remember that there was some more credible, unusual, leftfield material on display.
A great cult movie usually makes up for areas it can’t possibility compete in – expensive production values, starry casts, technical elán – with those elements which cost nothing, chiefly great characters, salient dialogue, and if they’re particularly daring some ingenious, experimental use of locations and locales. Repo Man hits all three of the targets with unnerving accuracy, from the collection of junkyard oddballs that comprise Otto’s new crew (its taken me 25 years to finally realise that they are all named after American brands of beer), some convivial repartee (‘Nice friends Otto….’ ‘Thanks, I made them myself’) and memorable utilisation of both the Los Angeles storm drain infrastructure and my beloved Second Street Tunnel which crops up in numerous movies of note. The chaotic plot has links to UFO cults, incompetent government goons and brainwashed baby boomers, it’s very much a product of its era which still resonates today, and Cox’s subsequent attempts to weld together his Bunuelian flashes of surreal inspiration (plate of shrimp anyone?) with his anti-corporate manifesto haven’t achieved such giddy heights, from the product labeling prefiguring Naomi Klein by fifteen years to the dense plethora of cultural in-jokes populated throughout the movies mise-en-scene. You only need to look at a movie like Southland Tales to see how difficult it is to achieve such a tricky, accidental balance of entertaining exegesis, I’m also fond of the end titles inversion which has birthed its own mini movie genre,Repo Man would be ideally placed as the middle installment of a cult movie triple bill prologued with Buckaroo Banzai for a vision of what other neon oddness was on offer in 1984 followed with Dr. Strangelove for a subsequent dose of devastatingly radioactive humor, here is the genius ‘repo code’ which was partially concocted by the legendary Harry Dean Stanton in his most memorable of performances;
This Masters Of Cinema Blu-Ray imprint of the film is as handsome a hardtop of the movie as you could expect, presented in its original 1.85:1 aspect ratio and 5.1 sound remix it holds enough horsepower to leave memories of those crushed small screen BBC2 viewings that I’m sure some of you joined me in back in the eighties and nineties coughing in the dust. There are plenty of extras for the aficionados to pilfer, as well as a deleted scenes montage with explanatory linking footage recently shoot by Cox we get a brief introduction that sets the context for the film, paying particular attention to how parent distributor Universal wanted to bury the film as potential subversive propaganda until the pre-release soundtrack started to get attention in the alternative music sub-culture network, with incremental word of mouth starting to build a modicum of buzz. A reminiscence themed documentary with producers Peter McCarthy and Jonathan Wacks, and actors Del Zamora, Sy Richardson and Dick Rude are complemented with a feature commentary with Cox and the crew, I haven’t listened to that yet but I’m sure it will have a few amusing nuggets and insights for all the movies disciples who are literally ‘out there’. The prized steal however is a unique copy of the notorious ‘melonfarmer’ TV cut of the film which is a rare treat given its incorporation of alternate footage and hilarious swear word substitutions, an exclusive treasure alongside a hilarious half hour discussion with Harry Dean Stanton in which he is revealed as the cantankerous, difficult, prickly shaman that we all suspected him to be, at one pontificating that ‘Iraq, Napoleon, serial killers, everything is predestined man, nobody’s in charge and it’s all gonna go down the way it’s gonna go down’ – so take the man’s advice, submit to the irrepressible mysteries of our alchemist universe, and hot wire a copy of this cult classic as soon as possible;
Life eh? It’s a funny old beast. After a long weekend in Madrid, tripping the light fantastic, drinking to the small hours of the morning and enduring a slightly scary turbulance afflicted flight home I got back in one piece on Sunday evening, only to promptly slip over in my lino kitchen and seriously fuck my left foot up – no jokes please. It basically feels as if something like this has been inflicted upon my fragile frame;
Therefore there will be very little activity on here for the next week as just lurching over to my PC to post this was effort enough, that last Lynch review will just have to wait. Stay stafe people….
After that dark and brooding take on Australian psychopaths let’s have some amusement to raise the spirits, I’m not usually one for tiresome nostalgia trawls but I must share this;
….so I can share this cluster of unmitigated, concentrated, sweded awesome;
Now there’s a kids TV show that would benefit from a 3D CGI heavy update. Speaking of kids stuff Hugo has been getting some amazing nods from the summaries I’ve skim read – one doesn’t read reviews until they’ve seen the film and one has collected ones own thoughts – but it looks like it’s visually dazzling and has a lot of submerged film nerd details to munch on. I’m really looking to forward to this now, thank god that horrendous trailer doesn’t (allegedly) reflect the final movie. We shall see….
Is there something in the water or rather something in the skies, by my reckoning this is the fourth alien invasion picture this year, after two assaults on LA and a minor incursion into a London Council estate along clomps Super 8, director J.J. Abrams unbridled valentine to his cinematic hero Steven Spielberg, a prospect that initially struck me as exciting before mutating into hesitant suspicion, the appearance of the artisan of affection on the producer credits just seemed a little too…..well, perhaps a little too incestuous for my tastes. If like me you grew up in the eighties then Spielberg’s work has been inexorably wedged into your cinematic cerebellum, the second film I ever remember seeing at the flicks and was consequently enormously excited about was E.T. (the first was Empire) and as a budding cinéphile I burrowed into the archaeological adventures of that mystical kleptomaniac Indiana Jones, cheered on the initial forays into the Star Wars universe and submerged myself in this aquatic terrorising of a quiet coastal town, my personal favourite however was the uncanny wonder of Close Encounters of the Third Kind, to my mind Spielberg’s only unvarnished masterpiece of its era, and it’s this movie that incubates much of the chromosomes of Super 8 melded with Abrams creature feature Cloverfield as once again a lumbering behemoth is on the loose and the forces of authority are completely out of their depth. As much as I love ‘golden era’ Spielberg my fears of some tiresome celluloid circle-jerk were swiftly dispelled, in its opening recreations of a cobalt hued childhood Super 8 immediately charmed my socks off, the collision of suburban nostalgia and unearthly curiosity forged a cogent experience and judging by my fellow audiences reactions I wasn’t the only one seduced by Abrams two-hour homage to one of cinemas most successful populist practitioners.
1979, small town America, and a group of film mad proto-teenagers are surreptitiously shooting their amusingly inept zombie movie under the nose of their frowning parents. Some real world horrors have recently afflicted this confederation of the nerds, main character Joe (Joel Courtney) recently lost his mother in an industrial accident at the local plant, his stern father and town sheriff (Kyle Chandler) has not recovered from this tragedy and his grief is manifested in a passive aggressive distancing from his manga eyed son. His best friend Charles (Riley Griffith) is the rotund director of this super 8mm odyssey with main man Martin (Gabriel Basso) as the goofy lead, SFX duties rest with the pyromaniac in training Cary (Ryan Lee) with second unit duties falling to the nervous Preston (Zach Mills). Requiring a female for a crucial romantic scene the secretive troupe recruit local girl Alice (Elle Fanning) to their gang and strike out to the edge of town to shoot the next sequence of their undead masterpiece, as the camera rolls a careering train is derailed (during a VERY VERY LOUD and armrest clutching catenation) while amongst the coruscating carnage something is unleashed, and soon mysterious disappearances, an exodus of canines and thefts of domestic electronics are plaguing this slumbering Ohio town…
I strongly suspect that when December rolls around Super 8 will be on my films of the year list, it’s certainly the most elementary, complaisant fun I’ve had at the movies this summer. Whilst the cinéaste can wallow in the Spielbergian flourishes and tightly constructed action set-pieces the armchair viewer will similarly be taken on quite the thrilling and amusing movie-mounted fun-ride, haters of that particular strain of Hollywood spectaculars should probably stay away as the film is unabashed nostalgia porn which may not arouse everyone’s pictorial peccadilloes. Slow dollies, choreographed to a swelling music score as dumbstruck characters gaze in rapt paralysis to some miraculous off-screen occurrence ? Check √. A syrupy, sentimental foam to proceedings revolving around the disruption of the contemporary nuclear family? Double check √√. An all-pervading aura of some uncanny otherworldliness (maybe hostile, potentially misunderstood) lurking under the whispering eaves of small town Americana? Triple check with flashing Klaxons √√√. The kids are all great (although some of them could have been fleshed out with a little more character) with a particular stand out performance from Elle Fanning, her early take in the film within a film they are making is quite a remarkable performance, the fictional awestruck reactions of her friends being mirrored in a non-fictional audiences reciprocation. That intertextuality is touched upon throughout the film as the young film-makers incorporate the shooting of their film into the militaries occupation of their small sleepy town, cleverly utilising these infiltrations (and like early Spielberg the film has a mistrust of the government and their cloaked agenda) as background action to their juvenile, foregrounded efforts. The lense flare techniques are out in force and they provoke a fairy tale, azure sheened twinge to proceedings, whilst Abrams doesn’t seem to have settled on any particularly significant directorial style his visual panache is uniquely suited to the material, although the moorings start to unravel a little toward the last act with repetition of techniques becoming a little, erm, repetitious the overall effect invokes the best elements of his pedagogues sorcerous skills. An element of the final crescendo provoked some grumblings amongst the jaded hacks across the pond, to be honest I had been so enthralled by the whole enterprise by this point that the final symbolic closure didn’t invoke my groan response, don’t get up once the credits start to roll as a few minutes in Abrams tacks on the film the kids were making and it’s pretty hilarious with some funny lines, an apt coda to a holistic celebration of film-making and story telling which left me exiting the theatre with a big cheesy grin.
I’m aware of some of the complaints that the film has attracted, that the movie is self-indulgent and Spielberg and his contemporaries efforts were already tributes and homages to the B-Movies of their youth, thus rendering Super 8 as a particularly problematic fealty to an earlier period, a ouroboros effect if you will but this passing of the baton to the likes of Abrams and his adept charm offensive won me over, the Saturday afternoon crowd I saw it with lapped it up like me, laughing at the gags and muttering barely concealed expletives following the jumpy scares, at least it has a beating heart and a simple celebration of adventure that other Hollywood product (cough, cough Transformers) so sorely lack – or maybe I’m just getting soft in my old age. Having caught up with some reviews and podcasts on the film I must share with you a fantastic little tale, it transpires that Abrams attended a preview screening of Escape From New York (with that opening still intact, and a film noted for its anamorphic horizontals – hmm) with his Dad (both parents are West Coast entertainment kingpins) back in early 1981 and commented on his feedback card that he was confused about the fate of Maggie (the Adrienne Barbeau role) during the climactic bridge chase. Responding to this feedback Carpenter and DP Dean Cundey got together at JC’s house the next day and shot an insert of the slain Maggie in his garage, inserted it into the final prints and locked the picture. Well, fuck you, I thought it was interesting. Anyway, it looks like Abrams is ramping up to the next Star Trek materialization next year (I’m no Trekkie but the first one was fun so I’ll probably go see it – Khaaaannnnn?) and Spielberg has two projects on the horizon for Christmas, neither of them particularly arrest me but like some directors – Scorsese, Mann, Lynch, Nolan, Del Toro – I have made a conscious decision to see all their films at the flicks (I’ve seen every one of Steve’s movies on or about opening weekend since 1992, more fool me eh?), it’s a small tradition that I’m committed to continue. Here’s a nice closer, I’m off to revist CE3K again;
Warpaint!! My first ‘proper’ gig of the year. I have some friends who remain much more attuned to new music than I – I channel all my energies into the movies of course – so I went into this gig completely blind (or should that be deaf?) by deliberately not checking out any of their material prior to the concert. I knew they were some sort of mélange of West Coast USA nu-gazing Indie guitar shimmering rock, and that’s pretty much the style of audio assault that was delivered. All the amateur live clips I’ve viewed have either been marred with distracting feedback and glitches (and not in a good way) so I’ll stick to the official, professionally recorded stuff;
Including a rapturous final crescendo;
Some quick reflections for diary purposes – suffice to say Thailand wasn’t quite what I was expecting. Over the years I have gravitated much more to holidays in the big metropolises (New York, Los Angeles, Paris, Madrid, Amsterdam, Stockholm, Tallinn, Tokyo, Melbourne, Sydney) as they contain all the stuff I like to do – visit museums and art galleries, hang out in dingy bars, go to the cinema, browse through bookshops, or just wander around and get some sort of osmosis feel of the culture of a place. I’m not a beach person, the thought of lying around in the blistering sunshine, contracting some particularly exotic strain of skin cancer really does not appeal to me, so I was surprised at how much I enjoyed Thailand which was much more of a tropical Eden getaway than I anticipated, but then again I did sod all research prior to departure and kind of trusted in my friends judgement that this would be a fun thing to do.
I flew into Bangkok and stayed for a day which was as hectic and vibrant as I suspected – after having a quick nose around some impressive temples some bar hopping down the Khao San Road was in order – before a flight into Phuket and boat trip over to Phi Phi Island the next day. The archipelago was a white beached paradise if a tad too westernised (with plenty of further developments and buildings in construction), infested as it was with youngsters from Europe and North America it was quite the modest party locale once the sun went down. Through friends of friends we built up quite a gang of similarly minded reprobates with people flying over from London, Sydney and Singapore for the festivities, it was quite amusing to meet and get to know some cool new people in the same demographic whom were also child and marriage free whom consequently smoked like chimneys, drank like maniacs and quite happily partied until dawn – my kind of people. We were located up in a pleasant little resort up in the jungle which was quite atmospheric to say the least, giving the double advantage of being away from the bars when sleep was required and well, just being situated out in an area where you can hear monkeys knocking around, where the roar of the crickets ebbed and flowed as the days waxed and waned, where just traversing a hungover stumble from your room to the pool resulted in spotting a plethora of exotic reptiles, birds and insects was quite a novelty. Perhaps most importantly for the success of the expedition was that friends knew the owner of a local bar which served as our local meeting point, they not only could recommend the better restaurants and provided advice on what to do they were also the host of some of the more inebriated evenings of the expedition. And my god was it hot – 32 degrees at least every day – which meant that I spent most of the time outside of the sanctuary of any air conditioning sweating like a whore in church – not a pretty sight.
I got through a measly five books over the fortnight – including my first flirtations with Eddie Bunker which is a criminal oversight on my part as his material was terrific – the early Ellroy displayed promise of the vicious subterfuge to come and the Stephen King has some of the best novellas he’s produced in quite a while. Some assorted highlights; Watching some pretty girls dance in the rain on a open rooftop bar whist the monsoon thunder blasted the landscape and shards of lightning strobed the distant mountain tops of the island in a most evocative fashion*, getting a Stanley Kubrick question on a local pub quiz that won the crew a round of shots (where was Full Metal Jacket shot? I think I may have made them suspicious of potential iPhone use when I gave them verbatim geospatial co-ordinates, shooting dates and the names and blood types of the films primary production crew), cracking the best and most offensive gag of the holiday (at least when I was around, suffice to say it’s unrepeatable here), traversing a night times connection from Don Mueang to Suvarnabhuni airport through a Blade Runner reminiscent cityscape, the commanding and sweltering views from the Islands highest tourist viewpoint and drinking mojitos until dawn from Easter Sunday until Easter Monday with some damn fine company. I’m toying with the idea of a few days in Canada toward the end of the year and a friend is interested in visiting Norway during a window that coincides with a music festival that has some interesting artists playing, I think I’ll just have to wait and see how the job pans out in the interim before I make any commitments. การแสดงความขอบคุณ
* Now let me be clear, I realise that could sound a bit creepy but I mean it in the most innocent manner possible, more of joie de vivre of celebration in the teeth of inclement weather.
Well that was pretty stunning. I can best describe it in ugly shorthand as Philip Glass with percussion, minimalist rhythms that build and texture to a quite discordant beauty. Here;
It takes a while to get going, here’s part two:
Let’s break things up a little shall we? I’ve had a particularly brilliant week so I feel like celebrating with some music, plus a break from the avalanche of horror reviews seems apt. Don’t fret gentle reader, this weekends plan still revolves around completing my Monsters review, to craft a Last Exorcism report as I think it gets its official release today yesterday and I will probably catch Scott Pilgrim on Sunday to keep it real with the kids and all that nonsense, I’m actually looking forward to a film which doesn’t involve SFX, stalking or nerdy allusions – I may be disappointed. After Frightfest culminated on Monday night I’ve had a full schedule and caught up with a couple of friends for beers over a couple of sequential sessions which was excellent, I’ve cracked some problems at work and finalised a very exciting opportunity that will be amazing if I can cement the deal – we shall see. So here is some noise;
Thurston and crew always deliver.
According to his website Mr. Johnson has scored five movies – including Tony – over the past few months. Interesting….
Yes, I am trawling through that 120 Minutes website to craft this post so it will be ancient material for you young ‘uns, I make no apologies. I’d like to see Polly live, maybe one day…
Above is some ancient video inspired fun, something of a private joke, relating to a mislaid artefact – it’s a long story. Moving on to the below I think these guys may be playing in London soon, I’d like to see ’em;
My shoes are clean. Are yours?
A restrained Surfers;
And a change of pace and genre;
I made a pact with a friend to see at least one more gig before the year is out, any recommendations?
No, I’m not playing the ‘Birdie’ song so fuck off. I’ve been meaning to post a link to this amazing resource for a while, it prompts an amusing wonder down memory lane and I think it is an exemplar of just how cool the web can be sometimes – you can spend hours browsing that site if you’re in a musical mood. So with no apologies here are some magpie pluckings from that fabulous site, let’s kick off with a mirror;
Then there is always the ethereal Lush;
This was always my favourite. Anyway, moving on, Devo’s best;
Siouxse Sioux in Batman Returns soundtrack mode, this brings back memories;
This is a weird version, for obvious reasons;
Good fun – Mudhoney;
I’ll regret this, I was never that much of a goth but a few tracks of the, erm ‘Sisters’ have always been fond to me;
Brief and to the point;
For ultimate retro fun then let me introduce you to some playlists of the UK Chart Show – indie Version – which I’m sure will provide you with another rich vein of nostaglic investigation – here’s my favourite, and please forgive me a small private joke with some friends;
My coverage of The Final Programme screening and NFT Michael Moorcock Q&A is almost done, and a quick look around the London listings reveals a few potential films for the weekend – I’m almost tempted to do a Five Easy Pieces and Human Centipede double bill for the comic potential alone. OK, perhaps not, I’m also keen to give this a look which has had some terrific reviews, it really depends on my energy levels tomorrow as its been a hectic week and whilst I’ve managed to negotiate a two month extension to my current assignment today (thank fuck) I’d welcome a recuperative couple of days at home. We shall see….
Well that was fun. Fantastic weather, some pleasing summer tracks before the carnage of the evening. For my own, selfish prosperity here is whom we saw;
Then the almighty, the one and only The Fall;
These are in no particular order by the way, and it was a torrent of electronica for the rest of the day including Mouse On Mars;
It’s nice to have some music on the blog for a change, don’t you think? There was Moderat;
Then some Silver Apples whom were very Kraftwerk;
And then some more dancing like a loon in the Bugged Out tent until bedtime;
Given that this all unfolded a half hour walk from my flat and therefore it was easy to
get stagger home means that it shall be repeated next year.
Forgive me for reverting to indulgant diary mode as I doubt that half an hour of two old blokes messing about with their MacBooks will be of much interest to most of you. I enjoyed my first gig of the year on Sunday at the O2 in Islington, the side project of musician Alan Wilder that began when he split from Depeche Mode back in 1994;
Not much else to say other than it was a fun experience in an intimate venue. I’m not particularly knowledgeable about Recoils output, despite owning most of his albums they’re not very often on the playlist but then again nothing is as I gravitate to listening podcasts more in my old age. Anyway, here’s some more:
Some DM material was appropriated to the crowds delight:
And some more to close…
From the moment those discordant strings roared around the auditorium I knew I was in for something special. To mark the 50th anniversary of Hitchcock’s proto slasher the NFT is screening a sparkling new print of Psycho in an extended run accompanied by a season of films that have been influenced by the macabre maestro’s most memorable masterpiece (heh), one of the most efficacious and dissected films of all time. Yes, there will be spoilers but considering the films half century vintage I think you can bear with me….
Phoenix, Arizona. Friday, December The Eleventh. Two Forty-Three PM, an accuracy of space and time begins. In an oft imitated opening sequence a parade of penetrating establishing shots incrementally moves into a bedroom scene where two lovers are sharing an illicit tryst during their lunch hour. Sam Loomis (John Gavin) discusses his financial woes with his partner Marion Crane (Janet Leigh), both are bemoaning the fact that neither of them have the funds to make a new life for themselves in another state. Returning to her bank cashier job Marion is presented with the opportunity to seize $40,000 deposited by a faintly seedy local businessman, our heroine seizes the moment and she flees Phoenix to a potential new life of happiness and financial security. After exchanging cars following a tense encounter with a suspicious police officer a day later Marion finds herself checking into the secluded Bates Motel during an ominous thunderstorm…
Just to be obvious on the big screen experiences such as this are a revelation, even when you know every story beat and scene that will materialise. The film is so compact, unfurling over a short few day diagetic period which builds an incredible texture, there is evidence of a master formalist at work with defined visual geometries embroidered into the film. From its opening titles with those tangent blocks bisecting the screen, a design aggregated by the score with its overwhelming violin strokes, through the lighting schemes in the opening hotel room scene that also replicate a cascade of order and constriction, from the squat Bates motel juxtaposed with the looming house hovering over the guests murder sites – the film is textured with a horizontal composition colliding with the vertical, the sane with the insane, the criminal with the lawful, all of which are ellipsed with the final fluttering light bulb and orbicular revelation of Norma’s statis. These techniques were partially coaxed out of Hitchcock by Truffaut in his celebrated study – here is the audio, all 25 parts which is possibly the best piece of research I’ve found since starting this blog. Outstanding.
What more is there to say about one of the most admired and analysed sequences in cinema history? How the jagged editing mirrors the violent death strokes of the pendulous strikes of the deranged killer? How that visual arrangement is complemented by Bernard Herrman’s asperous score? How the sequence was shot in in seventy set-ups, in seven days, out of the entire films scheduled thirty-day shoot with his TV ‘Alfred Hitchcock Presents’ crew? How chocolate sauce was used as the blood surrogate? How the debate rages fifty years later as to whether you see the blade penetrate the body? Yeah, film nerds can get a bit creepy about stuff like that sometimes…
The sense of dread engulfing the viewer when the bathroom door silently glides open and the silhouetted figure lurches toward the shower curtain is truly remarkable – you can see why people freaked out in 1960 as it retains a horrific magnetism and remains one of the best and most unexpected twists of cinema lore. So now our heroine has been brutally slain so what happens now? What about the $40,000 money McGuffin? Where can this picture go next? Understanding the contours of the film experiences Hitch slows the film down and crafts one of his most memorable sequences, the slow track from Marion lifeless eye to the Bates motel which again tells you everything that is happening and signals a change of perspective, the transmutation of protagonist from Marion to Norman, two uncoincidentally similar names…
The celebrated sequence was the crux of why Hitch wanted to make the picture, to disrupt storytelling tropes and make the audience shift their uncertain sympathies and identifications from Marion to the nervously acquiescent Norman, enabling Hitch to manipulate the audience and as the man said ‘I was directing the viewers. You might say I was playing them, like an organ’. The decision to make a film due to one scene seems a little unusual today but you have to remember that this was a different era and the attraction of working in an admittedly deteriorating production system enabled Hitch to continue his experiments, as he did with Rope, with Lifeboat, with Dial M For Murder and with The Wrong Man (his first film shot on real locations in the US urban landscape), to coquet with the technical paraphernalia at his command. I’d forgotten the prevalence of black comedy in the film, it is funnier than I remember with a lot of subtle wordplay – ‘mother’s not feeling herself today’, ‘She’s as harmless as one of those stuffed birds’, ‘She just goes a little mad sometimes.’ The bird motif is quite interesting and of course it has prompted academics to make links to the avian apocalypse that was unleashed three years later, lines such as ‘You-you eat like a bird’ delivered by Norman in the motel pantry that houses a flock of stuffed birds of prey that loom over Marion before her imminent demise prompting some curious affiliations. The way that the film shifts its tone, the manner in which it displaces its protagonist – the final 40 minutes is populated by Marion’s sister whom we’ve never seen before – the way it shifts gear and constantly surprises is bewildering and almost unique, and on those terms it’s a masterpiece that irradiates most of current film-making, pure and simple.
I read Mark Cousins ‘The Story Of Film‘ recently which was superb, in one memorable section Cousins admires Hitchcock for his ‘erotic precision’ and admires the ‘systems of desire and anxiety that permeate his films’, that’s just about the best clutch of phrase I’ve read which encapsulates our greatest film-makers astonishing canon. In this golden age of his career which can roughly be parsed between Rear Window in 1954 to Marnie in 1963 you consistently see Hitch as the practitioner of what he phrased ‘pure cinema’, that is the story being told by the camera and music, not through extraneous, redundant, clumsy dialogue which harkens back to Hitchcock’s silent film pedigree.Personally my favourite moments are the groggy montage as Marion drives through the night before arriving at the Bates Motel, to me that fully signals the noirish plunge into this nightmare world, the aforementioned track from the murder to the house, then there is the staircase terror with its unusual, jarring construction and of course the final scene with that look to the camera. I did go and see Van Sant’s remake reimagining pointless revisit, I still fail to see any purpose in that redundant exercise although I’ll confess to admiring the chutzpah of such a ridiculous exercise.
There is a wealth of material floating around about the film at the moment, the Guardian in particular seems to be excelling in its coverage of the movies fifty year pedigree, I also stumbled across this superb photo shoot whilst researching this entry. Next weekend I shall be going to see Halloween at the NFT1 as part of the context season which should be a blast, fingers crossed I should also get tickets to see Strangers On A Train in May and most thrillingly a screening of The Birds with none other than Tippi Hedren in Q&A mode, I may also try and slot in a screening of this which sounds fascinating.