Posts
Yeah, I know I'm getting an awful habit of being busy and not really doing adequate blog posts. Don't blame me, blame life.
Here's an article about The Hobbit to tide you over...
Soho Theatre Run January 2020
6 years ago
Showing posts with label Film. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Film. Show all posts
Monday, 27 September 2010
Thursday, 29 July 2010
Thorts Hurt My Brain...
Ok, to cut a long story short, I've been hiking around the landscape of Stonehenge for 5 hours and now my feet are less than pleased with me. Now, I know what you're thinking, you don't type with your feet... and I don't, however I do type with my brain, which has also been left quite drained after all that excitement, so instead of me attempting to think of things here's an interesting article about the upcoming 'Thor' movie.
To which I say: "Come on, Guardian... it's Thor... directed by Branagh. It will almost certainly be fantastic... almost certainly..."
To which I say: "Come on, Guardian... it's Thor... directed by Branagh. It will almost certainly be fantastic... almost certainly..."
Tuesday, 27 July 2010
Cause...
Ok, time to champion a cause. What a bunch of Jeremy Hunts the Tories turned out to be yesterday as they revealed their plans to abolish the UK Film Council which brought us films like In The Loop and Man On Wire as a 'cost-saving measure'.
Let's just think about that for a second. The UK Film Council which creates films, one of the most lucrative businesses in the world, which produces £5 for every £1 spent, is being abolished as a cost-saving measure. Don't stand for this, folks. We didn't stand for the planned closure of 6Music and we effected change, so why can't we do it now.
So why not contact Jeremy Hunt at the Department for Culture, Media and Sport and tell him what a fucking moron he's being? Maybe in slightly more diplomatic terms though. And also whack your signature on this petition.
We can't let the Tories win again.
Let's just think about that for a second. The UK Film Council which creates films, one of the most lucrative businesses in the world, which produces £5 for every £1 spent, is being abolished as a cost-saving measure. Don't stand for this, folks. We didn't stand for the planned closure of 6Music and we effected change, so why can't we do it now.
So why not contact Jeremy Hunt at the Department for Culture, Media and Sport and tell him what a fucking moron he's being? Maybe in slightly more diplomatic terms though. And also whack your signature on this petition.
We can't let the Tories win again.
Thursday, 15 July 2010
Get Me to Get Him to the Greek...
Last night I had the pleasure of venturing to the cinema to see the latest offering from the Judd Apatow stable 'Get Him to the Greek'. Referring to GHTTG as a 'spin-off' from Forgetting Sarah Marshall doesn't really do the film justice and despite the excellent Russell Brand reprising his role as rocker Aldous Snow from the 2008 comedy, this is very much a self-sufficient piece of which Brand is undoubtedly the star. Alongside the hirsuite comedian, is frequent Apatow colllaborator Jonah Hill as Aaron Green, a talent scout for Pinnacle Records run by Sergio Roma (Sean 'Diddy' Combs... think that's the most up to date one, who knows it might have changed to 'The Artist Formerly Known as Diddy' by the time you read this).
I should point out before we go any further that I've been an enormous fan of Brand since his 6Music days with Matt Morgan and Trevor Lock and that this review will perhaps be coloured by that.
We begin with Snow (aided by his girlfriend Jackie Q ((Rose Byrne))) preparing to release 'African Child', an ambitious (if misguided and self-indulgent) album dealing with the problems facing the African continent. For the fans of Snow's band Infant Sorrow and indeed for all and sundry, African Child proves to be the straw that broke the camel's back (or should I say, in that case, 'The Single Factor'. Right, prog fans?). Labelled 'the worst thing to happen to Africa since Apartheid' African Child effectively kills Snow's career and relationship with Jackie, sending him spiralling back into a life of drug-fuelled hedonism.
With the 10th anniversary of Snow's legendary concert at the Greek Theater in LA looming large, Green begs his boss Sergio to let him stage a concert at that same venue, jump-starting the flagging career of Snow who hasn't performed live for 3 years. Roma eventually agrees and orders Aaron to London, but not before his relationship with his live-in girlfriend Daphne, an intern on unthinkable hours, effectively falls apart over an argument about moving to Seattle. Left little time to wallow, Green hops on a plane to London in attempt to get hard-partying Snow to New York for The Today Show and ultimately to the titular Greek Theater in LA. Cue a race against time filled with sex, drugs, rock and roll and hilarity.
At heart, Get Him to the Greek is a buddy movie. Hill and Brand enjoy magnificent on-screen chemistry. I've seen reviews criticise the film for being overly referential, but I, a big fan of cheeky pop culture references it has to be said, found the script (although it would seem that large chunks of dialogue were improvised) to be strong. The film crashed through the 7 laugh test with consumate ease (admittedly I laughed more than several others in the cinema, but then that's their fault for not getting the jokes... ahem... I imagine I'm a nightmare to go to the cinema with; I laugh like a Hyena watching Jonny Sweet live) and kept on giving. Brand is magnificently willowly like a hairy Jagger and more believable as a rock star than many an actual musician. Hill gives a very solid performance, showcasing his more sensitive dynamics and proving that he can carry a film instead of being a Apatow bit-part player. But perhaps the breakout comic performance is from the Diddy man. Aided by some fantastic lines, Combs gives a truly laugh-out-loud turn as media mogul Sergio. Other ones to watch out for are Rose Byrne, who gives a wonderfully self-aware, vacuous performance as Snow's estranged partner, Colm Meaney as Snow's philandering father, Elisabeth Moss as Green's overworked girlfriend Daphne and an inspired cameo by Lars Ulrich (who is on the receiving end of one of the best lines in the film, but I shan't ruin it for you).
Speaking of Colm Meaney, Snow's relationship with his father is not dissimilar to that of Brand and his own father. A good deal of credence is lent to Aldous Snow by virtue of the fact that Brand has been there, taken that, done that and got the t-shirt. The rather humorous rockstar excesses showcased in the film are performed by a voice of experience, but by a voice that has been through it and come out the other side, which brings me on to another, rather interesting point.
Despite it being a raucous comedy, GHTTG has a rather melancholic and serious undercurrent that I find comparable to The Wrestler. Now, I imagine that one wouldn't glean such a link from the trailer or the bumph, but like Mickey Rourke's Randy 'the Ram' Robinson, Aldous Snow is a lonely, broken man who's last refuge is the simple adoration of his fans. Much like The Ram, Snow has ruined his relationships with friends, lovers and family, he's abused his own body to the extreme and has found only emptiness, but if he can't fill the void within himself and provide his own mind with satisfaction, he can at least spread joy to others. As we reached the denouement I did well up a little (because I'm pathetic like that when it comes to films) and for all the laughs (of which there are many during the course of the adventure) there is a rather beautiful ideal resting just below the surface.
For me, this is the funniest comedy of the year so far but far more than that it becomes a rather poignant tale of redemption with (and call me a sentimental old fool) a hugely satisfying resolution and is most definitely on the coveted Or So I Thought... 'Must-See' list. Blackly comic at times and featuring some hilarious comic set pieces, brilliant performances and a marvellous parody soundtrack penned by rock and Britpop luminaries including Caral Barat and Jarvis Cocker, Get Him to the Greek is certainly up there with the very best Apatow comedies. That said, even if it was just Russell Brand improvising on his own for 109 minutes I would still have loved it.
I should point out before we go any further that I've been an enormous fan of Brand since his 6Music days with Matt Morgan and Trevor Lock and that this review will perhaps be coloured by that.
We begin with Snow (aided by his girlfriend Jackie Q ((Rose Byrne))) preparing to release 'African Child', an ambitious (if misguided and self-indulgent) album dealing with the problems facing the African continent. For the fans of Snow's band Infant Sorrow and indeed for all and sundry, African Child proves to be the straw that broke the camel's back (or should I say, in that case, 'The Single Factor'. Right, prog fans?). Labelled 'the worst thing to happen to Africa since Apartheid' African Child effectively kills Snow's career and relationship with Jackie, sending him spiralling back into a life of drug-fuelled hedonism.
With the 10th anniversary of Snow's legendary concert at the Greek Theater in LA looming large, Green begs his boss Sergio to let him stage a concert at that same venue, jump-starting the flagging career of Snow who hasn't performed live for 3 years. Roma eventually agrees and orders Aaron to London, but not before his relationship with his live-in girlfriend Daphne, an intern on unthinkable hours, effectively falls apart over an argument about moving to Seattle. Left little time to wallow, Green hops on a plane to London in attempt to get hard-partying Snow to New York for The Today Show and ultimately to the titular Greek Theater in LA. Cue a race against time filled with sex, drugs, rock and roll and hilarity.
At heart, Get Him to the Greek is a buddy movie. Hill and Brand enjoy magnificent on-screen chemistry. I've seen reviews criticise the film for being overly referential, but I, a big fan of cheeky pop culture references it has to be said, found the script (although it would seem that large chunks of dialogue were improvised) to be strong. The film crashed through the 7 laugh test with consumate ease (admittedly I laughed more than several others in the cinema, but then that's their fault for not getting the jokes... ahem... I imagine I'm a nightmare to go to the cinema with; I laugh like a Hyena watching Jonny Sweet live) and kept on giving. Brand is magnificently willowly like a hairy Jagger and more believable as a rock star than many an actual musician. Hill gives a very solid performance, showcasing his more sensitive dynamics and proving that he can carry a film instead of being a Apatow bit-part player. But perhaps the breakout comic performance is from the Diddy man. Aided by some fantastic lines, Combs gives a truly laugh-out-loud turn as media mogul Sergio. Other ones to watch out for are Rose Byrne, who gives a wonderfully self-aware, vacuous performance as Snow's estranged partner, Colm Meaney as Snow's philandering father, Elisabeth Moss as Green's overworked girlfriend Daphne and an inspired cameo by Lars Ulrich (who is on the receiving end of one of the best lines in the film, but I shan't ruin it for you).
Speaking of Colm Meaney, Snow's relationship with his father is not dissimilar to that of Brand and his own father. A good deal of credence is lent to Aldous Snow by virtue of the fact that Brand has been there, taken that, done that and got the t-shirt. The rather humorous rockstar excesses showcased in the film are performed by a voice of experience, but by a voice that has been through it and come out the other side, which brings me on to another, rather interesting point.
Despite it being a raucous comedy, GHTTG has a rather melancholic and serious undercurrent that I find comparable to The Wrestler. Now, I imagine that one wouldn't glean such a link from the trailer or the bumph, but like Mickey Rourke's Randy 'the Ram' Robinson, Aldous Snow is a lonely, broken man who's last refuge is the simple adoration of his fans. Much like The Ram, Snow has ruined his relationships with friends, lovers and family, he's abused his own body to the extreme and has found only emptiness, but if he can't fill the void within himself and provide his own mind with satisfaction, he can at least spread joy to others. As we reached the denouement I did well up a little (because I'm pathetic like that when it comes to films) and for all the laughs (of which there are many during the course of the adventure) there is a rather beautiful ideal resting just below the surface.
For me, this is the funniest comedy of the year so far but far more than that it becomes a rather poignant tale of redemption with (and call me a sentimental old fool) a hugely satisfying resolution and is most definitely on the coveted Or So I Thought... 'Must-See' list. Blackly comic at times and featuring some hilarious comic set pieces, brilliant performances and a marvellous parody soundtrack penned by rock and Britpop luminaries including Caral Barat and Jarvis Cocker, Get Him to the Greek is certainly up there with the very best Apatow comedies. That said, even if it was just Russell Brand improvising on his own for 109 minutes I would still have loved it.
Thursday, 27 May 2010
Bite Me Again: Staring Through Windows at Teenage Vampires - Part Deux
If you cast your minds back to February you might remember me giving the 'Or So I Thought...' treatment to 'Twilight'. Well, yesterday I had the dubious honour of watching the sequel. 'The Twiglet Saga: New Volvo' (or something like that anyway).
So after a dramatic opening we arrive with Mary Sue and Cedric enthralled by each other in school. Cedric has a new Volvo (hence the title, I suppose - I'm looking forward to this year's 'The Twiglet Saga: Another Year, Another Volvo'...). They're supposed to be paying attention in class and aren't. Who'da thunk it?
Did I mention it's Mary Sue's birthday? Well it is. Her Dad (very much still the only sympathetic character in the entire thing) gives her a camera and Mary Sue does her impression of what she thinks teenage gratitude looks like and wobbles her chin a little. Time to go and see the Cullens as a birthday treat. Woops, Mary Sue's got a papercut... oh and Twisty Smile Vampire has gone apeshit fucking mental. To remedy this, Cedric throws her into a glass table (he's an all-round stand-up guy, ya see?). Coop/Dr. Acula stitches her up and sends her on her way.
Cedric informs Mary Sue that he's leaving. The reason? Coop looks ten years younger than he's supposed to be apparently (go him!). Cue Mary Sue sitting in her room crying for literally 3 months (I'm serious here, they even put the months up on the screen as she stares out of the window). She suffers from nightmares, from which her put-upon father has to wake her and comfort her (clearly thinking "What the fuck is wrong with you?! Anymore of this and you can go live with your mom and that baseball gigolo of hers..."). In the end she learns that danger allows her to see Cedric again. To that end, while walking with a friend she challenges a group of bikers and proceeds to receive a backie. She returns to her friend (who inexplicably remained rooted to the spot, the mug). "I thought I saw something." Explains Mary Sue. "Which is naturally why I rode on the back of a strangers bike for 10 minutes and left you waiting there" (not verbatim).
Danger. That''s the key. She promptly takes some bikes to Rafa Nadal, who has apparently turned into Geoff Capes (readers under the age of 30, see here). Together they rebuild some bikes. Mary Sue crashes her bike and injures her head. Rafa quickly runs over to her, noticing the tiny drip of blood on her forehead, he promptly rips off his t-shirt (which she doesn't even tie around her head to staunch the bleeding or anything). "You're, like, kind of beautiful" blurts Mary Sue in one of the films numerous facepalm moments. More stuff happened and for reasons which I can't fully remember, Mary Sue decided to accost some of Rafa's shirtless comrades (she didn't catch them off-guard, they're just always shirtless). When one turns into a wolf and charges towards her, Rafa (now with a tattoo and haircut) bounds out from the house and leaps, transforming into a werewolf, to Mary Sue's amazement. Amazement? Did she not even watch the trailers? Everyone knows he's a fucking werewolf.
Ooh, just remembered some stuff. Anyone remember token black, French vampire from the first film? Nope, me neither, but he got savaged by some werewolves earlier. Where was I? Um. Mary Sue leaps off a cliff. Blah, blah, blah... she's saved by Rafa. Blah, blah, blah. Cassandra Vampire turns up at the Cullen place and talks to Mary Sue, explaining that she saw a premonition of Mary Sue jumping off the cliff and came to check she was alright. Rafa arrives in the house and answers the phone. It's Cedric. Rafa hangs up (we've all had phone convos like that...). Cassandra says that Cedric now intends to get himself executed by the Vampire Pope by revealing himself in public.
Mary Sue and Cassandra board a flight to Italy (Virgin Atlantic - kerching- see what they did there? Kill me, kill me now...). They then drive a bright yellow Porsche through the streets of a generic Italian town. Mary Sue runs through a crowd of people in red capes (it's National People Wear Red Capes Day in Italy, see?) and hugs Cedric back through the doors before he can be compromised. However Mary Sue gets taken to the Vampire Pope (Tony Blair/Brian Clough) who says that they must either kill her or turn her into a vampire. Cedric then has the shit kicked out of him (again for reasons which I don't fully understand). Note - this scene would be much more entertaining with a song like, say, Alive and Kicking by Simple Minds in the background.
Back in Forks, some other stuff happened. I won't lie, I wasn't really paying attention and, in all honesty, the film should have finished about 30 minutes ago. Urm, I think Mary Sue has to become a vampire or something. Rafa's pissed anyhow... oh that's right, Cedric had to go and see Rafa and they had an argument. Cedric pushed Rafa who promptly turned into a wolf. "Bring it, fuckface!" (again, not verbatim) Cedric said. "Stop it!" Mary Sue said, interposing herself between the two. Rafa had a weepy look in his wolfy eye and retreated. Then there was some stuff (token appearances by Plastic Whore Vampire and Fuck-off Massive Vampire) and it finished.
Well, that was basically it anyway...
All in all, it's more preposterous than the first but not quite as enjoyably bad. Swings and roundabouts.
So after a dramatic opening we arrive with Mary Sue and Cedric enthralled by each other in school. Cedric has a new Volvo (hence the title, I suppose - I'm looking forward to this year's 'The Twiglet Saga: Another Year, Another Volvo'...). They're supposed to be paying attention in class and aren't. Who'da thunk it?
Did I mention it's Mary Sue's birthday? Well it is. Her Dad (very much still the only sympathetic character in the entire thing) gives her a camera and Mary Sue does her impression of what she thinks teenage gratitude looks like and wobbles her chin a little. Time to go and see the Cullens as a birthday treat. Woops, Mary Sue's got a papercut... oh and Twisty Smile Vampire has gone apeshit fucking mental. To remedy this, Cedric throws her into a glass table (he's an all-round stand-up guy, ya see?). Coop/Dr. Acula stitches her up and sends her on her way.
Cedric informs Mary Sue that he's leaving. The reason? Coop looks ten years younger than he's supposed to be apparently (go him!). Cue Mary Sue sitting in her room crying for literally 3 months (I'm serious here, they even put the months up on the screen as she stares out of the window). She suffers from nightmares, from which her put-upon father has to wake her and comfort her (clearly thinking "What the fuck is wrong with you?! Anymore of this and you can go live with your mom and that baseball gigolo of hers..."). In the end she learns that danger allows her to see Cedric again. To that end, while walking with a friend she challenges a group of bikers and proceeds to receive a backie. She returns to her friend (who inexplicably remained rooted to the spot, the mug). "I thought I saw something." Explains Mary Sue. "Which is naturally why I rode on the back of a strangers bike for 10 minutes and left you waiting there" (not verbatim).
Danger. That''s the key. She promptly takes some bikes to Rafa Nadal, who has apparently turned into Geoff Capes (readers under the age of 30, see here). Together they rebuild some bikes. Mary Sue crashes her bike and injures her head. Rafa quickly runs over to her, noticing the tiny drip of blood on her forehead, he promptly rips off his t-shirt (which she doesn't even tie around her head to staunch the bleeding or anything). "You're, like, kind of beautiful" blurts Mary Sue in one of the films numerous facepalm moments. More stuff happened and for reasons which I can't fully remember, Mary Sue decided to accost some of Rafa's shirtless comrades (she didn't catch them off-guard, they're just always shirtless). When one turns into a wolf and charges towards her, Rafa (now with a tattoo and haircut) bounds out from the house and leaps, transforming into a werewolf, to Mary Sue's amazement. Amazement? Did she not even watch the trailers? Everyone knows he's a fucking werewolf.
Ooh, just remembered some stuff. Anyone remember token black, French vampire from the first film? Nope, me neither, but he got savaged by some werewolves earlier. Where was I? Um. Mary Sue leaps off a cliff. Blah, blah, blah... she's saved by Rafa. Blah, blah, blah. Cassandra Vampire turns up at the Cullen place and talks to Mary Sue, explaining that she saw a premonition of Mary Sue jumping off the cliff and came to check she was alright. Rafa arrives in the house and answers the phone. It's Cedric. Rafa hangs up (we've all had phone convos like that...). Cassandra says that Cedric now intends to get himself executed by the Vampire Pope by revealing himself in public.
Mary Sue and Cassandra board a flight to Italy (Virgin Atlantic - kerching- see what they did there? Kill me, kill me now...). They then drive a bright yellow Porsche through the streets of a generic Italian town. Mary Sue runs through a crowd of people in red capes (it's National People Wear Red Capes Day in Italy, see?) and hugs Cedric back through the doors before he can be compromised. However Mary Sue gets taken to the Vampire Pope (Tony Blair/Brian Clough) who says that they must either kill her or turn her into a vampire. Cedric then has the shit kicked out of him (again for reasons which I don't fully understand). Note - this scene would be much more entertaining with a song like, say, Alive and Kicking by Simple Minds in the background.
Back in Forks, some other stuff happened. I won't lie, I wasn't really paying attention and, in all honesty, the film should have finished about 30 minutes ago. Urm, I think Mary Sue has to become a vampire or something. Rafa's pissed anyhow... oh that's right, Cedric had to go and see Rafa and they had an argument. Cedric pushed Rafa who promptly turned into a wolf. "Bring it, fuckface!" (again, not verbatim) Cedric said. "Stop it!" Mary Sue said, interposing herself between the two. Rafa had a weepy look in his wolfy eye and retreated. Then there was some stuff (token appearances by Plastic Whore Vampire and Fuck-off Massive Vampire) and it finished.
Well, that was basically it anyway...
All in all, it's more preposterous than the first but not quite as enjoyably bad. Swings and roundabouts.
Tuesday, 18 May 2010
Lost (Then Found) In La Mancha...
Here's a snippet for film fans. Terry Gilliam announced a couple of years ago that he would be attempting to reshoot The Man Who Killed Don Quixote and now it would appear that things are being stepped up, as he announced in Cannes that Ewan MacGregor would be taking the role of Toby (a modern businessman who finds himself in 17th-century Spain and mistaken for Sancho Panza by the legendary Don) from Johnny Depp who is unable to work with Gilliam once more due to scheduling conflicts. Robert Duvall takes over from Jean Rochefort as the titular would-be knight hero.
The film, in which a advertising executive finds himself transported to the 17th century where he becomes embroiled in the misadventures of the legendary literary figure, has of course been attempted once before, when a unseasonable Spanish storm laid waste to the set, bringing an end to filming in 1999, all famously chronicled in the documentary Lost in La Mancha.
The documentary went on to enjoy a good deal of success in its own right. Drawing parallels between Gilliam and Quixote himself, it also alludes to the curse of 'The Man of La Mancha' referencing how even Orson Welles failed to bring his Don Quixote to fruition, not to mention the curse of Gilliam's movies themselves. While Gilliam is a visionary, an auteur, he has suffered some rotten bad luck in the production of several of his films.
British Academy Fellow Gilliam has claimed that the infamous storm 'saved his ass' as the film was almost certain to run dramatically over-budget and I'm not sure that he even need make the movie. Lost in La Mancha is all the more dramatic for the fact that it did end in total tragedy and disaster, The Man Who Killed Don Quixote is its Nation's Pride or The Orchid Thief. That said, Gilliam never fails to deliver a unique visual experience and should production avoid any rain dances, then The Man Who Killed Don Quixote could well be genius.
The film, in which a advertising executive finds himself transported to the 17th century where he becomes embroiled in the misadventures of the legendary literary figure, has of course been attempted once before, when a unseasonable Spanish storm laid waste to the set, bringing an end to filming in 1999, all famously chronicled in the documentary Lost in La Mancha.
The documentary went on to enjoy a good deal of success in its own right. Drawing parallels between Gilliam and Quixote himself, it also alludes to the curse of 'The Man of La Mancha' referencing how even Orson Welles failed to bring his Don Quixote to fruition, not to mention the curse of Gilliam's movies themselves. While Gilliam is a visionary, an auteur, he has suffered some rotten bad luck in the production of several of his films.
British Academy Fellow Gilliam has claimed that the infamous storm 'saved his ass' as the film was almost certain to run dramatically over-budget and I'm not sure that he even need make the movie. Lost in La Mancha is all the more dramatic for the fact that it did end in total tragedy and disaster, The Man Who Killed Don Quixote is its Nation's Pride or The Orchid Thief. That said, Gilliam never fails to deliver a unique visual experience and should production avoid any rain dances, then The Man Who Killed Don Quixote could well be genius.
Thursday, 13 May 2010
Riding Through the Glen...
Sorry that this is likely to be shorter than anticipated. I've had one of those days where the world says 'hey, you know what, you're just not fucking busy enough already. Have a whole load of shit to sort out'. Nevertheless I shall attempt to give you a brief review of the latest Ridley Scott/Russell Crowe endeavour 'Robin Hood'.
Rather apt for the current situation, Robin Hood: Origins, as it could easily be called, depicts a country in turmoil. On one level it's a tale of kings - the popular, bellowing warrior, Richard the Lionheart (as apparently played by David Coverdale); Amoral, preening tosser, King John (as portrayed by any South American tennis player you care to imagine); and pantomime villian, Frenchy type, Phillip II (as gurned by Jay Rayner). Alright, so that's all in jest but there are a number of curious casting decisions, be they Scott Grimes (perhaps best known to English viewers as Morris from ER) as Will Scarlett, Canadian hardman Kevin Durand as Little John or Danny Huston as the aforementioned Coer de Lion. Cue a mix of rather interesting accents.
I should point out however that this in no way detracts from the quality of the performances. Crowe is in full shouty warrior mode (see: Gladiator) as Robin Longstride (of the Hood - I know, gangsta...), Mark Strong is (in the most predictable piece of casting) the villain of the piece and performs to his customary high standard. Veteran Swedish screen legend Max von Sydow gives a compelling performance as Sir Walter Loxley and Cate Blanchett makes the most of a beefed up Marion role.
The best scenes are those which recreate the magic of Gladiator (which Robin Hood has the unfortunate task of standing in the shadow of) that is to say the battle scenes. Scott's control over the noise, whirling limbs and charging horses is masterful and while some of the middle scenes are perhaps a touch tame for hardcore Ridley Scott fans, the piece as a whole provides an original and highly entertaining take on the story behind one of the biggest figures in English folklore.
Four Stars
Best Line: KING JOHN (to ELEANOR OF AQUITAINE): Spare me your farmyard memories.
(You probably had to be there...)
Rather apt for the current situation, Robin Hood: Origins, as it could easily be called, depicts a country in turmoil. On one level it's a tale of kings - the popular, bellowing warrior, Richard the Lionheart (as apparently played by David Coverdale); Amoral, preening tosser, King John (as portrayed by any South American tennis player you care to imagine); and pantomime villian, Frenchy type, Phillip II (as gurned by Jay Rayner). Alright, so that's all in jest but there are a number of curious casting decisions, be they Scott Grimes (perhaps best known to English viewers as Morris from ER) as Will Scarlett, Canadian hardman Kevin Durand as Little John or Danny Huston as the aforementioned Coer de Lion. Cue a mix of rather interesting accents.
I should point out however that this in no way detracts from the quality of the performances. Crowe is in full shouty warrior mode (see: Gladiator) as Robin Longstride (of the Hood - I know, gangsta...), Mark Strong is (in the most predictable piece of casting) the villain of the piece and performs to his customary high standard. Veteran Swedish screen legend Max von Sydow gives a compelling performance as Sir Walter Loxley and Cate Blanchett makes the most of a beefed up Marion role.
The best scenes are those which recreate the magic of Gladiator (which Robin Hood has the unfortunate task of standing in the shadow of) that is to say the battle scenes. Scott's control over the noise, whirling limbs and charging horses is masterful and while some of the middle scenes are perhaps a touch tame for hardcore Ridley Scott fans, the piece as a whole provides an original and highly entertaining take on the story behind one of the biggest figures in English folklore.
Four Stars
Best Line: KING JOHN (to ELEANOR OF AQUITAINE): Spare me your farmyard memories.
(You probably had to be there...)
Thursday, 6 May 2010
The Ghost of Elections Past...
Well, here we are - Election Day 2010! But, like Chris Tarrant cruelly snatching the cheque back, I'm not going to talk to you about that, but instead begin my tenure as a reviewer by reviewing the not un-topical The Ghost which I viewed yesterday.
Based on the 2007 novel (which caused somewhat of a stir at the time) by Robert Harris, The Ghost follows a ghost writer hired to add a touch of sheen the memoirs of a former PM, but of course things are never so simple and the mysterious death of the writer's predecessor and an extradition order placed on the head of ex-PM Adam Lang to face war crimes charges in the Hague for the handing over of terror suspects to the CIA through extraordinary rendition (ringing a few bells?) quickly make the writer's position an unenviable one.
In the film adaptation (co-written by Harris and, rather portentously, Roman Polanski who also directed), Ewan McGregor plays the titular ghost and Pierce Brosnan plays pseudo-Blair Adam Lang. Of course I am by no means the first point out the parallels between Lang's situation and the director's own. Polanski was arrested en route to the Zurich Film Festival on a 30 year old charge of unlawful intercourse and completed the post production of the film under house arrest.
Polanski and Harris have crafted a film that is both an often witty politcial satire and a tense thriller. McGregor's (appropriately) anonymous ghost writer develops from lowbrow, jobbing hack to terrified investigator as he sets out to discover the circumstances of his predecessor's tragic drowning and finds a little more than he bargained for, delving deeper into a world of exile, Machiavellian political canniving and genuine threat.
Veteran director Polanski has the experience to understand the difference between a ponderous and a slow pace. The Ghost is ponderous but to accuse it of not moving quickly enough is to miss the point somewhat, I feel. It is a slow-burner compared to the standard modern thriller but it has a depth and subtext to it that have a far greater impact when unveiled gradually. The entire sequence in which McGregor follows the final Sat-nav directions of the original ghost writer is masterful, heart-pounding stuff and the final Hitchcockian moments are testament to Polanski's skill, including the marvellous, blackly comic final shot.
The piece is elevated by it's classy cast. The standout performance for me was Olivia Williams as Lang's wife Ruth. She had an edge of both hard sarcasm and layered vulnerability that made the character highly engaging. Brosnan gives a well-judged performance as the pastiche of the 'cool politician' Lang and Tom Wilkinson is, as ever, on form as a former Cambridge chum of Lang's. McGregor's accent is perhaps a trifle suspect (though not quite on a par with Kim Cattrall's) but his overall performance is bang on.
Four Stars.
Based on the 2007 novel (which caused somewhat of a stir at the time) by Robert Harris, The Ghost follows a ghost writer hired to add a touch of sheen the memoirs of a former PM, but of course things are never so simple and the mysterious death of the writer's predecessor and an extradition order placed on the head of ex-PM Adam Lang to face war crimes charges in the Hague for the handing over of terror suspects to the CIA through extraordinary rendition (ringing a few bells?) quickly make the writer's position an unenviable one.
In the film adaptation (co-written by Harris and, rather portentously, Roman Polanski who also directed), Ewan McGregor plays the titular ghost and Pierce Brosnan plays pseudo-Blair Adam Lang. Of course I am by no means the first point out the parallels between Lang's situation and the director's own. Polanski was arrested en route to the Zurich Film Festival on a 30 year old charge of unlawful intercourse and completed the post production of the film under house arrest.
Polanski and Harris have crafted a film that is both an often witty politcial satire and a tense thriller. McGregor's (appropriately) anonymous ghost writer develops from lowbrow, jobbing hack to terrified investigator as he sets out to discover the circumstances of his predecessor's tragic drowning and finds a little more than he bargained for, delving deeper into a world of exile, Machiavellian political canniving and genuine threat.
Veteran director Polanski has the experience to understand the difference between a ponderous and a slow pace. The Ghost is ponderous but to accuse it of not moving quickly enough is to miss the point somewhat, I feel. It is a slow-burner compared to the standard modern thriller but it has a depth and subtext to it that have a far greater impact when unveiled gradually. The entire sequence in which McGregor follows the final Sat-nav directions of the original ghost writer is masterful, heart-pounding stuff and the final Hitchcockian moments are testament to Polanski's skill, including the marvellous, blackly comic final shot.
The piece is elevated by it's classy cast. The standout performance for me was Olivia Williams as Lang's wife Ruth. She had an edge of both hard sarcasm and layered vulnerability that made the character highly engaging. Brosnan gives a well-judged performance as the pastiche of the 'cool politician' Lang and Tom Wilkinson is, as ever, on form as a former Cambridge chum of Lang's. McGregor's accent is perhaps a trifle suspect (though not quite on a par with Kim Cattrall's) but his overall performance is bang on.
Four Stars.
Monday, 12 April 2010
Fantasia on a Theme by Tookey: A Review of a Review...
Well, lots of you will have noticed that there's been a bit of the old controversy about a little comic book movie called Kick-Ass. Most of this 'controversy' has come from this single review from Christopher Tookey in the Daily Mail, entitled 'Don't be fooled by the hype: This crime against cinema is twisted, cynical, and revels in the abuse of childhood'. I know, snappy review headline or what? In his worryingly misjudged rant, Tookey accuses the film of being evil, accuses Hit Girl (a hero whose costume is so complete that only her chin is on show) of being 'sexually aggressive' and criticises the quality of the script penned by Matthew Vaughn and Jane Goldman whose last collaboration, Stardust, proved a charming and frequently very funny fantasy tale.
Well, these are Tookey's three crucial mistakes. Any review that commences with 'verdict: evil' you just know will prove to be gold and while I expect nothing less than this from the Mail, I hope that it is just that which has led Tookey to pen this review, towing the editorial line. He frequently accuses Hit Girl, easily the most charismatic character in the film, of being sexualised, sexually aggressive and various other shallow, ill-thought out indictments that frankly I won't waste time repeating. Firstly, to suggest that the film does anything to sexualise an 11 year old character played by a 13 year old actress is a grievous insult to the film-makers and to Mark Millar (one of the finest comic book writers in history in my opinion) and his creation. Secondly, to use the phrase 'paedophiles are going to adore her' should instantly disqualify you from holding a valid opinion on anything... ever. Thirdly, the number of times that Tookey mentions this point makes me wonder two things. Either Tookey found Hit Girl just a little bit attractive and ran up a quick piece laced with self-denial and self-flagellation or he could only think of one half decent argument to carry an entire page-long review. Either way, it doesn't speak volumes for the man.
The bit that has really pulled the rug out from under Tookey's argument is his knocking of the script, claiming that it 'slavishly conforms to the cliched norms of Hollywood'. The script is sharp, clever and, more importantly, genuinely funny. Goldman and Vaughn have carried over the skill with which they created the fantasy world of 'Stardust' to the adaptation of Millar's genius for the big screen and for Tookey to suggest that there was anything wrong with the script leaves me baffled. I can only assumed he fell asleep shortly after the opening credits and only woke up when the usher gave him a stiff prod around 2 hours later.
Tookey seems to be pandering to the kinds of people who were so offended by the notion of Hit Girl saying "Ok, you cunts, let's see what you can do now" that they forgot that she goes on to kill a busload of hired goons over the next hour and a half. It reminds me of another bit of 'controversy', this time over upcoming Western Action/Adventure game Red Dead Redemption, in which the player has the option of hunting animals and selling the pelts. 'Sure, fur trapping was and lucrative form of trade in the Americas up until the early 20th century' I hear you say 'What's the problem?' Well, the problem is that a few animal rights campaigners find this apalling and have called for bans and boycotts and anything else to go with it. I'm all for animal rights, but when people find hunting 30 different types of animal more morally reprehensible than the ability to wipe out the entire population of the American West and Mexican border, you know that someone isn't paying attention to the bigger picture.
Tookey is sorely mistaken. Kick-Ass is a terrific film and an instant comic book movie classic. The script is lively and witty, Millar's characters brought to life wonderfully and the performances are excellent all-round (a special mention should go to Nicholas Cage's Big Daddy, who when in his guise as the caped hero speaks with a true Adam West stacatto and whose idea of a disguise is extending his normal moustache into a handlebar moustache) and the comic book violence, is exactly that, comic book. Sure, it depicts knife crime, a contentious issue, but the BBFC, in their infinite wisdom have elected to give the film a 15 as they understand that Kick-Ass is a fantasy piece, knockabout fun that you'd have to be a fool to confuse with an evil propangandist moral of 'costume + killing + sexy 11 year olds = something the audience should obviously repeat in real life'.
Kick-Ass is accurately reviewed by its title and has merited the deluge of 5 star reviews that it has received and (thankfully) Tookey is very much in a bewildered minority when it comes to his opinion. A triumph for Vaughn, Goldman and Millar in a world suffering from the censure of the big studios.
Well, these are Tookey's three crucial mistakes. Any review that commences with 'verdict: evil' you just know will prove to be gold and while I expect nothing less than this from the Mail, I hope that it is just that which has led Tookey to pen this review, towing the editorial line. He frequently accuses Hit Girl, easily the most charismatic character in the film, of being sexualised, sexually aggressive and various other shallow, ill-thought out indictments that frankly I won't waste time repeating. Firstly, to suggest that the film does anything to sexualise an 11 year old character played by a 13 year old actress is a grievous insult to the film-makers and to Mark Millar (one of the finest comic book writers in history in my opinion) and his creation. Secondly, to use the phrase 'paedophiles are going to adore her' should instantly disqualify you from holding a valid opinion on anything... ever. Thirdly, the number of times that Tookey mentions this point makes me wonder two things. Either Tookey found Hit Girl just a little bit attractive and ran up a quick piece laced with self-denial and self-flagellation or he could only think of one half decent argument to carry an entire page-long review. Either way, it doesn't speak volumes for the man.
The bit that has really pulled the rug out from under Tookey's argument is his knocking of the script, claiming that it 'slavishly conforms to the cliched norms of Hollywood'. The script is sharp, clever and, more importantly, genuinely funny. Goldman and Vaughn have carried over the skill with which they created the fantasy world of 'Stardust' to the adaptation of Millar's genius for the big screen and for Tookey to suggest that there was anything wrong with the script leaves me baffled. I can only assumed he fell asleep shortly after the opening credits and only woke up when the usher gave him a stiff prod around 2 hours later.
Tookey seems to be pandering to the kinds of people who were so offended by the notion of Hit Girl saying "Ok, you cunts, let's see what you can do now" that they forgot that she goes on to kill a busload of hired goons over the next hour and a half. It reminds me of another bit of 'controversy', this time over upcoming Western Action/Adventure game Red Dead Redemption, in which the player has the option of hunting animals and selling the pelts. 'Sure, fur trapping was and lucrative form of trade in the Americas up until the early 20th century' I hear you say 'What's the problem?' Well, the problem is that a few animal rights campaigners find this apalling and have called for bans and boycotts and anything else to go with it. I'm all for animal rights, but when people find hunting 30 different types of animal more morally reprehensible than the ability to wipe out the entire population of the American West and Mexican border, you know that someone isn't paying attention to the bigger picture.
Tookey is sorely mistaken. Kick-Ass is a terrific film and an instant comic book movie classic. The script is lively and witty, Millar's characters brought to life wonderfully and the performances are excellent all-round (a special mention should go to Nicholas Cage's Big Daddy, who when in his guise as the caped hero speaks with a true Adam West stacatto and whose idea of a disguise is extending his normal moustache into a handlebar moustache) and the comic book violence, is exactly that, comic book. Sure, it depicts knife crime, a contentious issue, but the BBFC, in their infinite wisdom have elected to give the film a 15 as they understand that Kick-Ass is a fantasy piece, knockabout fun that you'd have to be a fool to confuse with an evil propangandist moral of 'costume + killing + sexy 11 year olds = something the audience should obviously repeat in real life'.
Kick-Ass is accurately reviewed by its title and has merited the deluge of 5 star reviews that it has received and (thankfully) Tookey is very much in a bewildered minority when it comes to his opinion. A triumph for Vaughn, Goldman and Millar in a world suffering from the censure of the big studios.
Monday, 8 March 2010
Live From Hollywood, California. It's Very Early on Monday Morning...
Last night a little award ceremony took place in the Kodak Theatre. Hollywood's glitziest and trashiest turned up to have little statues thrust upon them and there to meet them on the red carpet were all manner of appalling, fawning sycophants ready to illicit no productive information at all. If anything, it seemed like Sky's Angela Griffin had just written a letter to the Make A Wish Foundation saying "please let me go to the Oscars and get a little bit too excited about all the celebs, love Angela". The red carpet nonsense went on for about 3 hours before eventually the nominees began filing into their seats. Even then we didn't get underway (many of them too busy blowing air kisses at each other presumably... or getting the night's drinks if you're George Clooney or Morgan Freeman, both of whom had so much faith in winning the Best Actor gong that they were permanently soused for the entire evening). Finally, everyone was in their places and the 82nd Annual Academy Awards was about to get underway.
And so the festivities began. The nominated actors and actresses lined the stage with mindless grins. What would take place after last year's all singing, all dancing Hugh Jack-man led affair? Well, Doogie Howser M.D. then did an all singing, all dancing number in a shiny tux. Come back nominees, all is forgiven. Then Martin and Baldwin take the stage- what Doogie (also Barney from How I Met Your Mother) called "the biggest pair since Dolly Parton" to a mild embarrassed titter. Watching Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin is like watching Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin; Steve Martin's probably got more money but you know he wishes he was Alec Baldwin. They hit their straps with a gag about the pair donning 3D glasses to look at James Cameron and followed up with Martin quipping "there's that damn Helen Hirren" with Baldwin correcting him "That's Dame Helen Mirred". Haha. To be fair, they were doing a fine job. Martin returning to comedy hosting after a brief spell as an American folk musician and Baldwin off the face of the highly successful Tina Fey sitcom 30 Rock (and the less successful It's Complicated with Oscar nominee ((obviously not for that movie)) Meryl Streep). I should point out that regardless of how good and likeable Baldwin is in anything, I still just think of Team America, "Arec Barrwin" and "I can't upstage Alec Baldwin, he's the greatest actor in the world".
Seeing as that nice Mr. Murdoch had taken my televised Oscars away I followed the ceremony on 5Live and on the Guardian Liveblog written by critic and columnist Xan Brooks. The Liveblog was mightily entertaining, Brooks fully aware that only a handful of people would stay up until the small hours to read about millionaires receiving accolades. He has a healthy sense of derision for both the ceremony and the celebrities... and even the idea of liveblogging itself, I would suggest. He's up there with Paxman in the pantheon of journalists who 'don't really give a shit about their superiors'. There were some magnificent ethereal tracts during the night, one of my early favourites referring to T-Bone Burnett and Ryan Bingham winning Best Song.
"Incidentally, isn't "Ryan Bingham" the name of the character that George Clooney plays in Up in the Air? All of a sudden these Oscars are starting to blur; the line between fiction and reality warping and breaking down. Next I'll be wondering if T-Bone Burnett was actually the name of the seductive, lingerie-wearing muse that Penélope Cruz played in Nine. Already I'm starting to believe that it was. The best bit of that entire film was the scene in which T-Bone Burnett writhed on that four-poster bed and stuck his bum in the air."He christened the first award of the night (Best Actor in a Supporting Role) the 'No Shit Sherlock Award', which predictably went to Christoph Waltz who has (rightly) won all of them since Cannes last year, I think. It is however the end of a remarkable season for Waltz and his five star turn in Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds. Before Basterds, Austrian Waltz had lost his faith in the acting profession and now he finds himself with every top gong going and a darling of Hollywood. A touching story and a well-deserved oscar for a tour-de-force performance.
We'd be here for days if I was to attempt to list all the awards, so if you simply desire the cold hard facts, check here. Naturally there were some set pieces from Hollywood's most popular comedians. Ben Stiller presented the Best Make-Up award to Star Trek while trussed up in full Na'vi gear to a begruding smile from Avatar director James Cameron, after which the Best Adapted Screenplay award is presented to Precious and not In The Loop... rather unfairly. Still don't understand why exactly In The Loop was considered to be an adapted screenplay and not an original screenplay. @LloydWoolf suggested that:
People seem to think it counts as being adapted from The Thick Of It. Like when the On The Buses gang went to Spain.As good an explanation as any. Geoffrey Fletcher collecting the Best Original Screenplay gong choked up at the podium with an entire 45 second gap to fill. "I'm drying up." He said. That was the best he could do? Jesse Armstrong had promised a Sieg Heil if In The Loop had won. Fletcher was ushered off the podium and Steve Martin boasted "I wrote that script for him." All the while The Hurt Locker was picking up awards like the Greeks throw plates and before long we had arrived at the customary dance number. Dance routines. "What would Oscar night be without a big, razzle-dazzle dance routine?" mused Brooks "Probably 10 minutes shorter and immeasurably more satisfying." More gongs went the way of HL and it led Avatar 4-3. After what seemed like an eternity, Kate Winslet arrived to present the Best Actor award which was, as one might imagine, won at the fifth time of asking by heavy favourite Jeff 'always the Dudesmaid, never the Dude' Bridges who raised his statuette to the rafters, a-whooping and a-hollering. Tremendous.
Would Sandra Bullock do the unthinkable and win both the Razzie for Worst Actress and Oscar for Best Actress in the same year? The day before at the spoof awards ceremony, Bullock had, to her credit, turned up to accept the ignominious gong with a truckload of DVDs of 'All About Steve', the much-maligned romcom for which she had sealed the award. However The Blind Side, yet to be released over here in Blighty had American critics falling over themselves like drunks in a ball pit and, sure enough, Sean Penn read out her name for the win. "Carey [Mulligan]" she said, "your grace and your elegance and your beauty and your talent makes me sick". A reminder that Bullock is actually a rather funny lady, if only she'd shown us that in All About Steve then she wouldn't have picked up the Razzie.
Then it was time for the big ones. Was there to be a repeat of the Baftas, where Cameron was basically out of his seat when the Hurt Locker was named Best Picture and he slumped back, face like thunder. Avatar had been touted as the main contender until the British Academy foisted praise upon Bigelow's effot and the Iraq bomb-disposal movie (no hard-sell needed for this one...) made a late surge for the main prize of the evening. First there was the skirmish, Best Director. Streisand took the stage. "The time has come." She said ominously. "Katherine Bigelow!" became the first woman to take the Best Director gong... ever. The Best Picture statuette was brought to the stage. The tension was palapable. Hanks tore open the envelope like a child at Christmas (this may be an exaggeration) and announced that The Hurt Locker had won. Cameron, face like a slapped arse, clapped unenthusiastically as he simmered gently beneath the surface and we had reached the end of another Academy Awards ceremony. "This show was so long that Avatar now takes place in the past," quipped Martin. He wasn't lying.
Tuesday, 23 February 2010
And the BAFTA Predictably Goes To...
As many of you will have noticed a little film award ceremony took place on Sunday. The BAFTAs are always good value and I always (in true Dr. K style) have a bash at predicting the results. This year I managed an impressive 7/8 film category predictions (plus a couple of randoms- will it rain on the red carpet, which Rising Star nominee will arrive first, etc.). I know you're thinking that you'll have to take my word on this, but I did also use the handy little predictions tool on the Orange BAFTA website, it doesn't have all of the categories that I made predictions for, but it gives you the gist of things -
As you can see, I did get the biggie wrong, thinking that they would hand Best Film to Brit-flick An Education with Hurt Locker taking the Oscar (plus I didn't expect Bigelow and Hurt Locker to both win awards - Cameron's face was priceless though, so that did make up for my wrong prediction).
I'm not particularly saying that the BAFTAs are predictable (no more so than usual anyway) and I still enjoy watching the academy dispensing their masks, as various movie stars (at varying levels of washed-upness) struggle to read the teleprompter. What I'm not quite so fond of is the red carpet shows that they have now on BBCThree and E!, where George Lamb (half silver-streaked weasel, half Alan Partridge) or Duncan Whatshisname (out of off of Blue) hunt down many and varied bored-looking actors and directors and hound them with questions. A particular triumph was intellectual heavyweight Lamb asking a very fed-up looking Kristin Scott Thomas (who appeared to be wearing a bear) about Nowhere Boy co-star Aaron Johnson. Now, I didn't watch E!'s coverage but I'm told that Duncan's interview with the director of Nowhere Boy, Sam Taylor-Wood, was, to quote Richard Bacon, "Brent levels of awkward", though presumably not as awkward as the fact that she is engaged to the aforementioned star, 19 year old Johnson, a mere 23 years her junior and that the couple are expecting their first child. Now, as an amateur musician, I spend some time on a particular guitar forum where anything goes and people turn up with their problems- were a 19 year old (LennonLives or somesuch other username) to arrive and post "So, my girl (23 years older than me) is pregnant" the response would no doubt be somewhere along the lines of "you can go right ahead and file this under 'shit that fucked up my life', kthanks".
One of my correct predictions was that Twilight star (and winner of the Or So I Thought... Ben Affleck Award for Best Chin-Acting in a Leading Role) Kristen Stewart (or KStew as it's often hatefully put) would snatch the Orange Rising Star Award. How did I know this? Because it's the only award voted for by the 'idiot public' and as such is the award that, more often than not, finds its way into the hands of the wrong person. Honestly you have an Academy of experts in film, don't pander to the public like this, it's embarrassing. It is very much a 'damn popularity contest' hence the fidgety teen taking the famous mask this time around. Her acceptance speech (as also correctly predicted by me) was under a minute long (thankfully) and blog followers won't be disappointed to learn that it was much the same as her acting- all chin, sighs and teen awkwardness (see here for details). To be fair to her, she did credit her success to the horde of Twilight tweens who no doubt voted in their dozens and is clearly under no pretenses about the 'value' of the award.
Mickey Rourke returned to be absolutely tremendous again, this time presenting an award instead of receiving one and having to face the notorious autocue. He squinted into the camera "do you want this bareback or with a raincoat?" He asked. No-one got it (I suspect Vanessa Redgrave understood but was too classy to laugh...). "Their performances have encompassed grace, humility, slow it down... determination..." he continued, eliciting more laughs from the audience than Jonathan Ross managed in the entire evening. It is a truth universally acknowledged that actors are incredibly poor at reading from a teleprompter... except for Peter Capaldi, who was excellent at it.
Acceptance speech of the night was (despite a touching tear-filled one from Moon director Duncan Jones (David Bowie's son ((because you can't say one without the other apparently)) which proved popular) Colin Firth. He is excellent- intelligent, witty and humble (a particularly good interview on Kermode and Mayo's film reviews a few weeks ago showcases all this) - and his speech about how Tom Ford had made him "better groomed, more fragrant and more nominated than one has ever been before" was suitably charming. A wonderful soundbite, though A Single Man has received mixed reviews (many critics somewhat prejudiced by Ford's stylistic background), all are in agreement that Firth gives a superlative performance, though he admits he was close to turning down the part. "What Tom Ford doesn't know," he explained "is that I have the email in my outbox, telling him that I couldn't possibly do it and I was about to send when a man came to repair my fridge. Well, I clearly don't know what's best for me, so I'd like to thank the fridge guy and..." Needless to say the delivery was perfect and the audience charmed and amused. A worthy winner (as I predicted) though one would not be advised to bet against Jeff Bridges at the Oscars.
Best Supporting Actor, Christoph Waltz- he of Inglourious Basterds fame, where he gave a bravura performance in 4 languages as SS Colonel Hans Landa- had also prepared a humble acceptance speech, crediting Tarantino (who he appears to worship) with reigniting his passion for acting and supporting him. Going so far as to say he was the Best Supported Actor (see what he did there? supporting him, best supporting actor, best supported... oh, never mind...).
While we're on speeches an honourable mention has to go to BAFTA fellow Vanessa Redgrave who gave a tremendous acceptance, though we had all aged terribly by the time it had finished. Still, I think she's probably earned the right to give such a speech, dropping in superfluous French maxims and Shakespeare quotes, though it did not have the entertainment factor of Terry Gilliam last year. The award gave rise to one of Peter Serafinowicz's (who was running a BAFTA twittercommentary) many funnies of the evening - "Such a shame they have to assassinate her tonight." The best one of the night being "Eddie Murphy did a fantastic job as the cast of 'Precious'.
Best Foreign Language Film went to Critic's fall over special 'A Prophet'. Regular readers can guess that I was somewhat miffed by Let the Right One In missing out. The speech from the cast was entertaining though, featuring a rather... groovy translator which resulted in a chorus of 'I'll have what she's having' on the twittercommentary. Up (as I predicted) won Best Animated Film, Avatar (unsurprisingly) won best visual effects (to be fair, that's all it's got), Carey Mulligan (as I predicted) won Best Actress and Best Short Film still didn't go to The One and Only Herb McGwyer Plays Wallis Island (I know it was nominated 3 years ago but it should have won then and I am yet to see a better short film since).
Poor old Jonathan Ross had an exceptionally tough gig though. It was the most spectacular 'dying on arse' moment since Elvis Presley entered the water closet for the final time. Every joke flatlined horribly, I expect writers' heads will roll after this one. James Corden happened to be presenting one of the awards and made a joking claim to present next year's ceremony. God, if you're up there and you happen to be a member of the academy, please don't let that happen. Bring back Stephen Fry, I say. He presented the ceremony with wit and panache and was revered by many of those performers picking up the awards (something which I doubt could be said for Wossy). Can we campaign for this? Fry for BAFTAs?
Winter Olympics Update
The plucky British Women's Curling team, led by 19 year old Skip Eve Muirhead (last night sporting an excellent headband) lost out cruelly to the Danes (skippered by Chloe Madeley...) and their hopes of qualification are now very much in the lap of the gods. It wasn't without controversy however, as in the 10th end one of the Danes nudged a moving stone with her foot (seemingly inocuous, you might think, but Rhona was incensed about it immediately and absolute in her condemnation). Eve attempted a gutsy quadruple take-out with her last stone to pull an unlikely victory from the jaws of defeat, however one stone remained counting for the Danes... none other than the 'nudged' stone. Cue furious reaction from the British fans. That said, apparently both skips and the ref saw the incident and carried on play. Perhaps Eve's inexperience showing there- it's not the British way to accept cheating, you need to have a massive benny at the officials until they let you win.
David 'the Iceman' Murdoch and his clan fared better however, with a convincing 8-2 smashing of the Germans, taking their tourney record to 5-3. Having only watched video highlights, I can't really give you an in depth commentary but from what I could tell canny play from the Scots overcame aggressive and error-ridden tactics from the Germans. A slight worry was the departure of Euan Byers at the opening of the 8th end, illness or injury suspected, but nothing confirmed yet. Bring on the Norwegians tonight, I say! Davey Murdoch's Barmy Army!
As you can see, I did get the biggie wrong, thinking that they would hand Best Film to Brit-flick An Education with Hurt Locker taking the Oscar (plus I didn't expect Bigelow and Hurt Locker to both win awards - Cameron's face was priceless though, so that did make up for my wrong prediction).
I'm not particularly saying that the BAFTAs are predictable (no more so than usual anyway) and I still enjoy watching the academy dispensing their masks, as various movie stars (at varying levels of washed-upness) struggle to read the teleprompter. What I'm not quite so fond of is the red carpet shows that they have now on BBCThree and E!, where George Lamb (half silver-streaked weasel, half Alan Partridge) or Duncan Whatshisname (out of off of Blue) hunt down many and varied bored-looking actors and directors and hound them with questions. A particular triumph was intellectual heavyweight Lamb asking a very fed-up looking Kristin Scott Thomas (who appeared to be wearing a bear) about Nowhere Boy co-star Aaron Johnson. Now, I didn't watch E!'s coverage but I'm told that Duncan's interview with the director of Nowhere Boy, Sam Taylor-Wood, was, to quote Richard Bacon, "Brent levels of awkward", though presumably not as awkward as the fact that she is engaged to the aforementioned star, 19 year old Johnson, a mere 23 years her junior and that the couple are expecting their first child. Now, as an amateur musician, I spend some time on a particular guitar forum where anything goes and people turn up with their problems- were a 19 year old (LennonLives or somesuch other username) to arrive and post "So, my girl (23 years older than me) is pregnant" the response would no doubt be somewhere along the lines of "you can go right ahead and file this under 'shit that fucked up my life', kthanks".
One of my correct predictions was that Twilight star (and winner of the Or So I Thought... Ben Affleck Award for Best Chin-Acting in a Leading Role) Kristen Stewart (or KStew as it's often hatefully put) would snatch the Orange Rising Star Award. How did I know this? Because it's the only award voted for by the 'idiot public' and as such is the award that, more often than not, finds its way into the hands of the wrong person. Honestly you have an Academy of experts in film, don't pander to the public like this, it's embarrassing. It is very much a 'damn popularity contest' hence the fidgety teen taking the famous mask this time around. Her acceptance speech (as also correctly predicted by me) was under a minute long (thankfully) and blog followers won't be disappointed to learn that it was much the same as her acting- all chin, sighs and teen awkwardness (see here for details). To be fair to her, she did credit her success to the horde of Twilight tweens who no doubt voted in their dozens and is clearly under no pretenses about the 'value' of the award.
Mickey Rourke returned to be absolutely tremendous again, this time presenting an award instead of receiving one and having to face the notorious autocue. He squinted into the camera "do you want this bareback or with a raincoat?" He asked. No-one got it (I suspect Vanessa Redgrave understood but was too classy to laugh...). "Their performances have encompassed grace, humility, slow it down... determination..." he continued, eliciting more laughs from the audience than Jonathan Ross managed in the entire evening. It is a truth universally acknowledged that actors are incredibly poor at reading from a teleprompter... except for Peter Capaldi, who was excellent at it.
Acceptance speech of the night was (despite a touching tear-filled one from Moon director Duncan Jones (David Bowie's son ((because you can't say one without the other apparently)) which proved popular) Colin Firth. He is excellent- intelligent, witty and humble (a particularly good interview on Kermode and Mayo's film reviews a few weeks ago showcases all this) - and his speech about how Tom Ford had made him "better groomed, more fragrant and more nominated than one has ever been before" was suitably charming. A wonderful soundbite, though A Single Man has received mixed reviews (many critics somewhat prejudiced by Ford's stylistic background), all are in agreement that Firth gives a superlative performance, though he admits he was close to turning down the part. "What Tom Ford doesn't know," he explained "is that I have the email in my outbox, telling him that I couldn't possibly do it and I was about to send when a man came to repair my fridge. Well, I clearly don't know what's best for me, so I'd like to thank the fridge guy and..." Needless to say the delivery was perfect and the audience charmed and amused. A worthy winner (as I predicted) though one would not be advised to bet against Jeff Bridges at the Oscars.
Best Supporting Actor, Christoph Waltz- he of Inglourious Basterds fame, where he gave a bravura performance in 4 languages as SS Colonel Hans Landa- had also prepared a humble acceptance speech, crediting Tarantino (who he appears to worship) with reigniting his passion for acting and supporting him. Going so far as to say he was the Best Supported Actor (see what he did there? supporting him, best supporting actor, best supported... oh, never mind...).
While we're on speeches an honourable mention has to go to BAFTA fellow Vanessa Redgrave who gave a tremendous acceptance, though we had all aged terribly by the time it had finished. Still, I think she's probably earned the right to give such a speech, dropping in superfluous French maxims and Shakespeare quotes, though it did not have the entertainment factor of Terry Gilliam last year. The award gave rise to one of Peter Serafinowicz's (who was running a BAFTA twittercommentary) many funnies of the evening - "Such a shame they have to assassinate her tonight." The best one of the night being "Eddie Murphy did a fantastic job as the cast of 'Precious'.
Best Foreign Language Film went to Critic's fall over special 'A Prophet'. Regular readers can guess that I was somewhat miffed by Let the Right One In missing out. The speech from the cast was entertaining though, featuring a rather... groovy translator which resulted in a chorus of 'I'll have what she's having' on the twittercommentary. Up (as I predicted) won Best Animated Film, Avatar (unsurprisingly) won best visual effects (to be fair, that's all it's got), Carey Mulligan (as I predicted) won Best Actress and Best Short Film still didn't go to The One and Only Herb McGwyer Plays Wallis Island (I know it was nominated 3 years ago but it should have won then and I am yet to see a better short film since).
Poor old Jonathan Ross had an exceptionally tough gig though. It was the most spectacular 'dying on arse' moment since Elvis Presley entered the water closet for the final time. Every joke flatlined horribly, I expect writers' heads will roll after this one. James Corden happened to be presenting one of the awards and made a joking claim to present next year's ceremony. God, if you're up there and you happen to be a member of the academy, please don't let that happen. Bring back Stephen Fry, I say. He presented the ceremony with wit and panache and was revered by many of those performers picking up the awards (something which I doubt could be said for Wossy). Can we campaign for this? Fry for BAFTAs?
Winter Olympics Update
The plucky British Women's Curling team, led by 19 year old Skip Eve Muirhead (last night sporting an excellent headband) lost out cruelly to the Danes (skippered by Chloe Madeley...) and their hopes of qualification are now very much in the lap of the gods. It wasn't without controversy however, as in the 10th end one of the Danes nudged a moving stone with her foot (seemingly inocuous, you might think, but Rhona was incensed about it immediately and absolute in her condemnation). Eve attempted a gutsy quadruple take-out with her last stone to pull an unlikely victory from the jaws of defeat, however one stone remained counting for the Danes... none other than the 'nudged' stone. Cue furious reaction from the British fans. That said, apparently both skips and the ref saw the incident and carried on play. Perhaps Eve's inexperience showing there- it's not the British way to accept cheating, you need to have a massive benny at the officials until they let you win.
David 'the Iceman' Murdoch and his clan fared better however, with a convincing 8-2 smashing of the Germans, taking their tourney record to 5-3. Having only watched video highlights, I can't really give you an in depth commentary but from what I could tell canny play from the Scots overcame aggressive and error-ridden tactics from the Germans. A slight worry was the departure of Euan Byers at the opening of the 8th end, illness or injury suspected, but nothing confirmed yet. Bring on the Norwegians tonight, I say! Davey Murdoch's Barmy Army!
Thursday, 11 February 2010
Bite Me: Staring Through Windows At Teenage Vampires
As many of you will have doubtless noticed, the crazy worlds of TV, film and literature are awash with tales of teen vampires. What with the Twilight Saga, the Vampire Diaries and various other pointy-toothed, chastity- (or otherwise in the case of the latter)fests flooding the shelves and screens. In Let the Right One In, last year had a terrific genre-redefining vampire movie, sadly most of the bajillion dollar tales of whiny adolescents and their obsessions with the creatures of legend garnered all the attention.
So, just over a year late I saw Twilight on the recommendation that it would be one of the most unintentionally hilarious films that I'd ever seen. I have to say, I was impressed. It was much tackier and cliched that I'd anticipated. There are more genuine belly-laughs in it than in your average Judd Apatow film and that's just at the writing and performances, before we've even examined the plot and concept. Many of you will have already seen it but I'm going to wade in with my trademark clumsy, flailing arms of cynicism.
The opening is a classic 'deer drinking from a pool' scene, fair enough, every vampire film should have one but it's not the most inspiring you'll ever see and it's not exactly the tapir from Apocalypto (probably for the best really). Now we get onto the most important part of the film, the characters (because plot is for losers in teen cinema). From what I could discern the story follows Mary Sue, a teenager who goes to live with her father in rainy Washington. There follows several, pointy-chinned, jerky exchanges with other annoying teenagers including the nerdy asian, the token black guy and the fashion-obsessed blonde (hasn't civil rights come a long way in the last few years...? Seriously, I can't believe stereotypes like this are still allowed), but most importantly with pale, strange-eyed Cedric Diggory. Now, at first Cedric can't bear to be in the same room as our Mary Sue (this is important to the characterisation, as is explained, at length, later in the film) but eventually old pallid-chops comes round and the two bond over a science lesson in one of many 'teenage' conversations. Now, these 'teenage' conversations mostly consist of awkward sighing and scoffing noises with the occasional gormless look thrown in. Kristen Stewart, who plays our bold Mary Sue, is very much from the Ben Affleck and Nicholas Cage school of acting (would love to see and Inside the Actor's Studio with the three of them, all chins and gormlessness. Well guarded secret that the key to acting is in the chin).
We also meet Mary Sue's friend, Rafael Nadal, who is from the Quileute tribe. Oh, right, the Quileute tribe, you say? Must be one of those famous werewolf tribes that I've heard so much about... She warns him that the werewolf tribe has legends about the cold-ones (vampires). Mary Sue then duly Googles this, because that's what young people in films do these days (that has to be one of my movie pet-hates, people Googling things, it's just not necessary). Then more stuff happens and for plot contrivance reasons Mary Sue is about to be hit by an A-Team van, driven by the token black guy (because obviously he would be the one who'd clumsily near run her over - did Martin Luther King Jr. die in vain?) but fortunately Cedric swoops to the rescue with superhuman speed and strength- wonder what that could mean? Anyhow, Mary Sue is taken to hospital where she's examined by Coop from Nurse Jackie, who's blonde and pale for some reason and when I say pale, I mean really pale, like Cedric pale (wonder where that's going?)- in fact so pale that I wouldn't trust him to examine and evaluate my health without insisting that he spent a few hours outside to get some vitamin D. But wait- pale, knows Cedric... oh my sweet lord, it's Dr. Acula!
Well, Mary Sue's fine and the token black guy's a little shaken up. Mary Sue then dreams about Cedric and then they go to the forest and... oh Christ, this bit was rather drawn out and depressing. "Ask me the most basic question," Cedric says- there's a pregnant pause. "What do I eat?" He adds for clarification. Ok, firstly, it can't be the most basic question if you have to tell Mary Sue what the most basic question is and secondly, the most basic question would be "What the fuck are you?" (but worded in a more tween-friendly way). Essentially, Cedric's a vampire. No shit, Sherlock. Then, after 33 tedious minutes of relentless teenage awkwardness, a sliver of plot slips through the net. Some more vampires kill a man on a boat or something. Then after that brief slip-up we're back to yet more weird Mary Sue/Cedric conversation and even more of Cedric driving his Volvo. Yup, you heard that right, Volvo. Cedric, a vampire so impossibly attractive, enigmatic and powerful that his car of choice is naturally a Volvo. From here-on in, the film becomes a massive bleedin' Volvo advert.
For reasons that can only be described as lack of decent ideas, Mary Sue is off to play baseball with Cedric and his family (Coop/Dr. Acula, Coop's wife, Chunky Jock Vampire, Kooky Cassandra (premonitions, I mean) Vampire, Twisty Smile Vampire, Plastic Vampire) in a thunderstorm- they have to wait for storms to play, you see. One of them hits the ball with a loud crack. "I can see why you have to wait for storms!" Says Mary Sue. I can't, they're in the middle of fucking nowhere anyway. Evil vampires turn up and ruin their fun, one of them notices Mary Sue and decides to hunt her down (despite having the pick of all of the other humans in Forks, who aren't protected by vampires - apparently she smells nice or something).
Oh no, Mary Sue's in trouble, let's go to Arizona. Oh no, the vampire's still chasing us. Oh no, the vampire's got Mary Sue's mother and wants to meet Mary Sue alone. Oh no, Mary Sue's gone alone and the mother isn't there (surprise, suprise). Oh no, Mary Sue's being slapped around by the vampire. Oh no, he's bitten her on the wrist. Cedric's here to save the day, but, oh no, he's losing the fight and being slapped around. Coop's here with Chunky Jock Vampire and Twisty Smile Vampire to save the day properly. Oh look, Kooky Cassandra Vampire has torn off the evil vampire's head in a single twist, not so tough now, eh Cedric, you got beaten up by him but she just tore off his bloody head with her bare hands. Oh no, Mary Sue's still dying, quickly, Cedric, suck on her wrist, but not too much or you'll kill her. Oh no, Cedric, you're killing her. Oh no, Coop, why the fuck aren't you stopping him?
Mary Sue's in hospital. "You fell down two flights of stairs and went through a window" explains the mother (because naturally that's entirely fucking plausible). Cedric's there though, everything's fine. Fade to blac... hang on, what do you mean there's more, the fucking plot's literally just finished, you can't possibly need more bloody character nonsense. Oh, it's prom time, unenthusiastic hoorays all round. Rafael Nadal is having a heart to heart with Mary Sue before Cedric turns up and goes "The fuck are you talking to her, Rafa?" (not verbatim) and they go to the prom. Then there's some dancing and a Dawson's Creek credits sequence.
The two heroes of the film? The Volvo and Mary Sue's Dad, who just tried to be a good person and was ignored and accused of being fat by his daughter.
Wow, what a phenom we've created. You know who I feel sorry for? Darren Shan, he was writing interesting teen vampire novels way back before this idea came to Stephanie Meyer in a dream (because obviously it has to come in dream form to a prophet, not everyone can have the idea of 'get this, right? Vampires, but teenagers') and all he got was a shitty Hollywood re-imagining of his first book. He deserved better.
So, just over a year late I saw Twilight on the recommendation that it would be one of the most unintentionally hilarious films that I'd ever seen. I have to say, I was impressed. It was much tackier and cliched that I'd anticipated. There are more genuine belly-laughs in it than in your average Judd Apatow film and that's just at the writing and performances, before we've even examined the plot and concept. Many of you will have already seen it but I'm going to wade in with my trademark clumsy, flailing arms of cynicism.
The opening is a classic 'deer drinking from a pool' scene, fair enough, every vampire film should have one but it's not the most inspiring you'll ever see and it's not exactly the tapir from Apocalypto (probably for the best really). Now we get onto the most important part of the film, the characters (because plot is for losers in teen cinema). From what I could discern the story follows Mary Sue, a teenager who goes to live with her father in rainy Washington. There follows several, pointy-chinned, jerky exchanges with other annoying teenagers including the nerdy asian, the token black guy and the fashion-obsessed blonde (hasn't civil rights come a long way in the last few years...? Seriously, I can't believe stereotypes like this are still allowed), but most importantly with pale, strange-eyed Cedric Diggory. Now, at first Cedric can't bear to be in the same room as our Mary Sue (this is important to the characterisation, as is explained, at length, later in the film) but eventually old pallid-chops comes round and the two bond over a science lesson in one of many 'teenage' conversations. Now, these 'teenage' conversations mostly consist of awkward sighing and scoffing noises with the occasional gormless look thrown in. Kristen Stewart, who plays our bold Mary Sue, is very much from the Ben Affleck and Nicholas Cage school of acting (would love to see and Inside the Actor's Studio with the three of them, all chins and gormlessness. Well guarded secret that the key to acting is in the chin).
We also meet Mary Sue's friend, Rafael Nadal, who is from the Quileute tribe. Oh, right, the Quileute tribe, you say? Must be one of those famous werewolf tribes that I've heard so much about... She warns him that the werewolf tribe has legends about the cold-ones (vampires). Mary Sue then duly Googles this, because that's what young people in films do these days (that has to be one of my movie pet-hates, people Googling things, it's just not necessary). Then more stuff happens and for plot contrivance reasons Mary Sue is about to be hit by an A-Team van, driven by the token black guy (because obviously he would be the one who'd clumsily near run her over - did Martin Luther King Jr. die in vain?) but fortunately Cedric swoops to the rescue with superhuman speed and strength- wonder what that could mean? Anyhow, Mary Sue is taken to hospital where she's examined by Coop from Nurse Jackie, who's blonde and pale for some reason and when I say pale, I mean really pale, like Cedric pale (wonder where that's going?)- in fact so pale that I wouldn't trust him to examine and evaluate my health without insisting that he spent a few hours outside to get some vitamin D. But wait- pale, knows Cedric... oh my sweet lord, it's Dr. Acula!
Well, Mary Sue's fine and the token black guy's a little shaken up. Mary Sue then dreams about Cedric and then they go to the forest and... oh Christ, this bit was rather drawn out and depressing. "Ask me the most basic question," Cedric says- there's a pregnant pause. "What do I eat?" He adds for clarification. Ok, firstly, it can't be the most basic question if you have to tell Mary Sue what the most basic question is and secondly, the most basic question would be "What the fuck are you?" (but worded in a more tween-friendly way). Essentially, Cedric's a vampire. No shit, Sherlock. Then, after 33 tedious minutes of relentless teenage awkwardness, a sliver of plot slips through the net. Some more vampires kill a man on a boat or something. Then after that brief slip-up we're back to yet more weird Mary Sue/Cedric conversation and even more of Cedric driving his Volvo. Yup, you heard that right, Volvo. Cedric, a vampire so impossibly attractive, enigmatic and powerful that his car of choice is naturally a Volvo. From here-on in, the film becomes a massive bleedin' Volvo advert.
For reasons that can only be described as lack of decent ideas, Mary Sue is off to play baseball with Cedric and his family (Coop/Dr. Acula, Coop's wife, Chunky Jock Vampire, Kooky Cassandra (premonitions, I mean) Vampire, Twisty Smile Vampire, Plastic Vampire) in a thunderstorm- they have to wait for storms to play, you see. One of them hits the ball with a loud crack. "I can see why you have to wait for storms!" Says Mary Sue. I can't, they're in the middle of fucking nowhere anyway. Evil vampires turn up and ruin their fun, one of them notices Mary Sue and decides to hunt her down (despite having the pick of all of the other humans in Forks, who aren't protected by vampires - apparently she smells nice or something).
Oh no, Mary Sue's in trouble, let's go to Arizona. Oh no, the vampire's still chasing us. Oh no, the vampire's got Mary Sue's mother and wants to meet Mary Sue alone. Oh no, Mary Sue's gone alone and the mother isn't there (surprise, suprise). Oh no, Mary Sue's being slapped around by the vampire. Oh no, he's bitten her on the wrist. Cedric's here to save the day, but, oh no, he's losing the fight and being slapped around. Coop's here with Chunky Jock Vampire and Twisty Smile Vampire to save the day properly. Oh look, Kooky Cassandra Vampire has torn off the evil vampire's head in a single twist, not so tough now, eh Cedric, you got beaten up by him but she just tore off his bloody head with her bare hands. Oh no, Mary Sue's still dying, quickly, Cedric, suck on her wrist, but not too much or you'll kill her. Oh no, Cedric, you're killing her. Oh no, Coop, why the fuck aren't you stopping him?
Mary Sue's in hospital. "You fell down two flights of stairs and went through a window" explains the mother (because naturally that's entirely fucking plausible). Cedric's there though, everything's fine. Fade to blac... hang on, what do you mean there's more, the fucking plot's literally just finished, you can't possibly need more bloody character nonsense. Oh, it's prom time, unenthusiastic hoorays all round. Rafael Nadal is having a heart to heart with Mary Sue before Cedric turns up and goes "The fuck are you talking to her, Rafa?" (not verbatim) and they go to the prom. Then there's some dancing and a Dawson's Creek credits sequence.
The two heroes of the film? The Volvo and Mary Sue's Dad, who just tried to be a good person and was ignored and accused of being fat by his daughter.
Wow, what a phenom we've created. You know who I feel sorry for? Darren Shan, he was writing interesting teen vampire novels way back before this idea came to Stephanie Meyer in a dream (because obviously it has to come in dream form to a prophet, not everyone can have the idea of 'get this, right? Vampires, but teenagers') and all he got was a shitty Hollywood re-imagining of his first book. He deserved better.
Wednesday, 27 January 2010
Lies, Damned Lies and Statistics... and Why I'm Not Here Next Week...
This is just a quickie (sometimes I have to do real life things too) to have a brief rant and explain why you might have to wait a while for another Friday Pictorial.
Many of you will know that James Cameron's Pocahon... Avatar has become the highest grossing film in movie history, not because more people have seen it than any other film, but rather because most cinemas see fit to charge extra for 3D films, meaning that you pay extra for a pair of tacky glasses and a 3 hour headache. Also meaning that it was a shoe-in to smash the box-offices records. Clever. Does this really count? Really? On the other hand I did read a cracking review of it on the Guardian website.
In today's other statistics news, Clint Eastwood was named America's favourite filmstar and why not, he's terrific. I've spent many a happy hour watching the Dollars trilogy and am looking forward to Invictus (featuring Bath Rugby's former back-rower Zak Feuanati as Jonah Lomu). The favourite sons of the western remained in power, with John Wayne achieving an impressive 7th place, despite being dead for more than 30 years and not having released a film since 1976's The Shootist.
Right, now on to my absence next week. I'm going to ride down mountains on two planks of carbon-fibre, while hopefully avoiding serious injury. This means one of two things- firstly, I'd better hope that I can remember how to ski fairly sharpish and secondly, that there probably won't be any blogs this Friday or next week. There should be another quick one tomorrow, though, if that provides any comfort at all.
Many of you will know that James Cameron's Pocahon... Avatar has become the highest grossing film in movie history, not because more people have seen it than any other film, but rather because most cinemas see fit to charge extra for 3D films, meaning that you pay extra for a pair of tacky glasses and a 3 hour headache. Also meaning that it was a shoe-in to smash the box-offices records. Clever. Does this really count? Really? On the other hand I did read a cracking review of it on the Guardian website.
In today's other statistics news, Clint Eastwood was named America's favourite filmstar and why not, he's terrific. I've spent many a happy hour watching the Dollars trilogy and am looking forward to Invictus (featuring Bath Rugby's former back-rower Zak Feuanati as Jonah Lomu). The favourite sons of the western remained in power, with John Wayne achieving an impressive 7th place, despite being dead for more than 30 years and not having released a film since 1976's The Shootist.
Right, now on to my absence next week. I'm going to ride down mountains on two planks of carbon-fibre, while hopefully avoiding serious injury. This means one of two things- firstly, I'd better hope that I can remember how to ski fairly sharpish and secondly, that there probably won't be any blogs this Friday or next week. There should be another quick one tomorrow, though, if that provides any comfort at all.
Friday, 22 January 2010
The Friday Pictorial: Steamboat Blog Jr.
Ok, so this an exciting new feature called the Friday Pictorial, in which I will attempt to craft some manner of film, cartoon or general visual information for your delectation. Today's is a semi-autobiographical silent movie.
The track is 'Frolic' by Luciano Michelini (yes, the Curb Your Enthusiasm theme...).
The track is 'Frolic' by Luciano Michelini (yes, the Curb Your Enthusiasm theme...).
Wednesday, 20 January 2010
Disjointed Ramblings About BBC 7... and Let the Right One In
Apologies in advance, this post is likely to be somewhat bitty for a number of reasons. Firstly, it's snowing outside which means that I'll simply have to mention it (in a kind of 'ooh isn't that nice' way rather than the prepsoterous sensationalised '60,000 people to die' kind of way). Secondly, I'm supposed to be going out to collect voxpops for a radio station and I might be cut down in my prime to become some poorly-paid hack/Shackleton. Thirdly, I managed the grand total of 4 and a half hour's sleep last night, so this could well make no sense at all. Right that's all the disclaimers out of the way, so let's get on with it.
The first issue I'd like to discuss is BBC 7. I know what you're thinking- that's not an issue, that's a radio station and well, you'd be right. The issue is probably the undervaluation of this station which provides insomniacs like me with some rather excellent distractions while we're trying and inevitably failing to get to sleep. I guess it could be termed a Specialist station, but then that makes it sound like some weird radio porn (a bit like the 'specialist music' section in smaller branches of HMV- I just want to look at some blues or folk records, don't make me feel like a pervert in the process). BBC 7 features an extensive library of classic and contemporary comedy, drama and documentaries, but the section that I rely most heavily on is the Crime and Thrillers from 1 o'clock onwards, currently featuring the excellent Sherlock Holmes recordings made by Carleton Hobbs and Norman Shelley. It's a rather excellent way of assimilating curios from the sea of classic fiction into your consciousness too- until a couple of weeks ago they had been playing all 30 episodes of Russell Thorndike's Doctor Syn series', narrated by the surprisingly versatile Rufus Sewell.
Then there's the 15 minute drama at 2 o'clock, which since Monday of last week has been H. E. Bates' Love For Lydia, a semi-autobiographical tale set in the roaring twenties, following a journalist named Richardson as he falls for an heiress and proceeds to claim his as one of the most depressing lives ever (when in reality it's the other characters who have a right to feel hard done by). Drawled in Tim Pigott-Smith's rich baritone, we follow the young journo as he is enchanted and summarily rejected by the titular Lydia, whose other suitors proceed to die in increasingly depressing (but also accidentally mildly comic) circumstances. The first fell drunkenly off a bridge while Lydia and Richardson were busy arguing and then last night Tom was found dead with a bullet wound, a policeman claiming that he accidentally shot himself while attempting to traverse a stile ('one of the dangers of carrying a gun at night' !!). Now, I'm largely unfamiliar with the source text, but we have run out of male characters apart from the family's driver Blackie (whose father died) of whom Lydia is a 'business partner', so I can only imagine that he will perhaps drive a car containing all the remaining characters (including Nancy, the only character I have any sympathy for really) off a bridge while shooting himself.
The feature that perpetually torments me is the children's programmes that begin somewhere around five o'clock and feature singing, excitable annoyances (and that's just the presenters...) and an alarming propensity to rasp loudly "Wake Up!" in a curious, terrifying whisper that causes me to sit bolt upright every time, expecting to see the children from M. R. James' Lost Hearts or perhaps Eli from Let The Right One In sitting at the end of my bed. Actually that leads me on to another quick rant. As I mentioned in my post about Highlander, there is a Hollywood remake of Let the Right One In slated for later this year with Cloverfield's Matt Reeves at the helm. As if that wasn't bad enough, the English version will be known as Let Me In (you know you're in trouble when you have to dumb down a five word title for the American market). Director of the original, Tomas Alfredson, was suitably skeptical about what will likely be another trashy horror that somewhat misses the point of the original, quoted as saying 'remakes should be made of movies that aren't very good, it gives you the chance to fix whatever has gone wrong.' Now there's certainly nothing wrong with Alfredson's marvellous adaptation, featuring stellar performances and brilliant cinematography and it was even Mark Kermode's film of the year last year- so why remake it? Well, Reeves offered the defence that he 'has nothing but respect for the film' and even author of the original novel, John Ajvide Lindquist, said he was excited that it would be following the plot of his novel rather than Alfredson's film and that the end result could be quite different. Simon Oakes of Hammer Pictures (yep, that Hammer Pictures) claimed that it would be very close to the original (shooting down Lindquist's dreams in a fiction-y fireball) but made 'very accessible to a wider audience'. So that's any hope well and truly flushed down the Hollywood remake toilet then...
The first issue I'd like to discuss is BBC 7. I know what you're thinking- that's not an issue, that's a radio station and well, you'd be right. The issue is probably the undervaluation of this station which provides insomniacs like me with some rather excellent distractions while we're trying and inevitably failing to get to sleep. I guess it could be termed a Specialist station, but then that makes it sound like some weird radio porn (a bit like the 'specialist music' section in smaller branches of HMV- I just want to look at some blues or folk records, don't make me feel like a pervert in the process). BBC 7 features an extensive library of classic and contemporary comedy, drama and documentaries, but the section that I rely most heavily on is the Crime and Thrillers from 1 o'clock onwards, currently featuring the excellent Sherlock Holmes recordings made by Carleton Hobbs and Norman Shelley. It's a rather excellent way of assimilating curios from the sea of classic fiction into your consciousness too- until a couple of weeks ago they had been playing all 30 episodes of Russell Thorndike's Doctor Syn series', narrated by the surprisingly versatile Rufus Sewell.
Then there's the 15 minute drama at 2 o'clock, which since Monday of last week has been H. E. Bates' Love For Lydia, a semi-autobiographical tale set in the roaring twenties, following a journalist named Richardson as he falls for an heiress and proceeds to claim his as one of the most depressing lives ever (when in reality it's the other characters who have a right to feel hard done by). Drawled in Tim Pigott-Smith's rich baritone, we follow the young journo as he is enchanted and summarily rejected by the titular Lydia, whose other suitors proceed to die in increasingly depressing (but also accidentally mildly comic) circumstances. The first fell drunkenly off a bridge while Lydia and Richardson were busy arguing and then last night Tom was found dead with a bullet wound, a policeman claiming that he accidentally shot himself while attempting to traverse a stile ('one of the dangers of carrying a gun at night' !!). Now, I'm largely unfamiliar with the source text, but we have run out of male characters apart from the family's driver Blackie (whose father died) of whom Lydia is a 'business partner', so I can only imagine that he will perhaps drive a car containing all the remaining characters (including Nancy, the only character I have any sympathy for really) off a bridge while shooting himself.
The feature that perpetually torments me is the children's programmes that begin somewhere around five o'clock and feature singing, excitable annoyances (and that's just the presenters...) and an alarming propensity to rasp loudly "Wake Up!" in a curious, terrifying whisper that causes me to sit bolt upright every time, expecting to see the children from M. R. James' Lost Hearts or perhaps Eli from Let The Right One In sitting at the end of my bed. Actually that leads me on to another quick rant. As I mentioned in my post about Highlander, there is a Hollywood remake of Let the Right One In slated for later this year with Cloverfield's Matt Reeves at the helm. As if that wasn't bad enough, the English version will be known as Let Me In (you know you're in trouble when you have to dumb down a five word title for the American market). Director of the original, Tomas Alfredson, was suitably skeptical about what will likely be another trashy horror that somewhat misses the point of the original, quoted as saying 'remakes should be made of movies that aren't very good, it gives you the chance to fix whatever has gone wrong.' Now there's certainly nothing wrong with Alfredson's marvellous adaptation, featuring stellar performances and brilliant cinematography and it was even Mark Kermode's film of the year last year- so why remake it? Well, Reeves offered the defence that he 'has nothing but respect for the film' and even author of the original novel, John Ajvide Lindquist, said he was excited that it would be following the plot of his novel rather than Alfredson's film and that the end result could be quite different. Simon Oakes of Hammer Pictures (yep, that Hammer Pictures) claimed that it would be very close to the original (shooting down Lindquist's dreams in a fiction-y fireball) but made 'very accessible to a wider audience'. So that's any hope well and truly flushed down the Hollywood remake toilet then...
Monday, 18 January 2010
The One and Only Herb McGwyer Plays Wallis Island
Okey dokey, hope you all had good weekends (the new rule is, I don't blog on weekends unless I'm snowed in or have nothing better to do). I certainly did. I was turned on to a delightful comedy movie short by Simone of this excellent comedy review web log. That movie short was 'The One and Only Herb McGwyer Plays Wallis Island', a touching 24 minute comedy written by Tim Key and Tom Basden and directed by James Griffiths of Moxie Pictures, whose stable includes such heavyweights as Kevin Smith and Wes Anderson. It was nominated for a BAFTA in the 2007 awards but lost out (rather unfairly, I feel) to Paddy Considine's Dog Altogether.
The One and Only Herb McGwyer Plays Wallis Island is a poignant, witty and touching tale of a troubled folk singer playing a one-off gig for his number one fan for the princely sum of £500,000. Along the way, he learns a few home truths and finds his passion for music reignited by the bumbling charm of multi-millionaire Charles.
If you have a few spare minutes (and your internet buffers faster than mine) then the film can viewed here on Moxie's website (click on the black box to begin). I would seriously suggest watching the film before reading this (it's better for all parties that way). Now, as a huge Cowards fan I am probably more than a little biased towards anything involving messers Key, Basden, Woolf or Golaszewski, however even from the opening few seconds it became abundantly clear why this particular offering received such high praise.
We open with a black screen and banter while Basden attemps the intro of one of the original songs he composed for 'Herb McGwyer'. It then cuts to a engineered version of the song as we see McGwyer (Basden, sporting some marvellous facial hair) on a boat carving its way towards the island. Credits intersperse the action and McGwyer touches the spray with an outstretched hand, before we see Charles (Key) slip his waders on and move out to meet McGwyer. The conversation that follows as McGwyer disembarks sets the tone for the rest of the film. Anyone familiar with Cowards or with Key's writing will easily recognise the classic style of the dialogue, all beautifully shot, filtered, naturally lit and stunningly directed. The lion's share of Griffith's previous body of work is in advertising and there are hints of that particular fingerprint in 'Herb McGwyer', with the filtered shots, laced with the optimism of today's high production value adverts, though the film doesn't suffer for this fact.
As Charles, a lottery winner and occupant of the titular Wallis Island, Key gives a definitive performance, featuring the beautiful, understated, fumbling realism that he is so truly adept at (see Radio 4's All Bar Luke for details). Like Luke Walsall, Charles is a both comic and tragic simultaneously and more than this, he's painfully human. There's a certain wide-eyed innocent charm to Charles that instantly endears him to the viewer. Basden and Key (and their Cowards counterparts) seem to be to coax out far more believable performances than a good deal of full-length movies or TV shows could ever dream of.
Basden, as the eponymous Herb McGwyer 'the nice guy of folk' gives an equally human turn, with tremendous comic timing and rapport with long-time comedy comrade Key. Throughout the film, the layers of McGwyer's personality are slowly peeled back to reveal a troubled folkie suffering in the pit of depression, having sold out to the corporations and suffering from a loss of motivation, though insists that the 'cool half million' isn't his primary motive (there's some beautiful foreshadowing in the money scene involving apples). The scenes of revelation involving the disaffected musician showcase Basden's considerable talent and the scene where Herb launches his diva-like tirade at Charles is a masterclass in comedy drama.
The direction is very good with a number of imaginative transitions (the one from the kitchen to the bathroom is pure genius and oddly reminds me of Wallace and Gromit- in a good way) and generally clever, insightful decisions made on shooting and particularly lighting. The concert scene is beautifully shot and remarkably moving for a comedy.
Naturally there are some classic lines in the film, one that immediately springs to mind is the early sequence where Charles explains that the dripping tap 'in a way, works too well', the wonderful 'never meet your heroes... again. It's another Le Carre' and of course the scene were Charles reveals the venue (and indeed audience size) to Herb.
A special mention really must go to Basden's compositions, created especially for the film. Basden has a great reputation as a comedian with acoustic guitar and capo in hand, but one mustn't overlook the sheer quality of the folk songs that he composed for Herb McGwyer. Every song that Herb performs throughout the film is easily of releasable quality and a number feature clever chord changes and inspirational chourses. From the catchy 'Raspberry Fair' (from the Hewlett Packard ads...) to the Nick Drake-esque 'Sky Child' featured at the beginning, middle and end of the picture.
In short, The One and Only Herb McGwyer Plays Wallis Island is one of the finest short films I have ever had the pleasure of viewing. Both Key and Basden's performances are perfectly judged and this charming, funny and ultimately poignant tale is one that will live long in my memory and unbelievably it can be seen for free on the internet. If I had stars to dish out, it would be given five, alas I do not yet have the power to award official ratings to films. Basden and Key are a terrific partnership (whose other two marvellous shorts can be viewed here on Myspace) and I simply cannot wait to see 'Party', the pair's most recent collaboration, when it begins its London run in March. They are two of the very brightest talents in British comedy (surely we can petition the Beeb for a new series of Cowards too...) and their brilliance is displayed nowhere more prominently than in 'Herb McGwyer'.
The One and Only Herb McGwyer Plays Wallis Island is a poignant, witty and touching tale of a troubled folk singer playing a one-off gig for his number one fan for the princely sum of £500,000. Along the way, he learns a few home truths and finds his passion for music reignited by the bumbling charm of multi-millionaire Charles.
If you have a few spare minutes (and your internet buffers faster than mine) then the film can viewed here on Moxie's website (click on the black box to begin). I would seriously suggest watching the film before reading this (it's better for all parties that way). Now, as a huge Cowards fan I am probably more than a little biased towards anything involving messers Key, Basden, Woolf or Golaszewski, however even from the opening few seconds it became abundantly clear why this particular offering received such high praise.
We open with a black screen and banter while Basden attemps the intro of one of the original songs he composed for 'Herb McGwyer'. It then cuts to a engineered version of the song as we see McGwyer (Basden, sporting some marvellous facial hair) on a boat carving its way towards the island. Credits intersperse the action and McGwyer touches the spray with an outstretched hand, before we see Charles (Key) slip his waders on and move out to meet McGwyer. The conversation that follows as McGwyer disembarks sets the tone for the rest of the film. Anyone familiar with Cowards or with Key's writing will easily recognise the classic style of the dialogue, all beautifully shot, filtered, naturally lit and stunningly directed. The lion's share of Griffith's previous body of work is in advertising and there are hints of that particular fingerprint in 'Herb McGwyer', with the filtered shots, laced with the optimism of today's high production value adverts, though the film doesn't suffer for this fact.
As Charles, a lottery winner and occupant of the titular Wallis Island, Key gives a definitive performance, featuring the beautiful, understated, fumbling realism that he is so truly adept at (see Radio 4's All Bar Luke for details). Like Luke Walsall, Charles is a both comic and tragic simultaneously and more than this, he's painfully human. There's a certain wide-eyed innocent charm to Charles that instantly endears him to the viewer. Basden and Key (and their Cowards counterparts) seem to be to coax out far more believable performances than a good deal of full-length movies or TV shows could ever dream of.
Basden, as the eponymous Herb McGwyer 'the nice guy of folk' gives an equally human turn, with tremendous comic timing and rapport with long-time comedy comrade Key. Throughout the film, the layers of McGwyer's personality are slowly peeled back to reveal a troubled folkie suffering in the pit of depression, having sold out to the corporations and suffering from a loss of motivation, though insists that the 'cool half million' isn't his primary motive (there's some beautiful foreshadowing in the money scene involving apples). The scenes of revelation involving the disaffected musician showcase Basden's considerable talent and the scene where Herb launches his diva-like tirade at Charles is a masterclass in comedy drama.
The direction is very good with a number of imaginative transitions (the one from the kitchen to the bathroom is pure genius and oddly reminds me of Wallace and Gromit- in a good way) and generally clever, insightful decisions made on shooting and particularly lighting. The concert scene is beautifully shot and remarkably moving for a comedy.
Naturally there are some classic lines in the film, one that immediately springs to mind is the early sequence where Charles explains that the dripping tap 'in a way, works too well', the wonderful 'never meet your heroes... again. It's another Le Carre' and of course the scene were Charles reveals the venue (and indeed audience size) to Herb.
A special mention really must go to Basden's compositions, created especially for the film. Basden has a great reputation as a comedian with acoustic guitar and capo in hand, but one mustn't overlook the sheer quality of the folk songs that he composed for Herb McGwyer. Every song that Herb performs throughout the film is easily of releasable quality and a number feature clever chord changes and inspirational chourses. From the catchy 'Raspberry Fair' (from the Hewlett Packard ads...) to the Nick Drake-esque 'Sky Child' featured at the beginning, middle and end of the picture.
In short, The One and Only Herb McGwyer Plays Wallis Island is one of the finest short films I have ever had the pleasure of viewing. Both Key and Basden's performances are perfectly judged and this charming, funny and ultimately poignant tale is one that will live long in my memory and unbelievably it can be seen for free on the internet. If I had stars to dish out, it would be given five, alas I do not yet have the power to award official ratings to films. Basden and Key are a terrific partnership (whose other two marvellous shorts can be viewed here on Myspace) and I simply cannot wait to see 'Party', the pair's most recent collaboration, when it begins its London run in March. They are two of the very brightest talents in British comedy (surely we can petition the Beeb for a new series of Cowards too...) and their brilliance is displayed nowhere more prominently than in 'Herb McGwyer'.
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