Falstaff (Chimes at Midnight)

A curious adaptation of several of Shakespeare's historical plays aimed at giving Falstaff centre stage, Orson Welles's 'Falstaff (Chimes at Midnight)' is regarded by some as his masterpiece.  It certainly doesn't suffer from the troubled production it had and that so many of his later films fell prey to.  Also, given his lack of resources, it looks never less than stunning.  The frenetic pace in editing and staging he invests in some of his works, works very well here, and the whole film holds one's attention throughout.  Again it is a beautiful film, beautifully made as well as shot.  However, and not withstanding his iconic make-up, I never felt the love for the character that Welles so obviously did.  Sure, he's a lovable old rogue, but he never seems to be anything other than for himself (Stevenson's Long John Silver somehow manages this selfishness far better) and foolish along with it.  When at the coronation I should have been tearful, instead I was saying, 'What the hell are you doing, you old idiot!'  It may well have been my fault; though I am familiar with the plays, the Shakespearean dialogue often got the better of me.  Whatever it was, and wonderful though Welles' take on the character was, it just did not grab me.  Certainly a high point in his career though and essential viewing for film buffs.

Saint Joan...Up from the Ashes

For completion's sake, I have just finished watching Otto Preminger's 1957 film version of Shaw's 'Saint Joan'.  Adapted by Graham Greene, it has some changes, notably in the use of the epilogue to act as a frame for the tale, but the fundamentals are there.  I didn't have too much of a problem with Jean Seberg in the role.  She emphasised Joan's frailty far more than the strength that comes across in the play, but I don't doubt the sincerity of her interpretation.  I would have liked to see the more definitively Shavian Wendy Hiller in the role, but sadly that can never (and even in 1957 could never) be.  Richard Widmark may over play the buffoon as the King, but again, to be fair, the role calls for such a comical performance.  Generally it isn't a bad interpretation.  To Seberg's credit she showed me some of the more subtle possibilities of the role.  Hiller would have been perfect for it though.  Think of her in 'I Know Where I'm Going!'  And apparently Hiller originated the role of Catherine Sloper on Broadway in 'The Heiress' (playing opposite Basil Rathbone as her father! What a production that must have been).  She could do weak and strong.  Anyhow whatever about what might have been, Preminger's take is a good deal better than cinders.

Visual Correspondence

Visual Correspondence - Historical Letters from a new perspective

Just in passing, if anyone has an interest in historical correspondence, I have created a web site devoted to that very topic.  Using basic information that is common to almost all letters, I try to map where historical figures were over their lives.  I also try to chart their social circles and provide a lot of different tools for seeing what they got up to, as letter writers that is (but actually not just as that).  The site is Visual Correspondence and it would just make me feel a bit better about wasting so much time on it if more than one or two people (mostly me) actually used it.  At present there are over 156,000 letters dealt with, featuring everyone from Karl Marx to Robert De Niro (I kid you not; do a search on the site).  And if you are aware of any online collections of correspondence that you think might be suitable for the site, please let me know.  So remember folks, http://letters.nialloleary.ie/

In the Heart of the Sea

Ron Howard's adaptation of Nathaniel Philbrick's 'In the Heart of the Sea', an account of the sinking of the whaling vessel, The Essex, the supposed basis for 'Moby-Dick', does what it says on the tin, I suppose.  We get some big whales, sailors in lifeboats and dubious cuisine.  However, we also get Chris Hemsworth doing Thor at sea and some fairly unconvincing visuals.  Perhaps Hemsworth himself is a CGI-generated being much like the other behemoths rolling through the fake oceans.  Anyhow remedying matters a little  is Brendan Gleeson playing one of the aged survivors; he is actually better than I've seen him in a while (and he's never too far off the boil anyhow).  The strange thing for me though is the story itself.  A rogue white whale attacking a ship and harrying its mariners!  It all makes better fiction than fact, and I don't quite buy it all.  Granted I came out of the cinema wanting to read the well-regarded book (to get a handle on just how reliable the whole plot is), but for the moment I'll stick with 'Moby-Dick'.

Hitchcock

Apparently telling the story of the making of Hitchcock's seminal 'Psycho', 'Hitchcock' misses almost every target it aims at.  Its high class cast of Hopkins, Mirren, Johanssen, Huston, etc. at best are competent, at worst distracting.  Danny Huston is particularly awkward, but Hopkins, in the huge role of Alfred Hitchcock, is never anything other than Anthony Hopkins; you never see Hitchcock on the screen.  The direction is bland, the editing amateurish, and for a movie about a movie characterised by one of the most memorable scores in film history, the jaunty bubblegum of this film's soundtrack is never anything less than a let down.  And then there's the script....  Can I count the ways...?

• The basic adultery plot is insultingly slender;
• The 'challenges' faced by Hitchcok in making his movie are less than impressive;
• The Ed Gein conceit simply doesn't work;
• The tone is completely misjudged;
• There is no insight into either Hitchcock or the making of 'Psycho'.

Anyone with even a cursory knowledge of Alfred Hitchcock and his obsessions would already be far ahead of this screenplay's 'insights'.
A wasted opportunity.

The Words

'The Words' tells of the ultimate sin: Plagiarism!   After suffering rejection for so long, can a budding writer resist a masterpiece that just lands in his lap, just because it isn't his?
The film boasts a strong cast - Bradley Cooper, Jeremy Irons, Zoe Saldana, Olivia Wilde, Dennis Quaid - a Glass-style score (by Marcelo Zarvos), nice production values and a convoluted story within a story framing device.  It positively reeks of artistic intent.  However, look beneath the surface, and things are a little less convincing.
For a start, the high-powered cast doesn't always deliver; there's some ham from Irons, blandness from Cooper, and a strange campness from Quaid.  Mitigating things somewhat are good performances from Saldana, Wilde and Ben Barnes.  The score is pleasant, but forgettable, trying as it does to sound like 'The Hours'.  The real test though is the script itself, the real words.
Its tricksy framed narrative, with its sly questioning of what's real and what's fiction, strives to fool the viewer into believing this is a profound piece of cinema. It handles its story within a story structure well, but its a measure of how well-worn this approach has become that there is no risk of any audience member being challenged.  And that reflects the film in its entirety.    This is not a profound film; it just thinks it is.  Ultimately it's a simple, sentimental tale told with purple prose..
Whatever its pretensions, there is a sincerity in its willingness to tackle guilt and its effects on people.  It just doesn't have too much more to add to what other better films (such as 'Crimes and Misdemeanors') have already taught us.  Its one good insight is to stress how words can complicate, confuse and ultimately spoil the good things in life.  The young soldier and his French love are never more happy than when they share only one word in common.  It's a trite and simple lesson, but one that nevertheless resonates.  However, do we really need three(?) writers, several fictional books and a title to drive the point home?
In a way, yes, we do. You see 'The Words' is pretentious, and yes, there are many flaws, but for all that I still kept watching.  The writerly aspects (rejections, doubt, exhilaration) rang true for me.  In terms of its narrative structure, it really couldn't but take the approach it does.  They are cheap tricks that it uses, but they are bookish tricks. And then I am a softie at heart (I'd just wiped up my tears after having watched 'Up' again beforehand), so sentiment is not the kiss of death it might be for others.  For all my harsh words then, I can't just dismiss this one.  Simple, sentimental, defiantly middle-brow, it is still a guilty pleasure.  If you see it in a bargain bin, pick it up.

The John Ford Symposium

Someone did a fine job in organising a wonderful discussion of the work of John Ford.  Going on over four days, I ended up attending a directors' panel (Jim Sheridan, Thaddeus O'Sullivan, Brian Kirk,and John Boorman), a writers' panel (Patrick McCabe, Eoghan Harris, Colin Bateman, and Ian Power), a composers' panel (David Holmes, Kyle Eastwood, and Christopher Caliendo) and - highlight of the symposium - an interview with Peter Bogdanovich.

The Directors' Panel, contrary to what you might expect, was dominated by Brian Kirk ('Game of Thrones', 'Middletown') and Thaddeus O'Sullivan ('Nothing Personal', 'Veronica Guerin').  Kirk showed a real passion for Ford and backed up his arguments with solid observations on the director's work.  O'Sullivan complemented this with some astute film school type analyses of scenes and styles (he gave a lucid commentary on a scene from 'My Darling Clementine').  Chairing the discussion was critic and novelist, Kim Newman, but good though he was, he couldn't rouse Boorman to do more than recount one or two amiable stories about Ford (predictably concerning his drinking habits).  If Boorman proved difficult, reigning in the obnoxiously rambling Sheridan was impossible.  Not only did Sheridan confess to only a cursory knowledge of Ford's oeuvre (why was he there then?), he constantly droned on and on, often losing the train of his thought and evidently taking his audience for some crowd of imbeciles ("I just turn up on set and the camera just appears in some place.  I don't know how films get made.").

The Writers' Panel, though it featured some astute comments from Bateman (less so from tyro Power), was largely a battle of wills between McCabe and Harris.  Harris proclaimed his love of rhetoric; a speech by Fonda's Lincoln in 'Young Mr Lincoln', dealing with ideals and lofty notions of right and wrong, was his quintessence of drama.  McCabe objected; this was cornball stuff and didn't take account of the complexities drama should really respect.  Black and white is appealing, but it hides a multitude of sins.  While I get misty eyed with the worst of them when confronted with an aspirational speech, I can tell you I was firmly in the McCabe camp.  What we all wanted was a Celebrity Death Match between the two, or failing that just a no holds bared debate.

The Composers' Panel was dominated by host, Dave Fanning, and guest David Holmes, for all the wrong reasons.  Eastwood (who has written a lot of music for his father's films) seemed to have little to say, Caliendo a lot more; one way or the other neither could get a proper word in between Fanning's phone going off ('My son wants me to get him tickets for Jay-Z for tonight.') and Holmes' monopoly of the event.  Obviously Holmes, a self-taught DJ and composer, has a story to tell, but narrative is not his strong point and he rivalled Sheridan in his rambling.  Worse, he showed little respect for his fellow guests or the audience.  At one point he stood up and walked out to go to the toilet.  Fair enough, but as if this attention seeking was enough, he got up again close to the end claiming he had to run for a train.  When the event did end and we left the auditorium, he was standing outside chatting away.

The highlight of the whole event was the interview with Peter Bogdanovich.  Anyone who has read 'Easy Riders, Raging Bulls' cannot consider Bogdanovich without a little distaste.  Like Coppola and many others, fame went to his head in unpleasant ways.  He curried favour with many of the greats in what strikes me as a queasy way (Welles staying over, hobnobbing with Ford).  He's kind of like the slick teacher's pet everyone loves to hate.  Then there was his peculiar later life (something tactless interviewer Paul Byrne seemed determined to bring up).  However, now in his seventies, he has become absorbed into that very pantheon of classic directors he once paid excessive obeisance to.  So when he compared himself to Welles with Tarantino in what had been his role ("I stay over with Quentin"), I think the audience forgave him.  Certainly his string of on the money impressions of old stars like Cagney and Stewart won me over in the end.

Killer Joe

When Chris Smith (Emile Hirsch) lets his gambling get him into debt with a local loan shark, he fixes on a novel way of getting the money he needs; hire a hitman to kill his mother for her insurance policy.  The hitman he hires is dirty cop, Joe Cooper (Matthew McConaughey).  Things get out of hand though when Cooper demands Chris's sister as 'a retainer'.  Then there's Chris's father and stepmother to consider, one not the sharpest tool in the machine shop, the other perhaps too sharp for her own good.  And is little sis just going to take this lying down?  And so the black comedy that is 'Killer Joe' begins.

Adapted from his own stage play by Tracy Letts, 'Killer Joe' centers on a 'white trash' family of stereotypical losers who inadvertently invite the devil, well, Matthew McConaughey, into their home.  Its violence, amorality and clever dialogue remind one of Tarantino, but these similarities (no doubt things that attracted hit-starved Friedkin to the project) are somewhat superficial.  This was a play afterall and despite attempts to broaden the action out, it often plays like one.  On the plus side, there is a real playwright's attention to the organic integration of plot and character.  Similarly Letts doesn't allow his command of dialogue get in the way of the drama; while not so obviously showy as Tarantino, it is almost always precise and effective.  However, there is also a tendency to talk rather than show and unless the director is really on song this can paradoxically mute a movie.

Is director William Friedkin on song?  His career has been patchy at best since his high-rolling days of 'The Exorcist' and 'The French Connection'.  With 'Killer Joe', he attempts to resurrect his moribund reputation with something designed to provoke.  His notion of provocation though is simply to trot out a lot of female nudity and some awkward misogyny.  Reveling in the low Texas milieu of the characters he ends up concentrating on what is in my opinion the least successful aspect of the screenplay, the 'white trash' ideology.  From the dim-witted dad to the gambling son to the incipient incest Dottie seems to provoke, the portrayal of the trailer park anti-heroes encourages an easy point-the-finger attitude in its audience.  This family should be exemplars of humanity as a whole, demonstrating our worst excesses much in the manner of a Jacobean tragedy like Middleton and Rowley's 'The Changeling'.  To concentrate on who they are without opening them out allegorically, is to take easy potshots at a bunch of stereotypes.  Friedkin doesn't open the play out at all.  True, it is no doubt all in Lett's script, but Friedkin is too slavish to that screenplay.  He floats on the surface showing us the hoods, the strippers and the self-destructive trailer folk, but seems unable to get beneath their skins, the system that holds them or the world that binds them to us.  If you want a contrast, think of the Coen Brothers' black comedy, 'Fargo'.  A similarly themed story of a man in debt's botched attempt to extort money using a family member; hired thugs prove his undoing too.  However, 'Fargo' never lost sight of the fact that its characters were not really too far from its audience.  There but for the grace of God....

Friedkin is not without his talents though, and this is a kind of return to form.  'Killer Joe' never flags and never loses our engagement.  If I dislike the ideology behind it, I can still respect it for the solid entertainment it is. It's also one boosted by selfless performances from all involved (with the possible exception of Hirsch, who hams it up a wee bit too much).  In particular, and against the odds, Matthew McConaughey succeeds admirably in the menacing role of Cooper.  If this is not the film to resurrect Friedkin's career, it may well be the one to resurrect McConaughey's.  (No doubt he was thinking of John Travolta in 'Pulp Fiction' when he signed up to the project.)

With a current cinematic landscape that is so bland, any film that pushes the boundaries should be welcomed.  'Killer Joe' is certainly not bland and consistently tries to go beyond the pale.  Brandishing two fingers to the cosy mores of today's sanitised Hollywood, it strikes a distinctly seventies pose.  But there were bad aspects to the seventies too, things like misogyny, stereotyping and polarisation.  These surface here too.  'Killer Joe' pushes the boundaries, but one has to wonder if it pushes them in the right direction.

Red Lights

Robert De Niro, Sigourney Weaver, Cillian Murphy, Elizabeth Olsen...don't be fooled by the cast! 'Red Lights', a tale about paranormal investigators (played by Weaver and Murphy) coming up against a formidable blind clairvoyant is pure hokum. Weaver is excellent, De Niro nothing special, Murphy by the numbers, and Olsen completely wasted (remember her in 'Martha Marcy May Marlene'), but the real let down is with director and writer Rodrigo Cortes. This is a classic case of someone taking on too much.
There is the seed of an interesting story here. Paranormal investigators, especially modern thoroughly scientific ones (do they really exist?), are appealing characters and provide a fertile environment for spooky happenings. More particularly Cortes is aiming at a Shyamalan-esque big twist (yes, there's one of those) that has a lot of potential too. However, at almost every turn he fumbles the ball. Starting off with a weak joke (Murphy wakes Weaver to tell her to get some sleep), we then get the obligatory debunking scene (to show what they do, how good they are, and the types of charlatans and issues they may encounter). All very well. But when weird things do start to happen the rigour and curiosity they initially showed seems to go out the window. We get unlikely, unbelievable encounters (Murphy visits a fraud he helped put in prison and expects help; Murphy assaults a fellow academic and then expects to be put on the man's committee) and bewildering non sequiturs (What is Silver doing giving private audiences? And how does he not recognise Murphy?).
The big twist is barely effective given the muddle that has gone before. Things are not helped by a consistently hyperactive approach to direction. High angles, a busy camera and rapid cutting (Cortes is editor too) all make the most mundane scene painfully bloated or portentous. Again 'muddle' is the word that comes to mind. He seems to have no sense of building tension, no understanding of structure. The climactic confrontation is hardly involving at all given that Cortes has already displayed all his wares in previous less important scenes. Cortez obviously got this gig on the strength of his earlier (overrated) 'Buried'. That film was set entirely in a coffin. Getting out of that box doesn't seem to have helped him much.

The Cabin in the Woods

Ah, it makes an old horror buff's heart grow warm! An unholy, if welcome, conjunction of Shirley Jackson ('The Lottery') and H.P. Lovecraft (Chthulu), 'The Cabin in the Woods' is a humorous celebration of the schlockier depths of horror. Five pretty teenage stereotypes go off to the titular cabin - a structure not just like but pretty much identical to that of 'The Evil Dead' - where they encounter well, pretty much everything you'd expect, and a lot more. Because, you see, the cabin is not all it appears....
Which is pretty clear from the outset (and from the trailer), so don't expect too many surprises. The joy of Drew Goddard's film is the joy with which he embraces all the tropes and conventions of the genre and doesn't just send them up (a la Kevin Williamson's 'Scream' movies), but revels in them. It is silly fun, but undeniable fun.
Knowing its territory so well, it tries to cover all bases, and largely succeeds. For instance, while the opening credits were rolling, I eagerly looked for a cameo appearance from a big name ("And with...."). You need a heavyweight for the big villain, don't you? Not really, but given all the unknowns involved (Chris Hemsworth is the biggest name listed, though Richard Jenkins also features), such a guest role would add a little class (remember De Niro in "Angel Heart"?). I had a little twinge of disappointment; there was no one of note listed. This movie might be just too close to the middle-budget, B-movie rip-offs Hollywood recently has churned out after all (eg. 'Friday the 13th'). Thankfully there is a small, but appropriate cameo towards the end. And anyway this is original enough to be a million miles distant from Hollywood's usual horror output (usually horrific in every way). Much better than Raimi's last "Drag Me to Hell", this is inventive shlock with a tongue so far in its cheek it's pierced the skin.
It makes me want to go out and call up the Old Ones now.... Or maybe I'll just go see it again.
Oh, by the way, did I mention "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas"? There's even a philosophical point.

Puncture

Initially 'Puncture' appears to be yet another reworking of 'The Verdict'; a washed up lawyer goes up against the might of the medical establishment in pursuit of justice and redemption. But there are some not altogether nice surprises in store for the unwary viewer.
Mark Weiss (Chris Evans playing well against type), is a lawyer in need of redemption. Instead of a drunk (like Paul Newman's character in the earlier film), Weiss is a womanising junkie. When a nurse contracts AIDS after an accidental infection from a syringe, she asks him to tackle hospitals, and the huge medical supplies provider behind them, about their refusal to adopt safety needles, a simple measure that would prevent further accidents. But as the big lawyers line up in opposition, his wife leaves him and his addiction becomes more crippling. All this while his pragmatic partner tries to pay their mounting bills.
So far 'Puncture' seems to be following the traditional three act structure, hitting its plot points on cue, just as 'The Verdict', a model of the classic Hollywood narrative, did before it. However, as the film progresses and the level of Weiss's addiction becomes apparent, bewilderment starts to set in. This man is beyond redemption; he can barely function. And yes, the movie should dip in the second act, but this much? And shouldn't things start to take an upward swing as we enter the third act? It all seems too dark. How the hell can they possibly win?
It is at this point that I should have remembered those printed words at the start: 'Based on a true story'. Truth may not always be stranger than fiction, but it can be darker. As the key phrase of the movie puts it, 'sometimes the brightest light comes from the darkest places'.
Most of the darkness , it has to be said, originates with the 'good' guys. In fact the bad guys are pretty standard fare. We have the clichéd 'something must be done' scenes with grim faced corporate types in dark offices, but nothing original. Only a refreshingly cynical speech by the main defence lawyer towards the end gives anything other than one-dimensionality to these traditional forces of darkness. Nope, Weiss's main enemy is himself, even accepting the implication the movie makes towards the end.
Luckily the film's main strength is in its depiction of its self-destructive protagonist and it is probably least convincing when we see him pull himself together. One way or the other, Chris Evans does himself no disservice in the role. If he doesn't quite wring a Travis Bickle like intensity from his material, he doesn't stoop to making himself uncomplicatedly likable either. The rest of the largely unshowy cast are fine too, though Michael Biehn is wasted as an ambiguous lurker in the background.
In the end, 'Puncture' reneges on its promise of courtroom fireworks. Unlike 'The Verdict', the legal battle ultimately takes second place to the personal, though not before we have been drawn into the former. It thus proves frustrating, ending where we might expect the real story to begin. This doesn't mean it fails though, for aggravating though Weiss appears, he ultimately wins some level of admiration, regardless of how unrealistic is the final course the film attributes to him. He intrigues us and his well placed sense of justice inspires. In short he wins his psychological case, persuading us the jury that he is worth our emotional investment.
No barrel of laughs, and no rousing David and Goliath courtroom drama neither, 'Puncture' ultimately succeeds in its heart-felt affirmation of justice and its celebration of a flawed individual.

Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol

Yes, the action sequences are well-handled, and yes, it is a popcorn movie, but isn't 'Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol' just a bit too silly? As sparkling and shallow as Tom Cruise's smile, and probably about as annoying.

Margin Call

Although it purports to give an insight into the financial crisis of recent years, 'Margin Call', unlike the similarly themed 'Too Big to Fail', wraps its moralising up in a fictional tale of greed and deceit. It is more concerned with showing the psychology of the protagonists in that disaster than chronicling the processes at work. While this might be original, this has weaknesses as well as strengths. For one, it's difficult to really care about the pain some of these characters experience when we are all far better acquainted with the after effects in our own lives. Afterall, fictional or not, when these people lose their jobs, they leave with multi-million dollar bonuses. Boo hoo.
'Margin Call' also suffers from what I can only presume is a theatrical origin. It is riddled with two-hander scenes of 'pithy' dialogue. Everything happens in banal rooms, or the back seats of taxis, or the front steps of buildings. Considering the impressive cast - Kevin Spacey, Paul Bethany, Demi Moore, Jeremy Irons, Stanley Tucci, to name a few - this can provide its own pleasures. But it does give a hermetically sealed quality to the proceedings. Considering the huge effects of the financial crash on the outside world, it all seems too limited when simply discussed by a couple of smart, wealthy people.
Interesting, but not nearly as biting as it thinks itself to be.

The Artist

And speaking of movies that just work, 'The Artist' WORKS!

Moneyball

It's a bit of a cliché to talk about how baseball tends to inspire good movies. But it does (consider 'The Natural', 'Field of Dreams, 'Eight Men Out'). 'Moneyball' supports the cliché. Telling how statistics helped the Oakland Athletics get their mojo back, it, like its all-rounder hero, Billy Beane (Brad Pitt), performs exceptionally well in all areas of the game. Admittedly there is a lot of baseball, and yes, statistics, and I am not a sports fan, let alone a baseball fan, but it works. Brad Pitt and Jonah Hill are exceptional as the two men determined to upset the sports apple cart (it often plays as a buddy movie). The screenplay by Steven Zaillian and Aaron Sorkin is rock solid. Bennett Miller's direction never flags, despite plenty of stodgy sports opportunities to do so. Then to cap everything Michael Danna's Elliot-Goldenthal-esque score adds a large chunk of class. They're the elements of the game, but the playing - the mix of romanticism and hard-edged pragmatism - gives you all the thrills of the 'last chance to get it right' story, while never allowing you to forget the realities that swallow the dreams.
It just works, okay? It just works.

Weary, Woeful Wheatley

Reading wise I had to give up Dennis Wheatley's "The Haunting of Toby Jugg". With an interest in the horror genre I feel it is incumbent on me to try out such writers, but there's only so much I can take. A right-wing polemic full on nauseating jingoism and anti-semitism. Bear in mind that this book is set during the Second World War in Britain; the only Jewish character is an amoral Communist spy working for Russia and trying to marry an British Labour party member in order to infiltrate Government. On top of this the story is dull, predictable and, considering it is supposedly a horror novel, distinctly lacking in scares. Indeed the strapping airman at the centre of the story (an heir to a multimillion pound empire no less), a man used to facing death a hundred times over in the air, spends the book in mortal fear of a shadow! The villain of the piece is just short of twirling his moustache. All in all a dreadful piece of claptrap. I stopped halfway through and have now started a novel by Norman Mailer.
Just to show I was trying to give Wheatley a chance, I also watched a little known Hammer film adapted from another of his novels, "The Lost Continent". Borrowing from Hodgson, Haggard, Doyle and a host of other turn of the century fantasists, it is the worst mishmash of seafaring junk I've ever had the misfortune not to throw up over. Avoid!

Ken Russell RIP

The film director, Ken Russell, has died aged 84. A lot of people will talk about the bad he's done, some about the good, but he was always his own director and one of the wild ones. I believe the world is a far poorer place for his passing.

Wise Blood

Just to say I finished Flannery O'Connor's first novel and masterpiece. It is notable how she keeps you close enough to her grotesque characters to think you're inside their heads, but actually just enough outside to surprise you. Then you think, yes, well, that does make sense. Dark, funny, and cold as Hell, with a small, warm heart beating somewhere within the ice.
For completeness I also watched John Huston's film adaptation again. I saw it years ago, and always remembered Brad Dourif playing Hazel Motes. This time around his relatively over-heated, one-note performance didn't impress me as much. Ironically he plays it as it is, and the film is generally very faithful to the book. Updating it to the Seventies didn't lose anything, but instead showed how relevant the whole nasty tale still is for America. However, the dreadful score by Alex North highlights the slightly off-key tone that the film makers adopted and that ultimately loses a lot of the book's power. The characters are not just the grotesques that the film portrays; they are warped, but real people, struggling for meaning, companionship and love. Ultimately the film works, but as soon often is the case, the novel works on a higher, finer plane.

Midnight in Paris

'Midnight in Paris' is Woody Allen's latest, so there is no real need to summarise it. It has a group of rich people playing straight man to an Allen-esque neurotic artist in a beautiful city. Hhhhmmmm. Is it any good?
There is a genuine sense of warmth about the whole enterprise that has been lost from Allen's movies in latter years. You feel like he really cares about his subject matter, ie. Paris of the Twenties. It probably helps for me that I share his affection, but there is a nice thrill seeing Hemingway, Stein, the Fitzgeralds, etc. brought to life. For a while at any rate. Pretty soon, with no real belly laughs to distract you, it can all seem like name dropping ('Oh, look there's Djuna Barnes!'). I mean will anyone really split a side at Owen Wilson giving Bunuel the plot of 'The Exterminating Angel'? On the plus side, Owen Wilson makes one of the best Woody surrogates in a long time, Cotillard draws the camera, and Adrian Brody makes a memorable Dali. The rest of the cast spout their lines as needed, but with little real conviction or dimension.
Just an observation, but Allen does not use many close ups, at least not to convey real emotion. There is one of Wilson as his predicament dawns on him, but this is too broad to convey any subtlety. Another is of Cotillard, but really only to show how pretty she is. In fact when I think of Allen's movies, even the serious ones, this is almost a trademark and probably explains why I see him as rarely emotionally intense. He flits across the surface using quips and farce to distract us from the basic shallowness of his people games. Even 'Hannah and Her Sisters' features a man (Caine) in lust, not love, and the really serious films play, well, like plays. Which is not to say plays are without emotion, just that they are performed at a distance. Allen plays at a distance.
Yes, this is a glib analysis, but I think it says something that the most emotional close shot I can remember is also in one of Allen's more successful films, 'Manhattan', as he sees his 'true' love for who she is just as he must let her go.
Anyhow 'Midnight in Paris' has no real emotional depth and no real, deep insight, but it does ring more authentically than many another Allen film when you sound it for emotion. Granted it is the love of the director not any of the characters, but it is a feeling I can appreciate nevertheless. Guess he's just good with cities.

Don't Be Afraid of the Dark

Telling the story of a young girl going to a new home, a new parent and coming into contact with mythological beings, featuring a maze and with the name Guillermo del Toro attached, you might be forgiven for thinking 'Don't Be Afraid if the Dark' is a remake of 'Pan's Labyrinth'. It's not. It's a remake of a 70's TV movie that had me sleepless for months after I saw it (right up there with 'Salem's Lot'). Though that earlier film scared the Cadbury's Creme Eggs out of me, no one could accuse it of a high budget or lofty aspirations, both of which this version has. I mean use the hallowed name of Arthur Machen, give your beasties a persuasive history, model them on the drawings of Arthur Rackham, and stick them in a wonderful old, dark house, and you must have a winner, right?
Sadly, no. I appreciate what the movie was striving for, but the back story involving tooth fairies(!) and the netherworld adds nothing to an otherwise run-of-the-mill, not to mention mechanical, horror. The direction tries to be fancy, but forgets to build tension, and very little is made of the classic 'they won't believe me' dynamic that the original made so much of. Clichés like the knowledgeable old retainer, the boarded up cellar, and the dark history gradually discovered, are trotted out like disinterred ancestors caught rolling in their graves. And for all they look like creatures from Faerie, the CGI monsters are too obviously 'animated' to really terrify. The original had guys in furry suits wearing Doomlord masks. They would hide behind out-sized furniture and set wicked little traps. But hell, did they terrify me! All the budget and knowledge of the genre has done is blunt that crude, but sharp blade.
Nothing about this unfortunate movie can hold a flickering candle to the original. Don't be afraid of the dark, but don't go to it either.