Reviews at the Speed o' Light: SHAME, MILDRED PIERCE, IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT

This is first in what I assume will be an ongoing new feature here at rockets and robots are GO! With my primary focus for the year being my MA, I'm not going to have anywhere near the amount of time I would usually spend on writing up reviews for everything I see at the cinema. It's unfortunate, but the blog just cannot be my sole writing focus for the year. However, I am determined to keep this blog as something of an online journal of my cinematic viewings so, at the end of every month those films that I have yet to write up individually (usually retro or classic films) will be featured here.

To kick it off:

Poster design by Mark Carroll

Shame

British artist-turned-filmmaker Steve McQueen's Shame is a stark look at one man's addiction, the depths he sinks to and what it costs him. It doesn't pull punches and really doesn't shy away from showing anything and everything. And that is graphically shown in the first few minutes of the film with Michael Fassbender's Brandon wanders to and fro in his fancy apartment, absolutely starkers and yes, his cock in full view. 
But despite all of the nudity and the subject matter this is no erotic film. It is, in fact, entirely un-erotic, the sex and nudity being frank, matter-of-fact or entirely hollow and emotionless.

Brandon is a charming, well groomed and intelligent man with a job he seems to enjoy and is particularly good at. He has a nice enough apartment, no doubt expensive. He enjoys a drink with the lads. He is a sex addict. He picks up random women from bars or employs prostitutes. He spends his night's at home hollow-eyed and hunched over his laptop, surfing the internet for porn. He's not picky where he gets his fix from and, like most addicts, manages to keep it all secret from his boss and workmates.

This perfectly structured life of Brandon's is interrupted and thrown around by the arrival of his sister Cissy (Carey Mulligan), a singer who has decided to stay for an indefinite period of time. There is a lot of history between these characters hinted at, rather than spelled out. There is that sibling closeness, followed by Brandon blowing up at having to constantly "look after" Cissy.

McQueen allows scenes to run and run, the takes lingering and only cutting away when it becomes absolutely necessary. In this way, he allows the film to really get under your skin; to soak into you. The camera doesn't look away and, thus, neither can you. This long-take technique never becomes pretentious or allows itself to become a distraction to the viewer but instead is just another tool in McQueen's director's toolbox.

When you have a director who is using long-takes, it helps to people the film with actors who are really at the top of their game. Fassbender and Mulligan, two young British actors who have really broken out in the last couple of years, own the frames. Fassbender is an actor who projects and easy charm and charisma, as evidenced in Inglorious Basterds and as the globe totting Erik Lensherr in X-Men: First Class, and Shame is the first time I've witnessed that dark side he is capable of. 

Mildred Pierce
(Wellington Film Society screening)

The Film Society kicked off it's mini-season of noir films on 35mm with this Joan Crawford starring classic (recently remade with Kate Winslet in the title role). And thanks to the truly horrendous and spoilt daughter of the heroine, it was no less a difficult watch than Shame.

Mildred Pierce begins with a death. From there the story of how we reach that death is a tale told by Mildred to the cops. Mildred is a strong, independently-minded woman who has always wanted to do the best for her two daughters, especially eldest Veda. Poor Mildred is a woman used and abused by all the males close to her though; her cheating first husband, her close friend Wally and her lover/second husband Monte. They all use Mildred in different ways, the only half-way decent one being the cheating first husband Bert.

Michael Curtiz (Casablanca and the Errol Flynn starring The Adventures of Robin Hood) directs the screen legend as Mildred opens her own restaurant which becomes a flourishing chain. Veda sees the business as nothing more than money for her to buy things. This girl, this incomparable brat of a girl, is one of the most horribly selfish, materialistic and mean-spirited characters I've ever had the displeasure to witness. She truly cares not a whit for anyone or anything past herself and her own enjoyments. When Mildred finally whips round and slaps the hussy a well-deserved open right hand, I cheered.

A film that grips you rather than has you gripping the edge of your seat, the tale takes its twists and turns but is nowhere near as lurid (to modern eyes) as the advertising would have us believe. Instead Mildred is a strong woman in a man's world played by a strong woman in a man's world.

It Happened One Night
(Embassy Retro Showcase)

This is in fact the first Frank Capra film I've ever seen. Yup, including It's A Wonderful Life. Starring Claudette Colbert and Gone With the Wind's Clark Gable It Happened One Night puts modern romantic comedies to shame.

Colbert stars, luminously, as heiress Ellie who is, essentially, held under house(boat) arrest by her wealthy father. Actually, these opening moments, to modern eyes, give the feeling that this is going to be anything but a romantic comedy. More like a horrifying thriller.

But she escapes! Huzzah! Because she is in love with (and married to, though Daddy wants an annulment) Westley, who is in New York. Penniless but determined Ellie sets out from Florida to New York, travelling by bus. It is on the bus she bumps into Gable's drunken newspaperman, Peter Warne. He is a character of the age; an intelligent, charmingly drunk reporter of strong moral character(ish). He's a fast talker and a bit of a wise ass, though she's no slouch in that department either.

These two knock each other about cross-country, Warne looking out for the heiress who has little idea how the world works outside her sheltered life. And, surprise surprise, they find themselves falling in love. It's a light-hearted romp, with plenty of sparkling dialogue brought to life by two actors with a fine ear for it and actual chemistry together. 

28.11: SINGIN' IN THE RAIN

It seems somewhat appropriate that I would be talking about a 35mm presentation of Singin' in the Rain immediately after my post on 35mm projection vs. DCP. The print wasn't in the best shape - scratches and some audio drop-outs - but, especially with this film, it was less detracting and more a part of it. This special presentation of the classic Hollywood musical was the closing film for the Wellington Film Society's annual program and it was my first time ever watching it.

I know, this is a foolish tragedy on my part. But let me explain myself a little; this in no way acts as an excuse, merely explanatory detail. 

As a young teenage film fan, I was strikingly adverse to musicals. I thought them foolish, cheesy and old hat - I was far more enmeshed in sci-fi, action and anything else that seemed cool (and, often, explodey). Further putting me off was the pop-cultural prevalence of the lead song (and title), Singin' in the Rain - it was ever so much annoying background; a decades old song suffering from over exposure. Why the hell would I, an angsty, hormonal befuddled teenager desperate for peer approval, approach this film with a ten-foot pole?

Thankfully, I grew the heck up. I matured beyond my boring pretensions of discarding things I deemed to be "uncool" and instead opened myself up to enjoyment and new cinematic experiences (an ongoing process). And I'm glad that the first time I saw Singin' in the Rain it was in a cinema. Singin' in the Rain is pure, glorious, unashamed musical cinema.

It's an interesting trick of a film: a Technicolour MGM musical, about the early days of cinema and the move from silents to "talkies". Yep, it was a strange sense of surreal dislocation that set in around me as I sat in a cinema in 2011, watching a musical film made in 1952 set in 1927 at the end of the silent age and the dawn of the sound age. It was like "Old Hollywood" was looking back at "Old Hollywood" in some sort of bizarre mirror effect, reflecting it's light on to me in the now. Woah.

For all of that meta effect, the story is relatively simple: the end of the silent age in Hollywood. Gene Kelly is Lockwood, the male half of a popular duo, with Jean Hagen's ego-centric Lamont. It's lucky for her she became a star in the silent era, as she possesses one of the most comically annoying and horrible voices an actress could have. Unluckily for her, it's the end of the silent era. Kelly's Lockwood is a new star in the firmament, earning his stripes doing death-defying stunt work, something he had an aptitude for due to his rise from the vaudeville stage with his best pal, Don O'Connor's Cosmo (who gets the best routine in the film - the laugh out loud, knock down musical number Make 'em Laugh). So now the grounded and dashingly handsome Lockwood is paired with the shrewish and fragile egomaniac Lamont, who is quickly realising her shelf-life is getting shorter and shorter. As Lamont is on her way down, Debbie Reynolds' sweet and talented young actress, Kathy Selden is, thanks to Lockwood, on her way up. Events come to a head and there is much singing and dancing.

And boy, what dancing! This is joyous, big cheesy grins down the barrel of the camera, tap-dancing. Every single core cast member gives each dance number their all, whether it's O'Connor and Make 'em Laugh or Kelly in the eponymous Singin' in the Rain (and O'Connor had to be hospitalised and Kelly was running a fever). What Singin' in the Rain is, is a great big Hollywood musical love-letter to... great big Hollywood musicals. It's over-the-top, it's simplistic (in the best way possible) and a helluva lot of fun. If you haven't already seen this, do yourself a favour and don't be like me. And if you've only ever seen this on DVD or TV and there's a repertory showing in your town, or near your town, get to it. This is one of those bona-fide films that demand to be seen in a cinema, with an audience.

And yes, for my preference, on 35mm.

05.09: SANSHO THE BAILIFF (SANSHO DAYU)

Ok, so, yeah. It's been some time since I caught this film at a Film Society screening but I did have other pressing business to attend to.

Set in medieval Japan, a local governor is set into exile for standing up for his people. His family is forced out of the house and his wife and children set out to cross the country to reunite with him. However, they're set upon by slavers with the son and daughter (Zushio and Anju) being sent to the compound of the eponymous bailiff. Sansho is a cruel master, looking like an angry balding porcupine, whose own son helps the two new young slaves to survive. The brother and sister adopt new names and survive a grueling life under the "care" of Sansho. Years pass - the two siblings are now young adults. Anju is still hopeful they will one day find their mother, while Zushio has all but given up and resigned himself to the life of a slave. But Anju manages to convince Zushio to escape, whereupon he sets about trying to right the wrongs that brought about the family's downfall and to also reconnect with his parents. Of course, things don't go all that well and everything ends rather tragically. 

Sansho the Bailiff is what I would call an intimate epic - a story covering years, if not decades, and sweeping up huge social changes in its wake while telling the tale of but one family. There are moments of beauty to be found within, even if the tragedy is somewhat predictable at every turn. Whether that's due to the film concerning itself more with the journey than the destination or an increased awareness of story-telling construction, I'm not entirely certain. Unfortunately the sound was often piercing, with many a high wailing threatening to burst ear drums in the cinema - more the fault of the DVD than the film itself, but these matters of presentation, well, matter.

Honestly, to really give you a proper examination of the film I would have to watch it again - it has been some time since I saw it and the sound issue was often distracting when I was watching it. And dammit, I'm annoyed at this cop out, but I'd rather post something honest here than try and flub my way through. What I can tell you is that Sansho the Bailiff is flawed, sometimes beautiful, dramatic and, yes, an intimate epic.

FANTASTIC FEST: DAY SEVEN

Jo's - where I get coffee every morning

This is it, the penultimate day of the Fest. And my first film of the day is the bonafide classic (and never-before-seen by me) An American Werewolf in London. I assume everyone who really wanted to see the film were lucky enough to nab tickets to the earlier screening with the Rick Baker Q&A as the theatre was all but empty for this screening. An American Werewolf was fucking fantastic and I'm psyched I got to see it on the big screen. I was surprised by the streak of humour throughout but seeing as how it was directed by John Landis (the guy behind one of my all-time favourite comedies, The Blues Brothers) I shouldn't have been. The relationship between David and his buddy Jack is quickly and gracefully established; these guys have the easy chemistry of old friends. And then of course they don't keep to the roads and are attacked on the moors. The creature effects by Baker are astonishing work and he and Landis are really working together to build the best effect possible, Landis often cutting away to something mundane but still surprising. Also, Nazi demons! Crazy.

Taking a chance with my next screening I opted for The Devil's Business, a film I knew almost nothing about. An unmitigated bore is what I turned out to be watching. Two English gangster cliches arrive at a house to lie in wait to whack someone. Things start getting a little spooky but the action consisted chiefly of these two blokes nattering away at one another. Despite writer/director Sean Hogan's best efforts there was no tension, horror or surprises to this film. It felt cheap, derivative and talky. It may have been a half-decent idea for a short film, but stretched out to feature length it (and I) suffer for it.

As my preferred option of Summerland was, once again, sold out I took another chance on my selection and chose the late-confirmation Love. This was billed as something of an experimental sci-fi film, part of a larger work by band Angels & Airwaves (from ex-Blink 182 frontman Tom Delonge). It begins in the American Civil War with a young soldier sent off to see and catalogue some strange sight many miles away. It then cuts to the ISS in the near future, staffed by lone astronaut Capt. Lee Miller. The majority of the film is then taken up with Miller isolated and slowly going insane, as all communication is cut off. The last few minutes then go all 2001 on your head. I can definitely see what everyone involved was going for, aiming to tackle some big themes, but it does become tedious and feels a lot longer than it actually is. 2001: A Space Odyssey becomes a transcendent piece of cinema but Love, though it tries, cannot reach these stunning heights. I'm still unsure how the Civil War ties in to it all as well. But they did apparently get a lot of right with regards to the ISS - the spirit of at least, if not the absolute details.

Rounding out my day was the final selection from the Hong Kong genre vault. Unfortunately, I can't really talk about it as the distributor is one of those crazy, kooky types who doesn't actually want the film screened anywhere. I will say this though: it was truly awesome and Grady Hendrix as the host for these events is a firecracker of excitement and knowledge and the Q&A with him afterwards was hilarious and informative. 

There was the second Secret Screening tonight as well, at midnight. Again, it was a sellout and the security surrounding it as intense: all electronic devices had to be turned in and attendees had to pass through a metal detector. What was the film in the end? Paranormal Activity 3. Woop-de-doo. I'm sure the folks enjoyed it but not really my cup of tea. And again, I had to skip a night of drunken revelry at the Highball (with a prom theme) as I was feeling really, really fuckin' sick. 

One day to go.

06.08: LA DOLCE VITA (NZIFF)

To my eternal shame I knew next to nothing about this classic film before stepping into the cinema. In fact, the only knowledge I had of the film was its most famous piece of iconography: Anita Ekberg frolicking in the Trevi Fountain in Rome. That image has been held up and looked upon as a sort of romantic high-point in cinema. The film surrounding that image though is something closer to a look into darkness.


La dolce vita translates to “the sweet life”, a rather pointed title to the ensuing tale. Marcello Mastroianni stars as Marcello, a jaded tabloid journalist who moves through the fashionable circles of Roman life, documenting and in search of the elusive “sweet life”. Each encounter plays out like a vignette seemingly unconnected to anything else, though of course this is hardly the case. Marcello is a continual outsider, one who always wants to be “in” but can never quite make it. He puts on a good show, and looks the part of a suave, smooth womaniser. But he’s a tabloid journalist; he’s there to document the foibles and follies of the elite, not to be one of them. And this so-called sweet life is often shown to be hollow and unrewarding: in the opening scenes Marcello takes off with a wealthy socialite only for them to end up in a prostitute's flooded apartment. Each piece of the puzzle neatly highlights Marcello’s downward spiral until he is finally part of his sought after “sweet life”; the leader of a party breaking into a beach villa to while away the evening with bored debauchery.


This digital restoration of one of Fellini’s acknowledged masterpieces is dazzling in its clarity and beauty and there is any number of striking images, beyond Ekberg in the fountain. There is the aforementioned flooded flat, a media circus around two children who claim to have seen the Madonna, an argument between Marcello and his girlfriend on a long and lonely road and the final scene of a huge sea-beast dragged up onto the beach, dead.


I’m just not entirely certain how the film left me feeling. Going in, I believe I was expecting some sort of beautiful Italian romance as the journalist woos the movie star in hot cars and snazzy scooters sipping cappuccinos and calling out “Ciao!” but instead found I had my expectations upended completely. La dolce vita delves into something much darker, and that sharp upending of expectation left me a little lost. However, this is a film I look forward to revisiting and one that I am grateful to have first experienced in a cinema.

23.05: LAWRENCE OF ARABIA (catch-up classic)

David Lean’s celebrated epic played at the Embassy Theatre a few years ago, and I passed up the opportunity to see it there. Perhaps that was for the best, as I wonder if my cinematic tastes were matured enough. So, when it made a recent welcome return to the (rather smaller) Paramount cinema I made sure I got along. And though it was wonderful to be seeing it in a cinema at all, on a restored 35mm print, I only wished I’d seen it on the huge Embassy screen and preferably in a 70mm print as Lawrence of Arabia is one of the few films shot in that massive format. Still, it was... well, I think I'm still absorbing it. You can see why Mr. Spielberg admires it.

I honestly cannot see a film like this being made today. It is epic in length and epic in the breadth of themes and ideas. Most films made to a similar length today have considerably more whiz and bang crammed in. With a film like this, I barely feel qualified to offer my opinion on it. Lawrence of Arabia is one of those giants of cinema; a film that has been discussed, critiqued and celebrated by pens mightier than mine. I shall do what I can.

Quite possibly the most fascinating aspect of the story for me was the overall arc; Lawrence tells the story of a man, an army clerk, who becomes a fierce hero and legend to a disparate group of peoples. But it doesn’t just stop at elevating him to hero status (usually where these types of films end off) but also goes on to show Lawrence struggling with that status. He is visibly coming apart at the seams, yet is forced back to the desert; forced back to his duty. He begins his hero’s journey jaunty with British oddity and eccentricity and as he moves farther away from that and deeper into the desert and desert life, you see that oddity giving way to something entirely different. Arrogance, perhaps. Stunning self belief for one. I know nothing about the real T. E. Lawrence, and from what I understand not many people do; the man was something of an enigma. Within the film, he is a contradictory character, larger than life but recognisably human and Peter O’Toole grasps with the role with hands, feet and teeth. His blue eyes stare out from the desert, piercing you. You can see, from his eyes alone, when he has snapped; when his great boy's own adventure gives way to ugly, bloody real life.  

Make no mistake, Lawrence of Arabia is a huge film. The landscapes are vast; the sandy dunes stretch for miles and strand the tiny figures of people within them. Accordingly, it's influence matches. Not only is Spielberg a fan (reportedly watching it each time before he makes a new film, to comfort himself that he will never make anything as great) but you can see where Lucas grabbed some shots for Star Wars and, because I'm a sci-fi nerd, I'll throw in Frank Herbert and Dune. Herbert's seminal sci-fi novel/series drew on many influences but I couldn't help but see the parallels of a white, middle to upper class white man coming to the desert and becoming a warrior saviour to a disparate group of desert people. 

Lawrence of Arabia swept me up into the journey; I all but forgot the rather exhausting run-time (intermission was a well timed and much needed respite). I am a stickler for film prints over digital projection, especially when it comes to classic films. But, for the first time, I really craved that crisp, clear picture you get with digital. It was an amazing print, especially for being over 20 years old, but there were marks and scratches all through the sweeping desert shots. I'd recommend seeing it on the biggest screen possible, in the best image quality possible.

An Epic Weekend

Me. DIRECTING.

In 24 hours (or so, depending when you're reading this) I and my team-mates in ICW Productions are gearing up, once again, for the utter madness that is the V48 Hours Furious Filmmaking Competition.

A quick explanation of the Competition: each year teams across NZ are challenged to write, shoot and cut a short film (of 1 – 7 minutes in length) over the course of a weekend. On the Friday night each city’s worth of teams are given a character, line of dialogue and prop that must appear in the film. Each team is also assigned a genre to work in. Come 7pm on Friday you are released out into the night to brainstorm, write, argue, shoot, collapse, act, explode, import, edit, argue again, crash, re-edit, race and finally, deliver, your short film. They must be handed in at 7:00:00pm on the Sunday night. One second late is too late.

In previous years we’ve worked in Musical, Buddy Film, Based on a True Story and Time Travel. Each has offered up its own challenges and frustrations. But I think, every time, we’ve come out with a pretty decent little film. Yeah, they haven’t been perfect – you only have 48 hours after all! We’ve not made it past the initial Heats but, frankly, that’s not why we do it. We don't do it for the fame or the prizes or the glory. Nah, we just do it for fun. And to make a movie like this: 

Adding to the challenge this year is that we are somewhat bereft of most of our usual collaborators: they’re all out of town or otherwise unavailable. So we’re down to a core team of three; the Indian, Chinaman and White Guy of our team name. We’ve lucked out in getting a couple of wonderful actors in to help us, but the rest of the weekend will be down to us. I think it’ll give us the chance to perhaps be more flexible and hopefully lead to quicker turn-around in set-ups and shooting. For the first time we’ll be shooting on a DSLR camera and, also for the first time, the preferred hand-in method is on a USB stick.

It should be a fun, exhausting and challenging weekend and I’ll also be adding an entirely unnecessary extra challenge for myself: live blogging. I can't promise up-to-the-minute updates, but when I can I will!

And as if all that wasn’t enough, the Paramount cinema begins its David Lean season this weekend! Over the coming weeks they’ll be showing Lawrence of Arabia, Dr. Zhivago, Ryan’s Daughter and A Passage to India. I’ve taken Monday off work to recover from the 48Hour and I’ll be getting along to Lawrence of Arabia in the afternoon. I understand they’re all prints as well.

Perhaps I should finish it all of with a pint of suitably Epic beer. 

What about you? Are you involved in the 48 this year? Have an epic cinema weekend planned? Or just fixing on having an epic weekend of epic proportions?

15.11: TO HAVE AND HAVE NOT (Catch-Up Classic)

Bogart. Bacall. Classic.

I was certain this screening of the film at the Wellington Film Society was going to be a print (I have a thing about going to the movies and watching DVDs - I could do that at home thankyouverymuch) but, alas, this was not to be. Apparently the print available was in such a state as to be nigh-unwatchable. So, not my preferred viewing option but in the circumstances, I can understand. 

The film itself is based on Ernest Hemingway's worst book apparently. I wouldn't really know - I haven't read it and don't intend to. Well, it's his worst book isn't it? Why would you? From what I understand though, it doesn't hew too tightly to Hemingway's novel and director Howard Hawks instead makes something that could easily be considered Casablanca-lite (indeed, that is how someone described it walking out afterwards). There's the World War II setting in a French colony port, French resistance fighters, collaborators and in the middle of it all, Humphrey Bogart; a taciturn but kind man just wanting to mind his own business. 

And, frankly, there's nothing wrong with that. Not when it's as well-made as To Have and Have Not. Hawks is an acknowledged master of the form and all scenes back in port are soaked in glorious shadows with a sense of....oh, wait. I'm forgetting someone aren't I?

Lauren Bacall. This is her film debut, and of course, the beginning of her relationship with Bogart. She's 18 here, a little rough around the edges, a little like her character: a young woman out on her own, not entirely sure of herself but damn if she's going to let anyone see that. Bacall is electric, swapping pithy dialogue with Bogart like a pro. The interplay between these two is what this film is really all about. I immediatly want to track down the three other films they made together (I've been lucky enough to see The Big Sleep on the big screen before though) becuase I just want to watch more of them together. Bacall has more class, intelligence, wit and fire than any dozen modern actresses.

Managing to shine when Bacall and Bogart aren't on screen together, there's also the friendly drunk, Eddie who provides a few light comic moments of his own, and the positively slimy Capt. Renard, head of the Vichy police. He's, well, he's pretty downright gross actually - the way he slowly strokes himself, high up on his bloated chest as he deilvers his threats veiled in an oily tone... *shudder*. 

Everything ticks along at a fast, but unhurried pace, with moments of danger and peril. But Bogart's characters is one of those guys who knows the angles; knows how to work them. Until you see him thrown by Bacall's "Slim". I am sorry for going on about the two of them together but it really, honestly, is the best thing about the film. Do yourself a favour: if you haven't seen it, get it out. Pour yourself a drink, settle back and enjoy a slice of fine classic filmmaking and cinema history all in one.

10.10: LEGEND OF THE GUARDIANS: THE OWLS OF GA'HOOLE and CATCH-UP CLASSIC: TOUCH OF EVIL

The story of the Guardians is pretty basic, pulling in some usual fantasy film tropes and riffing on Star Wars a fair bit. Young owl Soren, enamoured of the legendary Guardians, and his brother Kludd are swept up by two large owls working with the evil baddies, the Pure Ones. Seems lots of young owls are being carted off to work in slavery for the Pure Ones. Some, such as Kludd, come to find their place here, letting their vicious selves loose. It’s not long before Soren has broken free and hooked up with the usual unlikely gang of misfits to track down the long-unseen Guardians and ask for their help.

Things move along at a brisk clip, occasionally having the feeling of box ticking as we rush from story-point to story-point. There is, however, a true sense of adventure throughout and it’s nice to have a kids film that doesn’t talk down to them. If I was 10 years old and watching this, I’m fairly certain I’d love it. There are moments of darkness, and Snyder doesn't shy away from the violence (or the fact that owls are, y'know, predatory birds) and big bad guy, Metal Beak is a truly frightening figure, especially as voiced by Joel Edgerton.

That Star Wars influence seeps through everything in the film: a young hero thrust to the forefront of the action but guided by an inner mystical feeling, a crazed mentor who is more than he seems, a bad guy maimed from a previous encounter with crazy mentor, a “twap!” for the goods guys that gets taken down by our plucky heroes...

It's relatively unsurprising these days to find actors you're more accustomed to seeing in live-action doing voice-over work for animated films. It is refreshing to have them speak in their native accent: there's a strong Australian and English voice cast here and it helps to mark Guardians out from the rest of the animated pack. What is unusual is having a director more accustomed to live-action filmmaking coming into direct an animated film. We've seen a couple of animation directors move into live-action recently but no much the other way around. It helps that Snyder has a strong visual style already. Whatever else you think about the man, you can't say he doesn't have a strong, singular style of his own.

  
Have I said before how much I am loving the Sunday afternoon films at the Embassy? Because I am. This is, quite frankly, an absolutely phenomenal thing that’s going on. Touch of Evil is a classic, and is far and away better than most new releases I’ve seen this year. Thanks to the Embassy Theatre and Event Cinemas I have seen an Orson Welles noir on the big screen (after narrowly missing out seeing The Third Man in Vienna). It used to be I was nostalgic for my year in England, cinema-wise; I saw Manhattan, Alien, Die Hard and King Kong. But now, well, just look over my recent posts: Ghostbusters, Enter the Dragon, Badlands and now Orson Welles' 1958 Touch of Evil with more to come!

This is, without a doubt, a towering classic of American noir. Yes, Charlton Heston is in brown-face as top Mexican narcotics cop, Vargas, but you get past that pretty quickly. Especially once Orson Welles and his impressive bulk wander on in as Detective Quinlan. Welles' Quinlan is one of the most fascinatingly nasty pieces of work in cinema history: a bloated, racist and vindictive cop, he's also something of a local celebrity in the border town due to his famous "hunches" and his outstanding arrest and conviction record. 

As with a lot of the great noir films, the central mystery barely matters: two American tourists are blown up on the American side of the border from a bomb planted on the Mexican side. But this takes a definite backseat to the back and forth of Vargas and Quinlan, and this struggle between the two is a deliciously dangerous dance to watch. It's not long before Quinlan is approached by representatives of a Mexican drug cartel being squeezed by Vargas, and they arrange to have Vargas' newly-wed wife abducted and discredited. Things get pretty dark, pretty fast with a sense of tension you couldn't cut with a knife. 

Some poor decisions made by characters aside (if you're the top narco officer on the other side of the border would you stick your newly-wed wife in a cheapo motel in the middle of nowhere?)... this film, woah. This freakin' blew me away and woke me up (again) to that crazy talent of Welles'. And how, barring Citizen Kane the poor guy could barely make a film without studio interference (even on this; Welles was famously fired in post-production and the film cut according to the studio suits. I saw the restored cut from 1998). Although this was made some 50-odd years ago it manages to feel fresh and modern still. It's a film that somehow feels more with it, more exciting in it's use of cinematic language than a lot of newly released films I've seen this year.

19.08: THE WAGES OF FEAR

Ok. It has now been over a week since I caught this at a Sunday matinee (edging on a week-and-a-half) and while I have been a little busy, the main reason for my utter lateness with any sort of write-up is... well, I'm at a bit of a loss. I don't know how much I have to say about this film really. So, I'll just say what I gotta say and get it out there. 


I was reasonably looking forward to this "gut wrenching exercise in tension" (as it was billed in the leaflet). I admit to pretty much complete ignorance to this French film from 1953. I think the title may have struck some sort of dark and ignored memory-chord, but other than that... nada. So what's goin' on? Well, I got got with the hook: four losers have to transport unstable nitroglycerin in two shit-heap trucks over crappy dirt roads to an isolated oil field. That sounds great! That sounds like it really could be a "gut wrenching exercise in tension"!


Not so much. First we spend an hour getting to know these four characters, and the other losers who are stuck in the nameless small South American town with them. Which I could maybe get on board with, if the main characters weren't such completely misogynistic assholes. Like our main character, Yves Montad's Mario. Sure, he's a bit of a layabout with a certain rough Gallic charm. He's also a douche who seems to have no problem with his occasional gal pal being, essentially, raped by her boss (at that, she seems to have very little problem with it too). Then when she does have a day off work, he'd much rather pal about with his new best friend, fellow Frenchman Jo. Oh, and he also screws over his roommate for Jo. I know some of this is from the prevalent attitudes to women at the time, but c'mon!


When we finally get to the hook of the thing, the transportation of the nitro, there are some fantastic set-pieces. Director Clouzot works each scene of potential disaster as hard as he can, wringing the maximum amount of tension out. He also manages the fluctuation of loyalty, respect and dynamics between the driver's with a sure hand, with some of them cracking under the pressure and others seemingly rising to it. Just about everything that could go wrong for these poor saps, does; and even more besides. Not all of them make it to that remote oil field and even the one(s) that do are irrevocably changed. But then, by that point, I didn't really give a good goddamn.

12.09: ENTER THE DRAGON and BADLANDS

Following up on a late-night screening of Blue Velvet, here comes a matinee showing of Bruce Lee’s final completed film Enter the Dragon and Terrence Malick’s debut Badlands. They made for an interesting double feature, to say the least.

Enter the Dragon has everything you could ever want to expect from a classic kung-fu film: lightning fast moves from Lee, slightly out of it voice dubbing, an awesome Lalo Schifrin score, crash zooms, wise Shaolin monks, nunchuckas and slow-mo action. A chance to see all that on the big screen? Definition of a cinematic no-brainer. You've also got great sets and great locations (Hong Kong looking particularly dirty and... alive) with Bruce Lee at his most iconic; incredibly ripped and taking down opponents with screaming ease.

Some interesting social points even get raised amongst all the chop-sockey. As Jim Kelly's Williams says as they chug through a floating Hong Kong slum, "Ghetto's are the same all over the world. They stink." In his flashback he also deals to a pair of racist cops, before stealing their cruiser. But then, this is paralleled with weak female characters (when they're there), and helps perpetuates the myth of all Asian people knowing kung-fu (I guess it is a kung-fu film though, so everyone should know kung-fu).

But aside from some pretty poor work from extras - who can be seen flailing about rather than actually doing kung-fu - the film is a tight action film with few flaws. It's also so evocative of the era in which it was made, with it's muted tones, funky music and camera-work. If it got cleaned up for some sort of hi-def release it would all look a bit off, really.

I unreservedly and unashamedly loved it, and perhaps the biggest compliment I could give it is that I wanted to a) go out and track down more Lalo Schifrin scores and b) watch a whole bunch of 70's kung-fu films.

Instead I had Terrence Malick's debut film, the atmospheric Badlands. The film plays out a fictionalised account of the Charles Starkweather killing spree in the US in the late 50's. Martin Sheen is stunning as the pathologically psychotic, but withdrawn killer Kit Carruthers and Sissy Spacek is equally fantastic as his tag along girlfriend (and narrator), Holly Sargis.

I occasionally have difficulty in talking about a classic film - I often wonder what it is I can contribute to the (already lengthy) conversation. Which, I know, is a bit silly to be thinking when I'm writing a "Catch-up Classics" column every now and then. And it isn't like there aren't just as many reviews posted around for current films. It may be that I find it easier to understand the history of a current film and it's context within the history of cinema.

As with Malick's other films, there is a focus on the natural world, with many long lingering shots on animals and landscapes. There are also moments of cliched romanticism and teenage adventure juxtaposed with Kit's sociopathic violence and charming deception; almost like a corrupted fairytale.

After watching this, and also taking into consideration Apocalypse Now, it's frankly astounding that Martin Sheen wasn't a bigger actor earlier. While his contemporaries like Robert Redford, Harrison Ford and Jack Nicholson were constant presences throughout the 70's, Sheen seems to have dropped off. Here, he is absolutely fascinating. His Kit Carruthers is deluded, polite, violent, charming; a mixed bag o' crazy. I thoroughly recommend checking it out.

03.09: Catch-up Classic: Blue Velvet

On Friday night (late on Friday night) I was lucky enough to catch a screening of one of David Lynch’s earliest works: Blue Velvet, in 35mm no less. I’ve not actually seen it before, hence why this is also a Catch-up Classic. And despite having read a fair amount of various reviews etc. about it over the years… it was not what I expected. Which is about all you should expect from Mr. Lynch.

I guess you could consider it a neo-noir psycho-sexual art thriller, with Kyle MacLachlan as a young man finding himself drawn into the dark side of suburbia following his discovery of an ear in a field. As he’s an unnaturally curious fellow he continues to follow up on it, with the Detective’s teenage daughter Sandy Williams (Laura Dern). The affair also involves tortured torch singer Dorothy Vallens (Isabella Rosellini) and the psychotically evil gangster Frank Booth (Dennis Hopper). Hopper is the biggest name in the cast, and easily the biggest character. Booth is one of the most vile and evil villains ever to put up on the big screen. And Hopper seems to be having a ball of a time with the role of the violent amyl-nitrate suckin' crazy-man (even scarier is that Hopper wanted the role because, as he said "I've got to play Frank... I am Frank!"):

What's fascinating is seeing in this similar motifs and themes that Lynch has explored, almost throughout his entire filmography (not that I've seen his entire filmography). Sex and sexual kinks, strong female characters, mysterious characters coming out of the shadows, highways at night, zooming in and entering objects and more and more. However, I found it suffered occasionally from actors coming in and just delivering their lines, throwing them out like statements rather than dialogue. It kind of smacks of an early film in a director's body of work. But then, that may also just have been the sound levels: they were all the way down. I wasn't sure if it was the quality of the print, or if the projectionist just didn't turn the sound up enough... It did help drive home again how important sound is to cinema: it sounded hollow and robbed of life at points. But hey! Minor quibbles for a film that also included Dean Stockwell as a camp pimp!

Lynch is truly one of a kind in American cinema. Always fascinating, I love that he gets to make movies. His is a fascinating voice, and one always worth listening to. Even if I'm not sure what he's saying sometimes.

And in super exciting awesome news: apparently the Paramount is planning on doing more late-night cult showings! This, along with the Embassy playing genre classics (Enter the Dragon, Ghostbusters etc.) and Sunday matinees of bona-fide classics (Badlands, Touch of Evil), is fuckin’ excellent news. FINALLY we’re getting some revival cinema going here!