No praise for Janet Leigh's death scene

Another week passes, have I got a job? Have I buffalo! Which means that I continue writing this monumental bollocks to my dear CIA agent, Big Dave. Whilst on the subject of BD, I’m afraid I have some bad news – unfortunately my Blazing Saddles DVD has disappeared and therefore I am not able to re-review it except from memory which would lead to a lot of incoherent ramblings (no change there) I’m royally gutted and as soon as I am in employment, I will purchase another copy (let’s aim for June 2016) The gossip mill informs me that Karl Lagers has chosen Kiera Knightley to play Coco Chanel - was this because her Russian accent was so convincing? Seriously, Karl, go easy on the sherry. 

Funds are running low, particularly since most of the “good stuff” is only on at the expensive cinemas (in the highly unlikely event that any of the owners of said cinemas are reading this magnificent pile-o-shite, please, take the hint and provide a ‘Cheap Monday’ option for the dedicated cinemagoers who currently live on beans) Having said that, I wholly endorse the superb Prince Charles Cinema which provides such a service for bean-eating Londoners, however they seem to have hit the repeat button (whilst on speed) on “Silver Linings Playbook” – no problem with that, it’s a cracking film, but it’s been out for about six months already – time to stick on some European trash like ‘Love Crime’ with Kristen Scott-Thomas, largely because I missed it. Roll on ‘Spirit of ‘45’ and a New Old Labour government…I digress.

The aforementioned lack of funds has brought a fruitful discovery of films of yesteryear. I finally saw ‘Psycho’ and must admit that I was more impressed by the stylish settings of the dialogue, particularly in the initial scenes, and the fantastic soundtrack than the famous shower scene. Janet Leigh’s take on “playing dead” was appalling - I’ve seen more convincing performances on ‘Doctors’ (thought I’d pop in a reference for fellow unemployeeds) I mean, she's fully made up, the blood is clearly ketchup and I'm sure I saw her breathing - what a let down! I otherwise enjoyed the film as a whole but it’s not my favourite Hitchcock.

I found a far more effective notion of horror in another film which I have been intending to see for a while, Haneke’s ‘The White Ribbon’.  For those of you who still haven’t seen it, the film takes place on the eve of the First World War tells of the reaction of villagers after a series of peculiar and disturbing events have happened upon its inhabitants. The role of children is fascinating; they are constantly present at the events immediately preceding and following the crimes yet their assumed innocence saves them from the accusing eyes of the fellow villagers. The morals of the adults are highly dubious, bar the rather wet but well-meaning school teacher who proves himself to be the only member of the society courageous enough to even dare to accuse some of the more dubious members of their community, including the children. Haneke’s use of black and white only increases the feeling of unease in relation to the past and the values of these closed, almost incestuous communities ruled by religious hypocrisy and a great fear of those in command. Thoroughly recommended (don’t watch it at night with the lights out – it is deceptively creepy) Moral of the story: don’t let’s be beastly to the German pre-war villagers as they’ll burn down your barn, kill your wife and roger their own children.

On a serious note, I do not wish to cheapen these masterworks, they are both magnificent films and if I can take anything from unemployment (aside from the state benefits, thanks very much) it would be the luxury of time to watch and read. Until next time…

The wonder, the wonder...

Not wishing to be accused of a feeble knowledge of the dictionary, I have changed tack slightly on my titles…for starters, I wouldn’t wish to offend Big Dave as he is a religious man and I do bemoan on, well, a daily basis the downfall of the language of this “Perfidious Albion” or as they call it parliamentary circles “Bollocks Britain”...I digress.

This week, in an attempt to embrace the potential “good stuff” out there post awards season madness, I went to see Malick’s ‘To The Wonder’. It was an intimate affair, just me and another lady of a certain age who, thank goodness, had the good grace not to munch loudly on popcorn as some other raj bell-end did during the torture scenes of ‘Zero Dark Thirty’ (ridic). I was wary of this film, as I had been before I saw 2011’s ‘The Tree of Life’ but as with the former, I was very impressed with the results. I was also greatly relieved that in ‘To The Wonder’ Malick had not felt it necessary to include some CGI dinosaurs featured in ‘The Tree of Life’, the presence of which still continues to puzzle me.

Ever since I read about it at its premiere at Cannes last year, I had been itching to see this film. ‘The Tree of Life’ is utterly compelling with images which barely seem to fit the cinema screen. The approach is unusual and these two films do not fall in any way into conventional storytelling as the images intertwine with stories and concepts which are far larger than the medium itself. As a cinematic experience in its purest form, these films are out of this world.

‘To the wonder’ is a love story of sorts. The opening sees the protagonists Neil and Marina, played by Ben Affleck and Olga Kurylenko, in the first throes of love between the locations of Paris and Mont St Michel. The scenes filmed at Mont St Michel are breath-taking as Malick slowly winds up to the top of the mountain, observing the interaction between the characters and they realise the extent of their feelings for one another. These scenes are accompanied by the sound of Mahler’s 9^th symphony which blends perfectly with the enormity of the images.

The protagonists then move to America, the images of which present a stark contrast to the airy, grey and beautiful scenes of France. Everything is new, everything is clean. The images are accompanied by Marina’s interior monologue, delivered in French, which questions the nature of love and relationships. (I know - I’m really selling this to you…) 

At their transfer to America, there is rupture in the relationship between Marina and Neil. He works in construction and is unfazed by the rigid and rather dull nature of his surroundings whereas Marina and her young daughter seem out of place in such surroundings. Her visa runs out and they return to France. During her absence, Neil rekindles a romantic relationship with a former girlfriend, Jane, played by Rachel McAdams. She is a melancholic figure, lost as she wonders through never-ending fields of corn, trapped by the loss of her young child and ready to commit herself to her relationship with Neil. He, however, is unable to maintain the relationship and when Marina, who has been unable to cope without him in Paris, returns to America, they get married.  

The two women are fascinating subjects; Jane is represented by the wholesome images of farms, animals and never-ending field s of corn whereas Marina could be Mont Saint Michel. She is odd, she doesn't fit into the clean, sterile and staid atmosphere of the new house devoid of furnishings and the never-ending supermarket. The same can certainly be said of Father Quintana, the local parish priest played by Javier Bardem. He constantly questions his actions, whether he has pursued the right path in becoming a priest and, essentially, he asks: where is God? He, like Marina, poses his questions through an internal monologue delivered in Spanish and has little contact with the other protagonists except as a counsel and as the head of the church.

This is a powerful piece which, I fully appreciate, will not be to everyone’s liking. Yet, I would recommend it to those of you who enjoy being completely transported by the medium of cinema. It will leave you enriched with questions but gently calmed by the pace and astounded by the beauty of the images.

Next time, I will deeply analyse the farting scene in ‘Blazing Saddles’ in order to bring myself back down to earth…

Oscars, my arse

Oscars come but once a year…which is why I will allow myself to discuss it, even although more than a week has passed since the actual event and I still have managed/can’t be arsed to find the full transmission given the results and apparently shite hosting. A lot of people won’t agree with me but, frankly, who cares? Who is reading this blog except some mofo from the FBI?? And that’s only if I’m lucky… Anyway, I digress.

Right, hosting. Tina Fey and Amy Poehler did a cracking job at the Golden Globes - great one liners, cameos as fake actors in fake films – magnificent. Stephen Fry at the BAFTAs, trying his best to make Americans feel inferior in their command of the English language –again, thumbs up (sorry, FBI agent who I will thus forth address as Big Dave)

(I'd go and see it...)

But to the beef…one of the very few upsides to my current unemployed state means that I had the time to see nearly all of the big contenders this year (bar ‘Les Miserables’ which I flat out refuse to go and see – a musical without tap dancing and some sort of reference to “dames” is not really a musical in my book). The competition was ridiculous, particularly when one considers the slimmer seasons of some of the past few years. Yet, as was the case last year with McQueen’s ‘Shame’, the various award bodies failed to even nominate one of the best films of the bunch, ‘The Master’. It is bewitching, complex, disturbing and extremely innovative, not to mention that it provided some of the best performances of the year. I was really surprised that even the BAFTAs failed to include it in the shortlist for Best Film and Best Director.

The main category that bothered me, apart from Ang Lee winning for feckin about with a few blue boards and a tiger (ok, I haven’t seen the film), was the Best Actress. Competition was, again, insane but I had decided that Emmanuelle Riva should win. ‘Amour’ was the greatest film in the line-up. I found the deceptively simple style, outstanding performances and subject matter which we can all, in some way, relate to extremely moving. Riva was particularly effective and affecting; her rapport with Trintignant and her performance were extremely natural and, well, quite devastating. I know that most people have dwelt on her performance in 'Hiroshima, mon amour' and so they should. After seeing 'Amour' I revisited 'HMA' and despite having seen it many times before, her performance never fails to totally captivate me, growing in complexity with each viewing. In both films she portrays a poetic notion of fragility and strength, yet, in contrast to her character in 'HMA', one never learns all that much about the background of Anne, her character in 'Amour', a fact that aides in emphasising the still nature of the film as time and therefore death creeps by.  

The other candidate which I would have been thrilled to see win, given not only her performance in ‘Zero Dark Thirty’ but also her fantastic body of work leading up to it, is Jessica Chastain. She is a rarity and, to her credit, one finds it difficult to fit her into a category. Although the subject matter of ‘Zero Dark Thirty’ is not really something that I would usually run to go and see at the cinema, Bigelow and Boal’s collaboration along with the excellent cast really makes it worthwhile. It is an important film which will be looked back on as a benchmark, along with ‘The Hurt Locker’ of the causes and consequences of this “war on terror” which plague our modern existence. The controversy surrounding the film was confusing and, as our Australian cousins would say, "a pain in the proverbials" because instead of promoting intelligent discourse about the film and the horrors inflicted by interrogators, the world seemed to point the finger at Bigelow and Boal, as if they had been encouraging this practice rather than simply recounting the facts. Apologies to Big Dave as this last paragraph went slightly off course. In conclusion, sucks for Riva, really hope that she makes another appearance in the near future and I’m sure that Chastain will continue to surprise us with her unconventional yet brilliant approach. J-Law – “the proof of the pudding will be in the eating”.

As for the rest, I can’t complain although I do wish that at least one of the awards bodies had awarded Sally Fields as she really was spectacular in ‘Lincoln’. Although I have not seen her performance, I can see why “The Haths” won, I mean, she's playing a dodgy French prostitute who loses her teeth and then dies – the Oscars love that kind of gear! (NB, I am aware that Victor Hugo probably did not write that in his notebook as a character sketch prior to writing the actual novel)

The worst part of this whole season being over is that we’re really not going to see that many decent films until around November. There are, thank God, a few exceptions. I still haven’t seen ‘To The Wonder’ (more on that at a later date), ‘Hitchcock’ (could be rubbish – Hopkins with prosthetic nose? Saucy Alma? I hope to be proven wrong…) and, above all, Ken Loach’s ‘Spirit of ‘45’ which I would encourage even Big Dave to see. Soon the season of 3D movies (still don’t get it) and films with J-Lo will be lining the cinemas. I would like to remind Big Dave, if he has any influence in the film world to remind distributors that come June not ALL of us are on our school holidays and would maybe appreciate the odd film which does not feature Bruce Willis. This is, of course, unless Bruce Willis is playing, say, a former cop with mother issues who is trying to sort his life out in a small village in Bavaria…it could work! With that, I must leave you in order to explore this excellent idea and get Harvey Weinstein to give me some money. 

Same shite, different day

For years I have successfully resisted, despite numerous requests from stars of stage and screen, to set up this blog. Now that I find myself in Sarah Palin’s famed “grandma’s basement” with nothing but a laptop and the feeble hope that one day someone will employ me in a role that does not require me to mop a floor at 4am and/or drink vast quantities of alcohol, I will strive to dedicate my precious time to this here blog, bringing you (whoever you may be!) the new, the old, the best and most certainly the worst of the magnificent seventh art…comment, agree, disagree, suggest, encourage, correct, flex your knowledge of Viz’s ‘Das Krapital’ and even fully insult me if you must! But I'd rather you didn't because I bear grudges in the way that some people enjoy playing tennis. So, let us begin...