Dear Mister Fantasy...

The trailer had put me off somewhat, giving the impression of some dark Tolkein/Narnia amalgam, with Sound of Music undertones. Fortunately the fantasy elements were very subtly interposed with the drama, which featured some incredibly brutal scenes from the end of the Spanish civil war. Strange what can be classified as a 15 cert. these days. There was also no uncertaintity that the scenes in the labyrinth were anything other the fevered imaginings of the traumatised girl. It would have been very annoying if Pan had given the cruel step-father his comeuppance rather than the rebels.
The real fantasy here though is the myth that the war had a positive outcome for the rebels. It's hard to believe that Europe had it's own oppressive regime, and genuine fascist dictator until the mid 1970's.

Is this a Bafta I see before me?

Two superb central performances, a vividly evoked sense of place, and a welcome capacity not to simplify events make this pretty much unmissable. Forest Whitaker was totally deserving of his recent Bafta and is surely fave for the Oscar for his all consuming Amin, James McAvoy is also totally believable as the willingly gullible, deeply flawed and wildly ambitious personal physician. The fact that his character is a construct of a number of real people, help to make this an impressionistic version of events, and somehow, because it doesn't stick slavishly to documentary realism, gives a far more believable portrayal of the man and his brutal times.

Schlock Book

In the early 1970's Paul Verhoeven made a series of films in Holland that were unconventional, sexy and toyed with the radical ideas of the spirit of '68. Rutger Hauer often starred in them, and while they weren't outstanding they signalled a director who wasn't afraid to film what interested him, was very happy to press the 'shock' button, and who was reluctant to compromise. Then came Hollywood and a series of mainstream fare; 'Robo-Cop', 'Basic Instinct' and the schlockiest of the lot 'Showgirls'. There was some critical defense of these ultra-commercial films, and much was made about their supposed radical sub-texts.

'Black Book' is touted as being a return to the more honest film making of his early days. However to me it looks like once you're up to ears in schlock there's just no way back. This was poorly plotted, simplistic, cliched stuff, and didn't even have the tension or suspense to make it a decent war movie. There was no serious attempt at delving into the disturbing psychological impact that the events at the end of the second world war had on the subjugated Dutch population, and in comparison to some of the complex, and difficult films that Fassbinder made about this period, this twaddle seems insultingly trivial, gratuitously titillating, and maybe even anti-Semitic.

Babel

Three interwoven stories highlight the randomness of tragedy, and the unlimited range of coincidence. It's all quite bleak really, but the performances are excellent and the sense of place beautifully evoked for Tokyo, Morocco and Mexico respectively. It's range is maybe too broad, allowing all kinds of messages to be read into it, certainly gun culture comes off badly, as does US political intervention and spin. Kids seem to be one of the central sources of the adults tragic downfalls, and yet Inarritu has dedicated this film to his three children who provide him with "light amidst all the darkness." Maybe the film itself could have done with a bit more light.

Home On The Range

Read a scathing one star review in the Grauniad the morning before seeing this at the Curzon Soho, and feared the worst. However it was absolutely charming. Not one of the great cinematic works, but a warmly successful revisiting of Altmans ensemble pieces. A bit like a bite-size version of Nashville, all of the actors make it look superbly effortless, and even Kevin Kline's Clouseau-esque slapstick 40's private eye didn't jar too much. Not like Steven Fry's unbearable wackiness in Gosford Park, though it was a toned down echo of it. Indeed there were many echoes of Altman's past, his fragile state while filming, and his imminent demise all the way through, which made it hard not to be moved.

There was a discussion afterwards by film critic, David Thompson and director Mick Figgis (Leaving Las Vegas) which was very interesting, but they needed someone to reign them in and get them to focus a little.

We Are The Dead

Despite a glowing recommendation I was reluctant to see this, don't really like Clive Owen or PD James, and this was a Harry Potter director after all! Julianne Moore was probably the deciding factor, especially as she needed a chance to redeem herself after her lucklastre board treading of earlier in the week. She was very good, but it was the cinematography and production design that were the real stars. The gritty matter of fact violence was totally convincing. The filthy London streets actually reminded me of the London as it was when I first visited in the late seventies, litter everywhere, abandonded houses and wasteland, rain and grime and desperation. Maybe a key trigger for dystopian visions is a twisted nostalgia for a gloomy past.

Chrysanthemum's The Word

The first of two films seen in New York over the Xmas period was the latest Zhang Yimou Chinese epic. Though stunningly beautiful to look at, the plot slipped about all over the place, and the characters were all totally unsympathetic. This made it difficult to engage emotionally so I just sat back and absorbed the sensual colour schemes in the grand palace and the balletic battle sequences. Some of the CGI was a bit ropey though, I think ropey reality would have been preferrable, but reality wasn't on the menu here.

Get On The Bus Gus

At times I thought this could be just another multi-stranded, relationship based, Noo York tragi-comedy, albeit with knobs on, but it managed to be a whole lot more. Plotted and written by the cast during impro sessions and directed by John Cameron Mitchell, it tackled the complex issues of desire, and the tangled web of dealing intimately with other people in a genuinely unique way. The explicit scenes never really threatened to overwhelm the sensitive and intelligent emotional character development, and maybe in ten years time all serious films that deal with physicality will look like this. It was a 'feel-good' movie in the best sense, in that there were no conventional happy endings for the characters, but neither were they cast into a well of desperate despair. Like real life it was a recognisably bewildering mix of both, often at the same time, and with a great soundtrack too.

Where's Olive?

Only a couple of months after the initial release 'Little Miss Sunshine' finally limps into the Watermans for a Sunday afternoon matinee. You'd think this would be prime funny, liberal, faux-indie (financed by Fox in fact) fayre, that the Ealing middle classes would lap up. To be honest it was a very pleasant afternoon, even though it seemed to be a bit of a box-ticking excercise at times: Wacky grand-parent - check, cute kid - check, dysfunctional family - check, post-modern road-movie - check. That said I do like a film that has the balls to kill off it's best character half way through.

God Of Love

Three short films, cinematic short stories. Wong Kar Wai's dark rainy consumptive obsession set in sixties Hong Kong. Steven Soderbergh's stylish 1950's dream analysis comedy. Michelangelo Antonioni's timeless Italian coastal fantasy.

These portmanteau films are strange beasts, they've been produced for many years, have never acheived any degree of critical acclaim, or box-office success, and yet they keep being made. For the directors I guess it's a chance to go back to where they started, with shorts, and indulge themselves a little, knowing that they won't shoulder all the blame if the finished film is unsuccesful.

Accept the limitations and this is a beautifully shot, easily digested, amusing way to spend 104 minutes of ones life.

Al Green

Not really a cinematic event, but a well presented, balanced, restrained yet impassioned plea from the former 'Next president of the United States' to slam the brakes on American environmental excess. It was supposed to be a social event for the Ealing Green Party, but only two of them turned up. Seems odd to me that at a time when the environmental tide is turning the Green Party can't seem to mobilise and take advantage of the potential to have more of a presence in the political arena?

There were some interesting facts from Al; Arnie's new bill to bring the Californian car manufacturers into the 21st century (which they are legally opposing by the way) means that by 2015 US manufacturers selling cars in California will have to make them as environmentally friendly as the Chinese are making their cars today.

Anyway go and see it, and persuade as many Americans to see it as possible.

The Departed: A Departure From Multi-plex Let-downs.

Sometimes even I can have a good night out at The Odeon. Jen came along too, and even she was slightly gripped (though she tried to deny it). Great script, great performances, well crafted but not too slick. I haven't seen too many of Scorcese's recent films, don't think I've seen any at the cinema since 'Raging Bull', and I've not seen 'Goodfellas' which seems to be what most critics are judging this against, but it was nice to see a Hollywood veteran/maverick coming up with the goods, even if it was a remake of a Korean film. If he really needed to, Jack Nicholson not only confirms his supremacy as the leading actor of his generation, but shows the young punks that they've got a ways to go to reach Iconic status.

The Ten Most Irritating Things About Watching 'The Black Dahlia'

1. Everyone says darl-yu instead of day-lee-er. Bleedin' septics.
2. Chunky KD Lang's embarrassing cameo as a torch singer at a Lesbian Bar.
3. Scarlett Johansson's cigarette holder.
4. The villain's horrendous Scottish accent, why not just get a Scottish actor?
5. The waste of resources; sets, props, extras, costumes to film short scenes which added nothing to the storyline, and were surely included because of someone's perverse need to make the film look expensive.
6. Josh Hartnett's deep gravelly voice over. This would have sounded tired and over-used in films made in the 1940's.
7. Fiona Shaw.
8. The novel drags you into the unhealthy obsessions of the cops working on the case, they are presented as men struggling to be good amidst corrupting evil, but never truly succeeding. You never believe in these obsessions in the film, the cops behaviour just seems inexplicable. Just not enough time spent on trying to get into the bruised psyche's of these characters, and too much on getting their suits looking authentic.
9. The plummet in respect for James Ellroy for apparently endorsing this crap.
10. Having to sit in an Odeon, I'm just not accustomed to these non-Arthouse flea-pits anymore, with pop-corn trodden into the carpet and the constant slurp of the bottomless Coke. Yuk.

Allegedly David (Fight Club) Fincher was planning to make a three hour b/w version, but withdrew when he didn't think the studio would go with it. Instead they thought this shite would sell? Well the place was half full, and lots of women, who I can only assume were there to ogle the beefcake?

The Perils Of Penelope

Went to see the new Pedro Almodovar film last night at The Watermans. Jen had been over all day trying to print some stuff out for her sociology course, and ordering text books etc... and she expressed an interest in coming along, but her considered judgement: 'it was a bit shit' suggested she may have preferred to spend the evening in some other way.

She wasn't far wrong though, apart from Penelope Cruz, who was excellent and managed to ooze seductive Spanishness, the plot was fairly insipid (could have been a story line from Emmerdale) and everytime she was off screen the film dragged. Indeed it was way too long, and needed to have at least 20 minutes shaved off it. Many of Almodovar's best films have been female ensemble pieces, and he obviously enjoys that set up, but where he has previously displayed a wacky deftness of touch, this was just ponderous.

Notorious?

Went to see The Notorious Bettie Page at the Watermans this evening. My comment at the end was "What was that for?". It was all very competently filmed and acted, but was a fairly straight forward linear bio-pic, and if you aren't going to use the events of someone's life to make some kind of point, or tease out some historical significance then why bother?



She was portrayed as a total innocent, which just didn't ring true either. At the end she acheived some kind of corny enlightenment, and was reborn as a bible punching evengelist. Maybe that's what actually happened but it was portrayed in a really postitive light, which I found offensive. Give me Bondage over Communion any day. The director Mary Harron made a film called "I shot Andy Warhol", which didn't fall into the same traps as this, in that it focussed on a specific incident (Andy's shooting by a rabid feminist) rather than a simple run through of Warhol's life, so I was disappointed that she could have turned a potentially fascinating subject like this into something quite dull.

Still there was some nice vintage black and white footage of NY used, which I think is what resulted in the rest of the film also being shot in a very grainy b&w. This was with the exception of a few sequences, usually accompanied by some kitch 50's syrupy song, which were shot in ultra-vibrant technicolor. This made a really nice contrast to the rather drab grey tones of the rest of the film as the colour sequences really exploded onto the screen. Never mind we're going to see the new Almodovar next week, which looks V. good.

A Scanner Darkly

Went to the Waterman's to see Richard Linklater's version of the Philip K.Dick Sci-Fi novel "A Scanner Darkly" last night with Susie.The animation-style 'rotoscoping' was interesting, and well suited to the trippy topic, and certainly better than watching another tedious CGI-fest. Read the original book many years ago, and have fond memories of it, but it seemed a lot less episodic and unresolved than the film. Maybe I need to read it again to try and make more sense of it though.



The ever wooden Keanu is definitely meant to be a comic book character, in fact maybe he doesn't really exit at all and is just a Hollywood C21 leading man CGI construct.



The central theme that societies ills are invented by the same faceless corporations that then provide the solutions to those problems ( at a profit) wasn't bludgeoned hamfistedly into your face, in fact trying to follow who was who and what the hell was going on required considerable effort. This opacity was certainly a deliberate disorientating effect, but us old folk struggle with this hi-tech post-modern mish-mash sometimes

This, from the Philip K. Dick foundation (run by his kids) gives the film a certain legitimacy:
"A Scanner Darkly is one of our father's most personal stories because much of it is based on his own experiences. For this reason, it was especially important to us that it be done with all of the right intentions. His struggle with drug abuse is well documented, and he (and we) have witnessed many casualties. The novel is filled with his humour and his own tragedies. And we believe that Richard Linklater's screenplay manages to capture these key elements -- he has even included our father's poignant afterword in his adaptation."



And this quote from "Publishers Weekly", gives some sense of the dense layers of spaced out paranoia:
"America in the near future has lost the war against drugs. Though the government tries to protect the upper class, the system is infested with undercover cops like Fred, who regularly ingests the popular Substance D as part of his ruse. The drug has caused Fred to develop a split personality, of which he is not aware; his alter ego is Bob, a drug dealer. Fred's superiors then set up a hidden holographic camera in his home as part of a sting operation against Bob. Though he appears on camera as Bob, none of Fred's co-workers catch on: since Fred, like all undercover police, wears a scramble suit that constantly changes his appearance, his colleagues don't know what he looks like. The camera in Fred/Bob's apartment reveals that Bob's intimates regularly betray one another for the chance to score more drugs. Even Donna, a young dealer whom Bob/Fred loves, prefers the drug to human contact. Originally published in 1977, the out-of-print novel comes frighteningly close to capturing the U.S. in terms of the drug crisis and the relationships between the sexes. But the unrelenting scenes among the addicts make it a gruelling read."

Good quote from the Grauniad:
"It is an odd fable that partakes of, and seems to endorse, the crazed ramblings of its demented, paranoid characters..."

Read it, then watch it.....or vice versa...or smoke it!