In a nutshell, Bored & Dangerous says: “It’s a tale of murder, mystery and intrigue, never needing to actually show any of the gruesome details.”
“Please promise me never to wear black satin or pearls… or to be 36 years old.”
Alfred Hitchcock had directed more than twenty films in his native England before making the move to Hollywood to make Rebecca. The change of continent had no effect on the oh so Britishness of his first Tinsel Town endeavour. Rebecca is more English than the Queen flashing a bad toothed grin on a double decker bus in the rain while enjoying tea, crumpets and perpetuating an out of date, irrelevant system of monarchy.
Hitchcock was notoriously overlooked by the Academy and never won a Best Director Oscar. But with Rebecca, he did score his biggest Oscar success when it won for Best Picture. Sure, it’s no Vertigo, North By North West, Psycho or a dozen other better Hitchcock movies people would rank above it, but at least his only major Academy win didn’t come with some genre crap like The Birds.(more…)
This is a review for The Psychedelic Furs album Mirror Moves. This has been my introduction to a review for The Psychedelic Furs album Mirror Moves.
While I can’t think of a single other band or song to compare it to, the second The Ghost in You started, all I could think was, yep, this is what 1984 Britain would have sounded like. Its weird Caribbean influence combines with the new wave twist of the day, and vocals that would eventually be amped up just a bit to fuel so much Brit rock of the decades to follow.
The 80s is in even fuller effect when the sax is added to the primitive electronic sounds and reverbed to the max guitars of Here Come Cowboys. Things get more easily definably 80s when the ultra pop of Heartbeat kicks in. The sax is less soul passion, and more like the shirtless dude on the pier in The Lost Boys. The pounding, over produced drums and vocals that sound like a David Bowie impression. As much as it sounds like I’m pulling the piss out of this song, it’s actually the most enjoyable moment so far on Mirror Moves.(more…)
“My understanding of women only goes as far as the pleasure. When it comes to the pain I’m like any other bloke – I don’t want to know.”
I grew up in the 80s and 90s, when Michael Caine was to be found in movies like Jaws: The Revenge and Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. He was a recognisable move star, but I could never figure out why. When I see his well regarded movies from that time, like Hannah and Her Sisters, I still found his movie stardom and growing iconic status kind of inexplicable. Then, a few months ago I saw The Italian Job, and it all started making sense. It turns out, to understand Michael Caine, you need to watch 60s Michael Caine. 60s Michael Caine in movies like Alfie.
Opening on a cold looking night in a depressing looking industrial street, we hear Alfie (Caine) romancing some bird in the tight confines of the front seat of his car. When she leaves, Alfie breaks the fourth wall, addressing the audience to let us know he’s a bit of a player, specialising in romancing married women. He likes them married, because it means they’re generally happy with the physical. (more…)
“But there’s another story, Captain Bligh, of ten cocoanuts and two cheeses. A story of a man who robbed his seamen, cursed them, flogged them, not to punish but to break their spirit. A story of greed and tyranny, and of anger against it, of what it cost”.
Clarke Gable as Rhett Butler in Gone With the Wind is one of those iconic performances that will live on forever. Clarke Gable in It Happened One Night is one I only saw for the first time a few years ago, but it immediately proved to me that his work in Gone With the Wind was no fluke. He is one watchable, charismatic, charming son of a bitch. Which is why I thought it was time I saw a bit more of his work, starting with Mutiny on the Bounty.
“In December, 1787, HMS Bounty lay in Portsmouth harbour on the eve of departure for Tahiti in the uncharted waters of the Great South Sea. The Bounty’s mission was to procure breadfruit trees for transplanting to the West Indies as cheap food for slaves. Neither ship nor breadfruit reached the West Indies. Mutiny prevented it. Mutiny against the abuse of the harsh eighteenth century sea law. But this mutiny, famous in history and legend, helped bring about a new discipline based upon mutual respect between officers and men, by which Britain’s sea power is maintained as security for all who pass upon the seas”. (more…)
How do you get on board with a movie when the protagonist has almost no redeeming qualities? It’s hard to get invested in a story when you don’t really care about what happens to the main character. I don’t mean a situation where you don’t like them, that can be just effective as making sympathetic character. I mean what happens when you just don’t care about that person? Do they reach their goals? Do they live or die? Do they grow or develop as a character along the way? In the case of The Passenger, director Michelangelo Antonioni seemingly ignores all that gets you on board by giving a master class in the technical side film making.
Jack Nicholson plays David Locke, a journalist in Africa making a documentary about various troubles faced by the post-colonial continent in the form of war lords, rebel armies and general unrest. After being almost stranded in the desert, he cracks a bit of a tantrum back at his hotel room. His tantrum happens to coincide with finding the dead body of his hotel neighbour, an English journalist named Robertson. And because he’s a big sook who’s decided he doesn’t like his life, wife or any other regular stuff the rest of us go through every day, he swaps identities with the dead man and reports to hotel reception that in fact, he, David Locke has died.
I think that’s what bugged me most about Nicholson’s character, we never saw any real motivation for going to such extreme measures. Anywho, he does and the movie rolls on. In Robertson’s belongings, Locke finds an appointment book and decides to go method with his performance and actually show up to the meetings scheduled in the book. It turns out the real Robertson was involved in some pretty shady shit and Nicholson’s Locke is dragged into it too.
Along the way, his wife becomes suspicious that maybe Locke isn’t quite so dead and heads off to follow him on his European sightseeing sojourn. On which he has met a saucy young university student played by the saucy young Maria Schneider. The basis of their quickly flowering relationship is given about as much attention as the basis of Locke deciding to throw is whole life away in the first place.
But here’s the good bit, none of that matters. The Passenger is the kind of movie you could watch with the sound down and still be blown away. From Africa, to England, to Spain, the locations all look absolutely gorgeous. And Antonioni’s camera captures it all perfectly. Always in motion, the camera is more active in telling the story than any other movie I can think of. And if you do turn the volume up, you get a really solid Nicholson performance that‘s worth watching, even if his character barely is.
Antonioni definitely saves the best for last. The final scene, a seven minute single take that starts in a hotel room until the camera somehow moves through a grated window, into a courtyard and around the cavalcade of characters who have all descended on the climax. I haven’t said many good things about the story, but it really does pay off when you get this amazing ending. Too bad most of The Passenger’s amazingness comes from the technical film making skill on display, not from any empathy for the characters.
Alfred Hitchcock had directed more than twenty films in his native England before making the move to Hollywood to make Rebecca. The change of continent had no effect on the oh so Britishness of his first Tinsel Town endeavour. Rebecca is more English than the Queen flashing a bad toothed grin on a double decker bus in the rain while enjoying tea, crumpets and perpetuating an out of date, irrelevant system of monarchy.
Hitchcock was notoriously overlooked by the Academy and never won a Best Director Oscar. But with Rebecca, he did score his biggest Oscar success when it won for Best Picture. Sure, it’s no Vertigo, North By North West, Psycho or a dozen other better Hitchcock movies people would rank above it, but at least his only major Academy win didn’t come with some genre crap like The Birds.
It turns out this is somehow the first Laurence Olivier performance I’ve ever seen and I can see what all the fuss is about. He’s really great as Maxim de Winter, some variety of English toff with a mansion and all. On holiday in Monte Carlo, he meets a girl played by the smoking hot Joan Fontaine, who doesn’t have a character name until she becomes known as “the second Mrs de Winter”, the first being the titular (and dead) Rebecca.
Once married, the character of Rebecca is revealed through stories told by Olivier, his house staff and friends. Initially, Fontaine struggles to live up to the nostalgic legend of her predecessor, but because this is a Hitchcock movie, things aren’t quite as they seem. It’s when these twists and turns begin that Rebecca really starts to get interesting. Because honestly, the first half is kind of boring and by the numbers. But it turns out, all that familiar blandness makes the impact of the second half hit that much harder.
According to the IMDB entry for Rebecca…
“Because Laurence Olivier wanted his then-girlfriend Vivien Leigh to play the lead role, he treated Joan Fontaine horribly. This shook Fontaine up quite a bit, so Alfred Hitchcock decided to capitalize on this by telling her everyone the set hated her, thus making her shy and uneasy – just what he wanted from her performance.”
The screenplay isn’t much kinder to her either. I’m not sure if it was a deliberate decision by the writers to make her character more submissive, or just a sign of the times, but this move is pretty sexist in its attitude towards Fontaine and a woman’s place in a relationship. Instead of a romantic proposal, Olivier makes sure she knows who’s boss by belittling her with, “I’m asking you to marry me, you little fool.” On paper, that looks like it could be delivered playfully and maybe even sweetly… That’s not how it plays in the movie. And I’m not sure if there is a right way to deliver a line like, “I should be making violent love to you under a palm tree”. If there is, Olivier didn’t find it.
Misogyny aside, Rebecca is definitely worth a look. It’s a tale of murder, mystery and intrigue, never needing to actually show any of the gruesome details. It’s a great example of being effective through what you don’t see, instead of what you do.
Have you ever heard of the band Dr Feelgood? I hadn’t, and it turns out they were pretty big at their peak. Oil City Confidential is the story of the formation and early years. It’s also the story of their bizarre home town, Canvey Island, Essex. It was directed by Julian Temple who has built a reputation as the go to music documentarian, beginning with his Sex Pistols centric The Great Rock ’n’ Swindle in 1979. And like Swindle, I just don’t get Temple’s style of film making. But more on that later.
Canvey Island is only technically an island. A small creek you could walk across without getting your pants wet is all that separates it from the “mainland”. But as one local in the documentary says, “It’s an island, you can sail right the way around it.” Since the inhabitants really do live in a depressing, ugly, soul crushing place, I guess we can let them have their island status if it gives them even the smallest hope to cling to. Canvey Island really is the kind of “England” you imagine when thinking about its worst stereotypical features. The beach is all mud, the town sits under a towering oil refinery and it seems inhabited with people who never left, not because they love it there, but because they don’t even know it’s an option.
Canvey Island does however offer the most interesting aspects of Oil City Coinf9idential. Its proximity to London’s East End made it a popular holiday and weekend getaway spot for full blown geezers. The stories in the film’s setup, talking about the cockney, likely lads and the affiliations they brought to the island made me wish that was the subject of the documentary. Instead, this story isn’t interested in the visitors to Canvey Island, it’s interested in its most famous export, Dr Feelgood, a band of four locals trying to bring Mississippi rhythm and blues to 1970s Britain.
The majority of the talking head footage is dedicated to original Feelgoods (that’s what fans call them) guitarist and song writer, Wilko Johnson. I assume the majority of talking heads footage is dedicated to Johnson because Johnson is an insufferable show off. Poor old Julian Temple must have used so much film indulging Johnson’s mugging, extreme close up lunges to the camera, small-child-with-a-full-bladder-fidgeting and self-conscious, self-imposed weirdness, I guess there was hardly any left to shoot much with the other members of the band. Just in case I’m not being clear, Wilko Johnson is the kind of guy who thinks he’s the life of the party, but really, everyone thinks about turning off the lights and pretending no one’s home when they spot him on the way to the front door.
Almost as self-conscious and “weird” as Wilko, are Temple’s choices as director. I hate to fault a film maker for trying to be original and attempt something different, but like The Great Rock ’n’ Roll Swindle, most of those attempts just seem like he’s trying a little too hard. One interviewee is filmed in a phone box. But if that’s not “interesting” enough, Temple has him speak into the phone and avoid eye contact with the camera or Temple, like he’s actually having the conversation on the phone. The band’s manager at one point speaks from the driver’s seat of an old, wrecked car. Is it a ham fisted comment on the decay of Canvey Island and the inhabitant’s acceptance of that decay? Or is it just the kind of thing a film school student might do because they think it’s a subtle comment on the decay of Canvey Island and the inhabitant’s acceptance of that decay? There is trick though that does work amazingly well. Some of the interviews with ex-band members take place in front of a huge, forty foot oil refinery tower at night, with old footage of the Feelgoods at their 70s prime, projected onto the tower. And it just looks amazing.
Dr Feelgood update, they still tour today, even though they haven’t had a single original member since 1993. What’s the point?
Another great surprise, knowing absolutely nothing about a movie as I pressed play. A Man for All Seasons sounded like a title I’d heard before and I was expecting a black and white musical full of fun and frivolity. And even though nothing says “fun and frivolity” like the Catholic church in sixteenth century England, I may have been a just a little off the mark.
Yep, this is not a black and white musical romp about a young couple in love. It’s a full colour period piece about King Henry VIII giving of the finger to the Pope in his quest to bone more dolly birds. But more specifically, it’s about humourless killjoy, Sir Thomas More, who refused to get behind his kingly bro and give him a royal high five every time he ruined another corset. So, not only was the subject matter a surprise, it was a great little history lesson on something I’d only ever been slightly aware of.
There’s some great, very-British “acting” on display. With the best example coming from the very not-British Orson Wells. As Cardinal Wolsey, he sets up the story for what’s going down. The King wants a previous marriage stricken from the Catholic books so he can get in the pants of a chick who will hopefully give him a son and heir. This same conversation also introduces us to Paul Scofield as Sir Thomas More, and all his old school, churchie hang ups. He reckons the Pope runs this show and that King Henry should just accept he’s married a barren munter and move on. Wolsey soon pops his clogs and the King names More as Wosley’s successor.
King Henry visits More’s house and tries to persuade him that the Pope might not be the best horse to bet on in this race. More gives one of his many, many, many speeches about his beliefs, his commitment to the church, his dedicati… zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Sorry, I nodded off for a second there thinking about his speechifying. So, More refuses to take the King’s side, but he also refuses to disagree with it on the record. He figures not taking a side publically will keep him out of trouble.
One interesting decision made by A Man for All Seasons is the disappearance of Robert Shaw’s Henry VIII from about the halfway mark. The scene mentioned above at More’s house soon after More’s appointment as Lord Chancellor introduces the King and does a great job of making us believe he’s likeable, terrifying, smart, clueless and egotistical all at the same time. But once the bromance between More and Henry goes south, he’s never seen again. Everything we learn about the King and his opinions from then on is through hearsay. I thought that was a really cool way to convey the abandonment felt by More.
At the risk of spoiling a story based on historical common knowledge that’s centuries old, the big hurdle for me was sympathising with Sir Thomas More. I know I’m supposed to be in awe of his commitment to his beliefs and the strength of his convictions, but when he’s willing to lose so much over something so trivial, he just seems more blindly stupid than a man of impenetrable honour.
Bored and Dangerous 