The Selfish Giant

Paddy Considine's Tyrannosaur, Shane Meadows' This is England and Andrea Arnold's Fish Tank have, of late, carried on the tradition of the British kitchen sink genre, but as a vivid portrayal of lower class industrial squalor, Clio Barnard's picture resonates even more strongly. It's tragic and haunting, yet beautiful and tender in equal measure.

The Long Day Closes

Though having only five dramatic feature films under his belt Terence Davies has been dubbed the greatest living British filmmaker. And there’s little argument here. The Long Day Closes, his second film exemplifies the dreamy beauty of his films, a symphony of cinematic elegance whose sole purpose is to bask in the beauty of his inspired marriage of imagery and sound.

Night Train to Munich

Carol Reed’s WWII espionage pot boiler confidently stands as tall as any of the celebrated Hitchcock war thrillers of the era. While this picture predates his more acclaimed post war pictures, The Third Man and Odd Man Out, it sizzles with the same kind of high stakes urgency.

Scum

Alan Clarke’s powerful indictment of the British juvenile penal system is a virtuouso cinematic achievement, ugly and beautiful at the same time, influential to the modern works of Steve McQueen, Gus Van Sant and others. Scum, like Clarke’s mostly television work in the 70’s and 80’s represents some of the best films ever shot for television.

The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp

A sometimes goofy, sometimes profound sprawling epic chronicling the 40 years of service of a stuffy British officer. A rare non-propagandist war film made in the 40’s, with Britain in the midst of the fight, Powell/Pressburger’s challenging picture both aggrandizes and mocks the superiority complex of upper class British soldiering.

The Duellists

Little seen and infrequently discussed, it's easy to forget Ridley Scott made this humble period film, based on Joseph Conrad's short story, The Duel. It's also easy to overpraise this picture because of its obscurity. Spectacularly beautiful, influenced heavily by Stanley Kubrick's Barry Lyndon, the film suffers from Scott's stolid pacing and a palpable disconnect between style and substance, recurring critiques in many of Scott's later work. That said, this movie is essential for any film buff's collection, as it shows the early development of Scott's prevailing visual aesthetic, which, for good and bad, has made him a populist auteur.

Marley

Kevin Macdonald’s epic documentary does right by the influential life and career of reggae icon Bob Marley. While it’s largely unflashy, meat-and-potatoes filmmaking, Macdonald expertly gives us everything we want to know, enough anecdotes we didn’t know and enough head-bobbing music to satisfy everything we wanted from a comprehensive Bob Marley documentary.

Marley (2012) dir. Kevin Macdonald
Documentary

By Alan Bacchus

As only a casual fan of Marley, I was surprised to know the lineage of the man. He was the son of a working class black mother and a wealthy white landowner, thus a ‘half-caste’ child dismissed by his father and bearing all the identification problems of being neither ‘black’ nor ‘white.’ Macdonald cleverly makes this Marley’s emotional throughline, including his childhood pains, which helped contribute to the monumental artistic and business successes of Bob Marley.

Macdonald takes his time tracing the kind of upbringing Marley saw as a child. His father, Captain Noval Sinclair Marley, who married Bob’s 18-year-old mother, is portrayed as the typical aristocratic plantation owner. At 60 years of age he impregnated a young woman but performed none of the assumed paternal duties.

Other formative events in Marley's youth include his ska influences in the early '60s and the creation of the Wailers in 1962 at age 17, which also then included a young Peter Tosh. Though he and his bandmates lived in near poverty, we get the sense that music was so ingrained in their culture that it didn’t take much money to convince people of their talent.

Marley’s introduction to Rastafarianism offers an informative film within a film. I admit, other than the dreadlock and ganja rituals, I knew little about the religion. We learn about the devotion to and sacredness of one’s body, as well as the curiously random deification of Ethiopian Emperor Haile Salassie as its God incarnate.

As time moves along and Marley's career grows, Macdonald constructs chapters of sorts covering the key aspects of his life and personality: his ‘womanizing’ persona, the burgeoning gang warfare in Jamaica, his deliberate political neutrality, his competitive nature and business savvy, which contrast greatly to the laid back culture of Rastafarianism and his assumed role as an international Jamaican ambassador. All of this supports Macdonald’s overarching theme of Marley’s internal struggles for peace, love and racial harmony within his community.

And we all know there’s an impending tragedy at the end of this story, although it's never referenced until Marley’s cancer is revealed to him, subliminally we can feel this emotional weight throughout the entire film. The final scenes that document the quick change from Marley on top of the world as a music superstar and father figure to millions of fans and idolizers, to the sudden realization that his body was riddled with cancer and at the short end of his life is devastating.

I’m convinced the British have a sixth sense for documentary technique. Arguably the best documentarians are British, as they're able to realize real-life subject matter with cinematic flare and gravitas better than anyone in the world. And Kevin Macdonald (Touching the Void, One Day in September), at the top of this class, dutifully does justice to this great artist and important cultural story.

***

Marley is available on DVD and Blu-ray from Eone Home Entertainment in Canada.

Chariots of Fire

The iconic shot of the athletes wearing Wimbledon white, running through the beach, splashing water in slow motion set to the synthesized grandeur of Vangelis's score buoys most of this picture. Looking back, the story of a group of British track and field athletes and their collective journeys to the 1924 Olympics in Paris, fighting for King and Country, is as stuffy and stodgy as British period films come, and is arguably one of the least memorable Best Picture Oscar winners.

Chariots of Fire (1981) dir. Hugh Hudson
Starring: Ben Cross, Ian Charleson, Nicholas Farrell, Nigel Havers, Sir. John Geilgud, Ian Holm

By Alan Bacchus

A dual story essentially, Ben Cross, as Harold Abrahams, is a dash-runner and a Jew, who at every turn battles the stubborn, racist British class system, as well as his feelings of self-doubt. Eric Liddell (Ian Charleson) also runs the 100-meter dash but is a devout Christian and, compared to Abrahams, Britain's golden boy. This is ripe material for dramatic conflict, but director Hugh Hudson never finds the core that connects these stories.

Colin Welland's script hops and skips through the years leading up to the Games, but with little dramatic gravitas. Abraham's fight for recognition as a Jew in the mostly Anglican Christian Cambridge school mildly exposes Britain's legacy of elitism and class hierarchy, but it never really passes any significant judgment. And Eric Liddell's moral stance about not running on Sunday is admirable but hardly heroic or rousing entertainment.

Hudson, who came from the same background in British commercials as Ridley Scott and Adrian Lyne, creates a handsome production but shows little of the visual inspiration or inventiveness of his contemporaries. Other than his expressionistic use of slow motion, Hudson's imagery carries very little drama or emotional weight.

Even the sports scenes fall flat. None of the main players ― Charleson, Cross, Nigel Havers or Nicholas Farrell ― look like athletes at all. The Vangelis score is still the highlight, a copy of which is included as a CD in the Blu-ray packaging. The electronic synth sounds date the film to the '80s, but it's the best of this unique era in film scores, providing the only memorable counterpoint to the film's otherwise restrained stuffiness.

**

This review first appeared on Exclaim.ca

Shallow Grave

A sublime introduction to a consistently entertaining filmmaker in a genre (contemporary film noir) used by other great filmmakers (Coen Bros, Wachowski Bros – OK, debatable) as their first foray into feature films. With Boyle’s high energy style to burn, John Hodge’s cynical and laceratingly funny script and Ewan McGregor’s career launching first performance, Shallow Grave fits in well with the overachieving quality of other 1990s indie classics like Sex, Lies and Videotape, Hard Eight and Reservoir Dogs.

Shallow Grave (1994) dir. Danny Boyle
Starring: Ewan McGregor, Kerry Fox, Christopher Eccelston

We can’t help but watch Shallow Grave now without viewing it as a sort of testing ground for this filmmaking team’s more popular, successful and pop-culturally memorable second film, Trainspotting. From the opening first person confessionary voiceover to Leftfield's foot-tapping, head-bobbing club music we know we’re in the head of Danny Boyle and his writing partner, John Hodge. Like the four Edinburgh lads in Trainspotting, writer John Hodge introduces his three leads as a group of self-obsessed, slightly annoying Scottish hipsters whom we come to love for their forthright, don’t give a fuck attitude on life.

Here they’re interviewing prospective flatmates to make a foursome in their spacious top floor apartment complex. McGregor plays a lowly tabloid writer, Alex Law; Kerry Fox is a demure but alluring doctor; and Eccelston plays David a workaholic lawyer. However assholish it may be, we can't help but indentify with the obsessive, condescending critique of the roll call of losers and weirdos showing up to be considered as a flatmate. They eventually find their mate in a handsome, mysterious gentleman whose cool demeanor easily breaks through the wall of insecurity of the threesome. However, it doesn't take long before the trio find him dead of an overdose in his bed. Before they can call the cops they find a briefcase full of money, ready for the taking.

It wouldn't be a movie if they didn't take the money, dismember and bury the body in a ‘shallow grave’, and agree to keep quiet before splitting the cash. Eventually, a pair of Scottish hoodlums come looking for the money, resulting in a violent confrontation, which sends the normally meek David into a psychotic downward spiral into oblivion.

Borrowing the same darkly comic tone of, say, Alfred Hitchcock’s The Trouble With Harry, Shallow Grave revels in the despicable. The dismemberment of the body, for instance, like in Hitchcock’s films, makes for an absurdly humorous set piece, starting with the trio shopping for tools in the local hardware store to the completion of the dirty deed, unfortunately randomly assigned to David.

Danny Boyle’s visual panache is front and centre, laying the groundwork for his distinct visual palette of the pre-28 Days Later period of his career. Wideangle lenses and off kilter, portrait-style compositions expressively place his characters as mere pawns in their environment.

In hindsight, Shallow Grave and its characters are a product of their environment, the post-Thatcher world of decay and extreme capitalist individualism and selfishness, a point articulated by Boyle in The Criterion Collection liner notes. There’s no doubt the cruelty enacted on Alex’s character is a comeuppance for the society’s shameless First World hubris.

But this is all periphery to the delightful plot machinations and youthful filmmaking style of Boyle and the bunch, skewering the expectations of stodgy British cinema as much as anything else.

***½

Shallow Grave is available on Blu-ray from The Criterion Collection.

W.E.

Madonna spins the historical King Edward/Wallis Simpson yarn into a cross-generational tale of emotional regrets and steamy illicit desire. While having the misfortune of being unfairly trounced by the press last Fall, it’s not that bad. A flawed but sometimes impressive film, consistent to Madonna's entire career both in music and on film. Bold strokes of creativity, in-your-face, passionate and unapologetic for its message, which shuttles between inspiration and pretension.

W.E. (2012) dir. Madonna
Starring: Abbie Cornish, Andrea Riseborough, James D’Arcy, Oscar Isaacs, Richard Coyle

By Alan Bacchus

W stands for Wallis, E stands for Edward, which makes this picture about the star-crossed romance of King Edward VII and Wallis Simpson, who shocked the world in 1936 when the King was forced to abdicate the thrown because of their disapproved marriage. After The King’s Speech, W.E. makes for a decent companion piece to the more conventional and accessible Oscar winner. Madonna’s film is unique to itself, playing out two parallel storylines – one, the real life historical story of the King and his American lover, and a modern day fictionalized plot of an American woman stuck in an unhappy relationship who finds a strong attraction to a handsome and exotic museum security guard.

Though unconventional, Madonna seems to be influenced by the similarly structured Red Violin, also repeated recently with Café de Flore, films which intersect spiritually connecting human emotions and identities with smatterings of existentialism. As we see the first meetings, courtship and political shitstorm revolving the relationship between King Edward (D’Arcy) and then-married American socialite, Wallis Simpson (Riseborough), we see Wally (Abbie Cornish) in the present, a depressed New Yorker obsessing about a new Edward/Simpson exhibit at a local museum. Not only does her name resemble Simpson’s, but she’s been drawn to the story for her whole life.

Her emotionally abusive husband suddenly tells her he doesn’t want to have kids, which sends a ripple through their relationship and spins Wally's mind out of whack. A strong attraction develops with a Russian museum security guard (Oscar Isaacs), played with the type of exotic allure we expect from Madonna.

As the yarn unspools, Madonna uses artful, though not unconventional, editing techniques to weave her metaphysical connections of the stories. Numerous montage scenes overplay the drama, though in small doses Abel Korzeniowski's music is hypnotic and entrancing. Unfortunately, the pop sensibilities of Madonna don’t quite match up to the subtlety required to make a story like this work. It’s a delicate brush she needs to use, and her hand just isn’t steady enough.

As an American ex-pat under the critical eye of the discriminating British press and public, Madonna is perhaps the right person to tell this story. But ironically her bombast persona and overly-publicized career and private life have made everyone hypercritical of new ventures such as this one, which unjustly helped cause the demise of this picture.

**½

W/E is available on Blu-ray and DVD from EOne Home Entertainment in Canada.

A Night to Remember

A Night to Remember (1958) dir. Roy Ward Baker
Starring: Kenneth More, Michael Goodliffe, Frank Lawton, Richard Leech, David McCallum

****

By Alan Bacchus

Timed with the 100th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic, not to mention the 3D version of James Cameron’s Titanic, is The Criterion Collection edition of the glorious version of the Titanic story. This is a must-see picture, a little-discussed epic masterpiece astonishing in its production value and moving emotional power.

The James Cameron version is no doubt a massive spectacle, which, however corny at times, delivers the drama of the event on every level. The same can be said of Roy Ward Baker’s British film, made 40 years earlier. Cameron has never been shy to borrow, cheat or steal from films of the past. Terminator successfully reworked some of the time travel cleverness of Chris Marker’s La Jetee. His Aliens film, though not cinematically linked, certainly has a reverent use of Robert A. Heinlein story elements. And True Lies definitely gave credit to the 1991 French film, La Totale!

There’s no doubt Cameron took influence from Baker’s film, resorting to blatant theft in numerous scenes that are choreographed and shot exactly the same as Baker’s. This, of course, is the sincerest form of flattery.

Baker begins his film by introducing a number of his characters kissing their loved ones goodbye before their short-lived journey aboard the famed ill-fated boat. It doesn’t take long before we’re on the boat sailing off into the Atlantic. Baker expertly introduces a number of characters, many of which are the familiar roles from other Titanic adaptations - Edward Smith, the ship’s captain; William Murdoch, the first officer; Bruce Ismay, the White Star Line Chairman; Thomas Andrews, the ship builder; and Charles Lightoller (More), the second officer. The latter two serve as the de facto ‘heroes’ of the film, who fight the hardest to save the crew.

Baker hits all the well established events that lead up to the sinking, including the sighting of the iceberg, the response of the neighbouring ships, the Carpathia and the California, the quick acknowledgement of the engineer and the captain of the fate of the ship, the shamefully inadequate evacuation procedures of the crew and the frightening wait for rescue in the icy Atlantic waters after the sinking.

He expertly lays out all these events with procedural-like efficiency. They’re so good and effective, many of Baker’s scenes are carbon copied into Cameron’s. Like Cameron’s, the production design of the ship’s interior and exterior is impeccably recreated, and the use of a scale ship model in a studio water tank lends the same kind of invisible authenticity. Cameron directly lifts the scene when the band, dutifully playing through all the chaos of the evacuation, splits up to go their separate ways then is coaxed back together when one of the violinists stays to play on by himself.

Before Cameron, Baker plotted out a mutiny of sorts by the Irish steerage passengers, who break through the barred-in doors despite the protests of the ineffectual and naive crew members. The final moments for Andrews, the engineer who goes down with the ship but not before he takes the time to adjust the clock as a testament to his calm heroic demeanour, are as poignant as Cameron’s. And lastly, the disgraceful departure of White Star Line Chairman Bruce Ismay is duplicated shot-for-shot by Cameron with Ismay shamefully stepping into a lifeboat, witnessed by the judgemental eyes of the second officer. In both versions it becomes a touchstone moment for the cowardice of Ismay and the tragic irony of the whole affair.

What is certainly missing from Baker’s film is a love story, though not at the sacrifice of the tragic and deeply emotional individual stories of heroism and tragedy from the point of the varied crew members. The central through line in A Night to Remember is the scathing theme of class hierarchy and the stubbornness of the arrogant rich folks who believed the ship couldn’t sink. The tragically ironic story for the ages is made into a spectacle for the ages.

A Night to Remember is available on Blu-ray from The Criterion Collection.

Monty Python and the Holy Grail

Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1974) dir. Terry Gilliam, Terry Jones
Starring: John Cleese, Eric Idle, Michael Palin, Terry Jones, Graham Chapman, Terry Gilliam

****

By Alan Bacchus

After watching this film countless times in my youth, I'll admit my once boisterous laughs have turned to much quieter chuckles. Thus I envy those young people who will be seeing this for the first time. The fact is, in my life, there are only a handful of films that produced as much riotous, gut-wrenching laughter as Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

The legendary comic troupe needs no introduction, featuring six men― John Cleese, Eric Idle, Michael Palin, Terry Jones, Graham Chapman and Terry Gilliam ― each with their own brand of comedy, working in complete harmony. Monty Python and the Holy Grail was their first original feature film, after the highly successful television series in the '60s/'70s and their first equally riotous sketch compilation feature, And Now For Something Completely Different.

The narrative is sketchy at best, inspired by the Arthurian tales, but it's just an excuse to string a bunch of new sketches together to lampoon the treasured medieval myth, dress up in period costumes and even mock their attempt to tell a legitimate story. Back then, the idea of breaking the fourth wall and self-referencing one's movie was ahead of its time. In the packaging of this new Blu-Ray edition and the previous DVD special edition, they've kept that theme going strong. Their cast commentaries are referred to as "Enlightening Commentaries by Terry Jones and Terry Gilliam, Plus General Complaints and Back-Biting by John Cleese, Eric Idle and Michael Palin." It's these throwaway gags that have kept the troupe relevant and fresh all these years.

The sketch-like plotting of the film means fresh new characters and gags constantly bombard us every minute. Leading the gang and playing Arthur is Graham Chapman, the most erudite of the bunch, who, as in The Life of Brian, often played the straight man to the more audacious antics of the others, thus underrating his contribution to the troupe's best bits. Some the more famous scenes include the "flesh wound" soldier, played by John Cleese; Eric Idle calling the townspeople to "bring out your dead"; the killer rabbit of Caerbannog; and the supremely silly failed Trojan Rabbit plan.

Not everything lands with a laugh. For what it's worth, I've never liked "the Knights who say, 'Ne'" gag, nor the three-headed knight. Much discussed in the Blu-Ray commentary is the arduous shoot, hampered by its low but ambitious budget. Gillam and Jones, however, executed some smart cinematic tricks to fool us, including some fine forced perspective work with the castles in the background, and for comedic purposes, using squires banging coconuts together instead of horses, resulting in one of the film's best gags. All of this information is conveyed to us in the mondo special features, with a mixture of informative reflection and irreverent silliness.

This review first appeared on Exclaim.ca

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011) dir. Tomas Alfredson
Starring: Gary Oldman, Colin Firth, John Hurt, Mark Strong, Tom Hardy, Benedict Cumberbatch

***½

By Alan Bacchus

Despite being completely dumbfounded by the murky-to-the-point-of-nauseating narrative obscurity of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, the film stayed with me, lingering for weeks like an itch I couldn’t scratch before I was compelled to see it again. Tinker Tailor is kind of addictive – a puzzle likely never to be solved, but so utterly compelling we don’t need to understand everything.

Alfredson’s long lenses, which subliminally make us feel like we’re silently looking over the shoulders of his characters, allow him to feel the delicateness of all the proceedings. The Cold War spy games in this case mean finding a mole that may or may not be placed at the top of the British intelligence community – specifically the 'Circus', a subcommittee of nervous British spies headed by a very anxious man named Control (John Hurt).

Alfredson effortlessly moves us back and forth in time, to the point of complete temporal confusion. And by adding the possibility of tactics of counter-intelligence, that is false information planted by competing spies to sniff out double-agents, the machinations becomes dizzying.

The performances of the characters are so compelling, even though we may not get the details (or the big picture), the emotional stakes are real. Mark Strong, for instance, who seems to be playing the heavy in every picture these days, is given a very tender role and a relationship with another character that may or may not be homosexual. Same with the remarkable Benedict Cumberbatch, who, while committing everything to the cause of finding the mole, is forced to give up something so vital to life, and it’s devastating to watch.

Gary Oldman glues all these great actors together without doing much other than holding his poker face and staying calm. His ability to keep his emotions out of the conflict results in a performance that is icy cold but heroic at the same time.

The editing of this picture is also remarkable. Dino Jonsater assembles Alfredson’s luscious imagery like one slow-moving montage scene. Jonsater is bold enough to cut an entire scene with one slow reaction shot of a character turning around and gazing curiously into the eyes of another.

This is the palette of the picture – snippets of glances, words, whispers and scenes, glimpses of the parts, never the whole, but with the main hero, George Smiley (Oldman), always a step ahead of the audience. I understand the conscious obscurity of the plotting will turn people off, but Tinker Tailor triumphs for its ability to create emotion and feeling from its profound themes of brotherhood and betrayal.

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is available on Blu-ray from EOne Home Entertainment in Canada. For admirers of the film who were confused as hell, commentary from Alfredson and Oldman provides good insight into some of the vague and confounding plotting elements.

The Lady Vanishes

The Lady Vanishes (1938) dir. Alfred Hitchcock
Starring: Margaret Lockwood, Michael Redgrave, Paul Lukas, Dame May Whitty

***1/2

By Alan Bacchus

A delicious early Hitchcock classic featuring all the familiar Hitchcock tropes – contained and precise choreographed action aboard a train, an ordinary female heroine inadvertently caught in a world of international espionage, a mysterious but high-priced maguffin and that dry British wit to ensure the film never takes itself too seriously.

Hitch places us conspicuously in a fake European country with the continent on the brink of war. A varied group of travellers includes a couple of British fops desperately trying to get updates on the cricket scores back home, an Italian magician, a suave British folk singer, a trio of sexually charged gals, and a host of inept locals. Before anyone steps on a train or anyone 'vanishes', we're introduced to our ensemble of characters stranded in a small town with only one hotel while snow is being cleared from the tracks. We're not even sure who the hero will be. Perhaps it’s the affable cricket fans, the musician, the old British Governess or the betrothed young woman at the end of her world tour of sowing her wild oats (Hitch is very coy but clear about this). This opening act is nothing but comedy, completely disarming us to where the journey will ultimately take us.

Once aboard the train, Hitch spends more time with Mrs. Froy, the Governess, and the bride-to-be, Iris. The shoe for this picture drops when Iris falls asleep in her train car only to wake up and find Froy missing, gone, vanished into thin air. The magician, who now sits across from her, claims he's never seen Froy. It’s the same with everyone else on the train. Is Iris crazy? The conveniently placed psychoanalyst on board thinks so. But just as she's about to accept her own insanity she finds an ally in Gilbert, the folk singer, who after finding a shred of evidence that Froy is real, becomes Iris’s sleuthing partner.

The entire second act plays out aboard the train, a frequent motif for Hitchcock and a device that serves to create claustrophobia and containment of the characters, as well as a metaphor for the intensity of the chase that ensues. Hitchcock remarkably shot all these train sequences within a 90-foot space with only one replica train car, meticulously storyboarding his shots, of course, to create an efficient production.

The film's most famous and celebrated scene comes midway in - a confrontation between Iris and Gilbert and one of the kidnapping suspects, during which the suspect attempts to poison the duo with drinks. Hitchcock squeezes out every drop of tension from the exchange by shooting the scene through the wine glasses placed mere inches away from the camera.

The film arguably loses its edge once the train comes to a stop and a gunfight ensues between the heroes at the clandestine political enemy faction. The Lady Vanishes works best in motion in the moments of confusion and mystery from Iris's point of view. Hitch not-so-subtly drops hints about the mystery along the way, unbeknownst to Iris, but very clear to the audience. We know that Froy's dropped eyeglasses, which are given a bold close-up, will pay off somewhere down the line, same with the Governess' handwritten name on the foggy window, or the very specific herbal tea she requests on the train, fun clues to trace back later on to prove Iris' sanity.

The Lady Vanishes, which was extremely popular in its day, was one of Hitchcock's last British films before he moved to Hollywood, and it marks the end of this pre-war espionage pictures, such as The 39 Steps and The Man Who Knew Too Much. His move to Hollywood and his work under David O. Selznick would be marked by significantly higher budgets and production values. But there's something more inspiring and vivacious in the production constraints through which Hitchcock crafted some of his best works. The Lady Vanishes exemplifies this unique period of his career.

The Lady Vanishes is available on Blu-ray from The Criterion Collection.

Cul de Sac

Cul de Sac (1966) dir. Roman Polanski
Starring: Donald Pleasance, Lionel Stander, Françoise Dorléac

**½

By Alan Bacchus

However inspired and influential Roman Polanski’s remarkable body of work in the '60s was, there are a few duds. Cul de Sac, hot off Polanski’s two previous films (Knife in the Water and Repulsion), the story of an American gangster holding a meek faux-bourgeois couple hostage in northern Britain might suggest another psychological drama of domestic terror. Unfortunately, there’s a strong injection of swinging '60s comedy, a unique haphazard kind of rambunctious madcap tone that doesn’t really translate well to today.

Think of the silliness of say Casino Royale or It’s a Mad Mad Mad World, a comedic randomness perhaps born from the psychedelic effects of the hallucinogenic drugs at the time. Ok, Cul de Sac is not Casino Royale by any means, but the uncontrolled zaniness is cut from the same cloth, a product of its time.

Like most of his famous pictures, Polanski keeps his production contained. Although in this case the environment of Cul de Sac is more in line with the open containment of his characters in Knife in the Water than walled in claustrophobic Catherine Deneuve’s apartment in Repulsion.

Lionel Stander plays Dickie, a grossly exaggerated American gangster injured from some kind of robbery, on the lam in a car with his partner, who is also injured. When the car breaks down he holes up in a castle, which happens to be inhabited by a young couple; George, a neurotic boob (Pleasance) and his sexually alluring French wife, Teresa (Dorleac). It's not your typical home invasion, as the three engage in numerous oddball activities and discussions. There's really only a hint of a threat from Dickie - partly due to Lionel Stander's gruff but high-pitched and affable voice.

There are a number of levels of theme and humour running through Polanski's surreal and often lunatic indulgences. The placement of these characters in the obscenely antiquated 11th century castle amid a near desolate part of Northern England perhaps forces the audience to reconcile the socio-political differences between three nations - France, America and England. The French (as played by Dorleac), flighty and flirty, America (Stander, pushy opportunists and movie heavies who like to get their own way, and the English (Pleasance), drunken dithering buffoons.

Polanski's superb visual eye is impressive, as always. The castle seems to be perpetually engulfed by ominous and beautifully photographed cumulus clouds in the sky and by an expansive beach tide on the ground, which has the power to isolate the castle entirely in water for large stretches of time.

The fun of Cul de Sac is finding connections across Polanski's body of work, like his penchant for wide-angle interior handheld camerawork placed mere inches away from his actors, as in Chinatown and Rosemary's Baby. The castle setting and the visual motifs of the changing tides remind us of his spectacular and often underappreciated work in his grisly version of Macbeth (1971).

Unfortunately, other than these connections there's not much to take home from Cul de Sac except for maybe Donald Pleasance's oddball performance, another kooky role from the always curious and off-kilter actor.

Cul de Sac is one of a number of Polanski films, including Chinatown, Knife in the Water and Rosemary's Baby, screened this month at TIFF Bell Lightbox, timed with the premiere of his latest, Carnage, next week.

The Four Feathers (1939)

The Four Feathers (1939) dir. Zoltan Korda
Starring: John Clements, Ralph Richardson, June Duprez, C. Aubrey Smith

***

By Greg Klymkiw

I wonder if it's better, at least with some movies, to hold childhood memories dear and assume those same feelings of joy will NEVER be rekindled in adulthood. Zoltan Korda's celebrated 1939 film adaptation of A.E.W. Mason's turn-of-the-century Boys Own-styled novel of war and redemption during Britain's colonial struggles during the late 19th century in Egypt and Sudan, was a movie near and dear to my heart. Seeing it now, I can SEE why I loved it. I just don't FEEL it anymore.

Mason's book spawned numerous adaptations for the silver screen, and of those I've seen, I still believe it's the best. Don Sharp directed a low-budget version in the 70s with a great cast, but sub-par production value and Shekhar (Bandit Queen, Elizabeth) Kapur generated a dull, annoyingly revisionist version with the late Heath Ledger in 2002. What these subsequent versions lack, frankly, are the stunningly directed battle scenes of Korda's film (Sharp's were proficient, Kapur's a mess) and, surprisingly, the Kapur offers less food for thought in terms of the notions of imperialism and war.

It's a simple tale. Harry Faversham (John Clements) is descended from an upper-crust British family of war-mongers and against his better judgement, he follows in their footsteps. On the eve of Britain going to war with the Dervishes in Egypt and Sudan, he resigns his post. His three best friends, military men all, send him three feathers - signifying that they believe him to be a coward. His fiance, Ethne (June Duprez) and her father General Burroughs (C. Aubrey Smith) are disgusted with his decision. Ethne always loved Harry's best friend, Captain John Durrance (Ralph Richardson) anyway, so she also bestows Harry with a feather symbolizing his cowardice and breaks off her betrothal (a marriage of convenience to please her father who now has nothing but contempt for his son-in-law-to-be). Harry, is not a coward, however. Once the war begins in earnest, he secretly journeys to the middle east in disguise and sacrifices everything to rescue his three friends from the hands of the Dervishes.

This is, purely and simply, a great story! Great! As a movie, it would take a total bonehead to mess it up and Zoltan Korda (along with legendary producer Alexander Korda) render it with skill, production value and impeccable taste. So why, you might ask, does the movie not send me soaring to the same heights I ascended as a young boy? It's a reasonable question and one I find difficult to answer. Allow me to try.

The movie opens with an astounding battle montage that lays the historical groundwork for what follows. So far, so good. We're then introduced to Harry as a young man and get a sense of of his intelligent, sensitive, introspective nature - at odds with his family and those around him. Leaping ten years later, we find him on the cusp of marriage and war. When he resigns his commission, he makes it clear to both his superiors and fiance that his dream is to use his wealth to HELP people, not to engage in senseless war (especially this one which, is rooted in both vengeance and the maintenance of colonial exploitation). When the movie settles into Harry coming to the decision to assist his comrades and begin the long, dangerous journey into the Middle East, the movie begins to slow down - not so much due to pace, but because a number of interesting elements that have been introduced take a back seat to the proceedings.

Korda seems to settle into a weird auto-pilot here. We get all the basic plot details by rote, but with little passion. Oh, there's plenty of spirit infused in the surface action, but by abandoning the very interesting thematic and character-rooted ideas of a man struggling with the "values" of colonialism is precisely what drags the movie down. This theme is not one rooted in the same kind of revisionism applied to contemporary adaptations of period work, but is, in fact, anchored in both the source material and the first third of the screenplay. Even more odd, is that we don't adequately get a sense of how Harry's friendship with the three men is what pushes him forward. He pushes forward because the plot would have it so.

As a kid, this WAS good enough. Alas, as an adult, it's not - especially since the groundwork of some very interesting and ahead of its time notions of anti-colonialism are introduced, but dropped and/or just glanced upon. Plot takes over, but there are layers - already and consciously set-up - that are begging to be plumbed.

When the film shifts its focus to his old pal John and we're treated to an astounding night attack sequence upon the British by the Dervishes, the movie springs miraculously back to life. When Harry catches up to John and the arduous rescue sequence across the desert begins, the movie slows down again. This time, it's a similar problem. Korda hits all the plot points, but seldom rests long enough to explore the true resonance of the tale.

There are several more rescue and action scenes - including a battle sequence that is clearly one of the best ever committed to film, so this is not to say I was disappointed in seeing the movie again. On the contrary, it's still a fine story and there's enough by way of spectacular derring-do with a huge cast, great costumes and stunning technicolor photography. The problem, perhaps, is all mine - assuming it's possible to recreate childhood wonder with EVERY movie I loved as a kid.

It's not the movie's fault. Korda ultimately delivered what audiences at the time wanted. After all, the world was on the cusp of war with Hitler. Propaganda in all things war-related was starting to heat up.

Historically, in terms of the British film industry, this movie and subsequent British films thrived because of the Act of Parliament passed in 1927 which instituted a stringent exhibition quota that lasted for ten years and was responsible for developing a vibrant indigenous film industry in Britain. Sure, there were bombs and it also gave way to what was referred to as the "quota quickie" (low budget B-movies), but it helped the Korda family establish a great British studio and generate product that, while expensive and unable to recoup costs entirely in Britain, did so spectacularly in the international marketplace. It also gave rise to consistent output from the likes of Alfred Hitchcock and The Powell-Pressburger Archers' team.

The Four Feathers was beloved the world over - for decades. Certainly, as a child, it did what it was supposed to do and as an adult, it has plenty of great things going for it. It's a good movie. Don't mind me.

"The Four Feathers" is now available on a Criterion Blu-ray version. The source material seems to have needed quite a brush-up and, at the very least, the colour is spectacular. The uncompressed mono sound is a joy - proving once again that a great mono mix is as spectacular as anything. There's a bevy of decent extras in this package including an audio commentary by film historian Charles Drazin, a new video interview with David Korda, son of director Zoltán Korda, "A Day at Denham", a short film from 1939 featuring footage of Zoltán Korda on the set of "The Four Feathers", a trailer and an essay by Michael Sragow.

Trainspotting

Trainspotting (1995) dir. Danny Boyle
Starring: Ewan McGregor, Ewen Bremner, Robert Carlyle, Jonny Lee Miller, Kevin McKidd

***½

By Alan Bacchus

Watching Trainspotting for the first time in the mid-‘90s on a big screen in the theatre was a great blood-pumping cinematic experience. Irvine Welsh’s incredibly frank episodic tale of 1980s heroin culture in Glasgow, Scotland under the ultra-hip flashy direction of Danny Boyle became an instant pop-culture sensation. At least it did for my generation. As a 20-year-old university student this film, as intended by the filmmakers, hit me squarely on the head. It didn’t take long before the walls of my student house were adorned with posters from the movie. The same goes for the soundtrack, which summarized 20 years of Brit-pop drug music in one perfectly curated CD.

Years later, the iconography of the film, the genuine warmth of the characters and the authentic underground British flavour feels just as it did 16 years ago. That said, the stylish flourishes show their age as victims of the cinematic hip Pulp Fiction-influenced era of pop culture self-awareness. This film might have been eaten alive in this day and age, but thankfully it was made in the 1990s when it felt fresh, original and innovative.

Boyle and his team – the same group of lads who made the wonderful Shallow Grave a couple years before (writer John Hodge, producer Andrew MacDonald and star Ewan McGregor) – execute Welsh’s novel as a series of impeccably crafted set pieces or vignettes fused together by McGregor’s verbose, proselytizing voiceover. Opening with a raucous street chase from the middle of the film signals a fetish of Boyle’s we’ll see in his later films (see the opening running chases in Slumdog Millionaire and 127 Hours). Then Boyle introduces us to his lead characters in Sam Peckinpah-fashion with cool freeze frames set to Iggy Pop’s Lust For Life.

As usual, Boyle’s camera rockets around the characters, which is fuel for a remarkably fast-paced 96 minutes that rarely slow down. The scant story centres on Renton (McGregor), a respectable heroin junkie who, instead of choosing the life journey expected of him, chooses heroin, a drug which he freely admits is like an orgasm times a thousand (“and you’re still nowhere near it”). Key to Renton’s journey are the positive and negative effects of his ‘so-called’ friends: Spud (Bremner), a ne’er-do-well who is just too naïve to make any hard decisions of his own; Sick Boy (Miller), the suave best friend and Sean Connery fan who seems to be in control of his addiction; Tommy (McKidd), the honest one of the bunch who doesn’t do the skag; and Begbie (Carlyle), an alcoholic Scottish hooligan exemplified. As Renton goes through the cycle of addiction and recovery, it becomes clear that his friends are the biggest hurdle to clean living. But the bonds are difficult to break without severing ties completely with his former life.

However, no ‘synopsis’ could do justice to the delirious and ambling nature of this dark slice of life. Boyle and company put the audience through the absolute dreck of Scottish seediness – far and away from any semblance of Old World charm. And miraculously, by exposing this darkest and ugliest part of oneself, Boyle brings out the most warm and honest working class humour we see on BBC Britcoms.

While the visual stylishness seems less inventive and invigorating all these years later, the humour and affable characters of Trainspotting are as fresh, delightful and endearing as they were then.

TIFF 2011 - The Eye of the Storm

The Eye of the Storm (2011) dir. Fred Schepisi
Starring: Geoffrey Rush, Charlotte Rampling, Judy Davis

**

By Greg Klymkiw

I have no doubt that Nobel Prize winner Patrick White's novel - which this dreary movie is based on - is not without merit. If, however, Fred (The Chant of Jimmy Blacksmith) Schepisi has rendered a faithful adaptation of it, then it probably ISN'T worth reading. I haven't read it, have you?

What I know for sure is that THE MOVIE itself is most certainly worth avoiding.

For close to two hours we get to watch Charlotte Rampling on her death bed as a rich matriarch making her spoiled children - one of whom is the ubiquitous Geoffrey Rush as a foppish man of the stage - feel like shit.

If your idea of a good time is watching some hag-like harridan spewing vitriol and barking orders, then this is the movie for you.

Don't get me wrong. I'm a sucker for screen harridans. Mind you, I usually prefer them when they're slugging it out with each other in Robert Aldrich melodramas like Whatever Happened to Baby Jane - not dour British-Australian co-ventures we're supposed to take so seriously.

Frankly, the characters in this movie don't appear to resemble a recognizable human being - at least not in most people's world. This is a considerable failing on the part of the film since the duty of all great drama is to give an audience a way INTO the characters - no matter how distant they might be from the experience of many. This doesn't mean we have to like the characters, but we do have to UNDERSTAND them.

The movie would like us to think it's actually about the human condition, but is, in actuality, about the human condition as it relates to dying nasty rich matriarchs in Australia and their insufferable progeny who have expatriated themselves to be as far away from Mommy as possible. There is the stuff of great drama inherent in this, but Schepisi doesn't find it.

With Mom close to horking out her final globs of life, Geoffrey Rush and his pinched, prissy, pretentious sister played by the always welcome Judy Davis (who, in spite of the film, almost makes it worth suffering through) have made the trek from Blighty and Gay Paree respectively to ensure their inheritance will rightfully fall into their laps. We watch as this trio trudge through the turgid drama and seldom feel anything but contempt for all of them and wonder why it is we're being dragged through this sludge at all.

I will say, however, that Ms. Davis is genuinely terrific here. There's a mordant wit to her performance that suggests she's managed to find something in her character beyond what's on the page. Alas, Rampling (one of the finest actresses of all time) manages to hurl her invective professionally and there's certainly a technical proficiency to her descent into dementia, but she's as alone as her character. This might well be the point, but it doesn't make for the most engaging drama. Rush fops about competently, but to not much end.

These three characters feel like they're all in different movies. In a sense, that might also be the point, but it doesn't work as the picture unspools and it's only in retrospect does this occur to you.

One of the more sickening subplots involves Geoffrey Rush having his knob plunged and polished by one of Rampling's caregivers - a comely young thing who (for God knows whatever reason) is genuinely charmed by him and thinks she has a chance to marry into wealth. If the movie wasn't so earnest one could almost take a perverse pleasure in seeing a semi-nude Rush ploughing a fertile young wench.

We are also afforded endless flashbacks via Rampling's dementia. In one of them, she seduces the buff young stud sniffing around Judy Davis. I know this sounds appetizing, but I can assure you it is more than enough to induce major chunk blowing.

Whilst on the topic of ejecting globs of undigested, improperly masticated comestibles, Helen Morse's performance as the Holocaust survivor Lotte is so over-the-top that the character of this former Sally Bowles-like cabaret performer is completely bereft of anything resembling a human being. Perhaps this interpretation was the point, but Morse is theatrical to distraction. The notion of a performer who suffered and survived the indignities of horrendous anti-semitism, now reduced to the role of a housekeeper and recreating numbers from the glory days of pre-war adulation on the stage for her addled dying employer is rife with possibility. One needs to be moved by her desperation, not repulsed by it. She should be a character that commands our empathy. Instead, Morse comes off like a clod-hopping Lotte Lenya. Helen, the last time I checked, the title of this movie is NOT From Russia With Love. Alas, I feel I might be too harsh here. Where, pray tell, was the director?

Every year it seems we get more and more movies like this – dull chamber dramas full of rich, old people with Commonwealth accents who crap on each other (and by extension, us) for two fucking hours and we’re supposed to actually feel something for these miserable, privileged twits. I suppose they keep getting made because there’s always money available for such pictures. They’re relatively cheap to make, attract major actors, carry a veneer of respectability, are often based on acclaimed literary properties and can be directed for a song by filmmakers well past their prime.

And, of course, they get programmed into major international film festivals and dredge up something resembling an audience on television and homevideo.

Kind of like mindless blockbuster action pictures.

At least in those, there’s the possibility that something might actually happen.

The Eye of the Storm is unveiling itself at the 2011 Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF 2011) and will be released via e-one Entertainment.

Attack the Block

Attack the Block (2011) dir. Joe Cornish
Starring: John Boyega, Jodie Whittaker, Alex Esmail, Nick Frost

***

By Alan Bacchus

Joe Cornish’s new cult-hit Attack the Block feels like a continuation of JJ Abrams’ penance to ‘80s children vs. adults cinema. While Super 8 was unabashedly a Spielberg romance, Attack the Block feels like a tougher Joe Dante movie – a foul-mouthed, gory monster movie full of British piss and vinegar, but with a winning attitude and a heart of gold.

With the concept alone we can envision the movie without ever seeing a frame of film – an alien invasion of beast-like feral creatures from the point of view of a group of inner city South London teens. Director Joe Cornish, co-writer of the upcoming Tin Tin, is a collaborator with Edgar Wright. Wright, in fact, serves as a producer and his genre-referencing British style is front and centre. Cornish assembles a strong group of fresh-faced and wholly authentic badass kids to play his heroes.

The leader of the bunch is Moses (Boyega), a brooding youngster cum anti-hero whom we first meet wearing a hoodie and facemask while mugging a terrified young nurse, Sam (Jodie Whitaker), who is on her way home from work. When Moses confidently hunts a strange creature, which we will learn is actually an alien from space, and kills it out of pure pleasure, he and his mates become the target of an invasion of these nasty Tasmanian devil-like creatures.

In between this very quick and simple set-up, there’s minimal exposition or explanations as to why they’re here. Cornish quickly moves between set pieces sequestered in the ‘block’, a British term for an apartment complex. The design of the creatures is refreshingly old school, a pure black beast with absolutely no detail visible other than the glowing eyes and teeth. That said, during some of the action, Cornish seems forced to cut around the animals to avoid exposing their special effects. As such, there’s an overly frenetic, often confusing visual aspect to the action.

There’s some strong serendipity to the timing of this movie. Released in the US right at the time when the London riots were occurring, Cornish seemed to have tapped into much of the anger felt by these socially-challenged, under-represented youth. The hoodlums, specifically Moses, are wonderfully drawn and characterized as full of bravado – youth who act and feel like they’re supposed to. This is the point of view from Sam, the nurse in the opening scene. Yet, once Moses is disarmed by the terror of the alien, Sam and the audience see him as a regular kid who is honest, decent and sincere.

The only familiar face in the film, Nick Frost, does a fun cameo. It’s a smaller role as a pot-smoking dealer growing marijuana in his apartment building. While not as obviously comedic as Shaun of the Dead or Hot Fuzz, the presence of Frost provides a giggle whenever Cornish threatens to get too serious.

But this is a post-modern action movie at heart with the four kids against the odds. They use their streetwise guile to overcome an extreme and now familiar catastrophic event and become heroes of their broken-down community. Any lull in the narrative or repetition of action, which unfortunately sets in, is superseded by the strong, youthful enthusiasm and energy of this picture.

Naked

Naked (1993) dir. Mike Leigh
Starring: David Thewlis, Lesley Sharp, Gina McKee

**½

Guest review by Blair Stewart

The international breakthrough for Mike Leigh, David Thewlis and British kitchen-sink drama, Naked took home the Best Director and Best Actor Prizes at the 1993 Cannes Film Festival with a bleak journey into London's lower-class depths.

Johnny (David Thewlis) is an embittered creation that steps out of the pages of a Malcolm Lowry screed as we join his stifling presence in post-Thatcher Britain. Stealing a car after drunk alley sex becomes a rape, Johnny flees Manchester for the big city to reunite with his ex, Louise (Lesley Sharp). After spurring Louise and seducing her skid row roommate Sophie (Katrin Cartlidge), Johnny stalks the back streets with a prophecy of doom and seeks release through pleasure and/or pain. He passes through encounters with various characters living on the fringe while the depraved landlord of Louise's flat lurks in the periphery of the story.

Sharp-witted and depressive, an idealist on a nihilistic jag, Johnny is the most memorable character either Thewlis or Leigh have been involved in during their careers. Leigh has even said it’s the great tragedy of Thewlis's career that he hasn't found a role on par with his role in Naked.

Suffering from headaches and mood swings, Johnny makes acquaintances with a lost Tourettic drifter played with relish by a young Ewen Bremner and a night-watchman Brian (Peter Wight) loafing through a steel and glass complex containing 'empty space'. Enjoy the following exchange between Johnny and Brian:

Johnny: And what is it what goes on in this post-modern gas chamber?
Brian: Nothing. It's empty.
Johnny: So what is it you guard, then?
Brian: Space.
Johnny: You're guarding space? That's stupid, isn't it? Because someone could break in there and steal all the fuckin' space and you wouldn't know it's gone, would you?
Brian: Good point.

Johnny wanders off in pursuit of various women for comfort before the skies darken, and after searching for it, he is beaten up twice by toughs. Meanwhile, Jeremy the landlord skulks into Louise's flat and ruthlessly exploits Sophie before many of the characters come crashing back home.

Although made by a former theatre/TV director and having a protagonist spot-on for an existential novella that might have hindered it in other hands, Naked’s success on the screen is due to the confidence of the actors’ time spent on improvisation and rehearsal before filming. Also benefiting the film is Dick Pope's lighting, capturing the zombified pale faces of Londoners in winter and the grey concrete of their uncompromising city. And of course, as mentioned, David Thewlis is excellent as that loud cock-eyed man you have likely avoided looking at on the subway while he's stared intensely at you.

I hadn't seen Naked in 10 years, and I loved it on my first viewing. But after watching it again certain issues arise. First, Jeremy is a lousy antagonist whose bouffant hair and tantrums I interpreted as commentary about the class disparity between his acceptable upper-class sadism and Johnny's invisible working-class instability. In hindsight, Jeremy doesn’t come across so much as a privileged, systemic monster, but as an unruly, spoiled child.

Another problem is the overwrought nature of the characters with the actors and script playing up the emptiness of their lives, the Armageddon of a generation saying "fuck it" and the creators trying too hard to capture that voice. There is nothing wrong with a film engaging the company of unpleasant humans, but after hearing many of Johnny's rants the movie often slips from truth into pretension.

These issues aside, Naked is worth seeing for the early ‘90s urban decay, the chemistry between the actors and the push it gave Mike Leigh towards the likes of the great Topsy-Turvy and Secrets and Lies. And if you would like to spend the night with one of God's angry children, give Travis Bickle a pass and eavesdrop on this lone British madman.

Naked is available on Blu-ray from The Criterion Collection.