"Anybody want to say anything?"

Dan O'Bannon
1946—2009
Labels: film, in memoriam
Heath Ledger was halfway through filming Terry Gilliam's The Imaginarium Of Doctor Parnassus when he died. Gilliam, a great friend of Heath's, initially wanted to shut the film down. However, the cast and crew rallied round and persuaded Terry to finish the film to honour Heath's memory and enthusiasm for the project.
So, Terry figured out a way to allow him to finish the film whilst retaining all of Heath's performance. Half the film is set in contemporary London and the other half in a fantasy world of the imagination. Heath's character, Tony, makes three journey's into the fantasy world so, having shot all his scenes in the "real" world, Terry wrote it into the script that people's appearance changes when they venture into the fantasy world. This allowed Terry to cast three other actors to play Tony for the fantasy sequences, Johnny Depp, Colin Farrell and Jude Law, who all deferred their salaries to Ledger's family.
Anyway, check out the trailer.
C'mon, how cool is that? The film looks to be a return to the early Gilliam style of Time Bandits and The Adventures Of Baron Munchausen.
I love Gilliam's films, his wild imagination, his defiance of convention, mindless bureaucracy and the corruption and oppression of authority figures. Sure, his films are often a bit of a narrative mess but, in amongst all the amazing imagery, there is always a great compassion and humanity that celebrates individuality and free thinking.
Reports from this summer's major film festivals say Doctor Parnassus is Gilliam's best film for years, if not his best film, period. And it's Heath Ledger's final performance - that must surely count for something.
It would be wonderful for the film to find a big audience and prove to all those unimaginative naysayers in Hollywood that there is a market for crazy, radical films like this.
The film opens in the UK on 16 October with other countries to follow. Go on, take a chance. You never know, you might like it.
Further information:
Dreams: The Terry Gilliam Fanzine - News, interviews and set reports for Doctor Parnassus
The Doctor Parnassus Support Site - A worldwide campaign to raise awareness of the film
Labels: film, Heath Ledger, Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus, Terry Gilliam
Two albums by The Fall I ordered arrived in the post today. The "bonus disc" on one of them didn't contain the bonus tracks at all but was a duplicate of the main album; the other one had a bloody great scratch on it.
The fried eggs I cooked for dinner didn't turn out very well either.
Bollocks.
One of them days, I guess.
Christ, what a crap blog this is.
Went to see a band called Rampant Rabbit the other week who are a "doom-laden funkadelic" DIY noise rock band. Or, at least, they were a "doom-laden funkadelic" DIY noise rock band, for the band have now disbanded. Never mind. They were a three piece, two bassists and a drummer, who sounded like a cross between Melvins and Primus - noisy, shouty and fucking loud (the volume no doubt exacerbated by the confined space in which the gig took place). 'Twas an entertaining racket.
One of the other acts on the bill was a lanky, fop-haired, indie looking kid who thrashed out chords on his guitar to a backing tape of basic drum machine rhythms whilst screaming into a microphone. Ten out of ten for enthusiasm but he was little more than a mad busker. Hmm, "punk busking": an emerging genre, perhaps. Look out for it. Still, he was an amiable young lad.
What else, what else... oh yes, I went to see Charlie Kaufman's Synecdoche, New York, his début as director as well as writer. Phillip Seymour-Hoffman plays a theatre director suffering ill-health and a failing marriage. When his wife eventually leaves him he decides to mount an ambitious theatre project: he builds a replica of the city in a massive warehouse and populates it with actors to play people from the real world and to semi-improvise the brutal truth of his painful life. Reality and fiction bleed into each other in a typically "meta" Kaufmanesque fashion.
It's all a bit of a mess albeit a humane and thought provoking mess. The film is not as tightly structured as Kaufman's collaborations with directors Spike Jonze (Being John Malkovich, Adaptation) and Michel Gondry (Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind). This is due in equal measure, I think, to the nature of the script and Kaufman's direction - it all feels a little unfocussed and flabby.
That's not to say it's a bad film, by any means. It is by turns intelligent, emotional, inventive and blackly funny with many strong performances. Having said that, I can't imagine that I will return to it as I have done to the aforementioned Kaufman penned films. I can't help but wonder if Charlie's scripts aren't better served by the fresh eyes of other directors. On the other hand, this is his first outing behind the lens and perhaps time and experience will see his directorial prowess grow.
I've indulged in a bit of hardcore culture this week. On Thursday evening I attended a performance of seven movements from Stockhausen's Aus den Sieben Tagen, a collection of fifteen "text pieces" written in 1968. Instead of a tradition score of musical notation the players are given a series of textual instructions. For example:
Think NOTHINGThis sounds like an horribly pretentious idea that would result in a mess of unlistenable noise but it produced a fascinating, engaging and curiously humane piece of improvisational music. The percussionist was particularly fun to watch as he bowed a giant cymbal, rattled beads, beat out rhythms on an empty plastic water cooler bottle and scraped a whisk around a hub cap. It was impossible to know how much of the performance was rehearsed and how much the musicians improvised on the night but it was a truly enjoyable performance.
wait until it is absolutely still within you
when you have attained this
begin to play
as soon as you start to think, stop
and try to reattain the state of NON-THINKING
then continue playing
On Friday night I went to the GFT to see F.W. Murnau's 1921 film Nosferatu complete with musical accompaniment by Scottish guitarist David Allison who, through clever use of a delay pedal, built up a live layered score as the movie played.
I thought the film was wonderful - those iconic images of Max Schreck rising up out of his coffin and his talon-fingered shadow creeping up the stairs... brilliant. In a way, I wish I could have seen it in an empty screening room: it was a bit difficult to fully immerse yourself in the film when there are chuckles coming from the audience. This is understandable because aspects of a 90-odd year old film are inevitably going to appear silly and outdated to 21st Century cinema-goers. A couple of the friends I went with commented that, although they thought it was great, it wasn't scary. Well no, if you judge an old, old horror film by contemporary aesthetic standards you are unlikely to conclude that it is frightening. The trick is to imagine what 1920s audiences were used to; to them it would have been astonishing. You have to regress, rediscover a certain innocence, lose yourself to the grainy photography, the jerky motion, the theatricality of it. Besides, as with the best horror yarns, the fear is in the subtext. The homicidal yet erotic suggestiveness as the shadow of Schreck's extended fingers creep over Greta Schröder's sleeping body? C'mon, that's frickin' creepy by anyone's standards!
I stayed in on Valentine's Day, as usual, and watched Tod Browning's Freaks which I picked up for a couple of quid on DVD. I also got a classic 1960 French horror flick called Les Yeux Sans Visage (Eyes Without A Face) and Get Carter for a fiver each. That's the rest of my Sunday sorted.
A couple of photos from the set of Quentin Tarantino's new WWII movie Inglourious Basterds [sic] have been released over the last few days. This in itself is of little interest to me because Tarantino disappeared up his own arse years ago. Kill Bill was the final nail in the coffin for me. Seriously, how can anybody direct a swordplay movie with legendary action choreographers Sonny Chiba and Woo-ping Yuen acting as advisors and yet still manage to make it utterly tedious? That's what happens when you cobble a film together by simply reshooting fight scenes from great martial arts movies. It's the celluloid equivalent of those history societies who dress up and re-enact famous battles on Sunday afternoons only much more expensive and less fun. I didn't bother to see Death Proof.
No, what did interest me about the set photos from Inglourious Basterds (no, really, that's how the film-makers are spelling it) was the eerie resemblance between a certain Mr. Brad Pitt and the late, great, albeit strange Marlon Brando:

Labels: film

If you have seen Aliens, the Terminator films, Predator and Predator 2, Jurassic Park or Batman Returns then you have seen the amazing monster and make-up effects of Stan Winston who has sadly passed away after a seven year battle against multiple myeloma.
Hats of to a special effects genius.
Labels: film, in memoriam
It is a brave actor who dares to speak publicly about politics, current affairs, poverty or the environment. "What do actors know about anything?" cry the media pundits, "Talking down to us from their ivory towers." True, there are plenty of artistes with little in the way of brains between their ears but that is true of any profession or walk of life. There are plenty of bright people working in the entertainment industry who have as informed opinions as anyone else who works and pays their taxes.
And then there is Sharon Stone's profound insights on the earthquakes in China:
"Well, you know, it's very interesting because at first I'm, you know, not happy about the way the Chinese are treating the Tibetans because I don't think anyone should be unkind to anyone else; and so I've been very concerned about how to think and what to do about that because I don't like... that.Apparently, Sharon Stone can be a cunt on screen without crossing her legs.
"And then I've been, you know, concerned about, 'Oh, how shall we deal with the Olympics?' because they're not being nice to the Dalai Lama who's a good friend of mine.
"And then all this earthquake and all this stuff happened and I thought, 'Is that karma? When you're not nice then the bad things happen to you?'
"And then I got a letter from the Tibetan Foundation that they wanted to go and be helpful and that made me cry. And they asked me if I would write a quote about that and I said that I would, that it was a big lesson to me, that sometimes you have to learn to put your head down and be of service even if people who aren't nice to you... and that that's a big lesson for me."
You can watch the clip for yourselves here if you can stomach it.
My heart is breaking at this news, it really is:
A remake of Abel Ferrara's controversial 1992 masterpiece Bad Lieutenant is going into production later this summer.
I know. Wait, though, it gets worse:
A remake of Abel Ferrara's controversial 1992 masterpiece Bad Lieutenant is going into production later this summer. Taking on the role, brilliantly portrayed by Harvey Keitel with searing intensity in the original, is Nicolas Cage.
Yeah, I know. But wait, though, it gets worse:
A remake of Abel Ferrara's controversial 1992 masterpiece Bad Lieutenant is going into production later this summer. Taking on the role, brilliantly portrayed by Harvey Keitel with searing intensity in the original, is Nicolas Cage. And the remake will be directed by Werner Herzog. Yes, the Werner Herzog who made such magnificently barmy classics as Aguirre - Wrath of God, Woyzeck, Fitzcarraldo. Yup, another once great film-maker has "done a Scorcese", succumbed to sucking Hollywood studio cock and jumped on the remake bandwagon*.
Please, Werner, don't do it. You're better than that. Ah fuck, what's the point...
I envisage a future where Hollywood studios start remaking films that haven't even been shot yet. The Golden Age of the "Premake" is upon us!
* Yes, yes, I know Nosferatu was a remake and that was brilliant, but still...
Labels: film, werner herzog

I was saddened to hear of Anthony's passing despite the fact that I am not a huge fan of his films. I hated The English Patient, thought it trite and empty albeit beautifully shot. On the other hand, Truly, Madly, Deeply is a wonderful little film and I also quite enjoyed The Talented Mr. Ripley.
Even though I do not care greatly for his work he always came across in interviews as intelligent, good humoured, passionate about film and basically a lovely human being. I always felt a bit bad that I didn't like his films as much as I liked him.
Labels: film, in memoriam
I was very shocked to wake up this morning to the news of a major fire at Camden Market. I'm not intimately familiar with the place but I have strolled around the market and drunk in many of the pubs around there. There are several great gig venues in the area too like Koko, the Electric Ballroom and the Roundhouse that I visited several times last year.
Damn, a real shame, that.In an attempt to rekindle my interest in films, I made the effort to go and see The Coen Brothers' adaptation of Cormac McCarthy's novel No Country For Old Men. And what a relief it was. After two disappointing films, Intolerable Cruelty and the utterly pointless (if beautifully shot) remake of The Ladykillers, No Country For Old Men sees the Coen boys on cracking form. I read the novel last year when I heard that The Coens were making a film of it and I immediately realised that McCarthy's sparse, violent and melancholy neo-Western was perfect material for them. And how. It is reminiscent in tone and pace of the brothers' first film Blood Simple but in an older and wiser way. Javier Bardem, Josh Brolin and Tommy Lee Jones are all wonderfully understated in their roles, Kelly MacDonald is strong too.
I can understand why the ending has pissed people off but, having read the novel, I was prepared for it. I don't think I would have minded anyway: I wouldn't have expected a nice, tidy and typical thriller-style ending from the Coens anyway - that is not what the film (or the novel) is about.
To find out what it is about, I suggest you go and see it, think about it for a while, see it again and then read the book. Or read the book first; I always prefer to read the book first for some reason.
Anyway, the film is good enough to make you think that it should be law that all McCarthy adaptations are made by the Coen Brothers. Having said that, The Road is currently in production under the directorship of John Hillcoat, the fella who made the Nick Cave scripted The Proposition, a powerful film that stayed with me long after I left the cinema even though I didn't really know whether I liked it or not as I was watching it. I think Hillcoat and McCarthy will be a good match. Also, Blood Meridian (which is on my ever-growing "to read" shelf) is on the slate for Ridley Scott. McCarthy... Ridley Scott... hmm, it could work; Ridley is nothing if not eclectic in his choices.
I don't know where to begin so I will skip the beginning and begin in the middle.
Finally went to see a shrink - sorry - counsellor today and it turned out to not be as an horrific waste of time as I might have feared. She discerned very quickly that I am not interested in discovering why I am a miserable failure with no self-esteem but how I can stop being a miserable failure with no self-esteem. Yes yes yes, it's all because of my mother probably, great, but what do I do about it? I'm not interested in examining the past, I want to fix the now. She said the three magic words before I had a chance to bring them up: cognitive behavioural therapy. I decided I liked her very much at that point. "Oh thank fog* for that, she gets it." She is going to refer me to a CBT group which is nice. Unfortunately, the next round of classes doesn't begin until the beginning of April but, I don't know, having somebody who knows what they are talking about acknowledge that I have a real problem and could offer a practical way forward was comforting. April, though... bit of a long way off. I may buy myself a copy of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy For Dummies (seriously) to tide me over.
I feel oddly... validated
She was also quite attractive. She wore nice boots.
I am glad to hear that despite the death of Heath Ledger production of Terry Gilliam's new film The Imaginarium Of Dr. Parnassus will continue.
When I first heard of Ledger's death I could not help but recall the collapse of Gilliam's The Man Who Killed Don Quixote and think, "Oh no, not again." I don't wish to sound as if my desire to see a cool movie overshadows the sad loss of such a young human being but I am glad the film can be completed. Dr. Parnassus (along with the upcoming Dark Knight) will give us a final glimpse of how this intriguing young actor might have developed, and what better tribute to an actor is there?
I am fucking loving Bartók at the moment
Don't know how to finish either so I will stop here at the end of the middle.
* As an ignostic, I am loath to use the phrase "oh my God." However, from a purely aesthetic point of view and in certain circumstances "oh my god" is exactly the right phrase to use. Therefore, in order to circumvent my distaste for the word "god" whilst not depriving myself of the satisfaction of using the phrase "oh my god" I am experimenting rhyming substitutes such as "dog", "fog", "bog". I must confess, though, that it just isn't the same**.
** However, I have found a most favourable substitute for the exclamation "for the love of god", namely, "oh for the love of fucksy". Go on, try it. The next time you feel the need to express your incredulity at the sheer stupidity of a person or persons in your immediate vicinity, try screaming from the very depths of your diaphragm, "Oh for the love of fucksy!" It really works.
2007: The year I stood up in church during a friend's wedding ceremony and read out an extract from The Velveteen Rabbit - a moment I will always remember with great fondness.
2007: The year we lost Kurt Vonnegut. The discovery of his work in my late teens was pivotal in my development as a serious reader. Having gobbled up Douglas Adams and Terry Pratchett I felt the desire to adventure deeper into the literary landscape. I was in the habit of picking books at random from shop shelves, reading the blurb, scanning a few pages, impulse buying. One book I found using this method was Jack Womack's Random Acts Of Senseless Violence, a disturbing and vivid vision of social breakdown. I enjoyed it immensely. One of the quotes of praise on the dust jacket likened Womack to some guy called Kurt Vonnegut so I went out and bought Slaughterhouse 5, the title of which sounded vaguely familiar.
The book was a revelation. Funny, serious, wise, angry and compassionate, a moving story of war and the bombing of Dresden that somehow involved time travel and extraterrestrial zoos. Reading this book I realised that serious fiction could be funny and stories didn't have to be told in chronological order. I was amazed how effortlessly Vonnegut took all these fragments, all these disparate threads, and somehow tied them all together on the final page. Most of all I was won over by Vonnegut's wry charm and humanity; reading him was like being taught life lessons by a favourite uncle. "Come here, son, I want to tell you a few things about the world."
Reading Vonnegut is liberating in that he shows you that you can do anything you damn well please in fiction - his books are like permission slips. I'm very sad he is gone but I'm happy that he was here at all and gave us so many wonderful words.
2007: the year I read Ulysses and I finally finished Boccaccio's Decameron. I experienced something of a reading renaissance in 2007: I always have a book on the go but for some reason my appetite became particularly voracious (which maybe explains my resolve to conquer James Joyce's colossal tome). I read a lot of excellent stuff including Pamuk's My Name Is Read, John Fowles' The Magus, Georges Perec's Life: A User's Manual, several Richard Brautigans (what a beautifully quirky turn of phrase that man had), The Sea, The Sea by Iris Murdoch, Slow Chocolate Autopsy by Iain Sinclair and José Saramago's Blindness, the last of which affected me the most with its harrowing vision of the ease with which "civilised" society could collapse.If my appetite for reading increased in 2007 then my interest in film waned considerably. I know I've complained bitterly about Hollywood remaking every good Asian film barely five minutes after its released but it now it seems studios are cannibalising every nation's celluloid history including their own. We're going to get Paul W.S. Anderson's remake of The Long Good Friday pointlessly relocated to contemporary Miami, Ron Howard doing Michael Hanecke's Caché (Hidden), Michael Hanecke doing an American remake of his own Funny Games (why Michael, why?), The Taking Of Pelham 123 and Fritz Lang's Metropolis for fuck's sake. What happens when you've flogged a franchise to death with increasingly shite sequels? Why, you simply start again by remaking the original! Hello Halloween! And talking of John Carpenter, hello Assault On Precinct 13 remake! Hello Escape From New York remake! Apparently John Carpenter is happy to piss all over his own back catalogue of DIY cult classics by endorsing uninspired remakes.
The event that epitomised this trend for me is the fact that Martin Scorcese finally won his long-deserved Oscar for his laziest, most derivative film. Not only is The Departed inferior to its Hong Kong progenitor but it also feels like Scorcese simply imitating his own past glories. You'll say I am taking this far too seriously but watching The Departed and witnessing the subsequent praise and adulation Marty received actually kinda' hurt.
Thank Whoever, then, for David Lynch who delivered three hours of magnificent dread and weirdness in the form of INLAND EMPIRE. It doesn't matter that I didn't follow the half of it, I loved every damn digitally videoed frame of it. Even when I had no idea what was going on I never felt that Lynch was wasting my time with mere self-indulgent waffle - which, coincidentally, was exactly how I felt reading Ulysses. I seemed to be in that kind of mood in 2007. The only other films I enjoyed at the cinema were Zhang Yimou's Curse Of The Golden Flower which, despite the lukewarm critical response, I really enjoyed, and Hot Fuzz, the most gloriously absurd and entertaining film of the year.
Never mind, I procured lots of good music this year. I got stuck into two genres that I have long-intended to investigate properly: Post-punk and classical. By "classical" I really mean "orchestral", I suppose, because the era I have been drawn to has been that of 20 Century modern composers. Yes, I'm loving all that dodecaphonic atonal shit.
Best albums released this year? Chicago, Detroit, Redruth by Luke Vibert, Book Of Dogma by The Black Dog (well, OK, I admit that this is a compilation of previously released material but much of it has only appeared on vinyl so it still counts), Whisper Me Wishes by Kettel, Oblivion With Bells by Underworld, Foley Room by Amon Tobin and the magnificently barmy Tromatic Reflexxions by Von Südenfed.
I managed to keep a New Year's resolution for once by going to some gigs, something I hadn't done for a long time. I went to see Aim, Bonobo, Underworld and Amon Tobin and I'm so glad I made the effort. Music really is one of the things that makes life worth living - a world without music doesn't bear thinking about.
But otherwise 2007 sucked. Let's see if I can get my shit together in 2008, eh?
Ha. I say that every year.
Jeez, 'bout time I wrote sumfink on this 'ere blog o' mine.
Well, I hope you all had an above average Christmas and an adequate New Year. I've already had my first anxiety attack of 2008! That's got to be a record even for me. Never mind, I got better.
Let's get down to the important bit: summary of Crimbo stash!
A most excellent haul, I think you'll agree. Now, which bloody version of Blade Runner shall I watch first...?
- Blade Runner 2007 Final Cut Collector's DVD box-set (only one problem: I can't decide which of the five included versions of the film to watch first).
- Jan Svankmajer - The Complete Short Films DVD box-set. Fantastic and surreal animations from the mad Czech genius Svankmajer.
- The Orb's Adventures Beyond The Ultraworld Deluxe Edition CD. Owned this on cassette years ago but finally got it on CD with an extra disc of remixes. I'd forgotten how brilliant this album is.
- Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy (I loved No Country For Old Men and I can't wait to see the Coen Brothers' film adaptation).
- The Man Who Mistook His Wife For A Hat by Oliver Sachs.
- The Gospel According To Jesus Christ by José Saramago. I've been reading this over the Christmas holiday - seemed appropriate.
Simon Pegg as Star Trek's Scotty? Simon Pegg... as Montgomery Scott. Pegg... Simon... Scotty...
Hmm.
Don't get me wrong: I love Simon Pegg. He is a very funny man and a strong enough actor to pull off serious roles as well as comedic ones. But Scotty? "You cannae' change the laws o' physics" Scotty? I can't quite see it somehow.
On the other hand, the presence of Pegg has finally made me slightly interested to see JJ Abrams' "rebooting" of the tired old Trek franchise. Possibly.
But never mind Star Trek: the real question on everybody's lips is "Who will be the next Doctor Who?" (not that David Tennant appears to be going anywhere in the foreseeable future even if he is taking a "gap year" to do some Shakespeare; but you know what the world of fandom is like).
[Hmm, this turned into a bit of a geek thread, didn't it?]
Labels: film
Here's a bit of a find: Terry Gilliam's first foray into animation circa 1968, including the famous "Christmas Card" skit from Do Not Adjust Your Set.
Enjoy!
Labels: animation, film, Terry Gilliam

Labels: film, in memoriam, Michaelangelo Antonioni

Labels: film, in memoriam, Ingmar Bergman
Handmade Films are plundering their back catalogue in order to shit on the memory of... sorry, I mean to say remake some classic British films for a contemporary international audience.
Among the titles up for ruination are Terry Gilliam's Time Bandits, Neil Jordan's Mona Lisa (with - woohoo - Larry "Kids" Clark at the helm) and - I can barely bring myself to say it - The Long Good Friday...
... relocated to contemporary Miami.
... and directed by... directed by... oh, for fuck's sake... Paul WS Anderson.
The London setting and the IRA are intrinsic elements of the original film; they're what the film is about. Transposing the story, the mere sequence of events, to Miami strips away everything that raised the original above and beyond a generic gangster flick. And allowing Paul WS Anderson, the hack who brought us such timeless classics as Mortal Kombat, Resident Evil and Alien Vs. Predator, to direct... that's just an insult to humanity.
What next? A remake of Withnail & I with Ashton Kutcher and Jessica Simpson? "Yeah, see, let's make Withnail a girl and they can fall in love. It would be a smash hit romantic comedy: When Withnail Met I!"
There are some studio executives out there who need to have a few things explained to them with a very heavy piece of wood with a nail in it.
Labels: film
I've been trying to fathom how to write a meaningful review of David Lynch's new film for over the last week since I saw it but I just don't know how. I could explain that it begins with Laura Dern playing an once popular actress whose career has settled into a rut. She secures the lead role in a movie that she hopes will rejuvenate her career but it comes to light that the movie is a remake of Polish film that was never completed because the lead actors were murdered.
That synopsis covers about the first 45 minutes of Lynch's film... except that I forgot to mention the sitcom with the rabbits who talk in stilted non-sequiturs but whose words are greeted with hysterical canned laughter. Oh, and the crying woman watching said bunny sitcom on a TV in a hotel room. But apart from that the first 45 minutes of INLAND EMPIRE kinda' makes sense.
And then after that Laura Dern goes on some kind of nightmarish journey where the real world, the fictional world of the film she is making, the Polish film upon which it is based and the true story of that film's making collide, merge, blur, overlap and loop back on themselves.
But I was expecting that so before I went into the cinema I resolved to not attempt to make sense of the narrative as it went along and simply allow INLAND EMPIRE to happen at me. And I loved it, all three hours of it. INLAND EMPIRE is a natural successor to Lost Highway and Mulholland Drive in its multiple layers of reality and fiction and Lynch's immense skill in wringing every ounce of tension and terror from the dark spaces in familiar, ordinary environments. The film is shot entirely on digital video and some critics have complained that this results in an cheap, amateurish look. Personally, I found the look of the film wonderfully disorienting. No, it doesn't have the look of traditional film stock, it is something different, something that is visually striking in its own right. The sound design, as always in Lynch's films, is tremendously atmospheric and greatly contributes to the sense of unease that pervades the film.
In conclusion I can conclude nothing. One viewing simply isn't enough to take it all in and start to process the information. As with all Lynch's films, there is no definitive interpretation of what it is and I suspect that it will take many subsequent viewings on DVD before I will even begin to formulate an opinion on what it's all about. As I watched it, I felt some subliminal intuition that INLAND EMPIRE does make some kind of sense, that it is actually about something on not just a load of random weirdness that Lynch has thrown at the screen for a laugh.
Laura Dern gives a wonderful and varied performance that is by turns timid, awkward, angry, bitter, heartbroken, compassionate, distraught and disturbed.
Many people would find this film utterly infuriating, maybe even those who have enjoyed some of Lynch's work in the past. It is therefore a difficult film to recommend. All I can say is that I am so grateful that, despite the dearth of imagination and rabid pursuit of commercial success that dominates contemporary culture, people like David Lynch are still sometimes able to get their mad ideas out there into the world. At a time when I feel that dogmatic rules dictate mundane formulas for what films and books and music and art should be, I needed something as wilfully barmy and disobedient as INLAND EMPIRE to come along.
Thank you, David.
I have a strange relationship with Danny Boyle films. I always feel a little underwhelmed immediately after seeing them but, in the days that follow, they stay with me and I eventually feel compelled to see them again. This happened with Trainspotting and 28 Days Later in particular. My opinion of both films grew with subsequent viewings. I believe the same will be the case with Sunshine.
Boyle directs an Alex Garland scripted tale of everyday astronauts travelling to the sun while strapped to a massive nuclear bomb. The sun is dying, y'see, and if our eight space-faring heroes can't reignite it with aforementioned bomb then all life on Earth will die. No pressure, then.
The first thing to say is that this film is gorgeous. Danny Boyle fills the screen with some truly awesome imagery. The vessel upon which our heroes make their journey, the Icarus II (no, really), is a beautifully rendered modular spacecraft hiding behind a massive umbrella-like reflective shield. But the real star of the film is the sun itself. I can't remember ever seeing the scale or power of the sun so impressively presented on the cinema screen with such deserved reverence. It is, after all, the source of all life on our planet and this film certainly does it justice. Indeed, this is one of the film's major themes. What's even more impressive is that the budget for the film was a modest $20 million - you could easily believe that it cost ten times that amount. The visual splendour of the film is complimented by brilliant sound design that makes an invaluable contribution to the sense of space and atmosphere.
The performances too, from the likes of Cillian Murphy, Michelle Yeoh and Chris Evans, are strong and believable even if the characters do feel like archetypes rather than complex human beings. Indeed, Sunshine suffers from a problematic script such as the decision to call the ship Icarus II. Even the least superstitious of scientists wouldn't call a spacecraft heading for the sun Icarus II - that's just asking for trouble, isn't it? And please note: that's Icarus II. Yes, this is the second mission to the sun called Icarus. The first mission, Icarus I, set off seven years prior to the events in this film and disappeared without trace. Didn't anyone think that maybe calling not one but two missions to the sun Icarus was perhaps tempting fate?
There are bigger problems, though. The film-makers seem to be unsure of what kind of film they are trying to make. It is clearly influenced by many sci-fi predecessors - 2001: A Space Odyssey, Solaris, Silent Running, Alien, Event Horizon - but can't settle on whether it is a philosophical rumination of the nature of humankind's relationship with the universe, a taut psychological thriller or an horror flick. The answer is that it flips from one to another and doesn't quite satisfy as any of them.
Having said all that, it is definitely worth seeing, especially in the cinema. As well as the aforementioned beauty of the ship's journey to the sun, director Boyle sustains the tension throughout brilliantly as one disaster after another afflicts the mission. There are some brilliant moments such as the spacewalk across the ship's gigantic shield where cameras inside the space helmets create a true sense of claustrophobia. It is only in the final act that he seems to loose his way and bombards you with frenetic, confusing weirdness.
I was lucky enough to see Sunshine at a special "bloggers' preview" about a month ago (thanks to Suw Charman for swinging that for me). I was quite down on the film when I came out. But, as I mentioned at the top of this review, I feel more sympathetic towards it and, now that it has a nationwide release, I want to see it again. It is, without a doubt, a flawed piece of work but it is an intelligent sci-fi film for grown-ups with some thought-provoking ideas and some truly stunning imagery. And it's a British film.
Dimension Films are preparing a remake of David Cronenberg's Scanners to be helmed by Darren Lynn Bousman, director of Saw II and III.
For fuck's sake...
Labels: film
Ron Howard plans to direct a remake of Michael Hanecke's Caché (Hidden).
Christ on a bicycle. At least when Hollywood remade Infernal Affairs they had a high-calibre director with Scorcese so there was a chance that it might turn out to be good (but, sadly, we got Scorcese-by-numbers, a poor man's Goodfellas). But Ron Howard, America's blandest and most inoffensive filmmaker, taking on Hanecke's masterfully suspenseful and dark Caché? No, no, no. We'll end up with an utterly forgetable and sanitised thriller stripped of the original's complex and ambiguous heart.
Hollywood is already in the process of adapting Hanecke's Funny Games. I wonder who will direct that one? Brett Ratner?
Labels: film
Sod peace and love to all humankind: Christmas is about getting cool pressies. In a manner of speaking, I didn't actually get any. I sent my Amazon wish list to the the parents as per usual (they have long since given up any pretence of knowing what books, films and music I like) but due to a technical difficulty that arose from trying to install Internet Explorer 7, my dad's computer simply refused to log into any secure sites which meant no online shopping. Seeing as there was no way he would be able to find any of the stuff I asked for in any of the local consumer outlets in the parents' little corner of Devon, I ended up getting a cheque on Christmas Day accompanied by many humble apologies. (Actually, Dad could have probably got a fair selection of the stuff on my wish list if he had popped into Exeter but he didn't think of that).
But never mind. Cheque was paid into bank account, stuff was ordered (managed to get around Dad's inability to use secure sites by installing Firefox on his computer - fixed the problem immediately) and most of it was waiting on my doormat today when I returned to Oxford.So, here is the booty I have treated myself to:
I was greatly saddened to hear about Robert Altman's death on Monday night at the age of 81. He was unique in American cinema, a director who built up stories from mostly improvised and overlapping dialogue. It was a technique that didn't always work but when it did it was wonderful. Besides, he was so prolific that if one of his films didn't succeed then there would be another one along in no time.
I'm not a huge fan of Raymond Carver but I loved Altman's take on his work in Short Cuts. The Player is delightfully vicious, a treat for movie buffs with an ingenious twist at the end. I wish all period dramas were as entertaining and engrossing as Gosford Park. And then there is M*A*S*H, Nashville, McCabe & Mrs. Miller, The Long Goodbye...
So, thank you, Bob, for all the great films you gave us. Rest well - you've earned it.
"Aw, it's a pity, really. I thought it was a good idea to have someone in the house who is actually sorry he's dead."
- Constance Trentham (Maggie Smith), Gosford Park
Labels: film, in memoriam, Robert Altman
Fraggle Rock - The Movie is coming. Meh - I always prefered The Muppet Show although Sprocket the dog was cool.
Fuck that: I want a Dangermouse movie!
On a sidenote, I am not as excited as I should be about the forthcoming Transformers flick. Despite that funky advert (for Citroen, is it?) proving that the current CGI technology can convincingly depict a car turning into a robot, the movie is being directed by Michael "Master-Of-Retarded-Spectacle" Bay. Hey ho.
Labels: film
Does anyone remember when Peter Jackson made hilariously over-the-top horror films like Bad taste and Braindead with a wry and knowing sense of humour? Does anyone remember his surprisingly tender and intelligent drama about troubled teenagers, Heavenly Creatures? Does anyone remember his hugely entertaining, funny and smart Hollywood debut, the supernatural thriller The Frighteners? In short, does anyone remember when Peter Jackson was good?
OK, Lord Of The Rings was a mighty achievement - granted - and his sense of the macabre was well utilised in bringing Tolkien's epic to the screen. But how much you liked the films depended a great deal upon how much you liked the books. I read and enjoyed the trilogy when I was a teenager but my tastes have moved on considerably since then; so by the time Jackson's film adaptation arrived I was not especially interested anymore. They were extremely well-made movies and I enjoyed them but they are not films that I will return to again and again.
And then Jackson decided to become some kind of celluloid remake factory and gave us King Kong. Not only that, he gave us three fucking hours of it. The original King Kong from 1933 was a great story told in 100 minutes - what possible reason could there have been to double the length? OK, sure, the special effects of the original look very primitive compared to what can be achieved today but there is still plenty of striking and iconic imagery. I'm not saying that Jackson's version was bad - it was was much, much, much better than the 1976 remake - but it all felt so unnecessary.
Not as unnecessary as a remake of The Dambusters, though, but that's what Jackson is planning to do next. Yup, Jackson will produce a remake of the 1954 British war movie The Dambusters. Why, for fuck's sake? He apparently saw it as a child and loved it. Jackson says his remake will be "as authentic as possible and as close to the spirit of the original as possible". What's the point of that? Why not just watch the original? Why not just finance a re-release of the 1954 version instead of spending millions of dollars on an utterly pointless and cynical remake? Leave it alone!
Besides, in the context of a world currently shaken by violence and an ill-conceived war on terror, is there a place for such war films? Won't it simply reinforce the erroneous notion that "we" are fighting a clearly defined enemy rather than a widespread ideology with no single leader? Won't it simply make people believe that, hey, all we gotta' do is build some fancy weapon and go destroy some specific building somewhere and the world will be safe once again?
On many levels, I don't think the world needs a glossy CGI remake of The Dambusters. And I want the old Peter Jackson back, the wickedly mischievous little imp.
Labels: film
“The worst of the Eight Hells is called Continuous Hell. It has the meaning of Continuous Suffering. Thus the name.”I love Martin Scorcese - Mean Streets, Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, The King Of Comedy, Goodfellas: wonderful films - but I was saddened when I first heard the news that he would be remaking the 2002 Hong Kong thriller Infernal Affairs as The Departed. Why? Why does a great director like Scorcese have to jump on the contemporary Asian movie remake bandwagon? His remake of Cape Fear was good but no improvement over the original - an enjoyable but redundant experience.
- Nirvana Sutra – Verse 19
Now, I have to admit that I have a possibly irrational bee in my bonnet about Hollywood plundering East Asia's recent back catalogue. I love the atmosphere and pace of the Asian versions of Ringu, The Grudge, Dark Water and The Eye and, being an intelligent human being who can walk and chew gum at the same time, I have no problem with subtitles. But no, lazy Western audiences don't go to the cinema to read. If they wanted to read they'd buy a book. So, in order to make these modern foreign classics accessible to Western cinema-goers, and to save themselves the effort of coming up with interesting ideas themselves, the Hollywood studios are only too happy to remake them.
So what? OK, the thing is that the Hollywood producers wax lyrical about the emerging talent in the East and about how Asian filmmakers are making the best films in the world right now and how they want to share these modern classics with Western audiences. And then they purchase not only the rights to remake the films but also distribution rights... but they don't distribute them. They sit on the Asian originals and fire out their own remakes to cinemas.
I will concede that, from what I've read, the US remakes have not been all bad (except Dark Water and, from what I gather, it was a pretty dismal experience for the very talented director Walter Salles) but, being the stubborn bastard that I am, I ain't gonna' see them. I've no need to. I've got the originals to enjoy.
It saddens me, therefore, that Scorcese is tossing his hat into the Asian remake ring (no pun intended). Infernal Affairs, in case you don't know, is the story of an undercover cop who has infiltrated a Triad gang in a game of cat-and-mouse with a mole who has risen through ranks of the police force. Directed by Wai Keung Lau and Siu Fai Mak, it is as much a rumination on identity and the idea of "Continuous Hell" as it is an action thriller. As well as the beautiful photography, direction and editing, it features some superb performances from Andy Lau as the mole in the police force, Tony Leung as the undercover cop, Eric Sang as the Triad boss and Anthony Wong as Leung's commanding officer.
This leads me onto another bone of contention: the casting of Scorcese's version. In place of Andy Lau and Tony Leung we will get Matt Damon and Leonardo di Caprio respectively. Matt and Leo are both good actors but when compared to the likes of Lau and Lueng (the latter being possibly my favourite living actor) then neither of them quite make the grade. One of the things that defines Lau's and Lueng's characters in the original is that they have been living the lie of their respective deceptions for so long that they no longer know what they are fighting for or whose side they are really on. They are getting older and world-weary. But Matt and Leo are, frankly, still too young and fresh-faced for the roles. Give them another ten years and they would probably be right for the roles, but not yet. And as for Mark Wahlberg taking on Anthony Wong's role as the police chief... ugh, please. The mighty Jack Nicholson is playing Eric Sang's gang boss part; the only bit of casting I feel could work well.
I don't doubt for a second that The Departed will look fantastic and that the cast and crew have given the project their all but, sorry Marty, I just can't muster much enthusiasm when I have the superb original already on my DVD shelf.
Oh, and the Hollywood machine is also going to remake the South Korean extreme cinema classic Oldboy. Yeah, right, that won't be neutered at birth. I can't picture any of today's popular Hollywood pretty-boys eating a live octopus on screen, can you?
Labels: film
Labels: film, in memoriam
Labels: film, in memoriam, Richard Pryor
Labels: film
Labels: film