Saturday, 11 December 2010
Friday, 10 December 2010
I've been putting off discussing my next film choice as it's a film so dear to my heart and one that has had such a huge effect on me that I've had to build up to it really. It's Ghost World... I've seen it so many times I know the dialogue off by heart. Not hard as it has some of the best lines going, which I will get on to later. This film is a complete revelation, an oddball, a curiosity completely out of leftfield. The structure is pretty ordinary - two teenage girls hang out and annoy people. It's been done in other films, but its usually male characters. The fact that Enid (the main character, played brilliantly by Thora Birch) is a somewhat geeky yet clued up music and comic book nut further makes this film so extraordinary. In most teen comedies the girls are cheerleaders without much substance. Enid is a heroine. I've pretty much based my whole life on her to a certain extent. I even tried to dress like her at one point so taken with her was I.
The other reason for watching this film is Steve Buscemi. He plays lonely, middle aged "loser" Seymour who Enid and her friend Rebecca (a sarcastic Scarlett Johansson) meet through dubious circumstances. They notice an ad in the lonely hearts placed by Seymour and respond jokingly to the add by leaving a fake message on his answerphone pretending to be an older woman. They set up a date and go and wait for him to show up. When he arrives, Enid immediately feels guilty. They decide to follow him and a few days later go back to his house, where he and his flatmate are having a "yard" sale. Seymour is selling records, which Enid finds interesting. She buys one from him and this kick starts a friendship based on mutual cynicism and feeling like an outcast. Rebecca, meanwhile, drifts apart from Enid as she pursues a more conventional route of work and moving out her parents and into her own apartment. Enid continues to live with her Dad and, because she failed her high school tests, has to take a remedial summer art class. Some of the best scenes in the film take place in the art room. Illeana Douglas plays the stereotypical art teacher to perfection and some of the other students attempts at art are frankly, hilarious. Enid submits her comic book diary which is dismissed by the teacher as "amusing" but not real art.
It's one of those films that celebrates absurdity and finding respite in the obscure. It is very similar in its themes to the equally fantastic American Splendor. I completely identify with that whole urge to seek out non-mainstream culture. Seymour collects original jazz and blues 78s, but this obsession has cost him a meaningful relationship. He finds it hard to connect with ordinary people. This is most apparent when he and Enid go to a local bar to see an original blues guitarist play. Drunken idiots play pool and watch football and Seymour has to leave. On the way home, he tells Enid:
"I'm not even on the same planet as those creatures back there. It's easy for everyone else - you give 'em a pair of Nikes and a Big mac and they're happy. I can't relate to 99.9 per cent of humanity!"
Again, it's the details in this film that make it so wonderful to watch. It's a whole intricate universe. The side characters, like Enid's dad, the comic book shopowner, Josh (the boy that both Enid and Rebecca fantasize about), the crazy guy who hangs around the shop where Josh works. Then there's all the other details like the history of Cook's Chicken, music by Skip James, Memphis Minnie and Lionel Belasco, the 50s diner Wowsville, Enid's clothes, the opening sequence with the Indian dancers from the 60s etc etc, it's a gold mine of curiosities.
I could quote it all day long, some of the best lines
"This is so bad it's gone past good and back to bad again"
"I'm taking a remedial high school art class for fuck ups and retards"
"I just hate all these extroverted, obnoxious pseudo-bohemian losers"
"I think only stupid people have good relationships"
Enid: "I would kill to have stuff like this"
Seymour: "Please go ahead and kill me"
"Let the machine get it. I have no desire to talk to anyone who might be calling me"
The whole movie is a comment on the decline of American culture I guess. This is best typified by a scene in which a man in a video rental store asks the clerk if they have the film 8 1/2. The clerk looks puzzled, types in the name and comes up with 9 1/2 weeks. The man explains that's not the film, he's after 8 1/2, the Fellini classic. The clerk just looks at him baffled. This film is a celebration of all things weird and obscure and lost. It's a complete attack on conformity and commercialism and you don't often get that in films today.
The other reason for watching this film is Steve Buscemi. He plays lonely, middle aged "loser" Seymour who Enid and her friend Rebecca (a sarcastic Scarlett Johansson) meet through dubious circumstances. They notice an ad in the lonely hearts placed by Seymour and respond jokingly to the add by leaving a fake message on his answerphone pretending to be an older woman. They set up a date and go and wait for him to show up. When he arrives, Enid immediately feels guilty. They decide to follow him and a few days later go back to his house, where he and his flatmate are having a "yard" sale. Seymour is selling records, which Enid finds interesting. She buys one from him and this kick starts a friendship based on mutual cynicism and feeling like an outcast. Rebecca, meanwhile, drifts apart from Enid as she pursues a more conventional route of work and moving out her parents and into her own apartment. Enid continues to live with her Dad and, because she failed her high school tests, has to take a remedial summer art class. Some of the best scenes in the film take place in the art room. Illeana Douglas plays the stereotypical art teacher to perfection and some of the other students attempts at art are frankly, hilarious. Enid submits her comic book diary which is dismissed by the teacher as "amusing" but not real art.
It's one of those films that celebrates absurdity and finding respite in the obscure. It is very similar in its themes to the equally fantastic American Splendor. I completely identify with that whole urge to seek out non-mainstream culture. Seymour collects original jazz and blues 78s, but this obsession has cost him a meaningful relationship. He finds it hard to connect with ordinary people. This is most apparent when he and Enid go to a local bar to see an original blues guitarist play. Drunken idiots play pool and watch football and Seymour has to leave. On the way home, he tells Enid:
"I'm not even on the same planet as those creatures back there. It's easy for everyone else - you give 'em a pair of Nikes and a Big mac and they're happy. I can't relate to 99.9 per cent of humanity!"
Again, it's the details in this film that make it so wonderful to watch. It's a whole intricate universe. The side characters, like Enid's dad, the comic book shopowner, Josh (the boy that both Enid and Rebecca fantasize about), the crazy guy who hangs around the shop where Josh works. Then there's all the other details like the history of Cook's Chicken, music by Skip James, Memphis Minnie and Lionel Belasco, the 50s diner Wowsville, Enid's clothes, the opening sequence with the Indian dancers from the 60s etc etc, it's a gold mine of curiosities.
I could quote it all day long, some of the best lines
"This is so bad it's gone past good and back to bad again"
"I'm taking a remedial high school art class for fuck ups and retards"
"I just hate all these extroverted, obnoxious pseudo-bohemian losers"
"I think only stupid people have good relationships"
Enid: "I would kill to have stuff like this"
Seymour: "Please go ahead and kill me"
"Let the machine get it. I have no desire to talk to anyone who might be calling me"
The whole movie is a comment on the decline of American culture I guess. This is best typified by a scene in which a man in a video rental store asks the clerk if they have the film 8 1/2. The clerk looks puzzled, types in the name and comes up with 9 1/2 weeks. The man explains that's not the film, he's after 8 1/2, the Fellini classic. The clerk just looks at him baffled. This film is a celebration of all things weird and obscure and lost. It's a complete attack on conformity and commercialism and you don't often get that in films today.
Monday, 6 December 2010
Sunday night at the movies...
Ok, my favourite movie blog is going to morph slightly into a film review for this post. Last night I watched The Killer Inside Me. I read the original novel by Jim Thompson a few years ago and found it compelling . However, the film is something else. And I don't mean in a good way. If you are not familiar with the story, here goes: In the West Texas of the early 50s, a young deputy sherriff named Lou Ford is a pillar of the small community he serves. His father was a well respected doctor and the local townspeople (bar tenders, newspapermen and construction workers) all treat him with respect and admiration. But little do they know he is, in fact, a violent schizophrenic psychopath who manages to conceal this beneath a veneer of respectability. It all starts when he encounters a prostitute named Joyce who he falls into a complicated, violent affair with. Between them they come up with a plan to blackmail the son of a local construction magnate called Chester Conway who was responsible for Lou's brothers death a few years earlier. Joyce is also sleeping with Conway's son. They bribe him but when he arrives, Lou kills both him and Joyce and takes the money. Anyway, things escalate further, more murders are carried out and eventually Lou is found out.
The book is a gripping, suspenseful, tightly coiled work of pulp fiction. The reason it works is because you are never sure whether what Lou is describing has actually happened. The chapters flit between his normal, exterior personality and his deranged one. It's similar to both Psycho and American Psycho - you're never completely sure if the protagonist is actually committing the murders. The film does away with all that mystery and shows Lou (a steely, calculated performance by Casey Affleck) killing his victims so you know that it's him. Toward the end of the film, when he finally gets arrested, there's no sense of shock or surprise. It's a bit of an anti-climax.
The film is also mysogynistic beyond words. I've never seen a film show such gruesome, horrific violence towards women. The scene where Lou beats Joyce to a pulp is unwatchable. It goes on for what seems an eternity, he just keeps repeatedly punching her until her face no longer looks human. Similarly, when he kills his wife Amy, the violence is shocking. He kicks her in the stomach twice and then leaves her in agony on the floor. He covers her face with her dress so he doesn't have to see her pained expression. It's truely distressing, yet there doesn't seem to be any explanation behind any of it. The scenes showing violence against women last longer than any of the scenes where men are killed or beaten. The men are shot once and are dead. The women are beaten cruelly and lengthily. I've never seen a film like it and nor should I wish to.
If you take away the violence, there's still nothing in it that would make you want to watch it again. It is so bleak, so empty of any kind of direction or meaning. If I were going to make a film out of this book, I would have made it as if it had been made in the '50s, when the book was written. The whole contemporary, modern atmosphere does it no favours at all.
It's also bizarre to me that the two women are played by Jessica Alba and Kate Hudson - who are both most well known for starring in mainstream romantic comedies. I understand that Reese Witherspoon and Maggie Gyllenhaal were pencilled in originally. I can understand why they refused - they are both intelligent and fine actresses who I can't imagine would have agreed to star in such submissive roles. Neither of the women in the film are ever shown outside of the bedroom. They exist purely as Lou's sexual slaves. When Lou beats Joyce before making love to her, she enjoys it. Even at the end, after surviving the beating, she still tells him she loves him. The representation of women in this film is abhorrent.
The only good thing about this film is the music - a great hillbilly soundtrack featuring Shame on You by Spade Cooley, which plays during the closing scene. Everything else is utterly forgettable.
The book is a gripping, suspenseful, tightly coiled work of pulp fiction. The reason it works is because you are never sure whether what Lou is describing has actually happened. The chapters flit between his normal, exterior personality and his deranged one. It's similar to both Psycho and American Psycho - you're never completely sure if the protagonist is actually committing the murders. The film does away with all that mystery and shows Lou (a steely, calculated performance by Casey Affleck) killing his victims so you know that it's him. Toward the end of the film, when he finally gets arrested, there's no sense of shock or surprise. It's a bit of an anti-climax.
The film is also mysogynistic beyond words. I've never seen a film show such gruesome, horrific violence towards women. The scene where Lou beats Joyce to a pulp is unwatchable. It goes on for what seems an eternity, he just keeps repeatedly punching her until her face no longer looks human. Similarly, when he kills his wife Amy, the violence is shocking. He kicks her in the stomach twice and then leaves her in agony on the floor. He covers her face with her dress so he doesn't have to see her pained expression. It's truely distressing, yet there doesn't seem to be any explanation behind any of it. The scenes showing violence against women last longer than any of the scenes where men are killed or beaten. The men are shot once and are dead. The women are beaten cruelly and lengthily. I've never seen a film like it and nor should I wish to.
If you take away the violence, there's still nothing in it that would make you want to watch it again. It is so bleak, so empty of any kind of direction or meaning. If I were going to make a film out of this book, I would have made it as if it had been made in the '50s, when the book was written. The whole contemporary, modern atmosphere does it no favours at all.
It's also bizarre to me that the two women are played by Jessica Alba and Kate Hudson - who are both most well known for starring in mainstream romantic comedies. I understand that Reese Witherspoon and Maggie Gyllenhaal were pencilled in originally. I can understand why they refused - they are both intelligent and fine actresses who I can't imagine would have agreed to star in such submissive roles. Neither of the women in the film are ever shown outside of the bedroom. They exist purely as Lou's sexual slaves. When Lou beats Joyce before making love to her, she enjoys it. Even at the end, after surviving the beating, she still tells him she loves him. The representation of women in this film is abhorrent.
The only good thing about this film is the music - a great hillbilly soundtrack featuring Shame on You by Spade Cooley, which plays during the closing scene. Everything else is utterly forgettable.
Wednesday, 24 November 2010
Saturday night at the movies part III
Right, time to discuss another celluloid favourite. This time I've opted for an American indie film from the late 1980s - Mystery Train. Jim Jarmusch has got to be one of my favourite directors and this in my opinion is his best film. I've watched it about 15 times now. I first saw it years ago late one night on Channel 4, when Channel 4 used to show interesting programmes instead of non stop Big Brother. I dropped into it a quarter of the way through so missed the first part. I then spent months tracking it down in vhs (the days before dvds eh) to no avail. Then one day, quite by chance I happened upon it in my local library. I must have rented it out 6 or 7 times. The librarians must have thought I was a bit nuts keep renting the same film over and over. Anyway when I finally got up to speed with modern life, I bought it on DVD. I've since converted my boyfriend over to its charms. There are many things to love about this film. The music, for starters. Countless Elvis references. Screamin' Jay Hawkins. Joe Strummer (who is so unbelievably sexy in it, its beyond a joke). Steve Buscemi (always a good reason to watch a film). Tom Waits' voice. It's just too much for someone like me. It's like all my favourite things in one film.
So, its basically three stories set around an Elvis-themed motel in Memphis. As the film progresses you see how all the characters are connected. For instance, the first segment follows a Japanese Rockabilly couple, Mitsuko and Jun, on their pilgrimage to America. They check into said hotel and are later seen making love in bed. In the second segment, an Italian woman named Luisa checks into the hotel with an American woman, Dee Dee, and the two hear the Japanese couple making love through the wall. Then, in the third segment, Johnny (Strummer) Charlie (Buscemi) and Will hide in the hotel after shooting a liquor shop owner. You soon realise that Dee Dee is Johnny's estranged wife. When Mitsuko and Jun leave in the morning they hear a gunshot. Later in the film this turns out to be fired by Johnny... and so on and soforth.
Mitsuko and Jun gazing at a statue of Elvis in Memphis
The three stooges, l-r - Johnny (Joe Strummer), Charlie (Steve Buscemi) and Will (Rick Aviles)
As with most films I like, its the details that make this film so special. The Japanese plum that Mitsuko gives to the bellboy in the motel instead of money; the DJ on the radio (voiced by Tom Waits); the many T shirts that Mitsuko has in her suitcase; references to the TV programme Lost in Space; the allusions to Elvis that appear everywhere, he even appears as a ghost at one stage; the way that both versions of the song 'Mystery Train' (Junior Parker's version and Elvis' later one) are played. They are used at the beginning and end of the film as Mitsuko and Jen arrive and leave Memphis by train. So that the song literally becomes the sountrack to their journey by train, as they travel further and further into the enigma that is America.
'Mystery Train' as recorded by Junior Parker in 1953 and later by Elvis in 1955, plays as Mitsuko and Jen travel across America by train.
Screamin' Jay Hawkins as the motel owner and Cinque Lee as the bellboy. The object on the right is the Japanese plum, a gift from Mitsuko as she doesn't understand the custom of tipping hotel staff.
The moment where Elvis appears as a ghost to Luisa.
It's one of those films that has just the right mixture of comedy, drama and sadness. The theme music is very mournful. In the hotel room, Mitsuko lies in bed while Jun looks out the window at Memphis and says how cool it is to be young and in America. There are some very funny moments, but its very subtle humour. Screamin' Jay Hawkins is a revelation as the stern but outlandish hotel manager. In another great scene, Johnny plays pool in a local bar. The regulars call him Elvis because of his quiffed, greased hair much to his annoyance. He turns around to the mostly black clientele and says "I don't call them Sam and Dave do I?" to which one of them replies "hey man, my name is Dave." Such a simple line but such a howler.
Steve Buscemi is on top form here as well. This is an earlier incarnation of his usual hapless, blue collar loser who never seems to have anything go right for him. It's a character he's perfected in other films such as Fargo, The Big Lebowski and Trees Lounge. In terms of predictability its up there with Woody Allen's Jewish neurotic, but much the same as Allen, it always works. In Mystery Train he plays a barber who maintains a tolerable relationship with his brother-in-law Johnny (who he later finds out isn't his brother-in-law as Johnny and Dee Dee aren't married). Johnny reveals this revelation after accidentally shooting Charlie in the foot (the same gunshot Mitsuko and Jun hear as they leave their room). To which Charlie replies: "I don't believe this. You're not even my brother-in-law and now you've f***ing shot me!"
The moment where Johnny shoots Charlie in the foot, while Will looks on in shock.
In a very small, subtle way it's the sort of film that makes you feel glad to be alive. I guess in part because of the details but also just the fact that a movie like this has actually been made. It sounds bizarre but it is such an an intricate, specific film, one which would only have limited appeal to a certain amount of people. Every time I watch it, I just smile inside that it exists.
Ah what the hell, another shot of Strummer for good measure.
So, its basically three stories set around an Elvis-themed motel in Memphis. As the film progresses you see how all the characters are connected. For instance, the first segment follows a Japanese Rockabilly couple, Mitsuko and Jun, on their pilgrimage to America. They check into said hotel and are later seen making love in bed. In the second segment, an Italian woman named Luisa checks into the hotel with an American woman, Dee Dee, and the two hear the Japanese couple making love through the wall. Then, in the third segment, Johnny (Strummer) Charlie (Buscemi) and Will hide in the hotel after shooting a liquor shop owner. You soon realise that Dee Dee is Johnny's estranged wife. When Mitsuko and Jun leave in the morning they hear a gunshot. Later in the film this turns out to be fired by Johnny... and so on and soforth.
The three stooges, l-r - Johnny (Joe Strummer), Charlie (Steve Buscemi) and Will (Rick Aviles)
As with most films I like, its the details that make this film so special. The Japanese plum that Mitsuko gives to the bellboy in the motel instead of money; the DJ on the radio (voiced by Tom Waits); the many T shirts that Mitsuko has in her suitcase; references to the TV programme Lost in Space; the allusions to Elvis that appear everywhere, he even appears as a ghost at one stage; the way that both versions of the song 'Mystery Train' (Junior Parker's version and Elvis' later one) are played. They are used at the beginning and end of the film as Mitsuko and Jen arrive and leave Memphis by train. So that the song literally becomes the sountrack to their journey by train, as they travel further and further into the enigma that is America.
Screamin' Jay Hawkins as the motel owner and Cinque Lee as the bellboy. The object on the right is the Japanese plum, a gift from Mitsuko as she doesn't understand the custom of tipping hotel staff.
The moment where Elvis appears as a ghost to Luisa.
It's one of those films that has just the right mixture of comedy, drama and sadness. The theme music is very mournful. In the hotel room, Mitsuko lies in bed while Jun looks out the window at Memphis and says how cool it is to be young and in America. There are some very funny moments, but its very subtle humour. Screamin' Jay Hawkins is a revelation as the stern but outlandish hotel manager. In another great scene, Johnny plays pool in a local bar. The regulars call him Elvis because of his quiffed, greased hair much to his annoyance. He turns around to the mostly black clientele and says "I don't call them Sam and Dave do I?" to which one of them replies "hey man, my name is Dave." Such a simple line but such a howler.
Steve Buscemi is on top form here as well. This is an earlier incarnation of his usual hapless, blue collar loser who never seems to have anything go right for him. It's a character he's perfected in other films such as Fargo, The Big Lebowski and Trees Lounge. In terms of predictability its up there with Woody Allen's Jewish neurotic, but much the same as Allen, it always works. In Mystery Train he plays a barber who maintains a tolerable relationship with his brother-in-law Johnny (who he later finds out isn't his brother-in-law as Johnny and Dee Dee aren't married). Johnny reveals this revelation after accidentally shooting Charlie in the foot (the same gunshot Mitsuko and Jun hear as they leave their room). To which Charlie replies: "I don't believe this. You're not even my brother-in-law and now you've f***ing shot me!"
In a very small, subtle way it's the sort of film that makes you feel glad to be alive. I guess in part because of the details but also just the fact that a movie like this has actually been made. It sounds bizarre but it is such an an intricate, specific film, one which would only have limited appeal to a certain amount of people. Every time I watch it, I just smile inside that it exists.
Ah what the hell, another shot of Strummer for good measure.
Friday, 19 November 2010
Saturday night at the movies Part II
Ok well it's time to get back to my film blog. I've thought long and hard about which films deserve to be included, I have so many to choose from but I've decided to go for ones that I really do feel are verging on my definition of perfection. So I've chosen a film from my favourite era - the 1950s. Now as you can imagine a lot of my favourites were made in the 1950s so it was hard to choose which one to write about first but I have chosen Niagara. If you've not seen this film, you really should. It's a complete marvel. I only saw it a couple of years ago and it so intrigued me it's now in my top ten list. I've watched it a couple of times since but I don't think it had the same effect on me as when I first saw it. It was made in 1953 by Henry Hathaway. It stars Marilyn Monroe as Rose Loomis and Joseph Cotten as her husband George. It's a sort of Hitchcockian thriller, made before people described things as "Hitchcockian". It is such a strange film with such a bizarre atmosphere that in some ways it feels ahead of its time. But in another way it is completely of the 1950s.
It starts off innocuosly enough, a young, suburban just married couple Ray and Polly Cutler (Max Showalter and a fantastic Jean Peters) turn up at Niagara for their honeymoon only to find another couple (Monroe and Cotten) occupying their cabin. It is clear from the start that things are not what they seem between the Loomis'. Rose is young and glamorous but George appears older and troubled. It is implied that he was in an Army mental hospital. As the film goes on you realise that Rose is having an affair with another man, she is seen with him by Polly on a rain swept bridge overlooking the falls. Polly then becomes intrigued with the Loomis' and after George goes missing, comes to the conclusion that Rose is responsible for his death.
What makes this film such a revelation is Monroe. Everyone, even myself to some extent, never really believed she could act. It's quite energising to watch one of her films and see how fantastic she really was. For me, in Niagara, she's a rebel. As much as Brando and Dean were. Remember, this film came out in '53 - two years before rock 'n' roll fully impacted on American culture. Yet here is Monroe, dressed in a skin tight irridescent bright pink dress, showing just the right amount of cleavage; her bleached blonde hair cut in that famous short style, completely oozing attitude. The world had just come out of the dark days of the 1940s and to some, those years were still a potent memory. And then along strides (or wiggles) Monroe and tears down all that traditionalism and drabness with one killer dress and a smirk of the lips. It is completely phenomenal that she even did it yet alone got away with it. That's what really hits me about this film. It is so modern.
It starts off innocuosly enough, a young, suburban just married couple Ray and Polly Cutler (Max Showalter and a fantastic Jean Peters) turn up at Niagara for their honeymoon only to find another couple (Monroe and Cotten) occupying their cabin. It is clear from the start that things are not what they seem between the Loomis'. Rose is young and glamorous but George appears older and troubled. It is implied that he was in an Army mental hospital. As the film goes on you realise that Rose is having an affair with another man, she is seen with him by Polly on a rain swept bridge overlooking the falls. Polly then becomes intrigued with the Loomis' and after George goes missing, comes to the conclusion that Rose is responsible for his death.
What makes this film such a revelation is Monroe. Everyone, even myself to some extent, never really believed she could act. It's quite energising to watch one of her films and see how fantastic she really was. For me, in Niagara, she's a rebel. As much as Brando and Dean were. Remember, this film came out in '53 - two years before rock 'n' roll fully impacted on American culture. Yet here is Monroe, dressed in a skin tight irridescent bright pink dress, showing just the right amount of cleavage; her bleached blonde hair cut in that famous short style, completely oozing attitude. The world had just come out of the dark days of the 1940s and to some, those years were still a potent memory. And then along strides (or wiggles) Monroe and tears down all that traditionalism and drabness with one killer dress and a smirk of the lips. It is completely phenomenal that she even did it yet alone got away with it. That's what really hits me about this film. It is so modern.
In the above scene, a local "DJ" plays records outside the cabins for couples to dance to. This is when you first notice how wildly different Rose is from everyone else. For instance, Polly, the archetypal girl next door reacts with fear yet curiosity at the sight of Rose. Polly in her sneakers and alice bands is a world away from the exotic, slightly dangerous Rose. The men seem equally scared of her. Monroe in this film is the archetypal male character. George is weak and remote. Ray is jolly yet vacant. Monroe really has the edge in this film, yet she knows when to play down the attitude and play the sweet, innocent girl.
The music is also very strange. There is a bell tower that features in some of the scenes and the sound it produces is ominous, almost sad. It really gives the film an atmosphere. Also the lighting and the shots of Niagara falls itself are outstanding. There are used as a backdrop to a lot of the most highly charged scenes; the dramatic imagery mirroring the tension of the characters.
Anyway I urge you to watch it, if only for Monroe.
Friday, 12 November 2010
The freak shall inherit the earth!
I wanted to post about another of my favourite movies but that will have to wait while I get something else off my chest.
I really do believe that some people were born in the wrong era and I'm pretty sure I'm one of them. It would be untrue to say I can't relate to all aspects of 21st Century Britain. I mean I work full time and my job involves face to face communication with people and although sometimes I do get annoyed, most of the time I think I get on quite well. I get on with my co-workers although I don't really have that much in common with them, aside from a sense of humour which I find can connect you to most people in a reasonably meaningful way. I have never been able to put my finger on what it is that I take such a disliking to about this country until last night.
Me and my fella went to the Jam House in Birmingham last night to see Mike Sanchez. If you've never heard of him he is a rock 'n' roll/boogie woogie pianist/singer/all round entertainer. I've known him for years as my Uncle used to play guitar with him. I've seen him play live countless times. Anyway it was free to get in before 9 so off we toddled, dressed to the nines. Looking back I shouldn't have gone. But it's been a busy week and having checked my bank account yesterday and being pleasantly suprised at my balance I decided we should go. Anyway we got there and a few of our friends started to arrive so all was good. Mike Sanchez wasn't due to come on for a couple of hours so there was a lot of hanging round to be done. Eventually the support act came on. Two blokes, one on piano and one on drums. They started playing sub-boogie woogie, something along the lines of what Jools Holland does (and I hate it when he does it) so immediately my back was up. Then they started doing 'popular' modern stuff like Take That and James Blunt. And then loads of middle aged women started gyrating on the dancefloor holding their handbags. Then the men got up and started 'dad' dancing. Oh, it was horrendous. A few of my friends vacated the room to the downstairs bar to get away from the nightmare. We were all stood in the corner dressed in our 1950s gear that we wear 24/7 and we were getting some strange looks. Girls in mini skirts and stilletos were looking me up and down in my 1940s dress with my curled hair and red lipstick. They made me feel as if I was out of place somehow, I felt like saying "er, this is a rock 'n' roll gig?!" I always worry that people think we've come in fancy dress especially for the gig.
Anyway the night got increasingly difficult for me to cope with. Mike Sanchez was great, don't get me wrong, it wasn't the music, it was the people. Maybe I've wrapped myself in a cocoon for the last 3 years. I only really go to Rockabilly/rock 'n' roll/60s garage/punk/blues (!) nights now. When I have to go to a 'normal' place I start to panic.I stuck it out for as long as I could but then a bunch of studenty types turned up, they probably had names like Harry and Rupert and they just plonked themselves right in front of us and started pratting around, dancing ridiculously and generally taking the piss. I turned to my boyfriend and said "can we go now?" So we left before the second set started. Maybe I'm too sensitive and too closed off from regular culture or something but I just can't stand the sight of blokes in tight stonewash jeans and pinstripe shirts with spikey hair, or girls with orange skin wearing sky high stilettos and belts for skirts. I find it distasteful. And I really don't like it when they hijack something that I enjoy and turn it into a joke.
So having reflected on it this morning I've decided that I'm really very glad to be part of a subculture. And furthermore, a subculture that I'm pretty confident will never be hijacked and watered down for the masses. I've always been into alternative cultures in one way or another. I used to be really into punk, but even that got sold out in the end. But I still am a bit of a punk at heart. That whole rebellious, DIY, make your own way, fuck the establishment vibe I totally understand. I still feel that way it's just that I've gone further back. Anyway, rockabilly to me was the punk music of the 1950s. It was seen as uncouth and immoral. And punk when it first exploded was trying to get away from the turgid, overblown rock opera of the 70s and go back to a more primitive, basic, raw sound. The early recordings of Little Richard and Gene Vincent have that primal rhythm, there's dirt in it and I believe that you should be able to hear grit in music. It was only towards the late 60s and 70s that glossy production values started taking over more and more. Of course there were records in the 50s and early 60s that strived towards perfection but my favourite period for music was the late 40s-early 50s. Althought some of my favourite records were released in the late 50s there's something about the hillbilly/country sounds that were coming out of the south of America that completely hypnotise me. Anyway I have somewhat strayed away from what I was originally saying. What I mean is that I completely identify and support any subculture/scene that strives to set itself apart from the mainstream. Be it punks, goths, metallers, Northern Soul enthusiasts, mods. We get called freaks and weirdos and get strange looks on the street. But who cares? We've been brave enough to reject mainstream culture and embrace something different.
Anyway needless to say I won't be making any future visits to The Jam House again or any similar club aimed at people who pick at different sorts of music and scenes without ever really engaging with any of them. I guess that's the post modern culture we live in now, it's just one big melting pot where one night you go to a rock 'n' roll gig and the next you go to a reggae night and the next karaoke or something. And you respond to each in the same way, by getting pissed and acting like an idiot, and treating the people who are genuinely into it like bizarre out of place freaks who can't possibly just do this full time?? Yes I do as a matter of fact. I've found my thing and I don't feel the need to dip my toes into a hundred other ones, thank you very much. Well that's my two cents. Next blog I'll get back to my films!
I really do believe that some people were born in the wrong era and I'm pretty sure I'm one of them. It would be untrue to say I can't relate to all aspects of 21st Century Britain. I mean I work full time and my job involves face to face communication with people and although sometimes I do get annoyed, most of the time I think I get on quite well. I get on with my co-workers although I don't really have that much in common with them, aside from a sense of humour which I find can connect you to most people in a reasonably meaningful way. I have never been able to put my finger on what it is that I take such a disliking to about this country until last night.
Me and my fella went to the Jam House in Birmingham last night to see Mike Sanchez. If you've never heard of him he is a rock 'n' roll/boogie woogie pianist/singer/all round entertainer. I've known him for years as my Uncle used to play guitar with him. I've seen him play live countless times. Anyway it was free to get in before 9 so off we toddled, dressed to the nines. Looking back I shouldn't have gone. But it's been a busy week and having checked my bank account yesterday and being pleasantly suprised at my balance I decided we should go. Anyway we got there and a few of our friends started to arrive so all was good. Mike Sanchez wasn't due to come on for a couple of hours so there was a lot of hanging round to be done. Eventually the support act came on. Two blokes, one on piano and one on drums. They started playing sub-boogie woogie, something along the lines of what Jools Holland does (and I hate it when he does it) so immediately my back was up. Then they started doing 'popular' modern stuff like Take That and James Blunt. And then loads of middle aged women started gyrating on the dancefloor holding their handbags. Then the men got up and started 'dad' dancing. Oh, it was horrendous. A few of my friends vacated the room to the downstairs bar to get away from the nightmare. We were all stood in the corner dressed in our 1950s gear that we wear 24/7 and we were getting some strange looks. Girls in mini skirts and stilletos were looking me up and down in my 1940s dress with my curled hair and red lipstick. They made me feel as if I was out of place somehow, I felt like saying "er, this is a rock 'n' roll gig?!" I always worry that people think we've come in fancy dress especially for the gig.
Anyway the night got increasingly difficult for me to cope with. Mike Sanchez was great, don't get me wrong, it wasn't the music, it was the people. Maybe I've wrapped myself in a cocoon for the last 3 years. I only really go to Rockabilly/rock 'n' roll/60s garage/punk/blues (!) nights now. When I have to go to a 'normal' place I start to panic.I stuck it out for as long as I could but then a bunch of studenty types turned up, they probably had names like Harry and Rupert and they just plonked themselves right in front of us and started pratting around, dancing ridiculously and generally taking the piss. I turned to my boyfriend and said "can we go now?" So we left before the second set started. Maybe I'm too sensitive and too closed off from regular culture or something but I just can't stand the sight of blokes in tight stonewash jeans and pinstripe shirts with spikey hair, or girls with orange skin wearing sky high stilettos and belts for skirts. I find it distasteful. And I really don't like it when they hijack something that I enjoy and turn it into a joke.
So having reflected on it this morning I've decided that I'm really very glad to be part of a subculture. And furthermore, a subculture that I'm pretty confident will never be hijacked and watered down for the masses. I've always been into alternative cultures in one way or another. I used to be really into punk, but even that got sold out in the end. But I still am a bit of a punk at heart. That whole rebellious, DIY, make your own way, fuck the establishment vibe I totally understand. I still feel that way it's just that I've gone further back. Anyway, rockabilly to me was the punk music of the 1950s. It was seen as uncouth and immoral. And punk when it first exploded was trying to get away from the turgid, overblown rock opera of the 70s and go back to a more primitive, basic, raw sound. The early recordings of Little Richard and Gene Vincent have that primal rhythm, there's dirt in it and I believe that you should be able to hear grit in music. It was only towards the late 60s and 70s that glossy production values started taking over more and more. Of course there were records in the 50s and early 60s that strived towards perfection but my favourite period for music was the late 40s-early 50s. Althought some of my favourite records were released in the late 50s there's something about the hillbilly/country sounds that were coming out of the south of America that completely hypnotise me. Anyway I have somewhat strayed away from what I was originally saying. What I mean is that I completely identify and support any subculture/scene that strives to set itself apart from the mainstream. Be it punks, goths, metallers, Northern Soul enthusiasts, mods. We get called freaks and weirdos and get strange looks on the street. But who cares? We've been brave enough to reject mainstream culture and embrace something different.
Anyway needless to say I won't be making any future visits to The Jam House again or any similar club aimed at people who pick at different sorts of music and scenes without ever really engaging with any of them. I guess that's the post modern culture we live in now, it's just one big melting pot where one night you go to a rock 'n' roll gig and the next you go to a reggae night and the next karaoke or something. And you respond to each in the same way, by getting pissed and acting like an idiot, and treating the people who are genuinely into it like bizarre out of place freaks who can't possibly just do this full time?? Yes I do as a matter of fact. I've found my thing and I don't feel the need to dip my toes into a hundred other ones, thank you very much. Well that's my two cents. Next blog I'll get back to my films!
Tuesday, 9 November 2010
Saturday night at the movies...
So I thought I would do a few posts on some of my most loved films. I have eclectic tastes although most of my favourites are 1940s-50s film noir classics or American indie films. There are some genres I stray into now and then but I must say, as with most things, I am a bit of a snob when it comes to films. I can't imagine anything worse than having to sit through two hours of what passes as a "teen comedy" these days or one of those equally mind numbing CGI catastrophes that seem to clog the cinemas up and down the country. I hate most remakes as they are invariably not a patch on the originals (there are a few exceptions) and to me, it's just lazy filmmaking. It's as if the screenwriters and directors can't be bothered to write something original so lets just repackage something else, only with more money and effects thrown at it. Personally I prefer the originals; naiveity and crude charm will always win over expensive, flash production values for me. Star Wars is a perfect example of this. The original films were so simple and memorable. The newer ones are completely forgettable.
Anyway enough bemoaning the lack of originality in 21st century Hollywood, I want to talk about one of my favourite films ever: The Godfather. An obvious choice perhaps but, despite what I mentioned earlier, sometimes things that appear over hyped and over promoted do actually stand up to scrutiny. The Godfather is one such film. I watched it again over the weekend, must be my 10th viewing by now, maybe more. It was released in 1972 and has now become part of a canon of great American films that were made during this era; many by up and coming directors like Coppola himself, Scorsese, de Palma.. It might just be me, but films seemed more gritty back then. They were about something and had a story to tell. The characters were real and vulnerable. The Godfather is a great example of this kind of filmmaking. The great thing about The Godfather is that although Brando is billed as the top actor, it is in fact, a well executed ensemble piece. Even the lesser characters like Clemenza are knocking boots with the headline cast. Anyway, Brando is hardly in the film. After he gets shot in the first quarter, his character takes a backseat to Pacino's Michael: college boy-turned war hero-turned blood thirsty mafioso. In spite of what I've just said, at its core it really is Pacino's film through and through. The transition from innocent outsider to ruthless mob boss is as close to thespian perfection as you will ever get on celluloid. It is completely Shakesperean and I'm sure that there were political issues on Coppola's agenda. The allusions to power and the corrupting nature of power must have been informed by events that had taken place in America during the late 60s and early 70s. There is something in the way Michael's eyes change as the film progresses that is both repulsive yet hypnotising. At the beginning of the film he is young; a handsome would be all-American hero with sparkling eyes, bathed in sunlight at his sister's wedding. By the end of the film, his skin is sallow and his eyes are dead; as if they have sunken into his face. He is totally expressionless. It's almost as if he has been taken over by a virus that has consumed him completely.
In terms of memorable scenes, they don't come much better than The Godfather. Classic, almost stereotypical shoot outs down dark alleyways in the Bronx vie with romantic landscapes in Sicily; wheeling and dealing in Las Vegas casinos battle with warm, cosy domestic interiors. The dialogue is visceral and believeable. It is a vivid and highly effective combination of mafiosi slang and Shakespearean tragedy (sorry to keep using that ridiculous word). The difference between the characters way with words is what keeps the film energetic and exciting. Don Corleone is thoughtful, reflective, philosophizing. His eldest son, Sonny, in contrast is brash and outspoken; a privileged hoodlum. It is these opposing characteristics that make The Godfather so compelling to watch. My only problem is the representation of the female characters. They only seem to be there to serve the men. If they so much as speak, they are told to "shut up" or "don't ask me about my business". Even Kay, Michael's wife, is consigned to the kitchen while the men discuss business. Her weakness is evident at the end of the film when Michael lies to her about Carlo's death. She believes him whole heartedly, showing her complete subservience to her husband's power and dominance.Earlier in the film he tells her that the Corleone family will be completely legitimite in five years time. He lies to her to gain her trust so she will marry him and provide him with sons. Even Connie, after learning her husband's death was at Michael's hands, falls into his arms in tears. I guess, in defence of Coppola, he was just showing how mafiosi women were/are generally treated. Anyway, in the 1940s and 50s when the film is set, most women were treated as second class citizens fit only to marry and have children. Don Corleone's wife barely has a speaking role, she probably says three words in the whole film.
It's hard to choose but some of my favourite scenes are when Sonny beats the crap out of Carlo for beating Connie up - "you touch my sister again I'll kill you". There is something strangely romantic about this kind of behaviour. There is a similar scene in Goodfellas, when Karen has been attacked by a neighbour. Henry leaves her in the car and smashes one of the guy's face with his gun. When he comes back to Karen, her voiceover says "I gotta admit, it turned me on". The scene where Michael kills Sollozzo and Mccluskey must rank as one of the most suspenseful in movie history. You can see the turmoil in his eyes, the battling over whether to go through with it or not. The scene in the Las Vegas casino when Moe Greene refuses to play ball with the Corleones. Fredo mistakingly defends Greene much to Michael's disdain. After Greene leaves the room, Michael tells Fredo in sinister fashion " don't ever take sides with anyone against the family again. Ever." This mirrors an earlier scene where the Don berates Sonny for speaking his mind at a meeting with Sollozzo - "don't ever tell anyone outside the family what you're thinking again". It's as if the roles have been reversed: Michael treats Fredo as his son, despite the fact that Fredo is older than Michael.
The final piece where Michael denounces Satan at Connie and Carlo's babys christening while murders are carried out on his word is a scene of almost Biblical proportions.
I could watch this film over and over again and never tire of it. Every time I watch it I see something new in it. It's themes are universal and it even has moments of humour amid the blood and guts, best typified by the line: "Leave the gun, take the cannoli"
Anyway enough bemoaning the lack of originality in 21st century Hollywood, I want to talk about one of my favourite films ever: The Godfather. An obvious choice perhaps but, despite what I mentioned earlier, sometimes things that appear over hyped and over promoted do actually stand up to scrutiny. The Godfather is one such film. I watched it again over the weekend, must be my 10th viewing by now, maybe more. It was released in 1972 and has now become part of a canon of great American films that were made during this era; many by up and coming directors like Coppola himself, Scorsese, de Palma.. It might just be me, but films seemed more gritty back then. They were about something and had a story to tell. The characters were real and vulnerable. The Godfather is a great example of this kind of filmmaking. The great thing about The Godfather is that although Brando is billed as the top actor, it is in fact, a well executed ensemble piece. Even the lesser characters like Clemenza are knocking boots with the headline cast. Anyway, Brando is hardly in the film. After he gets shot in the first quarter, his character takes a backseat to Pacino's Michael: college boy-turned war hero-turned blood thirsty mafioso. In spite of what I've just said, at its core it really is Pacino's film through and through. The transition from innocent outsider to ruthless mob boss is as close to thespian perfection as you will ever get on celluloid. It is completely Shakesperean and I'm sure that there were political issues on Coppola's agenda. The allusions to power and the corrupting nature of power must have been informed by events that had taken place in America during the late 60s and early 70s. There is something in the way Michael's eyes change as the film progresses that is both repulsive yet hypnotising. At the beginning of the film he is young; a handsome would be all-American hero with sparkling eyes, bathed in sunlight at his sister's wedding. By the end of the film, his skin is sallow and his eyes are dead; as if they have sunken into his face. He is totally expressionless. It's almost as if he has been taken over by a virus that has consumed him completely.
In terms of memorable scenes, they don't come much better than The Godfather. Classic, almost stereotypical shoot outs down dark alleyways in the Bronx vie with romantic landscapes in Sicily; wheeling and dealing in Las Vegas casinos battle with warm, cosy domestic interiors. The dialogue is visceral and believeable. It is a vivid and highly effective combination of mafiosi slang and Shakespearean tragedy (sorry to keep using that ridiculous word). The difference between the characters way with words is what keeps the film energetic and exciting. Don Corleone is thoughtful, reflective, philosophizing. His eldest son, Sonny, in contrast is brash and outspoken; a privileged hoodlum. It is these opposing characteristics that make The Godfather so compelling to watch. My only problem is the representation of the female characters. They only seem to be there to serve the men. If they so much as speak, they are told to "shut up" or "don't ask me about my business". Even Kay, Michael's wife, is consigned to the kitchen while the men discuss business. Her weakness is evident at the end of the film when Michael lies to her about Carlo's death. She believes him whole heartedly, showing her complete subservience to her husband's power and dominance.Earlier in the film he tells her that the Corleone family will be completely legitimite in five years time. He lies to her to gain her trust so she will marry him and provide him with sons. Even Connie, after learning her husband's death was at Michael's hands, falls into his arms in tears. I guess, in defence of Coppola, he was just showing how mafiosi women were/are generally treated. Anyway, in the 1940s and 50s when the film is set, most women were treated as second class citizens fit only to marry and have children. Don Corleone's wife barely has a speaking role, she probably says three words in the whole film.
It's hard to choose but some of my favourite scenes are when Sonny beats the crap out of Carlo for beating Connie up - "you touch my sister again I'll kill you". There is something strangely romantic about this kind of behaviour. There is a similar scene in Goodfellas, when Karen has been attacked by a neighbour. Henry leaves her in the car and smashes one of the guy's face with his gun. When he comes back to Karen, her voiceover says "I gotta admit, it turned me on". The scene where Michael kills Sollozzo and Mccluskey must rank as one of the most suspenseful in movie history. You can see the turmoil in his eyes, the battling over whether to go through with it or not. The scene in the Las Vegas casino when Moe Greene refuses to play ball with the Corleones. Fredo mistakingly defends Greene much to Michael's disdain. After Greene leaves the room, Michael tells Fredo in sinister fashion " don't ever take sides with anyone against the family again. Ever." This mirrors an earlier scene where the Don berates Sonny for speaking his mind at a meeting with Sollozzo - "don't ever tell anyone outside the family what you're thinking again". It's as if the roles have been reversed: Michael treats Fredo as his son, despite the fact that Fredo is older than Michael.
The final piece where Michael denounces Satan at Connie and Carlo's babys christening while murders are carried out on his word is a scene of almost Biblical proportions.
I could watch this film over and over again and never tire of it. Every time I watch it I see something new in it. It's themes are universal and it even has moments of humour amid the blood and guts, best typified by the line: "Leave the gun, take the cannoli"
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