The Best Films of 2007. Can't fix HTML.

Taking all of the films I've seen at the cinema in 2007 together, I've spent over 8 days straight sitting in a dark room with strangers, looking at a screen.
So let's find out what was the best.
Note: by '2007', I mean anything put on general release in the UK this year, and by 'best', I mean favourite. Also, I haven't yet seen The Lives of Others.

In reverse order:

Michael Clayton - In which George Clooney once again proves that he's the best thing to happen to Hollywood since The Monkees. Writer-director Tony Gilroy takes a scenario that might come from one of the Bourne films (which he wrote), and places it in a much more familiar universe, populated by characters suffocating under a deadening corporate presence. The cast are excellent - Tom Wilkinson desperate and haywire, Tilda Swinton almost unwillingly ruthless - and the minimalist score by James Newton Howard doesn't let you forget that even people talking can be thrilling. Throughout the film, Clooney's Clayton is worn down more and more by all kinds of guilt, physically sagging and not once cracking a smile until the hackneyed, uncomfortably snug ending. Surprisingly watchable stuff.

The Science of Sleep – Following up his massively accomplished Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Michel Gondry delivered this surreal autobiographical tale of unrequited love. Initially, I was distracted by how the film suffers in comparison to Eternal Sunshine without Charlie Kaufman’s exquisite writing. Indeed, the writing isn’t as well characterised as Kaufman’s, but this lends the film a sense of liberation rarely seen in the mainstream. Gondry mixes his trademark lo-fi manipulation of the mise-en-scène with the freewheeling, character driven traditions of new wave cinema. It’s chaotic, absurdly tragic, desperately serious and over-crammed with ideas. As such, it captures reality more accurately than 95% of films.

The Bourne Ultimatum - Spider-man, Pirates, Rush Hour, Ocean's - too many trilogies lost their way this year. Paul Greengrass apparently saw this coming when he watched The Bourne Identity. He saw a lot of potential, and so gave us a taster in The Bourne Supremacy. We were excited. Then, he unleashed all of that potential by taking exactly what made the other films so good, and making it bigger, faster and more punchy. Starting with a probably-legendary chase in Waterloo Station, the film briskly whips all around the globe, to an enthralling, unforgettable action scene in Tangiers. This is proper action, without gimmicks or fighter jets, that moves so fast, you should really wear a helmet.

Bridge to Terabithia – There were so many reasons this film shouldn’t have worked. It’s a Disney film, but Pixar aren’t involved. The protagonists are kids, but they’re not saying anything rude or ironic. Robert Patrick is in it, but he’s not kicking any ass. Worst of all, it was marketed as The Chronicles of Narnia: Even more lame this time. Luckily, director and Rugrats co-creator Gapor Csupo handles it with remarkable sensitivity and vitality. Like with Rugrats, Csupo displays a remarkable ability to reflect the worldview of children, and explores the subject matter with a surprisingly hefty emotional punch. The most grown-up kids’ film of the year.

The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford – Two successful westerns were released this year, which got some people hopeful for a genre revival. The first, 3:10 to Yuma, was a rollicking, guns-n-horses tale of fatherly love and redemption. The second, Jesse James, is almost the polar opposite – a grim, weighty and subtly tense tragedy. Brad Pitt gives the best performance of his life as James, who he portrays as a paranoid psychopath who is struggling to live with his own myth. The scenes between him and Casey Affleck as Ford are alive with nervous energy, the ominous and inevitable threat always present. Everything is shot through glass; truths are distorted, features are exaggerated to the point of burden and America is a melancholy wasteland healing from a terrible war. Yuma was received more readily, with some critics complaining that Jesse James is ‘just too long and too slow’. Stupid, stupid, stupid critics.

Atonement – This blew apart all of my prejudices against English period dramas. Passionate as a romance, devastating as a war film, enthralling as a thriller and authentic as a period piece. Not a frame is wasted; every part of the film feels entirely complete, and utterly polished. Director Joe Wright perfectly paces the shifting, deceptive tone of the plot, and brings to life the vital issues within it, Seamus McGarvey provides some of the best cinematography of the best ten years, and James McAvoy reminds us why Shameless isn’t very good anymore – because he’s not in it. Made with intrigue, beauty and a fierce passion, this is everything I thought this kind of film wasn’t.

This is England - I wasn't alive in the early 80s. I've never hung out on a council estate in Nottingham. My only interaction with skinhead culture is avoiding eye contact. But even with all that I just know that This is England captured all of those things very authentically. Shane Meadow's knowledge and love for his subject is felt in every shot, from the detail of the ska-punk culture as embraced by the characters to the actors' hugely naturalistic banter. The first act of the film is the most joyfully satisfying of the year, meaning that of course the final act is the most tragic and miserable. 11-year-old Thomas Turgoose gained much of the critics' attention, but the rest of the cast are just as impressive. Stephen Graham, he of Snatch fame, portrays the scary thug Combo with a raw sensitivity, a living embodiment of all the contradictions of skinhead culture.

Goodbye Brokeback...

Pirated trailer online.
First six minutes before IMAX 'I Am Legend' screenings.
Heath Ledger finally giving The Joker worthy treatment.
People, this will rock. Hard.

Day Off

Let's establish one thing first of all: I love Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials. Out of the ever-decreasing memories of my childhood, reading those books stays firm and strong. If the Lord of the Rings films were my generation's Star Wars, then His Dark Materials are my generation's Lord of the Rings books. Which would make the His Dark Materials films the next generation's - never mind. The point is, I was always cautious approaching the film adaptation, The Golden Compass. Especially when I found out that New Line Cinema had forced the filmmakers to tone down the overtly atheist themes of the book. Ultimately, though, I just decided that the film was never going to do justice to the books anyway, or at least my memory of them, so went in blind. The result is a pretty firm 'all right'. The dæmons are incoporated well into the visuals, with some obvious but pretty CGI. Also, when Lyra is shown a bustling, retro-futuristic city (more CGI), it's a steampunk wonderland. I totally believed in this universe, I just didn't care about it very much. As with that other fantasy literary franchise, Harry Potter, the films can't fit in all the of the book's complex ideas without wandering out of family-friendly running times. This means that sub-plots are only glimpsed, histories are only suggested and the excellent supporting cast (Eva Green, Daniel Craig, Sam Elliot) are given around ten lines between them.

Still, the fast pace keeps things entertaining, and means that the filmmakers have to find more original ways to introduce Pullman's ker-azy ideas. As for the God business, the film is, if not anti-religion then certainly anti-religious authority; an idea that should have been explored further. But, as with the books, the sub-text will always make you insist that it's not aimed purely at children, and the distributors won't listen. Although the film didn't really stay with me once it ended, there's one thing I learned: polar bears are awesome. Seriously, if I had a talking polar bear to kick ass and take names then just about all of my problems would be over.



From a gun emplacement on the coast of Santa Monica, Justin Timberlake gives a brief alternate history (and future) of the United States government. He then flicks through a bible and focuses his huge rifle on the beach, before informing us that he's about to tell the story of 'the way the world ends'. And so begins Southland Tales, the new film from Richard 'Donnie Darko' Kelly, and the second half of a saga started in graphic novel form. As far as ambition is concerned, it's up there with the Big Bang. Take a deep breath, here's the basic premise: it's 2008, and the Republican government control the internet while engaging in World War 3. Boxer Santaros, a movie star with amnesia, has written a film-within-the-film with porn star-turned-entrepeneur, Krysta Now, which fortells the end of the world. In order to research his role, Boxer is following police officer Ronald Taverner (who is actually working for a Neo-Marxist cell, posing as his twin brother Roland). Meanwhile, Boxer's mother-in-law watches everything through surveillance-within-surveillance that seems to encompass everything. Oh, and there's an eccentric billionaire who has created a way to remotely power everything on earth from a machine that harnesses the ocean's waves.

Kelly seems to be attempting to set himself up as a new David Lynch, one who's hip to the jazz. Nothing feels real, probably in an attempt to emphasis the act of watching, which in turn highlights the prominent theme of surveillance and information streaming. The only thing to really save the film from being completely self-involved is the heavy presence of references - to the Bible, to pop culture, to Donnie Darko, and to itself. But if Donnie Darko's weirdness was off-set by the genuine human drama, the oddball characters in Southland Tales only serve to feed the many layers of strangeness (especially when the cast is comprised of a series of jokey cameos). This film is fascinated with itself - and that's not entirely a bad thing, it makes you want to know what all the fuss is about. Although it's very messy, and much of the humour falls flat, I have to salute Southland Tales for sheer gall and originality. Any film that explores an apocalypse that isn't caused by asteroids or maniacal villains is all right by me.

Things to come

Saw this on Wired News and liked it.


I'm not sure if Blade Runner is more dystopian than A Clockwork Orange, but it's the most interesting graph I've seen in a while. I think with the current "we're-actually-all-living-on-a-dying-planet" thing, dystopias are getting more and more relevant. It's probably worth pointing out that numbers 5, 6 and 8 aren't set in the future at all, proving that, if not more popular, it's at least more fun and interesting to show how the future is going to be terrible.

As Robert Downey Jr. says in A Scanner Darkly (another grim dystopia), "This is a world getting progessively worse - can we not agree on that?" Well, apparently not, if people still believe in a utopian future. My dad once told me that in his more optimistic moods he thinks in the future we'll look back on this period as a dark time when we killed everything unecessarily and did everything wrong. I think the truth is more like we'll look back on this period as a time when we could breath the air outside and we weren't enslaved by robots.

Earth-as-utopia is actually pretty hard to imagine now, unless it's some sort of false utopia where the government keeps the masses under control through a mix of mindless television and consumerism, and apathy is promoted while acting out of step with ordinary society is thoroughly discouraged and suspected. Corporations, meanwhile, have more power than anyone, with gainful independent activities all but destroyed.

...Where do we come on that graph?

Top 3 ways to write a post

Although I’d like this to be a blog that isn’t all about lists, I’m just really really lazy. So, continuing with my short attention span theme and salvaged then re-jigged from a very old LiveJournal entry, I present my movie manlists.

TOP 7 SHOOTOUTS

7. Heat – The heist goes wrong
6. The Kingdom – The rescue
5. The Killer – The ridiculous business in the church
4. The Untouchables - The train station
3. Collateral – Fever nightclub
2. Léon – “EVERYONE!”
1. Hard-Boiled - The hospital

TOP 7 CHASE SCENES

7. The Bourne Supremacy – More like Mosc-wow
6. Belleville Rendez-vous - Streets of Belleville
5. King Kong – The problem with big dinosaurs
4. The Incredibles - Dash vs. The Henchmen
3. The Blues Brothers - The Brothers vs. Chicago
2. Ong-Bak - Streets of Bangkok
1. The Wrong Trousers - The train set

TOP 7 FIGHTS

7. Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon – “Not as sisters, not as friends.”
6. Spider-Man 2 - The train fight
5. OldBoy – Hammer & Throng
4. The Bourne Ultimatum – He flew in through the bathroom window
3. The Princess Bride – “You seem a decent fellow. I hate to kill you.”
2. Hero - The chess house
1. Kill Bill vol. 1 - Showdown at the house of blue leaves

I say wang three times in this one

David Cronenberg's latest, Eastern Promises, was released recently. A London-based thriller centred around the Russian crime underworld, it's not great. Fairly restrained and tepid compared to much of Cronenberg's powerful previous work. However, there is one much-discussed scene which really shines and sticks in the memory. It occurs when the driver for a Russian crime family (Viggo Mortensen) has to fend off two thugs who want him dead for revenge of their brother's murder. The thugs, heavily dressed in black and wielding knives, attack Mortensen in a bath house, when he is entirely naked apart from a puzzle of tattoos covering his body. It's a powerful, brutal, heart-pounding scene that has drawn attention no so much for the violence but for the rare inclusion of a wang.
When the scene was over, the film slipped back into its plodding plotlines - and got me thinking about awesome scenes in average films. Snatch, for example, is a deeply irritating and often embarassing film. However, I have seen it more times than I would like to admit, because of the boxing scene that acts as the film's climax. It's fiercely edited and mixed, coming off somewhere in between a rave and a Guiness advert. You'd expect from this that Guy Ritchie would be a dab hand at short films and adverts, but his awful, awful, awful BMW film got rid of this suspicion promptly.
It's something Tarantino seems to warming to as his budgets get bigger - whereas Pulp Fiction strung together a series of unrelated but well-crafted vignettes, his latest efforts seem to be defined by their high points. Kill Bill Volume 1 was really only exceptional for the showdown at the house of blue leaves, which provided the kind of excitement whose absence from Kill Bill Volume 2 might explain why it was such a chore. Death Proof took this even further - almost every review read something like "Not very good, but with a worthwhile car chase at the end". Unfortunately the effect is dampened somewhat by the preceding two hours of dull arrogance, so this is definitely a scene that's better when standing alone.
All the scenes I've mentioned so far have been action scenes - well, that's because they generally kick-start a slow, monotonous plot, or gives you a reason to care about the characters. Action films themselves are prime for YouTube scene grabbing, with the majority of big set-pieces readily available for out-of-context picking, the narrative not causing any concern. In fact, most action scenes are remembered as a string of punchy scenes all packed together, with any talky bits acting as filler. This can be done very well (the central hour of King Kong was a dialogue-free marathon of one-upmanship) or very badly (Shoot 'Em Up was like that bit in The Office where Gareth grabs the big inflatable wang, about to make a joke, then realises he was too excited to think of anything and puts it back).
Anyway, I haven't really figured out a point to this post yet, apart from bad films often feature awesome scenes and Tarantino should shut up. I think it's just YouTube, forcing me to note down nice bits in a film so that I can re-watch them later. Luckily, YouTube doesn't work on my new laptop, so maybe someday I'll get back to watching films in their entirety. Or maybe I just love a good action film. Wang.

:-(

A Fistful of Promos

Music videos are generally at the cutting edge of technology, innovative technique and creative freedom. Hooray for that.
Here are some of my favourites.

Us - Regina Spektor
Dir. Adria Petty
Regina Spektor's first music video is intially notable for its use of stop-motion animation, with objects whizzing around and filling up an empty room. However, it's the overall editing that really takes over - lines of the song are compiled from frozen images of Spektor, suddenly spliced with her singing. In this way, Spektor herself is turned into a stop motion puppet, and the effect is to perfectly capture the spirited yet elegant tone of the song. Also worth noting is the cinematography; in a Sgt. Pepper-esque paper room of icons, the camera sways so close to Spektor that her eyes are in focus but her nose isn't. The framing is both playful and compelling; her face is always just out of shot, as if both she and the camera can't help but move to the song.

Sugar Water - Cibo Matto
Dir. Michel Gondry
No list would be complete without something from Michel 'Wait, what? Do that again.' Gondry. Okay, bear with me: the screen is split up into two halves, with each half following one of the band's two frontwomen in single takes. One half is playing in reverse, and vertically inverted, so one of the women getting up from bed parallels the other going to sleep. Then they meet halfway, and the focus is switched. Then you realise that the two shots are in fact the same shot. I have to admit, it took me a while to work out what was going on. Gondry's trademark visual trickery is at its strongest here, constantly flipping everything on its head while including the smallest of details. Colour, movement, people, mood and sound combined to create an unusual and slightly eerie tone.

War Photographer - Jason Forrest
Dir. Joel Trussell
There's a moment in School of Rock when Jack Black's character, after a guitar solo, says "Dude, is my face okay? I think you melted it off." That's what I would have said to Joel Trussell were he sitting next to me the first time I saw this. Combining Vikings, pirates, robots, marching bands, guitar battles, rum and a whole lot of stickittothemaniosis, this video rocks, and it rocks hard. Reminiscent of the bold, reference-heavy animation of Genndy Tartakovsky, it's edited with a perfect comic timing and just makes you go "yeah!", or something of that kidney. As it happens, when I first saw this I was sitting next to a big man who looked like he didn't want to be disturbed, particularly with the status of my face.

Imitation of Life - R.E.M.
Dir. Garth Jennings
Many music videos are praised for having been shot in a single take, that spans 3 or 4 minutes without a cut (see Sugar Water). Well, what about a music video shot in a single take that spans 20 seconds without a cut? That’s exactly how long this video took to film; one wide, elaborate shot of a pool party, which is then played backwards and forwards while focussing on the various guests’ relationships. Like much of R.E.M.’s work, it’s both celebratory and tragic – a party where a lot is going wrong, but you don’t realise until you look closer.

Da Funk - Daft Punk
Dir. Spike Jonze
In which a crutch-bearing, ghetto-blasting, man-sized dog wanders through the 'Big City', and comes a cropper of its fast-paced, unfriendly tone. Jonze makes the music entirely diegetic, even drowning it out with constant dialogue and raucous city ambience. We never learn why Charles' leg is in a cast, or why he is a talking dog for that matter, but what prevails is an authentic sense of urban isolation. The prosaic, naturalistic dialogue off-sets the obscure scenario, so that we're drawn into the characters just as much as the music. In fact, once it's over, you'll have the song in your head but probably won't remember hearing it at all.

This was fun. Tell me your favourites.

My Teenage Geek Out

A number of years ago, I made an active decision to ‘get into film’. I don’t remember when or where it happened, but at some point I must have definitely decided that that was going to be my ‘thing’. I had the basic induction – to extensively watch Tarantino, Burton and Scorsese, the fun auteurs. Following that was a dive into new Asian cinema – the new wave du jour, meaning that I could understand the most talked about cinema of my generation. This had a kind of ‘I-was-there’ quality to it, a sound investment in my future conversations.

Then came focusing on building my knowledge of ‘proper’ cinema: intellectual directors who were established as worthy of debate. The way I saw it, if I managed to experience ‘real’ directors first, it would give me a head start in other aspects of investigation. Of course, I found my favourites: Kurosawa, Keaton, Kubrick, Kar-Wai… somehow, filmmakers with names beginning with ‘K’ helped validate me as a film fan. This tactic definitely paid off; after tasting films from different places and periods, I quickly became used to judging each film not only as an individual but also in a cinematic context – understanding that each one was part of a whole. What it didn’t do, however, was expose me to much in the way of science fiction. It had no place in what many critics regarded the cinema worth watching.

Eventually I took an increasing interest in genre – the most rigid surviving classification of cinema, and an extension of the ‘individual as part of a whole’ viewpoint. It’s almost impossible for a film to entirely escape genre classification, and when it does it somehow doesn’t sit well with the critics, who generally label it as ‘confused’ or ‘inconsistent’. It’s a prejudice that is used by everyone; I still feel anxious approaching any ‘romantic psychological thriller with horror elements’. This year, Danny Boyle’s latest film, Sunshine, most definitely a sci-fi, was released. For some reason, I got very excited. Why? I’ve never really loved Danny Boyle, and I thought Alex Garland’s other screenplay, 28 Days Later, was a bit rubbish. Then I read an interview with Boyle, where he described what attracted him to the project: “What a great starting point: eight astronauts strapped to the back of this massive bomb, behind a shield, flying towards the sun.” Oh yeah.

The idea was just so cool. Not just any cool, but that special kind of light sabre, flying machines, bicycle-over-the-moon cool. In other words…sci-fi cool. And I loved it. Good lord. In my rush to understand the cinema elite, I had neglected my dormant love for all things shiny and bleepy. I couldn’t get enough. I went back to all the films I had seen and disregarded – Blade Runner, Total Recall, Alien, 2001, Children of Men, Brazil – with renewed interest. There was just something there, something about these films that could attract me like no other genre. It’s not just film, however – sci-fi has even extended into my literary tastes. I’ve indulged in sci-fi both soft (Ray Bradbury, Kurt Vonnegut) and hard (Arthur C. Clarke, Stanislaw Lem) and devoured them all. I’ve even been reading actual science. With actual facts.

I should have seen it coming, really. Many of my favourite TV shows – Spaced, Cowboy Bebop, Firefly, The Powerpuff Girls – owed more to sci-fi than anything. Somehow it seemed more acceptable in the television format, due to the medium’s reputation as more accommodating to geeky cults. Also, the episodic format allowed for extensive exploration of far-out ideas, which tend to dominate quality television anyway.

My hunger shows no signs of abating; if anything, it’s getting stronger. I think I’m getting closer to pinning down what attracts me to sci-fi so strongly. Particularly, I’m fascinated by depictions of the future, partly for the social and political implications and partly for the cool and/or retro-futuristic visual styling. The side effect of this has been a growing interest in urban spaces, technology and space. Of course, film is still my ‘thing’ so my brain can’t handle incredibly complex theories surrounding these things. But I’m trying. Whatever happens, there’s one thing I’ve learned from all of this - I’ve been a sci-fi fan my entire life, and never realised before this year.

Fight for Your Right

Wandering through Wikipedia, I came across the surprising discovery that one of the 'video nasties' is still banned in the UK.

Fight for Your Life, "The least politcally correct film ever seen", apparently features rape, infanticide and constant racial abuse. This is surprising because, despite the UK's rocky past of censorship, I assumed that all of the video nasties (including cult hits such as The Evil Dead and The Driller Killer) had since been made available, and that the attitudes against them more or less died along with Mary Whitehouse.

However, 13 of the 74 films are still outright banned in England. Even more surprising, Fight for Your Life has been released in a remastered DVD package in America. From the press it receieved, it doesn't sound like the kind of legend that The Evil Dead became, but the difference across the Atlanatic is shocking. That said, American censorship is a bit weird. Kung Fu Hustle was rated the same as The Passion of the Christ. Yeah. What?

Perhaps most interesting is the film Visions of Ecstasy - still banned in the UK, due to blasphemy. Blasphemy? Italy's censorship board has a member from the Roman Catholic Church and they're still more lenient than that. The option to cut offensive scenes from Visions of Ecstasy didn't exist, as the film is only 19 minutes long and they would have been deleting half of the film.

Compared to many countries, UK censorship is (as we would expect) pretty good. Nothing has been banned on a purely political basis; many other countries still can't see Farenheit 9/11 or The Da Vinci Code. Of course, Malaysia banned Babe: Pig in the City, so some people are just unlucky. This is why it's so surprising that there's a film banned due to such a traditionalist reason as blasphemy. It raises questions over our national identity (if there is one); are we still so conservative to place religious views above political ones? This, in turn, questions the need for censorship at all. What exactly is the role of art if artists can't portray and suggest exactly what they'd like? Doesn't that make the film industry just another way in which the government can control the masses?
...Is that what it already is?

Nuggets

• An extra for Indiana Jones 4 casually revealed top-secret plot details in a local newspaper interview.
  

• The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford looks to be one of the best films of the year, and it might just restore my faith in Brad Pitt. Who, incidentally, I dreamt was my best friend.

• Early (though limited) press for Neil 'Dog Soldiers/The Descent’ Marshall’s latest, Doomsday, is negative, threatening my hopes for a Malcolm McDowell revival.
  

• McDowell is also in Rob Zombie’s remake of Halloween. Just…just forget it.
  

• George Romero’s latest in the Living Dead saga, however, looks very, very interesting. Diary of the Dead will be set on the same night as Night of the Living Dead, with a group of students making a horror film in the woods when they are attacked by zombies. The production is independent, as opposed to the glossy studio thrills of Land of the Dead, but The Weinstein Company have bought the rights and guaranteed a wide release.

• Four major sequences in the increasingly awesome-looking The Dark Knight have been shot in IMAX format, with director Christopher Nolan really pushing the possibilities of shooting entire mainstream feature films that way.
  

• Terrence Malick’s favourite film of the last 10 years is Zoolander. Excellent.

Dead yampy, but he baint 'alf bostin'

Mark Locke is a local filmmaker probably best known for his promos for Birmingham band Misty's Big Adventure and cult New York act Jeffrey Lewis. Locke has also made a string of shorts, and a feature film called Crust, about a 7-foot shrimp boxer. That's a 7-foot shrimp that boxes, not a boxer who fights 7-foot shrimp. Although I guess it is about that as well.



The promos are generally fast-paced and colourful, remaining faithful to the songs and allowing them to flourish while exhibiting a sharp sense of deadpan humour. The imagery is often memorable and subversive, such as having Will Oldham beat and rape Jeffrey Lewis, or the nightmarish, sexed-up images of Ten Benson's Tits. Still, that detached sense of humour is never quite lost. While professional, the promos are relatively informal; the handheld camerawork and quick editing maintains that sense of indepedence and freedom.

The shorts, while more structured, are similar. They all maintain a comic streak, often from gross-out or slapstick visual gags. Lube has been described as 'a love story with a difference' - it incorporates bats, popcorn and lubricant gel in a funny and strangely tragic tale of two cinema stewards. The Missing Link is a well-observed mockumentary about an arrogant filmmaker who considers himself saviour of the lower classes, and his inevitable downward spiral when he battles a smug businessman. All of the films are totally unpredictable, constantly taking the audience by surprise with a well-placed line of dialogue or visual punchline.

If there's any theme running through Locke's work, it's that particular Midlands viewpoint that life is rarely as cool as what we see on screen, due to the failings and disappointments of reality. Whether it's showing a pack of sexy vampires changing into sneakers for a chase, or the unforunate effect of too much fake tan, the characters in Locke's work are never quite as cool as they think they are. This is probably shown best in the brilliant promo for Blaze's Hollow Head - the song, a thumping heavy metal track, is mumbled by the vocalist, who does little more than watch the telly and drink a cup of tea in his spotless suburban living room.
Another common factor is the brummie accent; almost every character in Locke's films has a very strong one, making them seem that little bit more laughable. I know, I know. But come on. Time to face facts.

There's a DVD of Mark Locke's work available, but you can see most of his work at his website
www.fortmarkfilms.com

A Fitting Tribute

Spike Lee has always been a visible figure, unafraid of tackling or attracting controversies. When his biopic Malcolm X was released, Lee encouraged black students to skip school to see it, and on Real Time with Bill Maher Lee stated that the US government could have been purposefully slow in their response to hurricane Katrina. As each of Lee’s films are defined – regardless of cast or genre – by Lee himself, it was expected that his epic documentary on Katrina, When the Levees Broke: A Requiem in Four Acts, would give Lee the chance to air his own anger and damning views on the failure of the government’s response.

It came as a surprise, then, to find that Lee doesn’t once appear in the four-and-a-half hour film, nor does any voice over or ironic captions. Lee literally lets the city speak for itself, interviewing dozens of survivors, politicians, scientists and New Orleans residents. The result is a film that displays, while a collective voice of anger, many different figures to place the blame on. A case is offered for why everyone involved was guilty, be it Bush, FEMA, the engineers, the military, or Mayor of New Orleans Ray Negin (who is also interviewed, and features prominently). Individual residents’ stories are pieced together from over 500 hours of footage to display a harrowingly realistic portrait of the events. Stars involved such as Sean Penn and Kanye West are given very little screen time, as Lee knows that they can’t tell the story of the forgotten underclass that is at the heart of the tragedy.

This displays a maturity and desire for the truth that should define documentary filmmaking; a far cry from the Nouvelles Egotistes like Michael Moore and Nick Broomfield. The information is not filtered through one singular figure, which means that it achieves a purity and objectivity not often seen in the recent documentary renaissance. The press made a fuss over Lee’s supposed belief that the levees were dynamited by the government, in order to drown the city; in fact, this theory is put forward by a handful of residents (who remember that the levees were exploded in 1927). Others in the film say that this theory does not stand up, and there is no substantial evidence to support it. The point of including this in the film is not to provoke conspiracy theories; it’s simply that the voices of all the people need to be heard.

Also admirable is the film’s comprehensive view of the tragedy; in four acts, Lee examines the build up to the hurricane, the horrific floods, the political response and ramifications, and most interestingly, the cultural loss that Katrina brought with it. New Orleans is famed for being a unique city, a multicultural milieu originally both a thriving slave trade and the place where slaves could find freedom. Often, Lee’s film diverts away from Katrina itself to examine what has been lost in the unique traditions in the music and communities of the city. We are given a description of the New Orleans “jazz funeral” – a funeral procession played by a brass band, first playing solemn hymns and then upbeat swing. One stunning sequence in the film shows a jazz funeral played for New Orleans itself; this is the film’s most intensely emotional moment, as it encapsulates the entire city’s anger, grief and helpless disappointment at the disaster.

The literal loss of New Orleans is also devastating; the black and poor evacuees were dispersed all over the country in need of refuge, effectively destroying entire communities. This sheds light on the drastic differences and injustices displayed geographically across America, and perhaps reflects the social dislocation experienced by the American underclass. As the camera moves through endless rubble and devastation in a post-Katrina New Orleans, the audience is left to contemplate not only how the city can begin to rebuild, with poor schooling and fewer children, but also why these communities return. The truth is, the New Orleans residents need to hold on to what they have. They are in no position to either help or harm the government, and still need a place to exist in America.

The film’s approach to narrative is to join together personal stories, but this does not restrict the ambitious scope of the polemic – on the contrary, the points being made are only heard louder when coming from dozens of voices. The interviewees are so varied that the subjects touched upon include global warming, 9/11, insurance, oil and the war in Iraq – almost a catalogue of America’s ills, illuminated by a major national tragedy. The film is unafraid of questioning America’s legacy in the wake of emergencies; why, if Katrina was a disaster on a larger scale, with a more substantial loss, will be 9/11 be commemorated and acted upon more?

Free from irony or ego, When the Levees Broke is documentary filmmaking at its best, a reminder of the importance of cinema to explore every triumph and failure of a nation. The film ends with the second part of the New Orleans funeral march – the upbeat swing dance, a celebration of life. A more suitable ending couldn’t be imagined for a film that is not only important as a revelation of the tragedies of Katrina, but also as a celebration and tribute to New Orleans, a place that has been otherwise left behind by America.

Guess who's back...

Me.



From Edinburgh, not only the home of the biggest arts festival in the world but also the place where famous comedians walk past you in the street frequently. I saw at least six, but NONE of them fell over in a hilarious fashion. I cried a little bit.

Anyway, in a nifty chronological story-like fashion, here is The tale of the films what I saw when I was in that festival thing place.

Monday - First off was Breath, the new film from Korean director Kim Ki-Duk. I've seen two of his other films, and I really liked them, so my expectations were pretty high for this one. Luckily, it was incredibly similar to both of them - the same slow pace, restrained style and unpredictable plotting. True to form, much was ambiguous, with the characters speaking very little dialogue, and backstories only hinted at. I thought this was a very solid effort, although perhaps a bit too similar to the director's other work.

Tuesday I went to see Mike Leigh in person. I'm actually that not well versed in his work, but he just looks so cuddly. It's interesting to hear his thoughts on writing and directing - which are that they're inseperable and the same job for him - and he obviously cares a lot about the state of British cinema. He's also a big fan of the EIFF - praising it for its 'relative informality and lack of bullshit'. After that I saw some Animation from festival fixture Mirrorball; some great, innovative promos there, my favourite of which can be seen above. Unless you're reading this not in the week when it's video of the week. ...

On Wednesday I took a chance on the Surprise Movie - which turned out to be The Kingdom, a new Saudi Arabia-set action thriller with a politically relevant edge. What the film is actually saying was sometimes a bit fuzzy - I would have liked a deeper insight into the American-Middle Eastern culture clash other than "Islam gets in the way", but the climactic shootout is spectacular, and worth the ticket price alone.

Thursday - I saw five things but none of them were films.

Friday - LYNCH is a documentary that follows David Lynch up to and during the shooting of Inland Empire. It's pretty fascinating to see this guy at work - especially on a film such as Inland Empire, which, it's revealed, was pretty much made up as he went along. The filming and editing style was pretentious to the point of distraction, but it was worth enduring it to see a master at work and play. While always cracking jokes and telling stories, Lynch seems constantly aggravated by the ineptitude of everyone around him. At one point he turns to the camera and says "What a load Einstein must have had." After that was Phantom Love, described in the festival brochure as 'a dreamscape of epic imaginative reach', and those are exactly the words I would use to describe it. But only if the question was "Hey Joel, what is that film NOT?" My goodness, this film is slow. The first half consisted of a handful of shots being repeated in all their monotonous glory, and by the time we reached the second half much of the audience had walked out, sensing that a plot was most definitely not on the way. The lush monochrome cinematography is the only redeeming feature, but there's an extent to which you can make a corridor look interesting. It has something to do with sex, the war on terror and a snake, but it's just too hard to care.

On Saturday I started off with some Family Animation, which was a set of very nice and imaginative short films. Two, however, were boring and pretty rubbish and lame. They were produced by the BBC. Boo to the BBC, then. One short, called 'Two Dreams', took the sound of two children describing their dreams while the dreams themselves were played out on screen in a fluid, manic animation. I also saw an animated feature film, the Japanese-American animé Tekkonkinkreet. This was my favourite film of the whole festival, and one of the best films I've seen for a while. It follows two vagrant orphan brothers, Black and White, through their home of Treaure Town while they scare off rival gangs and try to avoid the businessmen trying to eliminate them. The visuals are fantastic - not only is the animation stunning, but the style is such to give a sense of almost documentary immediacy; but this does nothing to negate the imaginative scope of the colour and landscapes. Also worth noting is the excellent electronic score, by British duo Plaid.

Sunday - I've never seen a film quite like the documentary Protagonist - it takes four very different men who tell their life stories to the camera, while parallels are drawn between them to question the structure of life, and even suggesting that it mirrors that of a Greek play (played out with marionettes). The men - a Mexican bank robber, a gay Evangelist, an American martial arts enthusiast and a German political activist - are honest and compelling in their accounts, providing much to think about on obsession, redemption and forgiveness. In Search of a Midnight Kiss is a considerably less intelligent low-budget romantic comedy set on New Years Eve in Los Angeles. Aiming for the wandering, true-to-life style of Richard Linklater, this too often slips into Farrelly Brothers territory, meaning that it's never as smart as it would like to be. The constant references to Myspace and PostSecret are also a little too smug to bear. I ended the festival as I started, with Korea. Park Chan-Wook's latest, I'm A Cyborg, but That's OK, is a departure from his violent vengeance trilogy - instead, it's a classic tale of boy-meets-girl. Except that it's boy-meets-girl-in-a-mental-home-because-girl's-bicycle-told-her-that-she's-a-cyborg-and-he-can-apparently-steal-people's-personality-traits-by-imprinting them-on-a-hat.
This film looks amazing - the colour and CGI are used to great effect to create a cartoon-like wonderland with a sense of childlike awe. Flashback is used throughout to explain the backstory, which leads to very little in the way of a definite plot. This means that while we're made to feel for the characters, they don't reach any satisfactory resolution by the end. The film's packed full of great ideas, and all the supporting characters are given a quirky charm, but the lack of a formal structure means that by the end you're left wanting in the way of narrative. In this way, it reminded me a lot of Michel Gondry's Science of Sleep - lots of imagination, no way to tie it down. I always feel bad when making that criticism, because there should really be nothing wrong with a film that's all ideas, but the end just leaves you a bit cold. That said, it's still really funny and better than most romantic comedies. Not as good as OldBoy, but then nothing is.


Monday - I came home and wrote a blog about everything I saw. I called it 'Guess who's back...'

Ed Film Fest decides to become less August

Okay, that's the greatest pun in the world.



The guys at top of the Edinburgh International Film Festival have announced that from next year onwards the festival will take place in June and not August, as it has done for the past 60 years. This means that it will no longer coincide with the International Festival, the Fringe, the Book Festival, the Internet Festival, the Jazz Festival and a whole host of other festivals and celebrations.
I've been going to Edinburgh in August for the past 6 years, so when I heard that I won't be able to enjoy the EIFF along with everything else I was pretty annoyed. However, then I read about why the change was made and I'm really in support of it now.
Having to compete with all the other events in Edinburgh at the same time must be hard, as there is such a gigantic amount on offer. This means that often the EIFF have to utilise red carpet glitz and big names excessively in order to draw in a crowd - in fact, I thought that this was a major flaw in last year's disappointing 60th celebrations. An emphasis was placed on marketing and image, without the quality to support it.
Changing the date to June, though, could change all that. The EIFF would no longer be part of the general 'Edinburgh festival', but it would be able to establish its own identity. Without the competition, the organisers could give the festival a much stronger presence of independent and homegrown cinema, which supports local or unestablished filmmakers and showcases underground work. Considering that the EIFF is the longest-running film festival in the entire world, this is very, very cool.
I can understand why some people don't agree with the change; it's not convenient, and it will lessen the legendary August crowds, but it's a decision taken by the EIFF so that they can become more independent, so there's no need to consider the other festivals.
Anyway, I'm off to Edinburgh today so I'll let you know in a week or so how amazing/awful/both it is.

Married to the Sea - Part 2

One of the most discussed and notable aspects of Anderson’s misè-en-scene is costume; it is idiosyncratic and often highly stylised to the point of absurdity. But this technique is not random or shallow; the costumes convey important information about the characters and the world in which they live – or rather, the worlds that they would rather believe in. Throughout Rushmore, the protagonist Max Fischer rarely changes from his beloved Rushmore Academy uniform, except for a few exaggerated clichés for his extra-curricular clubs; a red beret for the French club, all-black for his drama club (‘The Max Fischer Players’), a checked scarf for the flying club, etc. Max does change his clothes when his life goes downhill – he wears a large woolly hat and clothes that are too small – as if he is trying to avoid his problems by returning to his peaceful, increasingly distant childhood.

This trend of idiosyncrasy is continued in the next two films: in The Royal Tenenabums, the central characters wear variations of the same costumes from their childhood, trying to recreate their child prodigy days by forbidding themselves to move on with time. Ben Stiller’s widower, Chas, dresses himself and his two sons in identical Adidas tracksuits and black perms. This choice of costume – highly irregular, were it not for the film’s cartoonish tone – instantly tells the audience about Chas’ neurotic grief, and reflects the kind of stilted, troubled family relationships that define the film.

The crew of The Belafonte, Steve Zissou’s ship in The Life Aquatic…, are constantly dressed in matching uniforms (even with equivalents in swimming costume and pyjama form). With their matching red woollen hats, blue shorts and ‘Z’ insignias, Team Zissou have been dressed by Steve in order to emulate his style and (expired) fame. He has trapped everyone around him in his own glorified, nostalgic vision of himself.

Hyperbolic costumes such as these are intended for more than the comedic effect; they tell us about the characters’ convictions in their own efforts, and give us the sense that the mythical realities in which they live – be it Rushmore Academy, a retro-cool New York or an ocean full of cartoon fish – are in fact ones that they have created for themselves. It is as if the characters, like Anderson, have crafted their world especially to suit their needs, and, often, their professional work.

All three of Anderson’s latest films are separated into chapters, using some kind of structural framing device. The Royal Tenenbaums uses the conceit of an on-screen novel (like in the books written by the characters), including chapter headings, The Life Aquatic… uses documentary episodes (like in the films of Steve Zissou), and Rushmore announces each month with a theatrical curtain (like in the plays staged by Max Fischer). As well as providing a convenient and pleasing structural device, this technique wraps the audience up in the minds of the films’ protagonists; the way the film is made and presented is parallel to the way in which the characters work, and live their lives. They are so committed to their convictions that they do view the stories of their lives as plays, or films, or novels. Like Anderson, they see no reason to compromise their actions for any niggling details such as reality. This chaptering device draws the audience into their world – or rather, Anderson’s world – and away from our own.

In addition to establishing an individual style of authorship, Anderson is regarded to be part of a New Wave of Hollywood films, shared by other auteurs such as Sofia Coppola, Charlie Kaufman, Alexander Payne and P.T. Anderson. In fact, the Wave includes a vast number of films and filmmakers, the links between them being sometimes tenuous – but recognisable characteristics are definitely shared between them. These include stylised visuals, compilation soundtracks, complex characterisations and black, ironic humour. Another important trait is ‘blankness’ – utilising the filmic style to lend the films a sense of detachment or dampened effect. In The Life Aquatic…, one scene shows a cross-section of The Belafonte, the camera guiding us between the rooms while Zissou narrates. The visuals are obviously artificial and fantastical, complete with two smiling dolphins and a yellow mini-submarine. Despite this, the sequence maintains a sense of irony, due to Bill Murray’s mundanely deadpan voiceover (“The bearing cases aren’t supposed to look like that, but we can’t afford to fix them this year”).

This sequence demonstrates a juxtaposition that explains why Anderson has a place of honour among a New Wave of ironic films. The stylised aesthetic is off-set by the blank narration; the sweeping scale of the visuals is off-set by the prosaic details. The effect of this is to create a 2D comic-book style, the kind of fantasy we associate with childhood, and the playful, theatrical comedy in the films provide an adolescent charm. Anderson has been described as an ‘auteur of arrested adolescence’, which is accurate, as it seems that his inspirations – and ambitions - lie primarily in his youth. Like his characters, Anderson has created his own world, the consistency of which can definitely give him the auteur label.

Married to the Sea - Part 1

It's the week of exam results, so to celebrate here's an article that was born out of a research project from my film course at college. The focus of the whole project was to explore how and why Wes Anderson might be considered an auteur. This article was written as a summary of ideas, as opposed to the more extensive presentation that was the actual assignment. Unfortunately, this was also written before I actually studied auteur theory...but there it is.

Wes Anderson is one of the most popular and critically lauded directors of the past decade. In just four films, he has crafted his own instantly recognisable and wholly personalised style, establishing him as a true auteur. The ease with which he seems to label each of his films as distinctly ‘his’ is commendable, especially so when the style is so thoroughly consistent. His films present a hyperrealism – or rather, the hyperrealism – that heightens and skews normality in constantly intriguing, entertaining and original ways.

Anderson’s first film was Bottle Rocket (1994), a crime caper written with Anderson’s college friend, Owen Wilson (the film also starred Wilson, and his brother Luke) and adapted from their short film of the same name. Bottle Rocket didn’t receive a huge amount of attention or success, but those who saw it were not short of praise – Martin Scorsese, no less, called it ‘transcendent’, and even named Anderson ‘the next Scorsese’. It’s easy to see the link between the two – Anderson’s attention to detail, hip soundtracks and feverish camerawork makes him worthy of the prestigious comparison. Despite the box-office disappointment of Bottle Rocket, Anderson and Wilson persevered to their second film – and generally their most popular – Rushmore (1998).

With Rushmore, Anderson was given a larger budget and an A-list star (Bill Murray, who loved the script so much he offered to work for free), allowing him to elaborate on the stylistic bravura hinted at in Bottle Rocket. This saw Anderson compared to another high-flying auteur: Quentin Tarantino. Like Tarantino, Anderson makes almost each frame or line of dialogue recognisably his. Rushmore established a consistent sense of authorship for Anderson; it was a cult hit, and hyped the 29-year-old Anderson as the next big thing – the sequel to Tarantino.

In 2001, Anderson delivered on his wunderkind potential with The Royal Tenenbaums, an epic comedy with a cast made up entirely of stars and veteran actors. The film swept up high praise from both critics and audiences, and earned Anderson and Wilson an Oscar nomination for their screenplay. Anderson’s most recent film, the offbeat adventure movie The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, divided audiences – some saw it as his best, others thought it was an over-stylised mess, and perhaps like Tarantino’s Kill Bill, the over-indulgent fall of a great auteur.

As Anderson’s career has progressed, his penchant for surreal visuals and eccentric detail has certainly increased. He has amassed a great number of trademarks in his work, mostly relating to cinematography or misè-en-scene.

Compositional framing is a key component of Anderson’s use of camera (and of his regular cinematographer, Robert Yeoman) throughout his films. People or objects are placed in the centre of the frame, with the surrounding environment manipulated to look complementary, in a flat, artificial manner. The result is the sense of a tailored reality – a place where real things happen, but the way in which they happen has been carefully altered for a more dramatic, theatrical performance. A theatrical aesthetic is in fact very prominent in Anderson’s films – in The Royal Tenenbaums, characters are often framed through window frames, making them appear as comic book characters or puppets. By placing his characters in frames such as these, he is telling the audience how they should be viewed – as thoroughly artificial, exaggerated people. Although the heavy emotional and intellectual nature of Anderson’s screenplays prevents the characters from ever becoming caricatures, they are definitely hyperbolic versions of real people, punctuated by specific and often obscure details that ensure they remain sympathetic and real in a familiar sense.

Film reviews as haikus

Paris, Je T'Aime

Chomet's lots of fun
Christopher Doyle is bonkers
Coens save the day


Princess Raccoon

Frankly quite mental
But also quite impressive
Theatrical fun


Die Hard 4.0

Nicely old-fashioned
Same old shit, different vest
McClane's still got it


South Pacific

Film was alright but
Digitally presented
So looked amazing


Barry Lyndon

The lenses used here
Were developed for NASA
And goodness it shows


Whisper of the Heart

A lesser Ghibli
Fairly charming and well-drawn
But loses its steam

D'ohn't believe the hype

IT'S NOT A DISAPPOINTMENT!

Yes, the film 18 years in the making (except not really 18 years in the making) has arrived, and it's quite good.
I remember the makers of the show (or one of them, anyway) saying that if they made a film, it would have to end the entire series, and bring closure to all of the characters and threads. That guy got fired or something, as this definitely isn't what they've done here. A lot of the minor characters are ignored or only given a few lines, and very few reach the conclusions that they've been trying for through the years. The reason for this, really, is that there are just too many characters. Putting them all into a film makes you realise just how big The Simpsons is. At one point, the camera shoots forward through a massive torch-bearing crowd, and you realise that you can name almost every character seen in the shot; that's a testament to the show's power.

The film is essentially a very long episode, albeit with grander ambitions and more nuanced character arcs. I might normally respond negatively to this kind of thing (like with the Family Guy "movie"), but it really worked here. It deflates a lot of the hype surrounding the film, which is a good thing, as it just reminds you why The Simpsons is so good: the brilliant writing. There are very few fancy animation tricks, and a low celebrity cameo count; the writers have been wise to stick to a formula that has given them an unequalled amount of success. It makes you glad they've waited so long to make a film; this only works because we know the characters inside out.

Above all else, this film is funny. Very funny. Like, classic Simpsons funny. There's broad social satire, OTT slapstick and a soon-to-be-classic nude skateboarding scene. Yes, some of the jokes don't quite hit, and some are stolen from previous episodes or even other films, but the humour ultimately undermines any sentimentality or plot. A sequel will very likely be on the way, hopefully with Mr. Burns as the antagonist this time. Come on. Look at him. Please?

So, the biggest TV show ever and definitely not the biggest film ever. Because, really, it would just be too long a film.

Also, giving Homer a pig was a stroke of genius. Whoever thought of that should get knighted.

Ruin your fun.

I love YouTube. You love YouTube. We all love YouTube. It's a great thing. It just is.
It's a dream come true for many, many people, myself included. Countless clips, of every sort, at your fingertips, with no need to download or wait very long.
Aah.

However.
I'm also worried about the other effects of YouTube. I have been spending a fair amount of time on there, both discovering new things and re-discovering my apparent love for musicals. In this time, there has been a dramatic drop in the number of actual feature films I've watched. It's not like I'm without them - there are always DVDs that I haven't watched, or at least special features. Lately, though, I can barely manage an hour-long feature. I suspect that the favourite-bit mentality of YouTube has affected my attention span, so when faced with the choice of Barry Lyndon or that trippy bit from 2001, I opt for whatever's shorter.

Now, I don't want to stop using YouTube. As I said before, it's very, very good. I HAVE been a bit busy lately, but I'm always a bit busy. It probably also has something to do with the closure of Cinephilia and a general reluctance to spend money. As good as YouTube is, though, I think it's a definite danger that we could just end up watching all of our favourite bits over and over again, instead of looking for anything new at all.

SoulSonicCinema #3

Last night was SoulSonicCinema's third night of retro film fun, at the Rainbow pub in Digbeth. Although armchairs and sofas weren't provided as promised, it was free and friendly. After a DJ set, playing soundtracks from exploitation hits such as Cleopatra Jones and The Thing With Two Heads, we were treated to a selection of trashy 70s trailers, including the decidedly monotonous Massacre: Mafia Style :-



I know what you're thinking. Why are John Candy and Bruce Forsyth shooting up the Rotunda? It's best not to ask.
This was followed by an episode of The Ren & Stimpy Show - this show is great. Way ahead of its time and absolutely hilarious. The dialogue is minimal, and often non-sensical, so the animation can have a free range that delves to a worrying extent into the psychosis of the characters. Some people have described it as being 'too gross', but...well, yeah, okay, if you don't like cartoon violence then you'll find it too gross. Really, though, it's no worse than Itchy and Scratchy. Just drawn better.
After this was the main feature - Point Blank, starring Lee Marvin.


I was actually surprised by this film - given the trashy nature of everything else, this was damn good. It captured that specialist fashion and visual flair that could only have belonged to 1960s LA.
Marvin stars as Walker, a thief who gets double-crossed and left for dead. Then he returns, a dead man walking, looking for his money, and vengeance on those who pulled the strings...
It was very stylish and sexy, and refreshingly free of unintentionally funny moments. The more 60s/70s crime films I see, the more I realise that people will never be as cool as they were.

Respite my face

AAAAAHHHHHHHHHH.

Yesterday was my last exam, which means that I've finished college forever.
This is nice, but also kind of sad because college was great.

The quality of the curriculum was generally quite good, so for exams I was lucky enough to study films such as Chungking Express, La Haine, In the Mood for Love, The Killer, Do the Right Thing, City of God, Irreversible, A Clockwork Orange and...er...Cliffhanger. What's really great, though, is the opportunity to just write about your favourite films, so I've also written about The Evil Dead, The Man Who Wasn't There, The Virgin Suicides, Rushmore and Napolean Dynamite because of the scope of the film and media courses.

I also did a research project/presentation/article on Wes Anderson and a huuuuuge research study on post-9/11 American TV Drama, specifically The Wire and 24.
While this possibly means that I've grown incredibly sick of both Wes Anderson and post-9/11 TV Drama, I've learnt a whole lot and it was actually FUN to learn because I chose to learn it.

It wasn't just the film and media courses that allowed this flexibility; I turned my English coursework assignments into writing on Asian cinema and a study of the language of Firefly.

All of this and a short film and a kid's TV show with a monkey.

All in all, college was fun.
Here's to college.
Thanks college.

How the West Was Won: Part 2

Death is everywhere in the western – anytime a cowboy wants to settle his problem, he reaches for his gun. But ‘Once Upon A Time in the West’ has none of the basic ‘chasing injuns’ morality – it is men who know they are going to die, and who act upon their frontier instincts of greed, vengeance and honour. These are cowboys at the end of their time, at the brink of their era and having to lie down in the face of a new age. The evolution of industry and civilisation is symbolised in the film by the railroad – a major feature of both the mise-en-scène and the narrative. In the vast, empty landscapes of the desert, the black railway line could appear as an intrusion; something new and out of place in an untouched place. The worst enemy of the cowboy is the future – a threat to their old-fashioned methods and philosophies. But the representation of the cowboys in this film provides a sensitive and thoughtful depiction of a time that changed America. They are aged and weathered, and, to quote Leone, they “are conscious of the fact that they will not arrive at the end alive”.

This awareness of the presence of death allowed the film to be permeated with a sense of mourning and melancholy – a farewell to the old west. But the railroad is also present to signify change, and a progression in civilisation. One famous shot follows the film’s heroine Jill McBain as she steps off the train and leaves the station – the camera rises over the wooden shack to majestically reveal a half-built town, busy with activity and inhabitants. This is a pure example of how ‘Once Upon A Time in the West’ depicts its social context – right in the middle of a drastic change that killed one culture and ushered in many others. The final showdown between Harmonica and Frank is made all the more dramatic when we consider that these are two figures of the mythic Old West – and character types that have been seen in many westerns before this – that will soon disappear from their world forever. This shows how the vital link between the film’s signifiers of death, the railroad and cowboy culture allow ‘Once Upon A Time in the West’ to transcend its peers and become a classic.

Gender roles, too, are examined in the film. Traditional westerns had women firmly as secondary characters – distressed damsels, humorous squaws or homely mothers and wives. Claudia Cardinale’s Jill, however, is none of these. She is a New Orleans ex-whore who arrives in the Wild West to find her new family slaughtered, and at this point the story becomes hers – of all the characters, she bears the most responsibility and faces the most hardship – and she does so alone. Both maternal and sexual, Jill is the culmination of other female characters in westerns who is allowed to be just as strong as the men. The male characters seem to revolve around her, and although at times they move close to knights in shining armour, Cardinale never plays Jill as weak or vulnerable. Just as Harmonica, Frank and Cheyenne represent the Old West, Jill signifies a modern, 20^th century America. She is burdened with the responsibilities of independence and technology, and is flung onto the brink of new civilisation. But she faces up to the task, and while the men reluctantly accept their fate and lose their place in the new world, Jill embraces it with her head held high. With complex cowboys and the first true heroine, the western genre is opened up and given a wider, somehow more mature, plain on which to roam.

And yet, for all it did to help the western, it has to be said that the film is responsible for killing a few cowboys itself. Dead were the heroes of John Wayne and Gary Cooper, puffing their chests and spouting lines about being a man in the name of America. After Henry Fonda has killed an infant, how could things be the same? Post-Leone cowboys were the bleak anti-heroes of Clint Eastwood and Sam Peckinpah – with a major emphasis on atmosphere over narrative. And although ultimately the spaceman replaced the cowboy, Leone’s influence is still felt today. The brutality and grittiness is present in David Milch’s foul-mouthed frontier-based TV series ‘Deadwood’, while the liberal use of violence and irresistible cowboy style (surely it’s only a matter of time before brown dusters come back into fashion) have been transferred to more colourful, futuristic TV shows such as ‘Cowboy Bebop’, ‘Samurai Jack’ and Joss Whedon’s ‘Firefly’. Cinema, meanwhile, has taken a quieter turn into the new century – new westerns are more reflective, almost bullet-less genre essays such as ‘Brokeback Mountain’ and ‘The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada’. These, too, it could be argued, only exist as they do because of ‘Once Upon A Time in the West’. Their pensive filming style and meandering pace – not to mention lush, location-heavy cinematography – often look as if lifted straight out of Leone’s west.

‘Once Upon A Time in the West’ is undoubtedly a classic – a master class in how to make a film truly effective. As if the countless pop culture references and tributes weren’t proof enough of its staying power, the film frequently appears in ‘Top 50’ lists, and is widely considered – alongside John Ford’s drastically different ‘The Searchers’ – to be the greatest western ever made. It is refreshing for a post-Tarantino audience to still admire film that treats the subject of violence so gracefully, and with such little self-referential irony. In its absolute conviction in itself and its inimitable style, ‘Once Upon A Time in the West’ signalled a significant change in the genre – this is the peak of the Spaghetti Western, the peak of Leone, one of the peaks of the Sixties – simply put, this is the best that cowboys ever got.