Get Back - The Beatles film

 The Guardian asked for reactions to the 'new' Beatles film, so here's mine:

A fascinating film, full of insights and revelations. 

Big surprises? Here are just a few:

History hasn't been kind to Beatles manager Brian Epstein - said to be a man out of his depth and responsible for some lousy business decisions and contracts. Yet the Beatles, especially Paul McCartney, miss the man and speak fondly of him. He had their respect and was someone they listened to - not so easy perhaps, in an outfit that featured one John Winston Ono Lennon. 

Yoko Ono is definitely a listener, in fact the surprise is that she rarely seems to talk at all. Far from being "the fifth Beatle" as John Lennon once described her, she's more of a permanent audience, often looking a bit bored, sometimes writing, sometimes knitting, but ever present. With the best will in the world, it's hard to respond to her occasional artistic performative "singing" as anything other than ludicrous. 

But in the film at least, the closest relationship is between John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Between them they seem to get 80% of the dialogue and maybe 90% of the screen time. But it's easy to see why - that word 'chemistry' is inadequate to describe how well they get on - both personally and musically. This runs against the received wisdom, which has them growing inexorably further apart during this period. 

George Harrison is the most sympathetic of the four. Initially he seems a man who feels excluded from the creative process, and who lacks the confidence to assert himself. Then he goes snaps and walks out on the band, who respond with a musical version of a nervous breakdown that afternoon. Then Harrison returns and as the month of rehearsing and recording goes on, he seems happier and more confident. The negative comparisons to people like Eric Clapton disappear. A day or two before the rooftop concert, he's the one who's helping Ringo expand the idea for Octopus's Garden into a song.

George Martin looks and sounds like the leading man from some 1940s British romantic film. Like the colours of those films, he wears white shirts with black and grey suits that always feature immaculate pocket squares. He's so out of place, of such a different class and generation to the Beatles and almost everyone else hanging around. But the relationship is so much closer and friendly than you'd assume. He's also got great musical gifts and a willingness to help with anything - at one point he's lugging some big create around like any roadie. None the less it's surprise how much the much younger  Glynn Johns does in the studio control room compared to George Martin.

And so the film goes - surprising, fascinating, and occasionally frustrating - do the Beatles really have to degenerate into parody and mockery so often when they try and play a song from start to finish? Or are we getting highly selective edits because they're funny and the normal recording/rehearsal process is a bit boring? We're seeing arguably the four most famous men in the world in January 1969, and yet they're so grounded, and even at times (sorry Ringo Starr) quite ordinary. 

There's so much to discuss - I haven't even mentioned the effortless happy genius of Billy Preston, who revives the entire crew when sits at the keyboard and does his stuff, completely unrehearsed. There's also the happy accident that the Beatles of 1969 are currently looking more fashionable and contemporary than they have for 50 years or so. Equally contemporary is the misery of Britain's relationship with immigrants - perhaps the saddest and most shocking theme of the film. 

But it's wrong to finish on a bum note - the Beatles never would. This is life-affirming look at the best band in history towards the end of their amazing run. Yes, perhaps the second part of the three is a little too long. But we should thank Michael Lindsay-Hogg's team in 1969, and of course Peter Jackson today for viewing and re-editing all the footage. This is a priceless film of the best music group of the 20th century at work. From now on it will be appreciated and enjoyed by anyone who likes music.

Staying in - Pride and Prejudice

M and I have been staying in rather a lot recently...

Like everyone else in the country, we have no choice in the matter.

Last night M suggested we re-watch the classic 1990s BBC television adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen. It's bloody marvellous, and completely addictive as only great television can be. We have it on DVD and no doubt will be watching it again in a few years time. 

First Man

On Wednesday I went with Ruth and Steve from work to see First Man a largely factual account of Neil Armstrong's life from 1961 to 1969.

It was a brilliant film in many ways and I saw it again last night with Mandy.

Only one thing grated with me - the way the interiors of the spacecraft were shown as dirty. The reality of course was that those craft were brand new at launch, and absolutely as perfect as they could be made. 

So why did the set designers and/or the director make them so grubby? Here are two possible explanations:

1. The film emphasised unreliable and unproven a lot of the technology was, and therefore how dangerous it was. Making the equipment look dirty and corroded was a way to emphasise this in a visual way. I hope this is the actual reason.
2. Director Damien Chazelle is only in his 30s, and possibly his set designers and other key members of the team are too. So possibly, they had a look at the real examples dotted about in the museums of the USA (and a few elsewhere). A lot of these exhibits haven't been maintained at all and have deteriorated over the the past 50 years. Hence the corrosion and general dusty grotty air of them. Maybe, just maybe the filmmakers didn't realise this and assumed that's how the craft had been when they flew to the moon... I hope that's not the real reason.

None the less it's a great film that in style and substance beautifully compliments Ron Howard's excellent Apollo 13.

A Brush with Greatness...

I worked through the night on Friday and was heading home early on Saturday morning when I spotted this scene just outside Liverpool Street Station.

A unit medic - the guy in the high vis jacket - said the film is called "Hero" and that it's directed by Clint Eastwood - not sure if he's starring as well. Funny how the tube station they've created there is called Charing Cross, and wonderfully authentic it looks too - the colours, fonts etc are spot on.

As always, it's amazing how people are employed making a film - look at that crowd there - all are busy doing something, if only acting as extras. Us onlookers were kept well back by cheerful security guards and a token policeman.

No Country for Old Men

The boys and girls at work have been highly recommending The Strangers as a good film to see, but some exhaustive searching this Saturday uncovered nothing but a single copy in Ipswich, priced at £15.

So instead I returned to Blockbusters and rented No Country for Old Men for £3.50 - a long time recommendation of D's.

What a brilliant film!

It perfectly captures the creepy spendour of Cormac McCarthy's border country of the Southern United States, and it features three intriguing and very real characters.

I suppose we've got two heroes and one super nasty villian, who, as the film progresses, may be the devil himself. The dialogue and acting are brilliant, the photography is beautiful and the whole thing moves along effortlessly...

There was so much to enjoy; from our cautious and rather resourceful hero, who is ultimately doomed, to a superfically competant and experienced sherrif who gradually realises he's outmatched and scared of the villian.

Favourite scene: The sheffif and his rather young and dim deputy have just ridden into the horror of a drug deal gone wrong; at least seven men lie shot dead on the dusty scrubby semi-desert, there's a dead dog, and four or five shot-up pick-up trucks, riddled with bullet holes...

Deputy: Hell of mess ain't it sherrif?

Sherrif: Well it'll do, leastways till the real mess gets here.

McCarthy's arcane dialogue manages to be witty and profound at the same time.

Shame on me for missing this one when it was in the cinema, and I wonder which director will pluck up the courage to film Blood Meridian, the most violent and nasty piece of Literature ever written?

Beach Red

Beach Red is an old art house war film, made in 1967 by Cornel Wilde; a very talented man who was an expert actor, Olympic standard fencer, and also found the time and funding to direct several unusual films.



I’ve only ever seen Beach Red once, nearly 30 years ago one late night on BBC2. The thing that struck me about it at the time was it’s inspired title sequence, which features a series of paintings by two artists who seem completely unknown; Michael W Green and Takashi Tanaka. Even better, the title theme fits neatly into the plot, as our hero is an artist who ends up wounded and sharing a cigarette with a Japanese soldier who also happens to paint.



The release of the new Bond film A Quantum of Solace (nobody has ever named books as well as Ian Fleming) got me thinking about title sequences, and what a great art form they are.

It’s a shame they seemed to have almost died out, with some notable exceptions like Spielberg’s excellent Catch Me if You Can (2002) or Catherine Bigelow's Blue Steel (1990) whose title sequence was the only redeeming feature of the entire film. It was a horrible wonderful fetishistic examination of the Smith and Wesson .38 Police Special, which also happens to be my favourite revolver – in eight blissful sessions you could fire 48 rounds with the thing and not only would it never jam – but your wrists didn’t hurt afterwards.

Anyway, thanks to the wonder of You Tube, you can view the Beach Red title sequence here.

Nobody has posted the Blue Steel title sequence yet – some films are best forgotten…

Happy Go Lucky

Mike Leigh might be the best British film maker alive and working.

Over the past 20 years he's built up a strong body of work that describes and examines the lives of ordinary British people and British society. He seems to do two types of films; the dark and the comedic, although there's a lot of overlap between the two.

In Happy Go Lucky Sally Hawkins plays Poppy, a 30 year old London Primary school teacher who always sees the best of things and is one of those blessed souls who's always happy. Pollyannas bring out the worst in me and within a few minutes I was determined to hate Poppy, but its a tribute to the script and the acting that I couldn't. As the film goes on she becomes more and more real and rounded and switched on. It's really an extraordinary character study, a kind of mirror image to Naked - a much darker film about a much darker character.

Something I really noticed this time was the brilliance of Mike Leigh's visual sense. Seldom remarked on, he's got a real talent for seeing the beauty in the deformed urban landscapes of Britain. We're lucky to have him... despite his taste in incidental music.

The Lord of the Rings

Tolkien is a Pre-Raphaelite; Cate Blanchette as Galadriel in The Lord of the Rings trilogy

I don't get it.

Some of the people I most respect, admire and am proud to call my friends just adore Lord of the Rings.

It's sort of a quasi-religious text in some circles, particularly in software engineering where in a group of 10 programmers, at least seven will have read it. Of that seven one or two will be true experts, able to recall passages and scenes in almost photographic detail. It's sort of a common cultural language amongst men who often care little for culture.

Tolkien's influence is massive; single handedly and unwittingly he launched an entire genre - called 'Fantasy' in most bookshops - that features hundreds of writers assembling brick-like volumes about elves, wizards, dwarves, dragons, swords, orcs and associated bollox. I've read a few of these books, mainly shorter ones and all because friends and relatives have insisted I do. Back in the 80s I shared a house with someone who chain read Micheal Moorcock. Later my first brother in law (a software engineer - hah!) insisted I read some book or other by David Gemmel.

As for THE WORK itself, no way.

I read a few pages at school, and a few more at university - more than enough to realise it wasn't for me. Decades later, the films were released - big news in the software community. I didn't see them at the cinema, but a while back they were broadcast in order on consecutive nights or weeks and I sat through them all, sometimes while on the phone with the sound down.

Tonight, the first one which is called The Fellowship of the Ring is on again on ITV1.

Watching it again, its easy to be reminded that all three films are well made and visually stunning, at least in parts. Tolkien's World War 1 experience of mass slaughter in huge impersonal battles is brought to vivid errrr... can we call it life? Scenes (distressingly few scenes alas) that don't feature those irritatingly cute and bumbling and 'lovable' hobbits are generally excellent. Sir Ian McKellan is outstanding playing the kind of role Sir Alec Guiness made his own in the Star Wars films.

And yet... I still don't get it.

There's something very unimaginative about the pseudo medevial set-up, somewhat reminiscent of the whole Victorian Gothic thing. In fact, that might be a way to approach these interminable, technically excellent and ultimately kitsch films - a sort of animated pre-Raphaelite world. The set designers and costume people seem to agree; the achingly lovely Cate Blanchette is straight out of a Rosetti painting, as are the carefully chosen romantic landscapes and elaborate castles. But Pre Raphaelite art is ultimately just over the top pseudo-historic kitsch and often unitentionally hillarious with brave gallant androgynous knights and swooning ladies.

Last thought.

In the United States the works of Aryan Rant seem to occupy the same position and readership as Tolkien does here. I say disturbingly because whereas Tolkien's Edwardian romanticism is essentially harmless, Rant was a genuinely nasty pseudo-philosopher pushing a kind of free-market fascism with narcissistic psychopaths as the heroes.

But I'll write about her another day...

Munich

Another good week-end closes with a trip to the cinema to see Mr. Spielberg’s new film Munich.

There have already been a couple of reams written about this film, particularly in the USA. The main reason for the fuss seems to be it’s portrayal of Palestinian Arabs as human beings rather than saliva-flecked anti-Semitic animals. Goodness me, whatever next?!?

Anyway, here’s what little I can add:

1) When he’s on form, Spielberg is a very good director indeed. There was a ton to enjoy in Munich, from the editing and action, to the lighting and unobtrusive period feel (it’s set mainly in Western Europe in the early 1970s).

2) Some of the best aspects of the script may owe a lot to Quentin Tarantino, who once explained that he made gangster films, but the trick was that the gangsters weren’t speaking about gangster type stuff... It’s the same in Munich – none of the Palestinian terrorists is seen doing anything remotely illegal. Many of them have partners and friends and careers and children. By contrast it's the Israeli vengence team that are abhorrent and criminal.

3) There was a really excellent scene or two in a French Chateau owned by a creepy yet charming “patron” who runs a private intelligence shop.

4) Judging by the T.V. documentary I saw last week, many of the killings in the film were fairly accurate in terms of method and means. This was surprise.

5) The most upsetting and horrible assassination didn’t happen in real life. I dunno what this tells us about truth and fiction and the way fiction sometimes tells the truth better than fact blah de blah de blah…. Whatever, it's a brilliant piece of cinema.

6) Black September’s cruel and foolish acts of terrorism were gift-wrapped propaganda presents. Israel used these gifts wisely and perhaps extended Western liberal support for the colony by as much as an extra decade. In fact it wasn't until General Ariel Sharon’s criminal invasion of the Lebanon in 1982 that Israel began to lose the widespread support it had enjoyed in the West since it’s foundation in 1948.

So... where does all this leave Munich? Well, despite it's faults and liberties with the truth it's a joy to see a good film that poses serious questions about the morality and effectiveness of our Forever War (a.k.a the war on terror).

Two Lane Blacktop

Long ago and far away

Over to a friend’s flat to see an unobtainable DVD of the classic early 70s road movie “Two Lane Blacktop.”

The best road movie of all time, it’s about four drifters who find themselves racing across the South Western United States, mostly although not exclusively along Route 66.

What came across most was the wonderful clarity of film transferred to DVD, and director Monte Hellman’s superb use of the entire frame; most of the important scenes occur on the edges, rather than the centre of the picture.

Very much a film of its time, the emphasis is on character and image, particularly the wonderful roadside landscapes. Like a Hopper painting, the loneliness and isolation of the characters in the foreground produces a background mood of melancholy romanticism.

There are two terrific performances to savour. One is by Warren Oates a very under-rated character actor of the 1970s. In this role he’s middle age crisis personified, suffering some kind of identity crisis that manifests itself in pathological lying. Throughout the film we have nagging doubts about how such a dubious man acquired the shiny red brand new Pontiac GTO he drives.

A complete contrast is the haunting presence of Laurie Bird, who has the distinction of only being in three films, each of which has a cult following. The other two are Cockfighter (also starring Oates) and a small part in Annie Hall, as the girl with the P.P.L.

Despite all this art house stuff, there’s something very realistic about the professionalism of the driver and the mechanic. Laid back and lazily cool, they earn their living by betting against other hot-rodders in ¼ mile drag races held on quiet public roads. Their approach is professional – before they challenge another car the mechanic carefully checks the opposition to ensure they avoid more powerful machinery. Their car, a really rough looking customised ’55 Chevy saloon, is finished in blotchy grey primer – they keep the racing wheels and slick tyres in the back, along with the tools and the jack. There’s something brilliantly calculated in the way this car looks like a shed, quite unlike a polished mass-produced flash of the liar’s GTO.

Fav bit of dialogue:

"Small block?"

"Big block"

"396?”

"454."

You don’t have to understand that exchange to enjoy Two Lane Blacktop, but it probably helps…

The War of the Worlds

Steven's new love - Darling Little Dakota.

Back from the field trip, and the aim is to get a sunny happy feeling going and see a summer blockbuster; War of the Worlds by Steven Spielberg.

A major disappointment...

The hope was a remake/update of the remarkable 1950s version, which is one of the few films from that decade I can still watch and enjoy. Instead we got Tom Cruise ineptly playing that dull American icon the "regular guy." In this case a docker who learns how to become a top-notch parent while the world is invaded by Aliens.

Damn, it's hard to give a toss about our hero, or his two obnoxious kids, or his estranged wife, or her new lover, or anyone else in the film. Which is a pity, because there are some excellent action scenes that intersperse the dreary 'human interest' story. These scenes would have been so much more powerful had we actually cared about anyone in them!

Bored and slightly irritated, my mind starts to think heretical thoughts. For instance, it's puzzling how obvious is Spielberg's latent pedophilia. Here in its more overt form - long and pointless close-ups and pointless scenes that feature child-star Dakota Fanning, aged 10 during most of the shooting. No doubt she's lovely and fascinating if you love pre-adolescent little girls. But for those of us who don't, she's dull and the excessive footage she gets hardly helps the film's pace and structure.

Put WotW on Spielberg's surprisingly long turkey list, which includes fowl like 1941, Always, Amistad, and Hook.

Downfall

Saw "Downfall" on Sat night - Adolf Hitler and his associated gangsters in the bunker while up above is their self-created Dante's Inferno. Great start to the film where they are in denial about the bangs and thuds heard overhead "That can't be artillery!"

Oh yeah?

Wanna bet?

It's a compelling but nasty film that doesn't spare the details - in film and drama our German cousins share our neurotic obsession with getting period detail right, whether it's the thickness of 1940s fabrics compared to today's lightweight clothing, or the presence of the just-issued STG44 Assault Rifle which in the early 1950s Comrade Kalashnikov copied and simplified for the AK47.

For me the most upsetting parts of the film don't take place in the bunker at all, but in the streets above. Several vignettes illustrate the rock star-like cult following National Socialism had among some of the young - children and young teenagers aged roughly 10 to 14.

Today, this is the age group that vote people out of the Big Brother house and decide what song is Number One.

So it isn't impossible to see why so many of them liked at least some aspects of the Nazi package - the immaculate uniforms, the runes, the technology, the “traditions,” the idealism of creating a new classless society, the youth and fitness and beauty cult and so on. And for several exhilarating years (what triumphant vindication!) the feeling of riding the tide of History.

Unstoppable as fate itself.

Of course the dream always was a nightmare, and in April 1945 only the most deluded kept the faith. But enough did so to commit suicide. Too young and impulsive and romantic to understand what they were doing.

And what of their adult supervisors in the Hitler Jugend and Bund Deutscher Madel?

Some things are beyond belief.

Film - The Technical Writer

News comes in, sadly a year or two late, of a strange and seemingly doomed independent film project called... (drum roll)

"The Technical Writer"

Yes! A film based on my so-called profession, or at least what I did for most of my life and will doubtless do again, despite the risk of death by boredom.

According to the reviews our hero, an American technical writer, is a recluse or acrophobic or something who hasn't been outside his home (a block of flats) for years. He phones out for delivered food and stays alone in his basement flat writing software manuals.

Live the dream, eh?

The block of flats is home to the film's other characters, who include a couple of Russian prostitutes and someone dying of cancer (at the time of writing all good Indie film obligatory characters, although the terminal case should really be suffering from AIDS rather than cancer).

Among these flakes and zombies, perhaps it isn't surprising that our hero keeps himself to himself, although he does get to say lines like:

Few people are conscious of the evil pleasures of technical writing.

Heh heh heh.

If only it were true.

Any of it, actually.

The boring truth:

Most tek riters I've known are cheerful, articulate, well adjusted, artistic souls courageously out of place in the nerd-dominated fields of software development and engineering.

True, we have our irritating eccentrics and a worryingly high number of pathological liars and sociopaths (physically harmless but annoying and impossible to deal with, despite their charm). But perhaps a few personality disorders are inevitable in a craft (not a profession) that attracts failed programmers, failed testers, failed systems analysts, and failed fiction authors.

None the less, introverted and inadequate tek riters are pretty rare, and the fair to high pay rates mean you don't have to bunk next door to a prossie very often.

Despite all that, it's a great pity the makers of The Technical Writer didn't manage to get a distribution deal after they finished the film. No matter how bad the reviews, I'd have paid money to see it and probably enjoyed it very much.

Let's live in hope of BBC 2 or Channel 4 one late-night.

For more information, click here:

http://movies.go.com/movies/T/technicalwriter_2003/index.html

Kate

The lovely Kate Winslet got slated in The Daily Wail yesterday...

I suspect, like most actresses, she's wonderful company in small doses, but insupportable (as my French friends would say) for longer periods...

No matter, she's a good at what she does, is a beautiful woman, and despite what the Wail says I suspect us Brits will love her for ever. If nothing else, she's made a series of interesting films and has totally refused to cash in on the fame "Titanic" brought.

She did a very good job on that film, because some of the lines were unworthy of a third form drama group.

Personal fave:

Mr. Andrews, we've heard about the iceburg, and I can see it in your eyes.

Try saying that with any realism.

Closer

A cheap and cheerful cast...

Finally got to see Closer, at the third attempt.

An unusual rather cold film with an outstanding script and cast. A little too stagey to make excellent cinema but still well worth the ticket.

Clive Owen was outstanding and Julia Roberts was a pleasant surprise. They even managed to make London look gritty and real with that grey filtered light we get so often in Britain. Not like "Notting Hill" or even the miserable part of "Four Weddings and Funeral."

Open Water

Went to see "open Water" today, a slow thoughtful film that makes you appreciate the cold drink in the bar afterwards.

Based on a great premise - two divers get left behind in the middle of the sea due to a mistake in the head-count and nobody notices they are missing.

It was about as far from "Titanic" and "Jaws" as possible, and the main strength was the enduring sense of the characters denial - it's a long l-o-n-g time before they realise what serious trouble they are in.

An excellent little film, one that restores your faith in Hollywood, and in independent film-making.