Everything or Nothing (2012)

Posted on February 14, 2013 by badblokebob

To mark the 50th anniversary of the James Bond film series last year, the producers commissioned this special documentary looking back at the entire phenomenon. If you missed it when it was shown exclusively at Odeon cinemas (in the UK; it was on TV in the US), it’s been out on DVD for a few weeks (in the UK; nothing in the US) and comes to Sky Movies Premiere from tomorrow (at 12:15pm and 10:30pm; continues twice a day thereafter). It’s sometimes called Everything or Nothing: The Untold Story of 007, not that you’ll see that title on screen or on the DVD cover; and not that it’s very accurate, actually, because many (perhaps all) of these stories have been told before. But I’ll come to that.

Overall, experienced documentary-maker Stevan Riley has put together an engaging work. Eschewing intrusive, dogmatic voiceover narration, Riley instead tells the story through interviews (both new talking-head pieces and archive-drawn audio), illustrative clips, behind-the-scenes photos and film snippets, and music. The latter elements are taken almost exclusively from the Bond franchise itself — one of the film’s early contentions is that the Bond novels were a mixture of autobiography and fantasy for creator Ian Fleming, so (as Riley has said in interviews) clips from the films seemed an appropriate way to cover his back story.

Although ostensibly a history of the film series, Riley begins the story with Fleming’s wartime career and the birth of the Bond novels, then covers early attempts to get Bond on screen. Depth here means it actually takes quite a while to get to the entry of ‘Cubby’ Broccoli and Harry Saltzman, the producers who finally brought Bond to the big screen in the still-running series this documentary is meant to be about! Some have accused the film of being “the producers’ story”, as if that were a bad thing. It’s a behind-the-scenes tale, and with only a handful of people steering the series during its lifetime, naturally the throughline falls to them. Besides, cataloguing the changing roster of leading men is a story that’s readily and widely available, what with the on-screen action being (as it were) the ‘public face’ of the series.

With just over an hour-and-a-half to cover 60 years of history, the film’s biggest problem is length. There’s little time for nuance, instead offering a whistle-stop overview of the main events, highlighting key aspects here and there. Inevitably a lot of important things get short shrift — there’s hardly any detail on the birth of the iconic title sequences, for instance, or the series’ distinctive musical style. It’s both a blessing and a curse that detailed featurettes on elements such as these can be found on the series’ DVD and Blu-ray releases. A blessing, because the casual fan wishing to know more can look there for the detail they seek; a curse, because many fans will already have seen all of those featurettes (and they are numerous, including at least one dedicated thirty-minute-plus making-of per film) and find little new in Riley’s effort.

But there was never going to be time in a single feature to cover that much fine detail, so we must allow Riley some leeway. It’s also not his fault that Sean Connery refused to be interviewed, or that other key players are no longer with us and so can only be represented by occasionally familiar archive interviews, plus second-hand recollections (sometimes, third-hand) of friends and relations. This is, perhaps, most keenly felt in the film’s discussion of Kevin McClory, the man who claimed he had some rights to make competing Bond films (Broccoli and Saltzman brought him in to the fold to make Thunderball, which he did own rights to and so being where his claims stemmed from; he was the man who later made Never Say Never Again, and continued to fight for filmmaking rights up until his death). Here he’s very much painted as the villain, not only as a constant thorn in the side of the series’ guardian-angel producers, but also it all but says he conned Fleming, and quite heavily implies the first Thunderball court cases contributed significantly (or even wholly) to Fleming’s death. Is that true? It might be. McClory isn’t here to defend himself, but then his friends and relatives who do pop up don’t seem to try too hard to justify him either.

The one section I would call a major disappointment is the coverage given to the Brosnan era. Dalton and Craig are equally brushed past, but the key tenants — why Dalton’s films floundered and how Craig, despite initial doubts, led a glorious rebirth — are covered. There’s surely much more to say about Brosnan, however. DVD was emerging as a dominant format around the time his Bond incumbency happened, meaning the special features on his films were put together as the movies came out. That’s great for on-the-ground as-it-happened making-of material, but naturally offers zero retrospective opinion, something all the previous films’ discs benefit from. Unfortunately, the Brosnan section here does little to redress the balance. You get the feeling there’s an awful lot going unsaid, particularly about Die Another Day and the way Brosnan was unceremoniously dropped in its wake. The fact the former leading man can’t even remember which way round Tomorrow Never Dies and The World is Not Enough happened suggests something too… but I’m not sure what, because it’s never explored.

As a dyed-in-the-wool Bond fan, I was left wanting a bit more from Everything or Nothing; especially as someone who grew up during the Brosnan era, I feel there’s more to be told about that time. But for newer or casual fans, or those seeking a nostalgia-tinged flick through the highs (and the odd low) of the most enduring series in film history, it succeeds admirably. It’s just a shame they didn’t include it in the Bond 50 Blu-ray set — it would’ve been most welcome on the otherwise-pathetic bonus disc. But that’s a quibble for another day.

Everything or Nothing comes to Sky Movies Premiere from tomorrow, Friday 15th February, and plays twice daily until Thursday 21st February.

The Artist (2011)

Posted on February 8, 2013 by badblokebob

With the important awards finally arriving (the BAFTAs this Sunday, the Oscars in a fortnight), last year’s winner is on Sky Movies Premiere from today. What better time to review it?

Beginning in 1927, you could (and some have) accuse The Artist of being a remake of Singin’ in the Rain, only swapping the milieu of the musical for that of the silent film — both equally alien to modern audiences! The story concerns a silent movie star, one of the biggest names in the business, who is ousted when sound arrives and the public want new faces. Concurrently, an ordinary girl he bumped into (literally) at a premiere rises to become one of the new era’s biggest names.

I remember hearing about The Artist when it debuted at Cannes in 2011. It garnered some acclaim and sounded interesting, especially to someone who’s interested in both silent film and modern versions thereof. But I also got the impression it was seen as a curio, no more than a film fan’s film, and so hoped it would somehow make it over here eventually and I’d one day get a chance to see it. Things turned out a little differently, of course.

Some have said The Artist is over-praised and not a patch on any of the real silent films it seeks to emulate. I take umbrage with that. While it may not be to the level of the very best the silent era has to offer, in that case you’re comparing it to the crème de la crème of some 30 years of cinema; a time of invention and innovation to boot. They churned ’em out in those days, and I’d wager The Artist is more than equal to the period’s average output.

Besides which, it isn’t a real silent film, and not just because it uses sound on one or two occasions, to very specific effect. Made 80 years after the invention of sound revolutionised cinema over night, The Artist is a tribute and homage to that great era — it’s not trying to beat them at their own game. It’s certainly not the first ‘modern silent’ either, but it’s an appropriate one to have received the most widespread attention (La Antena was a bit weird and The Call of Cthulhu a bit niche, for two other recent efforts). I think the general public still think of silent cinema as either a mustachioed villain tying a damsel to the tracks, people walking at double-fast pace, or slapstick comedy, so it can only be a good thing that The Artist gained such wide acclaim and introduced more people to a fairer understanding of the films of the time.

The film itself has much to admire, although it’s hard to put aside that its greatest impact is as a silent movie made in the 21st century. The black-and-white cinematography is frequently gorgeous, the 4:3 frame always precisely composed. LA’s Bradbury Building (now restored, but most familiar to film fans as one of the rundown locations for Blade Runner) lends its particular style to one memorable sequence: the long shots reveal staircases and floors so symmetrically squared you’d believe they were a precisely-planned specially-constructed set, and unceremonious symbolism is created with former-star George being on the way down and Peppy being on the way up.

Director Michel Hazanavicius litters the film with subtle but clear markers such as this — the man and woman statues that move further apart on the sideboard as George and his wife grow distant; a marquee advertising Lonely Star as George slopes away from an auction of all his possessions; and so on. It may not be taxing to spot such allusions — I’m sure a hardened cinéphile would bristle at the very notion such visible signs could be considered symbolism at all — but they’re still neat.

As George, Jean Dujardin exudes all the requisite charm of a silent movie idol, while later silently conveying his sliding confidence and sink into depression. Bérénice Bejo is equally charming as kind-hearted Peppy, while James Cromwell offers able support as a loyal chauffeur.

There’s no denying the real star of the film, though. Winner of the Palm Dog and a fixture of the red carpet this time last year, Uggie steals every scene he’s in. Whether he’s doing a trick (his party piece, pretending to be shot, makes a neat throughline to a tension-breaking pay-off) or just faithfully following George around, he draws your attention. I might think that was just me (we’ve been over my love of terriers before), but his near-constant presence during last year’s awards suggests otherwise. And boy can he run!

Sometimes acclaimed films suffer when divorced from awards season hype. Some people have certainly felt this way about The Artist. Personally, I think they do it a disservice. As a tribute to silent cinema, made in a flawless imitation of the style, it’s marvellous. As a romantic comedy, it’s sweet and funny with an occasional dramatic edge (more than you might expect from all the cheery trailers and clips). Much like its stars — all three of them — I found it charming.

The Artist is on Sky Movies Premiere twice daily until Thursday 14th February. The British Academy Film Awards 2013 are on BBC One at 9pm on Sunday 10th February.

Scre4m (2011)

Posted on February 5, 2013 by badblokebob

aka Scream 4

I had heard Scre4m (Scream 4, if you prefer) was dreadful; a misguided, belated attempt to revive a once-popular franchise. Personally, I thought it was fun.

Set ten years after the trilogy-closing Scream 3, the new movie wisely kicks off in years-later-sequel mode, re-introducing us to the (surviving) old characters and setting up a selection of new ones ready to be sliced ‘n’ diced. Unlike some subsequent horror franchises, Scream was never about inventive deaths, so the focus on character and storyline (relatively, at least) makes for a welcome change of pace from gore-riddled modern US horror movies.

One of the hallmarks of the original films, as I’m sure you’ll recall, is that they featured characters who were very aware of the rules of the horror movie. It played on these mercilessly, said characters employing knowledge of decades’ worth of horror films and horror sequels in order to (try to) survive. That’s not gone in Scre4m, which sets its sights on the US horror predilections that have followed since; mainly remakes and reboots. Sadly, there’s probably more on-the-nose dialogue-y exposition-y stuff about the poor quality and predictability of remakes than actually integrating such criticism into the film itself; but then again the parallels to the original Scream are there for those who care to look.

It also leads to quite a good extended bit where some characters reel off a list of recent remakes, which rather highlights just how far it’s gone now. There’s lots of examples of this fun ‘meta’ stuff for film fans; for real-world-stuff too, including references to Courtney Cox and David Arquette’s marriage, Emma Roberts being in the shadow of Julia Roberts, and so on.

In a nod to the rise of ‘torture porn’ films, Scre4m frequently reminds us that the rules have changed. I think what it really proves is there are no rules any more. Which on the one hand is fine — filmmakers have spent decades trying to subvert our expectations and surprise us in the horror genre — but on the other means the intelligent viewer can never be surprised, because every possibility is racing through our mind. Which, again, is fine — that’s the point: like every kind of murder mystery from Agatha Christie on, half the game is guessing the killer. And if you want to get suckered in to the jump scares, or think it through so thoroughly you remain ahead of them, that’s fine too. I think that’s one of the reasons horror movies have always appealed so much to teens: they’re still naive enough, unfamiliar with the rules of film enough, to get caught out by those things; whereas an older, seasoned viewer can see them coming.

But, ultimately, all the discussion of horror movies and their rules is just window dressing: if there aren’t rules any more (which there don’t seem to be), it’s impossible for the characters to use them to survive, or for it to lend much self-reflexive weight to how the killer behaves. The only moment when it might be of use is when they predict the climax will occur at a party, and it turns out they’re having a party that very night! But then they go ahead with anyway. So much for that then.

Like so much of the film, Marco Beltrami’s score is amusingly overblown. He makes it sound like something terrifying is happening when someone sits in broad daylight typing “I don’t know what to write” on their computer. I had similar thoughts on bits of the acting, the murders, and so on — there’s an element of a wink and a nudge, of deliberately hamming it up. I think that some would see this as a lack of skill in the acting/writing/directing departments, but I think it’s a choice. Or I choose to think it’s a choice, take your pick. Arguably the resultant mix works as well as a comedy as it does a horror movie. This, I think, is part of why the Scary Movie movies are so reviled — they simply take the piss out of something that is, to one degree or another, already taking the piss.

In many respects, Scre4m is kind of old school. It fits better in the era of the original trilogy and/or earlier horror films than with the development of the genre in the intervening decade. Though as the main development has been torture porn, and it criticises that explicitly from the very first scene, perhaps that’s still OK. In fact, they’re one step ahead again, with a nod to the most most-recent development (the Paranormal Activity-led “found footage” boom), which actually plays a more central role than the torture porn stuff.

It’s fair to say that a chunk of nostalgia for the originals colours my liking of Scre4m. Perhaps it plays best to those who saw the first three at the right age, i.e. mid-to-late teens or so. I shouldn’t think it would engage a new audience all that much, especially ones versed in the gorier Saw and Final Destination franchises. But for those of us with fond memories (to one degree or another) of the first three films, it’s kind of a nice little revisit.

Unauthorized: The Harvey Weinstein Project (2011)

Posted on November 24, 2012 by badblokebob

2012 #81
Barry Avrich | 96 mins | streaming | 16:9 | Canada / English

The documentary that Weinstein reportedly tried to stop existing, including discouraging people from participating in interviews. Either he needn’t have worried or really is a complete megalomaniac, because while there is a certain warts-and-all aspect to Avrich’s cinematic biography, it can’t help but admire all that Weinstein has achieved.

Briefly covering his upbringing, to better set in context what follows, Unauthorized tells the story of how Harvey and his brother Bob took their success as concert promoters and applied the techniques to the movie business, moving from simply buying and distributing foreign and indie films, to actually producing them, in the process revolutionising the American film industry for a decade or two.

As a story that’s only recently played out, and arguably isn’t even complete (the film makes it as far as the formation of The Weinstein Company and its early flops, like Grindhouse), I imagine plenty of film fans who lived through this era might find this telling to be an unnecessary recap. As someone who was only a couple of years old when the Weinsteins made their first bids for domination, it’s a period in film history I was only vaguely aware of, and I learnt a lot here. For instance, I had no idea that it’s primarily thanks to the Weinsteins’ buying habits that indie festivals like Sundance went from being barely attended to some of the biggest events on the film calendar.

Even for those who were following film culture through this era, and in spite of Harvey’s apparent efforts, there are numerous interviewees who were there — former Miramax employees, for instance — to offer insight. Thanks to archive footage we get even more opinions, including a fair few comments from Harvey himself. How much of this was available at the time, I obviously don’t know. Even if it is mostly recap, it’s a concise and well-constructed one.

Stopping short of hagiography but fully prepared to acknowledge the huge, and perhaps continuing, impact of Harvey Weinstein on the American film industry, Unauthorized may not quite be essential cinephile viewing, but for those of us a bit too young to be paying attention to the grown up film industry throughout the ’90s, there’s a worthwhile lesson here.

Glorious 39 (2009)

Posted on February 7, 2012 by badblokebob

“This year’s Atonement,” proclaims the poster, and DVD cover, and probably much more of the marketing for Stephen Poliakoff’s first venture into the cinema for 12 years, in the process probably explaining why he’s made (or “how he found the funding to make”) the return-jump from exalted TV auteur to cinematic hopeful: the titular “39” means “1939”, the year World War II began. Throw in a plot that concerns the aristocracy and an ‘English rose’-type to stare thoughtfully open-mouthed into the distance on all the posters, and Poliakoff’s film is automatically lumped in the same ballpark as Joe Wright’s Ian McEwan adaptation. Only this one comes light on awards nominations.

I was going to add “light on star power” too, but whereas Atonement could only offer Keira Knightley and a still-rising James McAvoy, Glorious 39 offers a host of above-the-title names: trailing behind Atonement‘s own Romola Garai we find Bill Nighy, Julie Christie, David Tennant, Jenny Agutter, Jeremy Northam and Christopher Lee, not to mention a host of other recognisable British faces. If the combined cult might of Mr.s Tennant and Lee wasn’t enough to make this a hit, nothing could be. Some quite critical reviews obviously didn’t help.

I, however, thought it was rather good. I can see what turned some people off though. It’s a thriller, but it moves leisurely, especially early on. It’s also quite elliptical at times, not so much requiring you to pay attention as put the pieces together yourself. Plus it lacks a grand finale in which the hero triumphs, or at least loses in dramatic style — it’s quieter than that. Yet I liked the ending, finding it triumphant in a whole other way. But I won’t go spoiling that here.

It’s very much a Poliakoff work, I think. Perhaps that catches some film critics unawares: as noted, he worked solely in TV for over a decade before this, albeit in an auteur mode, writing and directing his own TV movies and miniseries, and perhaps this means he passed them by. But then that’s just about managing expectations. It’s not a melodramatic epic love story like Atonement, nor is it a pacey wartime thriller like… no example comes readily to mind, actually. Can someone please make a pacey wartime thriller? Or tell me which I’ve missed/forgotten?

By taking its time it creates a mood of creeping terror and dread; of an oppressive conspiracy that our hero, who’s just a fairly ordinary girl, has no chance of overturning — if it’s even real, and if she can find details about it if it is. And, by extension, by taking its time it’s being A Bit Different, and that means you can never be sure where it’s going to go; never be sure who’s on the side of the angels and who of the devils; of who is reliable and what is really happening; of who will survive. What’s better in a thriller than not actually knowing what will come? There should be twists in this genre — genuine twists when possible, not a stock array of “small character played by famous actor turns out to be vitally important” or ” good guy is actually bad guy” or what have you — and Glorious 39, with its balanced uncertainty, pulls some of those off.

It’s also well written, prettily shot, and expertly performed by that array of quality performers. I don’t recall a weak link.

Ignore the critics, ignore the comparisons to Atonement, and give Glorious 39 a chance on its own terms. I very much liked it.

* I own Glorious 39 on DVD, but watched it on TV when it premiered because it was shown (and available on iPlayer) in HD. There is no UK Blu-ray of the film, but I believe one is available in America. Such a fate seems to have befallen several British films of late — Easy Virtue is another example that quickly comes to mind. ^

Cruise of the Gods (2002)

Posted on December 24, 2011 by badblokebob

2011 #92
Declan Lowney | 90 mins | TV | 16:9 | UK / English | 12

I’ve debated in the past where the line between what counts as a film and what counts as a TV production falls in this day and age, when a one-off feature-length event programme on a major network could easily outstrip a small theatrical film in both filmic spectacle and budget. So it really comes down to intention and/or place of release: if it’s made for TV, it’s TV; if it’s made for cinema or direct-to-DVD, it’s a film; if it’s made for the cinema but doesn’t really get released and goes straight to TV, God alone knows.

Cruise of the Gods is a clear cut case: it was made for TV, it was shown on TV, it’s a one-off TV programme. But I’m going to say screw that and bend my rules a little, just this once*, because I’ve definitely seen ‘proper films’ that aren’t as good as this (naturally, that could be said of a lot of TV) and, well, because I really liked it and wanted to share.

Rob Brydon stars as the lead actor from a cheap ’80s BBC sci-fi show who’s now working as a hotel porter, while his co-star (Steve Coogan) is off in America starring in popular TV series Sherlock Holmes in Miami. (A modern-day TV series update of Sherlock Holmes? What a horrid idea only the Americas would do!) When he’s invited on a fan cruise (like a convention, but on a cruise ship — these things do exist), an initially reluctant Brydon accepts because he needs some money. There he meets fans of the long-dead show, played by the likes of a pre-Little Britain David Walliams and a pre-Gavin & Stacey James Corden. Events, as they say, unfold.

Though the film pokes fun (fairly good-naturedly) at sci-fi obsessives, the underlying story here is about a man overshadowed by his past. In this Brydon gives a strong performance — I think he’s a better actor than he’s normally given credit for — and he’s ably supported by Corden in particular, though to say what gives his role such quality might spoil a twist. He’s another one who’s actually a very good actor, but it gets hidden beneath a public persona that led to such dross as that sketch show with Mathew Horne.

The biggest twist, however, is that Coogan plays a nice character. There’s no surprise sting in the tail there, he’s just nice throughout. It’s weird.

As this is TV, the writer gets prominence over the director; indeed, the opening credits follow the title card with a just-as-big “by Tim Firth” credit, while Lowney’s name is relegated to the end credit scrawl. Such is the fate of many a TV director. Their careers have followed suit too: Firth went on to films like Calendar Girls, Kinky Boots and Confessions of a Shopaholic. (Before it he wrote, amongst other things, The Flint Street Nativity (which I probably last saw when it was on in 1999, but remember fondly) and Border Cafe, a forgotten mini-series which I’ve always vaguely remembered watching. I think this is the kind of thing that can happen with writers: they’re so often undervalued that you might end up seeing a lot of their stuff, almost to the point where it could be called following their career, without ever realising all those disparate things were penned by the same human being. Poor writers.) Lowney, meanwhile, has stuck to TV, with episodes of Happiness, Little Britain and Married Single Other (amongst others) to his name, and most recently some bits of Glastonbury 2011. (Poorer directors.) None of this tells you much about Cruise of the Gods, I’d just observed it all.

There was talk of this being remade as a film, again starring Brydon and Coogan. I don’t know if that’s still going ahead. Really, there’s no need: I think it’s an entertaining comedy and engrossing character drama as it is, easily on a par with similar-feeling British films (and easily exceeding others — Beyond the Pole, for instance). The only benefit would be wider exposure: people seem prepared to visit old films in a way that isn’t felt for most old TV, which is still seen as disposable and transitory by many. Their loss — they’re the ones missing stuff like this, while the more open-minded among us can find and enjoy it.

* May happen again. ^

Cameraman: The Life & Work of Jack Cardiff (2010)

Posted on October 13, 2011 by badblokebob

Documentary telling the story of the career of cinematographer and director Jack Cardiff.

As the title implies, it focuses mainly on the former — despite the fact he directed 13 features, this part of his career is largely glossed over with a bit of discussion of one film, Sons and Lovers, which earnt some Oscar nominations (including one, slightly ironic, win). But that’s probably fine, because it’s for his work with the camera on films like A Matter of Life and Death, Black Narcissus, The Red Shoes and The African Queen that Cardiff is best known.

As a film, it doesn’t do anything fancy: talking heads, clips, photographs. There’s nothing wrong with that when your topic is engrossing and your content stands on its own. It’s a biography of Cardiff’s work, moving chronologically through his major contributions to cinema. The insights are numerous thanks to the number of films covered and a lot of footage from an interview with Cardiff himself. Though there are other interviewees, including some big names (just look at the list on IMDb), what Cardiff has to say of his own works dominates, which seems only proper.

My overriding memory of the documentary is of a slew of beautiful-looking films, some well known and others not, but every one jumping onto want-to-see lists thanks to what’s shown here. Which just demonstrates how deserving Cardiff and his work are of a dedicated feature film of this quality.

~~Cameraman: The Life & Work of Jack Cardiff is on Film4 and Film4 HD tonight at 1:20am, and Film4 +1 at 2:20am (of course).~~
Cameraman: The Life & Work of Jack Cardiff is on Film4 at 1:20pm.

The Day of the Locust (1975)

Posted on September 18, 2011 by badblokebob

2011 #38
John Schlesinger | 137 mins | TV | 18 / R

Adapted from the novel by Nathanael West, The Day of the Locust is a slightly scrappy film about the seedy underside of Hollywood’s golden age. The plot is neither here nor there in many respects — the film is about the grotesques who are attracted to Hollywood, and that being exactly what it feeds on. The bizarre, surreal ending definitely makes more sense if you’re already thinking about the film in this way.

The magnificent riot at the end is a tour de force of cinema that single-handedly almost justifies that whole theme — it’s what happens when their frustrations at dreams not being realised overflows. It could be argued it makes an easy juxtaposition — of fans baying for stars at a premiere with a revenge-fuelled mob baying for blood — but it’s still a just one. It’s capped off by the way one turns into the other, and how that turns into a kind of apocalypse. I don’t know how it’s meant to be read, but I choose to take it that way

(Spoilers in this paragraph.) If the riot is a literal apocalypse, then the next scene becomes an afterlife-set coda. It’s very brightly lit and white, like a Heaven, and Faye is still there — still in Hollywood, exactly where she’d dream of being — while Tod is gone. She’s looking for him, back at the Bernadoo where she was kinda happy, and she wants him after all — but he’s not there; he doesn’t want her. It’s a tenuous reading for a film that seems to be a real-world drama, maybe… but not a wholly unsupported one — it’s a flat-out unusual scene.

Also brilliantly staged is the collapse of a Waterloo battle set. Appropriate as it’s one of the novel’s most memorable moments.

Despite having top billing, Donald Sutherland’s part is a beefed-up supporting role. Except he’s so good in it that he fairly steals the film. And despite fourth billing, William Atherton is ostensibly the main character. I don’t know if the film takes lengthy asides from him because they cast a fourth-billed-level actor, or if they cast a fourth-billed-level actor because the film takes lengthy asides from him, but either way these long-feeling stretches away from the only character we’re really encouraged to identify with dilute the film’s drive. Primarily for this reason, it could do with being shorter. Interestingly, the novel is a mere 163 pages (in my edition), meaning the film is close to translating it at a rate of a page per minute, which is rather extraordinary — very few adaptations do so little condensing.

(You probably recognise William Atherton from slimy supporting roles in Ghostbusters and the first two Die Hards. Believe it or not, his Ghostbusters character is available as an action figure. That is madness.)

The Day of the Locust may be a mess, or it may be a flawed masterpiece. It may very well be both. For much of it’s running time it pootled along at 3 stars, pushing down toward 2 the more diluted it began to feel. But seeing the completion of Donald Sutherland’s performance in the final scenes, plus the way those scenes seem to draw together the whole film, revealing and fulfilling themes I hadn’t even noticed developing until that point, in a spectacular orgy of apocalyptic violence… well, the stars suddenly ratchet back up.

~~The Day of the Locust is on Sky Movies Indie tonight at 9:30pm, and at various other times throughout the week.~~

A Bunch of Amateurs (2008)

Posted on September 13, 2011 by badblokebob

2011 #46
Andy Cadiff | 92 mins | TV | 15

A faded action movie star (Burt Reynolds) thinks he’s been signed up to play King Lear with the RSC… but when he arrives in England, he finds it’s just a small village amateur dramatics group. Hilarity, and the odd heart-warming message, ensue.

To put it simply, A Bunch of Amateurs is entertaining enough and has its moments. It’s thoroughly predictable — most viewers could probably map out the plot before the film even begins, so it’s certainly easy to guess what’s coming next as it trots along — but there’s also something reassuring about that predictability — it’s exactly the sort of Quaint British Movie you expect it to be. Some will find that insufferable; I’m sure there are some who find it absolutely lovely and it’s the only kind of film they ever want to watch. I think it’s fine for what it is, a nice hour-and-a-half on a Sunday afternoon with something unchallenging but likely to raise a smile.

It’s certainly well cast. Well, mostly. Reynolds isn’t a great actor, is he? Appropriate casting when his bad-actor character is acting, then, but not so hot the rest of the time. (Reportedly he struggled to learn his lines and consequently many differ significantly from the play. So I’m not wrong, am I.) Luckily he’s made up for by a cast that includes Samantha Bond, Imelda Staunton and Derek Jacobi, all ceaselessly watchable, plus a supporting cast of faces you’ll likely recognise from British telly.

Late on, there are a couple of jumps in the plot that suggest cut scenes. Or bad writing. So we’ll go with the former. I appreciate the (presumed) desire to keep the running time tight, but there were a couple of glitches I observed and it would be nice if they’d been smoothed over. Ian Hislop is a credited writer — I guess we know the source of some light newspaper satire that’s sprinkled across the film (most notably in the final act), then.

The worst gap in the writing is that it goes unexplained why the am-dram group thought he was a good idea at any time. It’s ‘explained’ as the school-age daughter of the group’s director suggesting him, but no idea is given as to why — he’s not a great actor; he’s a wash-up who used to be in crap action films. If he’d been suggested by a version of Nick Frost’s character from Hot Fuzz, or by the B&B lady who fancies the pants off him, that might make sense, but why the schoolgirl? And why did anyone agree to it? It’s sort of ignored in the hope we won’t notice this massive whole in the logic, but… well, I noticed.

Probably the best bit is the series of films Reynolds’ character is known for: Ultimate Finality 4 plays as a nice, subtly-used background gag.

The 15 certificate is overdoing it. There’s a couple of instances of swearing that make it clear how that rating was achieved (according to the BBFC, ten in total, including seven in one sentence), but those aside it’s really not a 15 kind of film; it’s far too gentle for the vast majority of its running time to merit so high a classification. Not that anyone under the age of 15 is going to be dying to see it, but the implication of what a 15 contains is more likely to put off the real prospective audience. Maybe. Oh I don’t know, but it doesn’t seem right.

IMDb reports that “Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Philip requested a copy of this film after attending it’s Premiere 2008 Royal Film Performance so they could show it at Sandringham Castle for the rest of the family over the Christmas holidays.” Take from that what you will.

Lumet: Film Maker (1975)

Posted on April 16, 2011 by badblokebob

2011 #43a
Elliot Geisinger & Ronald Saland | 10 mins | DVD | PG

This ten-minute documentary short is made up of behind-the-scenes footage of some of the filming of Dog Day Afternoon, with the occasional on-set interview with some (to be honest, minor) crew members, snippets of audio interview with Lumet himself, and a voiceover narration.

Today it’s the kind of material that would come out as part of the EPK and be included on the DVD — it has a largely promotional tone, talking about how great Lumet is to work with, how great Pacino is, that kind of thing. From a modern perspective, much of the information is duplicated elsewhere on the DVD, but for those not interested in a two-hour audio commentary it’s here.

What it does still add is footage of Lumet at work. Based on what we see, you can well imagine how he managed to finish the shoot a whole three weeks ahead of schedule, and how he produced such an authentic-feeling final result. There’s the soundman, for instance, who humorously has to dash off halfway through his interview for the next setup.

It feels a bit daft reviewing what would today be just an EPK and/or DVD featurette. But as this comes from a time before those things existed, when it wasn’t designed to go straight to the DVD just for the interested (though I don’t know where it was shown — in cinemas as a kind of extended trailer, I presume? It doesn’t look like a TV special, especially at just ten minutes), it’s a “documentary short” — look, IMDb says it is.

But then, are feature-length DVD ‘making of’s a kind of film too? Lost in La Mancha would have just been the DVD extras, had the film not gone tits up. What about Hearts of Darkness, which is now, pretty much, placed as ‘just’ a Blu-ray extra?

Oh dear, I fear there may be another lengthy and inconclusive waffle coming on…

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