How much is art really worth?

Well, it’s worth a great deal, clearly. It helps us get through what is, for many of us, an increasingly shitty day-to-day existence. Like contact with loved ones, music, film and other more traditional forms of art nourish us in ways we can’t quite put into words. But, I think there is a line.

This thought came to me while writing on my other blog about Rain Man (although pieces written by Empire’s current editor Terri White, Sali Hughes and Dylan Farrow (as well as a follow up written in Vertigo) had already put this somewhere in my mind. Molly Ringwald has also recently revisited the films she made with John Hughes though the #MeToo filter, giving yet more food for thought regarding favourite films). I recalled how Rain Man’s star, Dustin Hoffman is one of the many sullied by the recent outpouring of sexual harassment cases following the implosion of Harvey Weinstein’s career. I think it can’t fail to have an effect on how you react to a film when one of the people involved with it is someone with a somewhat murky moral character.

Sometimes, it might be possible to still enjoy some films, if it was more of a collaborative effort. Regarding Rain Man, I noted in the review that to completely disregard it now would be to disregard the great work of co star Tom Cruise and director Barry Levinson, as well as the others involved in its making. The same is true of Baby Driver. To refuse to watch it due to the presence of Kevin Spacey is to stick two fingers up at the huge amount of work Edgar Wright put into realising this glorious vision where driving, walking, talking, shooting and fighting is done to the sound of music. It’s a marvel and to dismiss it due to Spacey’s involvement feels somehow disingenuous.

Then there are other times where it is impossible to turn a blind eye. Last Tango in Paris, for example. The infamous butter-as-lube anal sex scene was allegedly sprung on poor Maria Schneider without her knowledge. While they didn’t have sex for real, she still suffered the indignity of having Brando smear butter around her arse and writhe about on top of her. What you’re seeing in that scene is a genuine sexual assault. Brando and director Bernardo Bertolucci claimed the pursuit of authenticity to justify their decision, as if Schneider would not be able to act the scene and the reality gives it a truer feel. Turns out Schneider never really recovered from the ordeal and for their ‘art’ Brando and Bertolucci ruined a career and a life. Sali Hughes wrote a much more eloquent article (linked above), but my sentiment is much the same as hers: fuck that. Shit like this is why I hope the #MeToo movement burns all the rot from Hollywood (and every industry) where men abuse their power over women. The excuse ‘but it’s art’ washes not at all.

Then there’s Woody Allen. You can’t separate Woody Allen from a Woody Allen film. The same is true of Roman Polanski. I suppose there is the possibility that Allen didn’t sexually assault a seven year old (and there’s the rub – as it can’t be proved, who gets the benefit of the doubt? The men so you can continue to enjoy their films? The girls/women because fuck me if there’s one thing victims of sexual assault need it’s to be trusted and supported?). But…what if he did? There are some Woody Allen films I love, and actors and actresses I love are still falling over themselves to be in his films. But I don’t know now if I can (or should) bring myself to watch them. To do so feels too much like supporting his alleged actions and the rancid system that exists to protect and support him and others like him. While Allen continues to deny, Polanski, on the other hand, admitted in court to anally raping a 13 year old, so for me there's little left to justify continuing to watch and enjoy, much less agree to perform in, his films. Yet people do. Because it's art.

I confess I find myself in a troubled quandary. The law, quite correctly, states innocent until proven guilty. But sexual assault, especially if committed years ago, is nigh-on impossible to prove. Shouldn’t some of these men be in prison by now? Does wealth or a reputation for being a good actor or director really put you above the law? It fucking shouldn’t and that’s the truth. At the very least it should signal an end to their career, shouldn’t it? Allen and Polanski have escaped the fate that has justifiably befallen Weinstein and Spacey, but I don’t think I can find it within me to continue to be objective to their work, to turn a blind eye to the actions of which they are accused.

What a bloody mess.

Classic or modern?

Why choose at all? Seeing Blade Runner 2049 and listening to what people thought about it got me thinking recently. Specifically, thinking about something Mark Kermode said while talking about it. Like me, he is a long-time fan of the original, and has probably forgotten more about it than I’ll ever know. He’s got a reputation (with me at least) for being a bit of a punk Barry Norman – basically, most films appear to suck beyond redemption in his opinion.

Like me, however, he has been gushing in his praise of Denis Villeneuve’s sequel – not only does it not ruin Ridley Scott’s original, but it expands, enhances and, occasionally, surpasses it. It’s jaw-on-the-floor good. One thing among many that I loved about it was the slow-burning pace at which the story unfolds, and something that Kermode mentioned resonated with me. He mentioned an experiment film students do early on in their studies, which involves them watching an older film and clapping every time there’s a cut. Then carrying out the same exercise with a modern picture and noting just how much quicker the claps come. Blade Runner 2049 is more like one of the older films; slow, detailed, and long takes, never rushing to get where it needs to go.

It isn’t necessarily that one style is always better – Steven Soderbergh, Paul Thomas Anderson and Paul Greengrass are examples of how making quick cuts can often make a strong impact – but the modern style too often becomes a dizzying Michael Bay frame fuckathon. There is no shortage of modern visual effects techniques used in making Blade Runner 2049, and they are always used to eye-meltingly brilliant effect, but it remembers that production and visuals aren’t the whole thing, and the deliberate pace and time taken to explore themes of belonging, love and what exactly it means to be human (themes raised by the original in addition to its incredible and massively influential production design) make this just about a perfect combination of modern technology in service to a more old-fashioned narrative pace.

One can only hope others learn from it…

Maybe we should go easy on Hollywood.

Hollywood has got a pretty poor reputation these days. Gone, the days of Monroe, Wayne & Heston, or Capra, Hitch & Wilder. What we get now is Tatum, Pattinson & Worthington, and Ratner, Harlin & *shudder* Bay. No more Some like it Hot, no more The Apartment, no more Vertigo or Casablanca. Now we get Transformers, American Pie: Band Camp and all manner of sequels, prequels, re-imaginings, adaptations, remakes, or films based on comics, fairground rides or toy lines.

All too rarely does an Inception, a Pulp Fiction, or a Wall*E come along. The truth of the matter is recently I would have agreed with that view, but recently a friend recommended a video to me. The video make me re-evaluate the Hollywood machine, and showed me that things are so twisted, so messed up over there, that it really is a miracle they make anything worth watching at all. Ever. It’s an anecdote told by Kevin Smith about the time he was asked by Warner Bros to write a script for a new Superman film and the things the producer made him include in it. Smith has a real talent for writing and speaking to audiences, and the 20 minute anecdote is truly great.

It’s incredible that with producers like that Hollywood ever manages to release anything of quality. So give Tinsel Town a break – any release that’s even half-way decent is a minor miracle.