It’s not easy being shut away most days is it? I mean, some things are lovely. Spending time in my house or my garden when usually I’d be away from it most of the time, working to ensure I can afford it. Working from home does mean I spend a lot of time shut away in one corner of the house, but it’s not a long walk to the garden or the kettle when I need a break.
Spending all my days in the company of my wife still hasn’t gotten old, and I can’t see that it ever will. For me. Can’t speak for her. Sure my kids are testing my patience to varying degrees of extremity every day, but for at least part of every day there are good times. They do miss their friends and I’m sure the cat would rather us be gone for the day so she can sleep in peace, but generally it’s not so bad.
There are some things I’m missing though. I want to go and see people in my family that aren’t in my immediate household. And not from 2 or more metres away – I want to hug them. I want to go to the pub and spend too much money on an average meal and sip overpriced wine. I am missing interaction with colleagues at work. All of that, I’m missing about as much as I expected to, but there’s something I miss more than I thought I would: cinema.
I mean, I didn’t even go that often, and when I did it was usually to watch kids’ films; the last two times before this kicked off I went to see Sonic the Hedgehog and Pixar’s Onward. But always having the option to go if the opportunity arose; that it was there should I need it. That’s what I miss. Laughing loudly at Jumanji: The Next Level with my eldest. Being utterly transfixed by Blade Runner 2049. Watching the breathless final hour of Avengers: Endgame play out (that link contains spoilers, for info). Having my brain melted by the sheer impossibility of the stunt work of Mad Max: Fury Road. I’ve started to go further back, remembering fondly the first times watching Avatar, Lord of the Rings, Jurassic Park, Indiana Jones & The Last Crusade or (in what I think might have been my first ever cinema trip) E.T. I’m positively misty eyed at the thought of going to see Dune later this year.
This is the thing I want to come back the most of all. All hail the Picture House.
Showing posts with label films. Show all posts
Showing posts with label films. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 13, 2020
Monday, February 11, 2019
A lasting impression I could do without.
Have you ever read a book or watched a film that you know is extremely good, but you still wish you’d never gone anywhere near it? I’ve done it twice now. The first was when we watched Grave of the Fireflies. Studio Ghibli has a body of work that pretty much nobody can touch for quality, save maybe Pixar. Grave of the Fireflies is a 1988 animated film directed by Isao Takahata which forms part of the Ghibli collection. It brings home the devastating cost of war by focusing on two children in Japan near the end of the second world war, who lose their parents and have to try to survive together in the face of starvation and the antipathy of a population numb to tragedy. Studio Ghibli films are not afraid to focus on hardship, loss and grief, but they are generally optimistic. When I had finished watching, I felt something I’d never felt in reaction to a film before or since; a physical pain. My heart was broken and I felt like I’d been kicked in the gut. The film is incredible; told with the same gift for character and astonishing artistry that is par for the course for Ghibli, but I don’t ever want to see it again and I can’t bring myself to recommend it to anyone. It was like having my heart stomped on by the one person I can usually expect to make it soar. I was in a funk for weeks afterwards, unable to shake the feeling of desperate hopelessness it left in me. Art that can do that is undeniably powerful, but all the same, I’d rather not feel like that.
I recently read Random Acts of Senseless Violence. Written by Jack Womack and published in 1993, it tells the story of Lola, a young teenage girl living in a in a well-to-do area of New York, while the world around her falls apart. When her parents can no longer find work and have to move to a more dangerous area, we follow Lola as she changes from private school girl to ruthless gangster, and it makes for such a depressing read. It’s very well done, but it is so infuriating to see this innocent girl have her life taken from her and her potential lost. Not just Lola, but a society that could’ve been so much more devolve into shadow of itself, beset by riots and greed. It felt the same way reading High Rise felt, this chilling feeling of a society making the decision to let itself topple from the cliff edge, and the sense of everything slowly going to hell, when with just a little more will, it might’ve pulled itself back from the brink. A bit like living in a UK forcing itself to leave the European Union even though it knows full well what the consequences are going to be, or like I would imagine living in the U.S. under President Cockwomble feels like.
This book has stuck with me not just because of that though, but because of something specific, and that’s the death of Lola’s father. No longer able to make ends meet as a screenwriter due to the volatile world the book is set in, he has no choice but to work extremely long hours in a job in which he is constantly under pressure and screamed at and berated for barely enough money to afford the rent on the crappy apartment the family have had to move to. There is a truly haunting scene in which poor Lola finds her father dead having had a heart attack in the middle of the night, and eventually, this is the thing that pushes Lola beyond the point of no return.
I’m not saying that the world in which I live and work is anywhere near as bad as the unfortunate Lola’s. But I am on that borderline between just managing financially and not managing. And I do work overtime. Since reading that book, the only thing on my mind when I get up at 6:15 on a Saturday morning to work overtime to supplement my wages while my family sleeps is that dreadful scene of Lola discovering her father’s body, after he worked and stressed himself to death trying play a rigged game just to keep his family safe and alive (he’d already given up on happy).
If this strikes you as overly melodramatic, well you’d be right. I actually quite enjoy my job. My family are, relatively speaking, safe and happy. While I do always feel like I don’t have enough money to get by, the truth is, we’ve managed it so far, so I expect we’ll be fine. But that’s the effect of well-made art on the psyche. We are going to have to deal with major crises over the coming decades because nobody has got the will to do a damn thing about climate change, but instead of the biggest emergency our species has ever had to deal with dominating the news and the political stage, we’re arguing about whether or not it’s a good idea to rip up the fragile Northern Ireland peace agreement so Lord Snooty (how can you not look at that snivelling weasel Rees-Mogg and think of anyone else?) can keep hold of his unearned, inherited, offshore tax-free millions and withdrawing from the agreement that ended the Cold War (good job America. Well done).
So it feels like, as in Random Acts of Senseless Violence, we are also a society deliberately deciding to step off into the abyss, and that’s why Lola and her father struck such a chord with me; forced to narrow their view and look out only for themselves, and as far as her father goes, eventually die trying.
Still. Chin up, eh?
I recently read Random Acts of Senseless Violence. Written by Jack Womack and published in 1993, it tells the story of Lola, a young teenage girl living in a in a well-to-do area of New York, while the world around her falls apart. When her parents can no longer find work and have to move to a more dangerous area, we follow Lola as she changes from private school girl to ruthless gangster, and it makes for such a depressing read. It’s very well done, but it is so infuriating to see this innocent girl have her life taken from her and her potential lost. Not just Lola, but a society that could’ve been so much more devolve into shadow of itself, beset by riots and greed. It felt the same way reading High Rise felt, this chilling feeling of a society making the decision to let itself topple from the cliff edge, and the sense of everything slowly going to hell, when with just a little more will, it might’ve pulled itself back from the brink. A bit like living in a UK forcing itself to leave the European Union even though it knows full well what the consequences are going to be, or like I would imagine living in the U.S. under President Cockwomble feels like.
This book has stuck with me not just because of that though, but because of something specific, and that’s the death of Lola’s father. No longer able to make ends meet as a screenwriter due to the volatile world the book is set in, he has no choice but to work extremely long hours in a job in which he is constantly under pressure and screamed at and berated for barely enough money to afford the rent on the crappy apartment the family have had to move to. There is a truly haunting scene in which poor Lola finds her father dead having had a heart attack in the middle of the night, and eventually, this is the thing that pushes Lola beyond the point of no return.
I’m not saying that the world in which I live and work is anywhere near as bad as the unfortunate Lola’s. But I am on that borderline between just managing financially and not managing. And I do work overtime. Since reading that book, the only thing on my mind when I get up at 6:15 on a Saturday morning to work overtime to supplement my wages while my family sleeps is that dreadful scene of Lola discovering her father’s body, after he worked and stressed himself to death trying play a rigged game just to keep his family safe and alive (he’d already given up on happy).
If this strikes you as overly melodramatic, well you’d be right. I actually quite enjoy my job. My family are, relatively speaking, safe and happy. While I do always feel like I don’t have enough money to get by, the truth is, we’ve managed it so far, so I expect we’ll be fine. But that’s the effect of well-made art on the psyche. We are going to have to deal with major crises over the coming decades because nobody has got the will to do a damn thing about climate change, but instead of the biggest emergency our species has ever had to deal with dominating the news and the political stage, we’re arguing about whether or not it’s a good idea to rip up the fragile Northern Ireland peace agreement so Lord Snooty (how can you not look at that snivelling weasel Rees-Mogg and think of anyone else?) can keep hold of his unearned, inherited, offshore tax-free millions and withdrawing from the agreement that ended the Cold War (good job America. Well done).
So it feels like, as in Random Acts of Senseless Violence, we are also a society deliberately deciding to step off into the abyss, and that’s why Lola and her father struck such a chord with me; forced to narrow their view and look out only for themselves, and as far as her father goes, eventually die trying.
Still. Chin up, eh?
Thursday, December 28, 2017
It’s about regret.
Regret. I’ve found that once you pass a certain age, regret becomes a potent and ever-present companion. I’m under no illusions; I am very much aware that I am in an extremely privileged position. It’s the idea of missed opportunities and coming to terms with the path your life has actually gone down. I wouldn’t like to run the risk of exploring the alternatives lest I risk losing what I have, but the concept is much more powerful now that more than half of my useful years are behind me.
As a storytelling conceit it tends to affect me so much stronger than it used to. It’s why The Muppet Christmas Carol, and to be fair, pretty much any version of the story (although I’m particularly fond of Michael Caine’s take, as well as Patrick Stewart’s, usually repeated on Channel 4 each year), is more emotionally affecting than Scrooged (not that I don’t dig Bill Murray’s version). The biggest emotional gut punch for Scrooge is when the Ghost of Christmas Past forces him to come face-to-face with the moment he sacrificed a future with the love of his life for something as mediocre as wealth. The ache to turn back the years and make the other choice is overwhelmingly heart-breaking. In the traditional telling of the tale, Scrooge must forever live with that choice – Murray gets a chance to rectify it, which loses a great deal of the power the story has.
It’s A Wonderful Life is another Christmas film that deals with the theme – all throughout, George Bailey has to make the choice to put his own ambitions on hold for the sake of others, and before he knows it, the chance has gone. Luckily for George, he’s able to content himself with the alternative life he built for himself over the years, but it wouldn’t have taken much to leave him filled with bitter regret. It’s a repeated trope in storytelling, and it’s precisely because it is so powerful; Magnolia is a non-Christmassy film that examines the nature of regret and how it affects us through various characters and it’s another one that has a very strong impact on me.
I guess the point (such as it is) is I don’t really think it’s possible to avoid regrets, and those that claim to regret nothing are perhaps not being completely honest with themselves.
As a storytelling conceit it tends to affect me so much stronger than it used to. It’s why The Muppet Christmas Carol, and to be fair, pretty much any version of the story (although I’m particularly fond of Michael Caine’s take, as well as Patrick Stewart’s, usually repeated on Channel 4 each year), is more emotionally affecting than Scrooged (not that I don’t dig Bill Murray’s version). The biggest emotional gut punch for Scrooge is when the Ghost of Christmas Past forces him to come face-to-face with the moment he sacrificed a future with the love of his life for something as mediocre as wealth. The ache to turn back the years and make the other choice is overwhelmingly heart-breaking. In the traditional telling of the tale, Scrooge must forever live with that choice – Murray gets a chance to rectify it, which loses a great deal of the power the story has.
It’s A Wonderful Life is another Christmas film that deals with the theme – all throughout, George Bailey has to make the choice to put his own ambitions on hold for the sake of others, and before he knows it, the chance has gone. Luckily for George, he’s able to content himself with the alternative life he built for himself over the years, but it wouldn’t have taken much to leave him filled with bitter regret. It’s a repeated trope in storytelling, and it’s precisely because it is so powerful; Magnolia is a non-Christmassy film that examines the nature of regret and how it affects us through various characters and it’s another one that has a very strong impact on me.
I guess the point (such as it is) is I don’t really think it’s possible to avoid regrets, and those that claim to regret nothing are perhaps not being completely honest with themselves.
Tuesday, October 24, 2017
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…
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…
Monday, July 17, 2017
Dammit, Marvel.
I’m hearing reports from Comic Con about the first bits of footage from the next Avengers movie, Infinity War. Basically, everyone’s wetting themselves and it looks set to be the greatest thing ever. Pretty much everyone I know who’s seen Spider-man: Homecoming loves it. Superheroes generally don’t really do it for me. They’re ok – I dig the first couple of Superman movies, Chris Nolan’s Batman was alright, and I quite like some of the X-Men movies. Watchmen is a straight up genius graphic novel. But there are so many heroes, so many stories that I just get sick of them, and this massive surge of them in recent years is pretty much all Marvel’s fault. It all started with Iron Man. Didn’t really seem like my thing, so I didn’t bother watching it. Then along came a few others – Captain America, Iron Man 2, Thor. Still not really interested. Got roped into seeing Captain America and it was just as blandly uninteresting as I expected.
But, they just kept coming. And they started to (by all accounts – still not seen most of them) improve. But the problem was, Marvel was in the process of creating this connected mega-universe and threading all the narratives around each other. By the time Joss Whedon was announced as writer and director of Avengers Assemble I began to get interested. But it was all too late. There were too many to catch up with. And they kept on coming, and kept on improving. Avengers got raves pretty much everywhere. Was talked in to watching Guardians of the Galaxy, which was just brilliant fun (I figured that while still forming part of the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU), it sat far enough outside it that I could manage). The second Captain America opened to rave reviews indicating it was a thriller about corruption in the powerful along the lines of All the President’s Men. And the orgasmic reviews keep coming; Ant-Man, Dr Strange and Civil War all met with rave reviews. Guardians of the Galaxy 2 was aces.
So what do I do? I’m a little OCD in that if I do join in the MCU, I’ll need to start from the beginning – all the way back to Iron Man. And I still don’t know if I can be arsed. So that’s my quandary. The very definition of a first world problem I know, but still annoying.
But, they just kept coming. And they started to (by all accounts – still not seen most of them) improve. But the problem was, Marvel was in the process of creating this connected mega-universe and threading all the narratives around each other. By the time Joss Whedon was announced as writer and director of Avengers Assemble I began to get interested. But it was all too late. There were too many to catch up with. And they kept on coming, and kept on improving. Avengers got raves pretty much everywhere. Was talked in to watching Guardians of the Galaxy, which was just brilliant fun (I figured that while still forming part of the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU), it sat far enough outside it that I could manage). The second Captain America opened to rave reviews indicating it was a thriller about corruption in the powerful along the lines of All the President’s Men. And the orgasmic reviews keep coming; Ant-Man, Dr Strange and Civil War all met with rave reviews. Guardians of the Galaxy 2 was aces.
So what do I do? I’m a little OCD in that if I do join in the MCU, I’ll need to start from the beginning – all the way back to Iron Man. And I still don’t know if I can be arsed. So that’s my quandary. The very definition of a first world problem I know, but still annoying.
Monday, December 19, 2016
Am I missing out?
It is well documented that I’m a bit of a wimp when it comes to being scared. I don’t like horror generally, and sometimes I wonder if I’m missing out on some great stuff. Well, let me rephrase. I know I’m missing out on some great stuff, but sometimes I wonder if I should care more about it.
There are some things I give not one shit about – the Saw franchise, for example. It can be as ingenious in its gory traps as it wants, but I’m someone it just isn’t going to be appealing to anytime soon. However, there are some things that perhaps I should make more of an effort to try, despite my fears.
I can get behind horror in a sci-fi setting a little more easily – I love Alien for example, and I might be one of only a few people that looks back on Event Horizon with fondness. I was scared watching those films, but still enjoyed them – in fact watching Alien for the first time all alone on ITV one Saturday night while my parents were out, eyes wide and heart hammering almost out of my chest as Ripley, Jones in hand, raced for the dubious safety of the Nostromo’s escape pod while lights flashed and smoke poured will always be one of my fondest film-related memories. But more standard horror is something I have tended to avoid, and continue to do so. Watching the Japanese language Ring trilogy left me feeling really quite traumatised (I swear I could see Sadako in every fucking shadow for months afterward) and while I can say they are decent films (the first one is genuinely excellent), I have no desire to watch them again anytime soon.
So I guess what it boils down to is that I need to find the good stuff and avoid the crap. Easier said than done when I’ve generally avoided the genre for so long. I think I’ve found two places I might be able to start, though. Being married to a librarian is a truly brilliant thing – I’ve found China Miéville and Anne Leckie, kept up with Brandon Sanderson’s latest releases and picked up classics from H. G. Wells, J. G. Ballard and Kurt Vonnegut. Thanks to Rach, I recently read Weaveworld, a fairly old novel written by Clive Barker – he of Hellraiser fame. Hellraiser and its sequels is probably a prime example of the kind of thing I tend to avoid. Weaveworld is one of those books that just boggles the mind – not only the imagination and the story, but the prose. Barely a page went by in that book that I didn’t find a passage, or a line, or a few words that made me take a breath and just admire the craft of an absolute master of words. The only other two authors I’ve found to be comparable in terms of that gobsmacking use of language are the aforementioned China Miéville and Stephen King. What is striking is that there are many moments of horror in Weaveworld and in Miéville’s work, and I’ve heard tell that King might dabble in horror from time to time as well. I couldn’t tell you for sure because the only books of his I’ve read so far is the Dark Tower series.
There’s got to be something in that, right? The three most gifted authors I’ve read have strong horror threads in much of their writing, with Barker and King famous for specialising in it? I’m clearly more comfortable when my horror is mixed with other genres – the sci-fi of Alien, Weaveworld is fantasy, The Dark Tower is also fantasy, with a large dose of western and Miéville is, frankly, beyond categorisation. Maybe I can use Barker and King to cross over into more straight horror?
Games are the same. I have tried to get through Bioshock a number of times – the premise is wonderful and the game is clearly quality – generally thought of as pretty much the best of the last generation. But when I play it before long I find myself a little too creeped out and I move on to something else. I want to play it. I want to finish it. I want to move on to Bioshock 2 and Bioshock Infinite, but I want to get through Bioshock first.
So maybe that’s where I’ll start. Pick up another Clive Barker or Stephen King book. Finish Bioshock. Maybe then I’ll find the guts to keep going and see what I’ve been missing out on. Maybe.
There are some things I give not one shit about – the Saw franchise, for example. It can be as ingenious in its gory traps as it wants, but I’m someone it just isn’t going to be appealing to anytime soon. However, there are some things that perhaps I should make more of an effort to try, despite my fears.
I can get behind horror in a sci-fi setting a little more easily – I love Alien for example, and I might be one of only a few people that looks back on Event Horizon with fondness. I was scared watching those films, but still enjoyed them – in fact watching Alien for the first time all alone on ITV one Saturday night while my parents were out, eyes wide and heart hammering almost out of my chest as Ripley, Jones in hand, raced for the dubious safety of the Nostromo’s escape pod while lights flashed and smoke poured will always be one of my fondest film-related memories. But more standard horror is something I have tended to avoid, and continue to do so. Watching the Japanese language Ring trilogy left me feeling really quite traumatised (I swear I could see Sadako in every fucking shadow for months afterward) and while I can say they are decent films (the first one is genuinely excellent), I have no desire to watch them again anytime soon.
So I guess what it boils down to is that I need to find the good stuff and avoid the crap. Easier said than done when I’ve generally avoided the genre for so long. I think I’ve found two places I might be able to start, though. Being married to a librarian is a truly brilliant thing – I’ve found China Miéville and Anne Leckie, kept up with Brandon Sanderson’s latest releases and picked up classics from H. G. Wells, J. G. Ballard and Kurt Vonnegut. Thanks to Rach, I recently read Weaveworld, a fairly old novel written by Clive Barker – he of Hellraiser fame. Hellraiser and its sequels is probably a prime example of the kind of thing I tend to avoid. Weaveworld is one of those books that just boggles the mind – not only the imagination and the story, but the prose. Barely a page went by in that book that I didn’t find a passage, or a line, or a few words that made me take a breath and just admire the craft of an absolute master of words. The only other two authors I’ve found to be comparable in terms of that gobsmacking use of language are the aforementioned China Miéville and Stephen King. What is striking is that there are many moments of horror in Weaveworld and in Miéville’s work, and I’ve heard tell that King might dabble in horror from time to time as well. I couldn’t tell you for sure because the only books of his I’ve read so far is the Dark Tower series.
There’s got to be something in that, right? The three most gifted authors I’ve read have strong horror threads in much of their writing, with Barker and King famous for specialising in it? I’m clearly more comfortable when my horror is mixed with other genres – the sci-fi of Alien, Weaveworld is fantasy, The Dark Tower is also fantasy, with a large dose of western and Miéville is, frankly, beyond categorisation. Maybe I can use Barker and King to cross over into more straight horror?
Games are the same. I have tried to get through Bioshock a number of times – the premise is wonderful and the game is clearly quality – generally thought of as pretty much the best of the last generation. But when I play it before long I find myself a little too creeped out and I move on to something else. I want to play it. I want to finish it. I want to move on to Bioshock 2 and Bioshock Infinite, but I want to get through Bioshock first.
So maybe that’s where I’ll start. Pick up another Clive Barker or Stephen King book. Finish Bioshock. Maybe then I’ll find the guts to keep going and see what I’ve been missing out on. Maybe.
Thursday, February 26, 2015
The value in repetition.
I’m a repeater. My favourite records are played again and again until they wear out and must be bought again (Definitely Maybe, Parklife, Grace, Is This It?, Different Class, Songs for the Deaf and Appetite for Destruction amongst dozens of others, if you care). Throughout my childhood I re-watched my favourite films to death (The Time Machine (1960), War of the Worlds (1953), Goonies, Gremlins, Ghostbusters and Indiana Jones) and that hasn’t changed much since I’ve got older apart from the addition of a few others – Pulp Fiction, Lord of the Rings, and Fight Club along with many more. The hours I sunk into playing through Sonic the Hedgehog, James Pond, Alex Kidd, Road Rash, Flashback and Street Fighter II and more over and over again in my teens I have no doubt would be terrifying were they ever to be added up, and more recently, I’ve been through the Gears of War campaign more than once and can see myself playing though GTA V again before too long.
There are, I don’t doubt, many people who have quite the opposite point of view; when you’ve seen a film once, you’ve seen it, so what’s the point of seeing it again? But if I love it, why would I not want to see it again? Those records, those films and those games became a support system for me while negotiating the difficulties of adolescence. They were friends, they were retreats – they were my happy place. They still are, in a way.
Books also had their place. I’d like to be able to tell you that I loved books above all those other things; that I used to spend hours, days even, lost in them. Alas, I wasn’t that bright. I did like books – I would read Roald Dahl, comics and adaptations of my favourite films. As with films, music and games, I would re-read my favourites – Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, George’s Marvellous Medicine and a junior version of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade – that would all become dog-eared and well thumbed, and later To Kill a Mockingbird would become my favourite. This recent article about books written for children kicked off this whole train of thought. It makes a good point about the validity of children’s books, as they have to be written with repetition in mind. They have to be robust enough to stand up to kids reading and re-reading them over and over again. While as adults we certainly do re-read our favourites, they are never tested to the extremes kid’s books are – I particularly like the Neil Gaiman quote in the article about how while he can’t justify every word of American Gods, he can of Coraline. Does that mean he thinks Coraline is a better book? I doubt it, but it does sound as though he takes special care over his children’s books compared to his adult books, and it’s probably because of the retellings the children’s books are subjected to.
But I didn’t really get into reading until I got into my teens, when I found Robert Jordan, Professor Tolkien and Terry’s Brooks and Pratchett. I am in fact re-reading Pratchett’s Discworld series at the moment. I wrote this this ages ago about how you generally have differing points of view when coming back to something like a book series or TV show later in life, and a similar thing has happened with Discworld. My favourite hasn’t changed – previously it was Small Gods and so it proves to be the case still – the conceit that gods are only as real as they are believed to be and their power diminishes with their belief, leaving them to essentially die along with their last believer is such a stroke of inspired genius that I doubt Pratchett will ever top it (although he’s come close a few times). Taking the series in more general terms, however, my favoured stories were always the ones that involved the wizards of Unseen University, or Death. While they are certainly the funniest ones still, I’m much happier this time round in the company of Watch Commander Sam Vimes and witch Granny Weatherwax. I could be well off the mark here, but they feel somehow truer, as if their righteous fury at the injustices of the world is closer to Pratchett’s true view of the world and echo the points he’s really trying make under the funny. This piece written by Neil Gaiman about Pratchett and his anger being the ‘engine that powered Good Omens’ might suggest I’m not that far off the mark, after all.
As usual, I don’t really have much of a point, but I suppose what I’m getting at is you should spend time in the company of the things you love.
There are, I don’t doubt, many people who have quite the opposite point of view; when you’ve seen a film once, you’ve seen it, so what’s the point of seeing it again? But if I love it, why would I not want to see it again? Those records, those films and those games became a support system for me while negotiating the difficulties of adolescence. They were friends, they were retreats – they were my happy place. They still are, in a way.
Books also had their place. I’d like to be able to tell you that I loved books above all those other things; that I used to spend hours, days even, lost in them. Alas, I wasn’t that bright. I did like books – I would read Roald Dahl, comics and adaptations of my favourite films. As with films, music and games, I would re-read my favourites – Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, George’s Marvellous Medicine and a junior version of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade – that would all become dog-eared and well thumbed, and later To Kill a Mockingbird would become my favourite. This recent article about books written for children kicked off this whole train of thought. It makes a good point about the validity of children’s books, as they have to be written with repetition in mind. They have to be robust enough to stand up to kids reading and re-reading them over and over again. While as adults we certainly do re-read our favourites, they are never tested to the extremes kid’s books are – I particularly like the Neil Gaiman quote in the article about how while he can’t justify every word of American Gods, he can of Coraline. Does that mean he thinks Coraline is a better book? I doubt it, but it does sound as though he takes special care over his children’s books compared to his adult books, and it’s probably because of the retellings the children’s books are subjected to.
But I didn’t really get into reading until I got into my teens, when I found Robert Jordan, Professor Tolkien and Terry’s Brooks and Pratchett. I am in fact re-reading Pratchett’s Discworld series at the moment. I wrote this this ages ago about how you generally have differing points of view when coming back to something like a book series or TV show later in life, and a similar thing has happened with Discworld. My favourite hasn’t changed – previously it was Small Gods and so it proves to be the case still – the conceit that gods are only as real as they are believed to be and their power diminishes with their belief, leaving them to essentially die along with their last believer is such a stroke of inspired genius that I doubt Pratchett will ever top it (although he’s come close a few times). Taking the series in more general terms, however, my favoured stories were always the ones that involved the wizards of Unseen University, or Death. While they are certainly the funniest ones still, I’m much happier this time round in the company of Watch Commander Sam Vimes and witch Granny Weatherwax. I could be well off the mark here, but they feel somehow truer, as if their righteous fury at the injustices of the world is closer to Pratchett’s true view of the world and echo the points he’s really trying make under the funny. This piece written by Neil Gaiman about Pratchett and his anger being the ‘engine that powered Good Omens’ might suggest I’m not that far off the mark, after all.
As usual, I don’t really have much of a point, but I suppose what I’m getting at is you should spend time in the company of the things you love.
Friday, December 26, 2014
People: not all bad.
I’m not unaware that this blog will often contain rants about the stupid and ridiculous things people do for the most stupid and ridiculous reasons, which, frankly, can sometimes get a little depressing. Sometimes it’s worth making a conscious effort to remember that we are responsible for brilliance.
There is a lump of matter in our skulls that can think its way beyond primal survival instincts and contemplate its own mortality and place within the cosmos. It can ask and answer questions about not only its origins, but the origins of the universe within which it finds itself. We can place ourselves in the shoes of those who are less fortunate and help them.
Complex and sophisticated languages, music, architecture, storytelling and many other forms of creation and expression. Not only the ability some have to create, but the ability of others to appreciate it. To respond on a deep emotional level to another person’s creation and either understand what it was they wanted to say, or take an entirely new interpretation of it beyond the creator’s original intention.
People you wouldn’t look at twice on the street are transformed into desirable, sweaty sex gods/goddesses if they’re standing in front of you playing music that fills your head with noise and your bones with vibrations. Moving pictures or written words become real and important because we have an imagination within which they become tangible things.
I know there are a many people in the world who aren’t in any kind of position to appreciate these things the way I can, and I know there are many things that aren’t right in our world – hell I usually moan about most of them right here, but we still have potential. Maybe we’ll realise it before we go under.
There is a lump of matter in our skulls that can think its way beyond primal survival instincts and contemplate its own mortality and place within the cosmos. It can ask and answer questions about not only its origins, but the origins of the universe within which it finds itself. We can place ourselves in the shoes of those who are less fortunate and help them.
Complex and sophisticated languages, music, architecture, storytelling and many other forms of creation and expression. Not only the ability some have to create, but the ability of others to appreciate it. To respond on a deep emotional level to another person’s creation and either understand what it was they wanted to say, or take an entirely new interpretation of it beyond the creator’s original intention.
People you wouldn’t look at twice on the street are transformed into desirable, sweaty sex gods/goddesses if they’re standing in front of you playing music that fills your head with noise and your bones with vibrations. Moving pictures or written words become real and important because we have an imagination within which they become tangible things.
I know there are a many people in the world who aren’t in any kind of position to appreciate these things the way I can, and I know there are many things that aren’t right in our world – hell I usually moan about most of them right here, but we still have potential. Maybe we’ll realise it before we go under.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Re-using actors and the occasional failure to suspend that disbelief.
Do you ever find that casting choices can sometimes spoil your enjoyment of films and TV shows? I don’t mean the casting of someone in a role they don’t suit – that happens all the time (*cough* Stallone *cough* Dredd *cough*), but because of a role they previously had. Does it bug you that Chris Evans is both Captain America and The Human Torch? Even though both Cap and the Fantastic Four technically inhabit the same Marvel universe? Usually I can manage – the fact that Indiana Jones and Han Solo are the same person is fine, but just occasionally something like that will make me double take and cause me to fall out of the story.
I can find no real reason why this happens in some cases, but not in others – Whedon, for example, re-uses actors all over the shop, but this tends not to faze me – the casting always seems pretty bang on, but then when Tonks got her kit off in season two of Game of Thrones it smashed that suspension of disbelief to tiny pieces. The fact that Johnny Depp has played Willy Wonka, Sweeney Todd, The Mad Hatter and Ichabod Crane somehow doesn’t faze me. Martin Freeman and Ian Holm are Bilbo Baggins at different stages of his life, and that I can handle, but the next time I see the prologue to Fellowship and Holm is playing Bilbo at the Freeman age, I get the feeling it’s gonna bug the shit outta me.
This mini-rumination has absolutely no point to it, but I’m intrigued as to the reason why sometimes particular casting choices just intrude on my enjoyment of the story, and sometimes they don’t.
I can find no real reason why this happens in some cases, but not in others – Whedon, for example, re-uses actors all over the shop, but this tends not to faze me – the casting always seems pretty bang on, but then when Tonks got her kit off in season two of Game of Thrones it smashed that suspension of disbelief to tiny pieces. The fact that Johnny Depp has played Willy Wonka, Sweeney Todd, The Mad Hatter and Ichabod Crane somehow doesn’t faze me. Martin Freeman and Ian Holm are Bilbo Baggins at different stages of his life, and that I can handle, but the next time I see the prologue to Fellowship and Holm is playing Bilbo at the Freeman age, I get the feeling it’s gonna bug the shit outta me.
This mini-rumination has absolutely no point to it, but I’m intrigued as to the reason why sometimes particular casting choices just intrude on my enjoyment of the story, and sometimes they don’t.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
But is it art?
Not really. But maybe, in a way. I’ve had conversations before about whether cinema is really art. Well, yes, it absolutely is. Sure, when presented with Transformers: Dark of the Moon it is harder to contend this. But, what about ‘real’ art? For every tortured Van Gogh masterpiece, there is a light switch or unmade bed. Now, I'm not here to tell you that that kind of modern art isn't art, but I am contending that film has as much right, perhaps more, to be called art. Cinema is another form of storytelling, and storytelling is an art form, whether it is in the form of a book, graphic novel, concept album, or simply told around a campfire. If you don’t agree are you really trying to tell me that Tracey Emin is an artist, and yet Terrence Malik is not? Then you are nuts.
But games? Now we’re on to rockier ground. Roger Ebert would say no. There are many others who might tell you yes. Me? As usual, I’m kind of on the fence. Ingenious? Definitely, whether classic or modern – Pong, Pac Man, Tetris, Sonic, Street Fighter, Resident Evil, Mass Effect, Bioshock, L.A. Noire... on and on the list goes. But art? Stories in games now have a much more cinematic feel, and as mentioned, I believe story-telling is a genuine art form. And some of the concept art and graphical touches are simply phenomenal (just two of many, many examples are shown below). But the stories and the design, which are art, is in service of the creation of an addictive diversion, which is not. So is art employed in the service of something which is not art still art? Perhaps some things man was never meant to know.
But games? Now we’re on to rockier ground. Roger Ebert would say no. There are many others who might tell you yes. Me? As usual, I’m kind of on the fence. Ingenious? Definitely, whether classic or modern – Pong, Pac Man, Tetris, Sonic, Street Fighter, Resident Evil, Mass Effect, Bioshock, L.A. Noire... on and on the list goes. But art? Stories in games now have a much more cinematic feel, and as mentioned, I believe story-telling is a genuine art form. And some of the concept art and graphical touches are simply phenomenal (just two of many, many examples are shown below). But the stories and the design, which are art, is in service of the creation of an addictive diversion, which is not. So is art employed in the service of something which is not art still art? Perhaps some things man was never meant to know.
 |
| Concept art for Gears of War. |
 |
| Concept art for Deus Ex: Human Revolution. |
Monday, July 2, 2012
“But they changed it.”
It’s all about the difference. The difference between a book and a movie. Sometimes when a book is adapted into a film I can get annoyed. Sometimes I get annoyed at other people who insist every last detail of the book they love should remain intact. Books can do great things. They can give you a character that is, in a way, uniquely yours, since how you interpret that character; the way they look, the way they sound, the way they walk and a load of other things is in your head. In someone else’s head it will be a little different. Sure, there are descriptions, but they often merely inform how a character is in your head, rather than acting as a complete immutable definition. The same goes for landscapes, architecture and many other things.
Films do something different. They show you, definitively, what that character looks like, how they sound, how they move, what that location looks like, or the internal layout of that building. Books allow you the freedom to create your own picture in your imagination. Films are more visual. They tell you what that picture looks like. There are other differences. Books often give you an insight into the innermost thoughts of a character. They can present an internal dialogue to tell you what the character thinks, and their motivation for their actions. Films give you a chance to apply your own take to the internal workings of character’s minds, using clues given by the actor’s performance.
What this boils down to is that they are very different ways to tell a story. When a book is adapted into a film, it is impossible not to account for this. There are, however, right and wrong ways to do this. If you understand the differences between the two, you could change a myriad of things, even the ending, and still adapt a book successfully. One example: Stardust. Neil Gaiman’s original story has quite a melancholic ending, which suits the story rather wonderfully. Matthew Vaughn and Jane Goldman’s film version retains much that made Gaiman’s original such a joy, but it is mostly lighter in tone, and a brighter happier ending suits it better.
For the screen, stories generally have to be simplified or changed in some way to make them more accessible to a wider audience. That’s not an insult to film, it is a simple and obvious (to most people) truth. Examples? Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and Jurassic Park to name just three. Occasionally, the changes made vastly improve on the source material (The Godfather, The Shining.) Sometimes a valiant attempt is made that just doesn’t come together (The Lovely Bones, Dune.) Sometimes, the changes undermine everything about it and nothing can help it to recover (step forward, The Golden Compass.) Some would argue Watchmen falls into this category, but I’ve neither seen nor read it, and have heard too many differences of opinion to be convinced either way.
By now, you’re probably wondering what the point of this entry is (none – have you not read this blog before?). Over the years, I’ve had many a conversation, debate and argument of the merits of films, books and the differences between them. Since this blog is a bit of a sounding board for me to make my thoughts and opinions known (or at the very least, to allow me to organise them), what better place for me to air this opinion? The two franchises that come up the most in these debates with both friends and colleagues are Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings (infer what that says about me and the people I converse with what you will). I would always find myself in defence of the film versions. Potter, under the guidance of author J. K. Rowling, trims the unnecessary sub plots to squeeze the plots into the running times. Seeing as the decisions are largely made or approved by the original architect of the series, the changes are fairly easy to justify.
Rings, on the other hand, is very different. The original author is dead. Only one person on the entire production ever met him (Christopher Lee). Some major changes have been made. Frodo is much younger. The Scouring of the Shire and Tom Bombadil are cut completely. Elves join the humans at Helm’s Deep. Faramir has a very different arc, taking Frodo and Sam to Osgiliath. This has annoyed a great many people. Every change, in my opinion, is justifiable and in fact, a film that stuck closer to the novel would have suffered. Scouring happens after Sauron is gone. To have the decoy still posing a threat after the destruction of the main villain wouldn’t work. In the book it has the effect of bringing into stark relief that even the rural paradise of The Shire doesn’t escape the War of the Ring untouched. The film accomplishes this in The Two Towers with a line of dialogue spoken by Merry: “The fires of Isengard will spread, and the woods of Tuckborough and Buckland will burn. There won’t be a Shire.” The Tom Bombadil part is frankly the dullest part of the books so I was quite pleased it was cut. With Helm’s Deep, Jackson and co accomplish what is essentially a master-class in building up tension in the run up to a climactic battle set piece, and the arrival of the small Elvish army to join the small human army to take on the huge army of Uruk-Hai is a perfectly judged moment – the book loses nothing from not having it; the film gains a wonderful, perfectly cinematic moment. The Faramir change is a little thornier, because it involves a small amount of criticism of Tolkien’s work. Faramir in the books is a bit one-dimensional. A bit boring. Apparently, the only guy in Middle Earth who can resist the power of the ring without breaking a sweat. There’s barely an arc, no real character development – hell, he’s barely even a character at all. He is so perfect, I think, to illustrate firstly the big difference between him and his brother Boromir, and secondly to suggest there is strength left in men, giving a reason to hope. The films change this. He isn’t so perfect. He is still clearly not his brother, but here he must earn his strength; he can only let the ring go when he begins to understand what it does. Removing Faramir’s nonchalant disregard for the ring and Tom Bombadil altogether, the film-makers have made the ring that much more potent – there is not a single soul in the films who is immune to its effects. This works better for the films, where there are fewer opportunities for depth of subtlety afforded the book.
So, don’t automatically groan when the adaptation of your favourite novel makes some changes. Consider the audience and see if those changes are made for a good reason or not. Or, you know, tell me why I'm wrong.
Films do something different. They show you, definitively, what that character looks like, how they sound, how they move, what that location looks like, or the internal layout of that building. Books allow you the freedom to create your own picture in your imagination. Films are more visual. They tell you what that picture looks like. There are other differences. Books often give you an insight into the innermost thoughts of a character. They can present an internal dialogue to tell you what the character thinks, and their motivation for their actions. Films give you a chance to apply your own take to the internal workings of character’s minds, using clues given by the actor’s performance.
What this boils down to is that they are very different ways to tell a story. When a book is adapted into a film, it is impossible not to account for this. There are, however, right and wrong ways to do this. If you understand the differences between the two, you could change a myriad of things, even the ending, and still adapt a book successfully. One example: Stardust. Neil Gaiman’s original story has quite a melancholic ending, which suits the story rather wonderfully. Matthew Vaughn and Jane Goldman’s film version retains much that made Gaiman’s original such a joy, but it is mostly lighter in tone, and a brighter happier ending suits it better.
For the screen, stories generally have to be simplified or changed in some way to make them more accessible to a wider audience. That’s not an insult to film, it is a simple and obvious (to most people) truth. Examples? Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and Jurassic Park to name just three. Occasionally, the changes made vastly improve on the source material (The Godfather, The Shining.) Sometimes a valiant attempt is made that just doesn’t come together (The Lovely Bones, Dune.) Sometimes, the changes undermine everything about it and nothing can help it to recover (step forward, The Golden Compass.) Some would argue Watchmen falls into this category, but I’ve neither seen nor read it, and have heard too many differences of opinion to be convinced either way.
By now, you’re probably wondering what the point of this entry is (none – have you not read this blog before?). Over the years, I’ve had many a conversation, debate and argument of the merits of films, books and the differences between them. Since this blog is a bit of a sounding board for me to make my thoughts and opinions known (or at the very least, to allow me to organise them), what better place for me to air this opinion? The two franchises that come up the most in these debates with both friends and colleagues are Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings (infer what that says about me and the people I converse with what you will). I would always find myself in defence of the film versions. Potter, under the guidance of author J. K. Rowling, trims the unnecessary sub plots to squeeze the plots into the running times. Seeing as the decisions are largely made or approved by the original architect of the series, the changes are fairly easy to justify.
Rings, on the other hand, is very different. The original author is dead. Only one person on the entire production ever met him (Christopher Lee). Some major changes have been made. Frodo is much younger. The Scouring of the Shire and Tom Bombadil are cut completely. Elves join the humans at Helm’s Deep. Faramir has a very different arc, taking Frodo and Sam to Osgiliath. This has annoyed a great many people. Every change, in my opinion, is justifiable and in fact, a film that stuck closer to the novel would have suffered. Scouring happens after Sauron is gone. To have the decoy still posing a threat after the destruction of the main villain wouldn’t work. In the book it has the effect of bringing into stark relief that even the rural paradise of The Shire doesn’t escape the War of the Ring untouched. The film accomplishes this in The Two Towers with a line of dialogue spoken by Merry: “The fires of Isengard will spread, and the woods of Tuckborough and Buckland will burn. There won’t be a Shire.” The Tom Bombadil part is frankly the dullest part of the books so I was quite pleased it was cut. With Helm’s Deep, Jackson and co accomplish what is essentially a master-class in building up tension in the run up to a climactic battle set piece, and the arrival of the small Elvish army to join the small human army to take on the huge army of Uruk-Hai is a perfectly judged moment – the book loses nothing from not having it; the film gains a wonderful, perfectly cinematic moment. The Faramir change is a little thornier, because it involves a small amount of criticism of Tolkien’s work. Faramir in the books is a bit one-dimensional. A bit boring. Apparently, the only guy in Middle Earth who can resist the power of the ring without breaking a sweat. There’s barely an arc, no real character development – hell, he’s barely even a character at all. He is so perfect, I think, to illustrate firstly the big difference between him and his brother Boromir, and secondly to suggest there is strength left in men, giving a reason to hope. The films change this. He isn’t so perfect. He is still clearly not his brother, but here he must earn his strength; he can only let the ring go when he begins to understand what it does. Removing Faramir’s nonchalant disregard for the ring and Tom Bombadil altogether, the film-makers have made the ring that much more potent – there is not a single soul in the films who is immune to its effects. This works better for the films, where there are fewer opportunities for depth of subtlety afforded the book.
So, don’t automatically groan when the adaptation of your favourite novel makes some changes. Consider the audience and see if those changes are made for a good reason or not. Or, you know, tell me why I'm wrong.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Perhaps a vow of silence?
"It's better to keep your mouth closed and be thought a fool than to open it and remove all doubt."
All of this good work tends to be undone every time I open my mouth, however. I have a brain that works, but works slowly, and as such cannot debate in real time. This also translates to writing in real time when talking to someone online, but at least I can fact check online so I don’t end up saying something like My Little Eye is a Hollywood remake of Rec (something I genuinely said, which, considering I think enough of my cinematic knowledge and sensibilities to write a film review blog, was a really dumb thing to say). I am so bad at it that I once told someone they were jealous of Alex Turner’s song writing ability because I failed to find the words to defend my love of Arctic Monkeys. Sometimes it isn’t all my fault. Sometimes the person I’m talking to simply over-rides any attempt to engage by repeating their deliberate misunderstanding until I simply stop trying and they call that a win for their purposefully ignorant viewpoint. And I’ve been over-looked and not listened to when I actually do find the right words to say so many times it is becoming ridiculous.
It sometimes gets bad enough that I consider communicating only via email and just shutting my stupid mouth lest I say something that makes me look like a proper knob. But I won't.
- Anonymous (possibly Mark Twain, but nobody seems entirely sure)
I know I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m a bit of a broken record when it comes to these things (and the politically sensitive entries that once made up half this blog are now no-go, so it takes me longer to find things it’s okay to talk about. [Is that okay Mr. Cameron? I haven’t crossed a line there have I Mr. Cameron? I’m not- *gets violently ball-gagged* mmmh mm mmh! Mmmh! Mmh-mmh-mh-mmmh! *ball gag removed following nodding promise to change subject*]).
Anyway, I’m going to mention it again, because it tends to plague me a little. Although this blog is mostly pointless drivel I do occasionally write things I quite like; am even a little proud of. I’ve had compliments about my writing from quite a range of people, some I only know online who read this blog. Others I’m close to like members of my family. Some are work colleagues. This does make me feel pretty good (don’t worry about me getting big-headed, as you’ll soon see). I know I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m a bit of a broken record when it comes to these things (and the politically sensitive entries that once made up half this blog are now no-go, so it takes me longer to find things it’s okay to talk about. [Is that okay Mr. Cameron? I haven’t crossed a line there have I Mr. Cameron? I’m not- *gets violently ball-gagged* mmmh mm mmh! Mmmh! Mmh-mmh-mh-mmmh! *ball gag removed following nodding promise to change subject*]).
All of this good work tends to be undone every time I open my mouth, however. I have a brain that works, but works slowly, and as such cannot debate in real time. This also translates to writing in real time when talking to someone online, but at least I can fact check online so I don’t end up saying something like My Little Eye is a Hollywood remake of Rec (something I genuinely said, which, considering I think enough of my cinematic knowledge and sensibilities to write a film review blog, was a really dumb thing to say). I am so bad at it that I once told someone they were jealous of Alex Turner’s song writing ability because I failed to find the words to defend my love of Arctic Monkeys. Sometimes it isn’t all my fault. Sometimes the person I’m talking to simply over-rides any attempt to engage by repeating their deliberate misunderstanding until I simply stop trying and they call that a win for their purposefully ignorant viewpoint. And I’ve been over-looked and not listened to when I actually do find the right words to say so many times it is becoming ridiculous.
It sometimes gets bad enough that I consider communicating only via email and just shutting my stupid mouth lest I say something that makes me look like a proper knob. But I won't.
Friday, August 26, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
To 3-D or not to 3-D? Not to 3-D. Mostly.
So, new 3-D technology has revolutionised the cinema experience, granting us more immersive environments and more amazing effects. Only, it hasn't, and it doesn't matter how many times directors or studios try to tell us it has. Mostly, it's a gimmicky and pointless effect, and now that the novelty has worn off it's becoming annoying. First off, it's not true 3-D - you can't look behind you and see more of the film; you still see seats and people eating popcorn. It just fools your eyes by projecting additional images that, when viewed through the glasses, make it look as though some images are separate from and in front of the flat background.
The first film me and Rach watched in 3-D was Pixar's Up, and we were actually very impressed - rather than pointlessly throwing things out of the screen in an attempt to make you go 'oooh', it added a depth and clarity to the picture that made the film look gloriously and intricately layered. We have since bought Up on Blu-Ray and although the 3-D was impressive, the film loses nothing in 2-D.
Then came Avatar. There is no doubt where the rumoured $400+ million budget went - James Cameron's film simply has to be seen to be believed. Effects like nothing ever seen, Cameron intended on 3-D from the film's early inception. He conceived, designed, developed and built the technology used to make it. As such, Avatar is the pinnacle of modern 3-D technology, even (just) managing to cover the cracks in the undercooked and cliched plot, to the point where it would probably scrape a 9/10 if I was ever to review it. Striking, subtle, incredible; if you didn't see it at the cinema in 3-D, you'll probably never really understand. As with Up, while the initial impact will always remain, provided you managed to catch it on the big screen, very little is lost re-watching it in 2-D.
Smelling cash, studios have begun to embrace 3-D in earnest, to the point where they'll give 2-D films post-production botch-jobs to make them 3-D-ish and then market them as genuine 3-D - Clash of the Titans, hang your shitty fake 3-D head in shame. As we had been so impressed with the 3-D in Up, we caught Toy Story 3 in 3-D, and either the 3-D wasn't as good or the effect had simply lost the initial impact. It added nothing. Not a thing. Toy Story 3 is such a wonderful film anyway, however, the extra cash we forked out for the 3-D that we may as well have pissed away didn't really annoy us all that much.
Recently the final Harry Potter movie was released. Filmed using 3-D cameras, this was to be genuine 3-D, not shameless post-production fakery. Even so, we didn't really want to see it in 3-D. In the end we had to because the cinema times were against us and we only had a limited window of time during which we could lose the kids. Not only did it not add anything to the film, now that I've also seen it in 2-D, it's clear that it actually removes a fair bit of it. The 3-D works in as much as the characters are separated from the background, but as most of the film is set in fairly lightless places, the background detail is often lost, merging into an indistinct blurry mess, in front of which only the character is in focus. In 2-D, the image is clearer, the backgrounds are sharper, and the experience is more satisfying for it.
I hope the current fad fades away soon, to be honest. 3-D TV? Shut up. They sell it on the idea of watching your favourite football team or film in 3-D at home, but really, beyond that who wants to watch Have I Got News For You in 3-D? Or Question Time? 3-D gaming might have potential, but I think the novelty will soon wear off there as well. And I hate mobile phones at the best of times, so making them 3-D will certainly fail to endear them to me any further. 3-D has officially outstayed its welcome. Unless James Cameron's doing it.
The first film me and Rach watched in 3-D was Pixar's Up, and we were actually very impressed - rather than pointlessly throwing things out of the screen in an attempt to make you go 'oooh', it added a depth and clarity to the picture that made the film look gloriously and intricately layered. We have since bought Up on Blu-Ray and although the 3-D was impressive, the film loses nothing in 2-D.
Then came Avatar. There is no doubt where the rumoured $400+ million budget went - James Cameron's film simply has to be seen to be believed. Effects like nothing ever seen, Cameron intended on 3-D from the film's early inception. He conceived, designed, developed and built the technology used to make it. As such, Avatar is the pinnacle of modern 3-D technology, even (just) managing to cover the cracks in the undercooked and cliched plot, to the point where it would probably scrape a 9/10 if I was ever to review it. Striking, subtle, incredible; if you didn't see it at the cinema in 3-D, you'll probably never really understand. As with Up, while the initial impact will always remain, provided you managed to catch it on the big screen, very little is lost re-watching it in 2-D.
Smelling cash, studios have begun to embrace 3-D in earnest, to the point where they'll give 2-D films post-production botch-jobs to make them 3-D-ish and then market them as genuine 3-D - Clash of the Titans, hang your shitty fake 3-D head in shame. As we had been so impressed with the 3-D in Up, we caught Toy Story 3 in 3-D, and either the 3-D wasn't as good or the effect had simply lost the initial impact. It added nothing. Not a thing. Toy Story 3 is such a wonderful film anyway, however, the extra cash we forked out for the 3-D that we may as well have pissed away didn't really annoy us all that much.
Recently the final Harry Potter movie was released. Filmed using 3-D cameras, this was to be genuine 3-D, not shameless post-production fakery. Even so, we didn't really want to see it in 3-D. In the end we had to because the cinema times were against us and we only had a limited window of time during which we could lose the kids. Not only did it not add anything to the film, now that I've also seen it in 2-D, it's clear that it actually removes a fair bit of it. The 3-D works in as much as the characters are separated from the background, but as most of the film is set in fairly lightless places, the background detail is often lost, merging into an indistinct blurry mess, in front of which only the character is in focus. In 2-D, the image is clearer, the backgrounds are sharper, and the experience is more satisfying for it.
I hope the current fad fades away soon, to be honest. 3-D TV? Shut up. They sell it on the idea of watching your favourite football team or film in 3-D at home, but really, beyond that who wants to watch Have I Got News For You in 3-D? Or Question Time? 3-D gaming might have potential, but I think the novelty will soon wear off there as well. And I hate mobile phones at the best of times, so making them 3-D will certainly fail to endear them to me any further. 3-D has officially outstayed its welcome. Unless James Cameron's doing it.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
The BBFC: Stuck up suits trying to restrict our freedom to watch what we want or taking a stand against the morally wrong?
The British Board of Film Classification made a bad name for itself back in the 80s. It banned a whole host of low budget graphic horror movies in its self-appointed role as protector of the vulnerable public. It took this role way too seriously and banned so many they ended up as a their own mini-genre - the 'video nasties'. Times changed, so did the BBFC and most of them are no longer banned.
Recently, the BBFC was accused of being up to its old tricks when it declined to give a rating to The Human Centipede II: Full Sequence. Even now, the BBFC do occasionally decline to rate films, but due to the notoriety of The Human Centipede: First Sequence this one is a little more high profile. A full statement has been issued by the BBFC setting out its reasons for the decision. If you're unfamiliar with Tom Six's movie, brace yourself.
The Human Centipede is a horror film in which a mad scientist kidnaps three people and surgically attaches them mouth-to-anus to see if they can survive as a single organism. Not having seen it, I can't really comment of the quality of the film-making, but there is allegedly a scene in which there is some shit-in-mouth action. It made it through the censors uncut with an 18 certificate because stupid, horrid and pointless as it sounds, it's harmless. It's clear the 'scientist' is batshit mental and as the bad guy, gets the appropriate bullet in the head by the time the film is over.
The Human Centipede II goes a little meta, in that there is a guy who gets sexually aroused by the first film and gets his jollies off by watching the 'money shot' repeatedly. The guy gets so obsessed with it that he goes as far as snatching innocent people off the street and building a 'centipede' of his very own. The BBFC statement refers specifically to a scene in which the guy rapes the girl at the tail end with barbed-wire wrapped around his little man. Obviously, this is not a film you'd want to see on a full stomach, but is it really necessary to not rate it? There have been other films comparable in extremity that the BBFC have given a rating to - A Serbian Film is full of incest, rape and murder, sometimes all at once, and includes scenes in which a man is killed by being raped in the head and the rape of a newborn baby.
So what's the difference? Why ban one and not the other? It would appear as though it's to do with the manner in which the material is presented. A Serbian Film, while containing truly horrific imagery presents events in a light that clearly shows that these things are not right and tries to make a point (which I fear was lost somewhat in the controversy surrounding it) about some of the most repulsive things hidden in the dark corners of the nature of humanity. For that reason, with a few minor cuts, the BBFC was able to pass it with an 18 certificate. The Human Centipede, as mentioned above, clearly shows that there is a very mad, very twisted person at the centre of it all who must be, and is, stopped. The Human Centipede II, so I understand it (and I may well be understanding it incorrectly, as I am going only on what the BBFC statement and a few pieces written on Empire online and similar places say), presents the dreadful events through the eyes of the perpetrator with a little more than a touch of sympathy. That is, to suggest that not only is it OK for him to be getting off on it, but that perhaps, if you want to, you can too. Basically, encouraging you to have a wank over the sight of a guy with a barbed-wire-wrapped dick raping a girl while she's being forced to eat someone else's shit. And, while I'm not sure it's exactly harmful as the BBFC infer, there is no doubt that it just ain't quite right.
I do agree that censorship is a very slippery slope indeed, but I don't think this issue is about censorship. I'm sure the BBFC realise it's no longer the 1980s and that declining to certify a film does not equate to a ban. Cinemas can still legally show films that have not been rated, and if someone really wants to see it, they could find a copy online without too much trouble. So instead of it being about censorship, I think the BBFC is coming from a moral standpoint. It's not the events that take place within the film, it's that those events are shown through a certain prism, and it's the prism that the BBFC has a problem with. It's not something that could be solved with a few strategic BBFC-recommended cuts, it's the theme of the film itself. When it comes down to it, the BBFC had little choice in the matter in the end. Films are rated using a finely-crafted predetermined set of guidelines, and the 'this gives us a hard-on, what about you' view the film takes to the events depicted meant it was never going to get by. Those guidelines are partly determined as a result of direct input from the general public - the same people critics accuse the BBFC of unfairly restricting the viewing rights of. Those preset guidelines can sometimes be responsible for some ratings that are not immediately clear - for example, why did American Beauty get an 18 rating? It's relatively mild - even the climactic death scene isn't particularly grisly. It turns out that it's because two characters manage to escape the drudgery of day to day life using the money one of them got from selling drugs, and the BBFC could not be seen to be condoning positive outcomes that result from illegal activity. It seems a little silly, however the BBFC have no choice but to abide by these predetermined guidelines.
In all honesty, you're never gonna get me to see either of The Human Centipede films or A Serbian Film, so issues of censorship and freedom to view aside, I couldn't really care less if they all got banned.
Recently, the BBFC was accused of being up to its old tricks when it declined to give a rating to The Human Centipede II: Full Sequence. Even now, the BBFC do occasionally decline to rate films, but due to the notoriety of The Human Centipede: First Sequence this one is a little more high profile. A full statement has been issued by the BBFC setting out its reasons for the decision. If you're unfamiliar with Tom Six's movie, brace yourself.
The Human Centipede is a horror film in which a mad scientist kidnaps three people and surgically attaches them mouth-to-anus to see if they can survive as a single organism. Not having seen it, I can't really comment of the quality of the film-making, but there is allegedly a scene in which there is some shit-in-mouth action. It made it through the censors uncut with an 18 certificate because stupid, horrid and pointless as it sounds, it's harmless. It's clear the 'scientist' is batshit mental and as the bad guy, gets the appropriate bullet in the head by the time the film is over.
The Human Centipede II goes a little meta, in that there is a guy who gets sexually aroused by the first film and gets his jollies off by watching the 'money shot' repeatedly. The guy gets so obsessed with it that he goes as far as snatching innocent people off the street and building a 'centipede' of his very own. The BBFC statement refers specifically to a scene in which the guy rapes the girl at the tail end with barbed-wire wrapped around his little man. Obviously, this is not a film you'd want to see on a full stomach, but is it really necessary to not rate it? There have been other films comparable in extremity that the BBFC have given a rating to - A Serbian Film is full of incest, rape and murder, sometimes all at once, and includes scenes in which a man is killed by being raped in the head and the rape of a newborn baby.
So what's the difference? Why ban one and not the other? It would appear as though it's to do with the manner in which the material is presented. A Serbian Film, while containing truly horrific imagery presents events in a light that clearly shows that these things are not right and tries to make a point (which I fear was lost somewhat in the controversy surrounding it) about some of the most repulsive things hidden in the dark corners of the nature of humanity. For that reason, with a few minor cuts, the BBFC was able to pass it with an 18 certificate. The Human Centipede, as mentioned above, clearly shows that there is a very mad, very twisted person at the centre of it all who must be, and is, stopped. The Human Centipede II, so I understand it (and I may well be understanding it incorrectly, as I am going only on what the BBFC statement and a few pieces written on Empire online and similar places say), presents the dreadful events through the eyes of the perpetrator with a little more than a touch of sympathy. That is, to suggest that not only is it OK for him to be getting off on it, but that perhaps, if you want to, you can too. Basically, encouraging you to have a wank over the sight of a guy with a barbed-wire-wrapped dick raping a girl while she's being forced to eat someone else's shit. And, while I'm not sure it's exactly harmful as the BBFC infer, there is no doubt that it just ain't quite right.
I do agree that censorship is a very slippery slope indeed, but I don't think this issue is about censorship. I'm sure the BBFC realise it's no longer the 1980s and that declining to certify a film does not equate to a ban. Cinemas can still legally show films that have not been rated, and if someone really wants to see it, they could find a copy online without too much trouble. So instead of it being about censorship, I think the BBFC is coming from a moral standpoint. It's not the events that take place within the film, it's that those events are shown through a certain prism, and it's the prism that the BBFC has a problem with. It's not something that could be solved with a few strategic BBFC-recommended cuts, it's the theme of the film itself. When it comes down to it, the BBFC had little choice in the matter in the end. Films are rated using a finely-crafted predetermined set of guidelines, and the 'this gives us a hard-on, what about you' view the film takes to the events depicted meant it was never going to get by. Those guidelines are partly determined as a result of direct input from the general public - the same people critics accuse the BBFC of unfairly restricting the viewing rights of. Those preset guidelines can sometimes be responsible for some ratings that are not immediately clear - for example, why did American Beauty get an 18 rating? It's relatively mild - even the climactic death scene isn't particularly grisly. It turns out that it's because two characters manage to escape the drudgery of day to day life using the money one of them got from selling drugs, and the BBFC could not be seen to be condoning positive outcomes that result from illegal activity. It seems a little silly, however the BBFC have no choice but to abide by these predetermined guidelines.
In all honesty, you're never gonna get me to see either of The Human Centipede films or A Serbian Film, so issues of censorship and freedom to view aside, I couldn't really care less if they all got banned.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
When is a holocaust film not a holocaust film?
When it is Life is Beautiful. It was recently Holocaust Memorial Day (HMD). Firstly, it's staggering to me that such a day is even required, that such a blot on our collective memory would ever be in danger of being forgotten. Unfortunately, people and groups of all nations, races and colours prove that it most certainly is required, and they prove it every day - from Dick Griffin (copyright for that joke: that lad on Question Time that once) denying it even happened, to jihad-launching fucktards who would quite happily wipe out an entire group of people for one lame-ass reason or another.
A friend of mine (@kevupnorth, for those on Twitter) is a staunch supporter and spreader-of-the-word regarding HMD, and his talk of it this year reminded me of a conversation on a Facebook thread about HMD last year, where I revealed my dislike for Roberto Benigni's crock of whimsical shite. @kevupnorth wondered if I disliked holocaust films. Well, no, although perhaps 'like' is the wrong word. Life is Beautiful isn't a holocaust film I replied, but before I could explain myself fully, someone else on the thread appeared to be quite offended by my apparent lack of respect for holocaust victims, as seemingly evidenced by my criticism of the film. I came close to both apologising and arguing on the thread, but in the end I stopped commenting and complained about her on Twitter. Not the most mature reaction, but then I'm not the most mature person (see use of the not real word 'fucktards' above). She may have had a point about the thread being about HMD and that perhaps it wasn't the place for this type of conversation, but I think she assumed a lack of respect for the dead on my part because I dared criticise a film supposedly beyond criticism. She wasn't alone in disagreeing - everyone else on the thread loved it, but she was the one who got offended by a simple opinion. I looked like a dick on that thread forever more, not being able to explain my 'not a holocaust film' comment. Well no more.
Life is Beautiful is average at best. The writing is average, the plot is whimsical wish-fulfilment hogwash and the cinematography and use of light and colour is uninspired. It is mistaken for a holocaust film because it is set during the holocaust, and for that reason it fooled the Academy (not a hard thing to do) and is held up as untouchable, because to criticise it, as I found, is to show disrespect. Bullshit. The holocaust is a setting that is completely interchangeable - it could have been set during any number of historical or imagined tragedies and just as easily told the same story. The holocaust was chosen as the setting because it is the most readily identifiable worst period of our recent history and is more likely to garner an emotional response from the viewer, which, I would argue, shows Benigni being slightly disrespectful as opposed to his critics.
There is an argument (and quite a strong one, granted) that Benigni's father being a prisoner of the Nazis qualified the director to set his story during this particular time of hardship. However, the film is not about the holocaust and I still think the setting was chosen to heighten the emotional impact of the story, rather than starting with the setting and then weaving the plot around it. I could be (hell, I probably am) all kinds of wrong, but hey, that's what blogs are for - for people who are wrong to continue to drone on as if they are right. Just ask James Delingpole.
Consider in contrast an actual holocaust film (the holocaust film), Schindler's List. This is a portrayal of the events (although there is certainly some artistic license taken) that took place during the period. It could not have been set during any other historical period. In this case the holocaust is the event that is shown using the story as the backdrop, rather than placing a fictional story within that setting. That is the crucial difference and that is why Life is Beautiful has no business parading itself as a holocaust film. It attempts to convince you of the true beauty of the human spirit, to give you a happy ending and to convince you that life really is beautiful; none of these things have a place in a holocaust film. Life during the holocaust was not beautiful. It could have and should have been set against an entirely imaginary time and place. Schindler's List is unrelenting in its purpose, which is to force you to witness the events as they were and, like HMD, to ensure you never forget by indelibly burning into your memory the horror of humanity at its ugliest. Never has a brief flash of colour (the red coat) been so utterly wrenching to see, and his ability to break your heart so completely with such a simple device is why Schindler's List will forever remain Spielberg's masterpiece and it's also why he's a better director than Scorsese, Hitchcock, Kurosawa, Kubrick or any other director you care to name.
So, if you ever find yourself trying to convince someone of the scale of the atrocity perpetrated during the holocaust, don't show them Life is Beautiful, show them Schindler's List. One attempts to convince you it's all OK and to make you happy. The other is unflinchingly honest and will make sure you never forget, which is the whole point of HMD.
A friend of mine (@kevupnorth, for those on Twitter) is a staunch supporter and spreader-of-the-word regarding HMD, and his talk of it this year reminded me of a conversation on a Facebook thread about HMD last year, where I revealed my dislike for Roberto Benigni's crock of whimsical shite. @kevupnorth wondered if I disliked holocaust films. Well, no, although perhaps 'like' is the wrong word. Life is Beautiful isn't a holocaust film I replied, but before I could explain myself fully, someone else on the thread appeared to be quite offended by my apparent lack of respect for holocaust victims, as seemingly evidenced by my criticism of the film. I came close to both apologising and arguing on the thread, but in the end I stopped commenting and complained about her on Twitter. Not the most mature reaction, but then I'm not the most mature person (see use of the not real word 'fucktards' above). She may have had a point about the thread being about HMD and that perhaps it wasn't the place for this type of conversation, but I think she assumed a lack of respect for the dead on my part because I dared criticise a film supposedly beyond criticism. She wasn't alone in disagreeing - everyone else on the thread loved it, but she was the one who got offended by a simple opinion. I looked like a dick on that thread forever more, not being able to explain my 'not a holocaust film' comment. Well no more.
Life is Beautiful is average at best. The writing is average, the plot is whimsical wish-fulfilment hogwash and the cinematography and use of light and colour is uninspired. It is mistaken for a holocaust film because it is set during the holocaust, and for that reason it fooled the Academy (not a hard thing to do) and is held up as untouchable, because to criticise it, as I found, is to show disrespect. Bullshit. The holocaust is a setting that is completely interchangeable - it could have been set during any number of historical or imagined tragedies and just as easily told the same story. The holocaust was chosen as the setting because it is the most readily identifiable worst period of our recent history and is more likely to garner an emotional response from the viewer, which, I would argue, shows Benigni being slightly disrespectful as opposed to his critics.
There is an argument (and quite a strong one, granted) that Benigni's father being a prisoner of the Nazis qualified the director to set his story during this particular time of hardship. However, the film is not about the holocaust and I still think the setting was chosen to heighten the emotional impact of the story, rather than starting with the setting and then weaving the plot around it. I could be (hell, I probably am) all kinds of wrong, but hey, that's what blogs are for - for people who are wrong to continue to drone on as if they are right. Just ask James Delingpole.
Consider in contrast an actual holocaust film (the holocaust film), Schindler's List. This is a portrayal of the events (although there is certainly some artistic license taken) that took place during the period. It could not have been set during any other historical period. In this case the holocaust is the event that is shown using the story as the backdrop, rather than placing a fictional story within that setting. That is the crucial difference and that is why Life is Beautiful has no business parading itself as a holocaust film. It attempts to convince you of the true beauty of the human spirit, to give you a happy ending and to convince you that life really is beautiful; none of these things have a place in a holocaust film. Life during the holocaust was not beautiful. It could have and should have been set against an entirely imaginary time and place. Schindler's List is unrelenting in its purpose, which is to force you to witness the events as they were and, like HMD, to ensure you never forget by indelibly burning into your memory the horror of humanity at its ugliest. Never has a brief flash of colour (the red coat) been so utterly wrenching to see, and his ability to break your heart so completely with such a simple device is why Schindler's List will forever remain Spielberg's masterpiece and it's also why he's a better director than Scorsese, Hitchcock, Kurosawa, Kubrick or any other director you care to name.
So, if you ever find yourself trying to convince someone of the scale of the atrocity perpetrated during the holocaust, don't show them Life is Beautiful, show them Schindler's List. One attempts to convince you it's all OK and to make you happy. The other is unflinchingly honest and will make sure you never forget, which is the whole point of HMD.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Everyone’s a critic.
Films, eh? Don't you just love 'em? No? Well, I do. Not that I'm saying cinema is my life, or anything, but watching movies is one of my absolute favourite things to do. Always has been, since I was a little kid watching H. G. Wells' The Time Machine or The War of the Worlds over and over. Doesn't matter what kind, what genre (apart from possibly horror - too scary, you see), even whether I like it or not. It's an art form. It is. It's a strange one, because there's so much shite produced just to make money, but in its purest form it is storytelling, and there most definitely is an art to telling good stories, whether it's by firelight, by book, or by film. It's not considered art in the same way painting or writing music is, but that's because it's a much more recent form of expression - it's barely over 100 years old (film that is, not storytelling, obviously).
If you've read enough of these blog entries, you'll know by now what kind of person I am - I like to give the impression that I'm knowledgeable, but in truth I know just enough to show off to people who know even less than me - true experts will and do see right through me. Well, the same goes for films; I talk like I know my stuff, but there's about a million and one films out there that I still need to see.
I thought it might be a good idea to chart my filmic journey and write down my thoughts and impressions of the films I watch. Rach and I have a bit of a tradition on Saturdays, where we settle down and stick a film on, partly because our kids prevent us from going out, and partly because we are really quite boring people. Anyway, I've started a blog about it (look at me, Mr. Big with my two blogs) here: http://experiment627movies.blogspot.com. Feel free to comment, discuss, disagree, shout abuse or laugh at me for my views.
I thought it would be cool to have both me and Rach do a review, but as much as she loves films, she doesn't quite get into them like me - she's more normal, so as she's contributing to this more as an indulgence to me, her writing will usually be brief in comparison to mine.
Be warned: the reviews are not recommendations, and the assumption is you have already seen the film being reviewed - there will ALWAYS be spoilers.
If you've read enough of these blog entries, you'll know by now what kind of person I am - I like to give the impression that I'm knowledgeable, but in truth I know just enough to show off to people who know even less than me - true experts will and do see right through me. Well, the same goes for films; I talk like I know my stuff, but there's about a million and one films out there that I still need to see.
I thought it might be a good idea to chart my filmic journey and write down my thoughts and impressions of the films I watch. Rach and I have a bit of a tradition on Saturdays, where we settle down and stick a film on, partly because our kids prevent us from going out, and partly because we are really quite boring people. Anyway, I've started a blog about it (look at me, Mr. Big with my two blogs) here: http://experiment627movies.blogspot.com. Feel free to comment, discuss, disagree, shout abuse or laugh at me for my views.
I thought it would be cool to have both me and Rach do a review, but as much as she loves films, she doesn't quite get into them like me - she's more normal, so as she's contributing to this more as an indulgence to me, her writing will usually be brief in comparison to mine.
Be warned: the reviews are not recommendations, and the assumption is you have already seen the film being reviewed - there will ALWAYS be spoilers.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)