HuntinPeck80 Reviews

Fallen Leaves (2023)

AK returns and to his usual form

[8/10 · 8 May 2024]

I thought Kaurismaki had retired. I guess he changed his mind. Some directors who maybe should have retired are still at it. Kaurismaki, one wants no cessation of his artistry. Funny how a director's signature moves can become tiresome, in some cases, and for others another opus is always welcome.

So what's this one about? The usual. Working class people, lonely souls, trying to make it through the day, and the night, keep a roof over their heads, something perishable to fill their stomachs. Which do you prefer, a cigarette, a glass of voddy, or an expired sandwich?

Our protagonist is a factory worker with a drinking problem. Our protagonista is a supermarket lady who shifts jobs. The man is destined to do likewise, both dismissed without pity or consideration. The sad news of the war ravages the airwaves. Consolation comes where it can. A night at the karaoke bar. They almost meet. Missing the last tram. They almost meet. Tangos and serenades play on, classic, timeless are the sorrows of the human expelled from the Garden....

A missed appointment. A chance encounter. A gust of wind. A sudden resolution. A humble request. A change of heart. The path of true love will trip you up.

I actually thought the movie the couple see at the cinema was made by AK himself, with celebrity cameos by uncredited Hollywood actors. Nope. It's a Jim Jarmusch zombie caper, one director acknowledging another, just as he had been acknowledged by the other. A tip of the hat.

Basically, Fallen Leaves has all the usual AK elements, and it's all very dry and low key, and such is always weirdly refreshing. I wouldn't call this a favourite but it's still better than most everything else being produced nowadays. In the most discreet way AK's movies are full of dispassionate compassion. And live music to go with the jukebox is always inspiring, somehow.

The DVD issue comes with a World According to AK extra, featuring some of this offbeat statements about movies. Nice.

The Tree of Blood (2018)

Dense drama that could be a summation of Medem's career

[8/10 · 5 May 2024]

So dense, so overcrammed with stuff, is the movie The Tree of Blood that it could serve the needs of a soap opera for at least a year.

Written by director Medem in collaboration with one Scott Page-Pagter, it's full of melodramatic materials treated in a rather unmelodramatic way. The movie spans the length of Spain, from the Costa Brava to Pais Vasco, the land of the vacas on a collision course with the land of the toros. I already wrote a long review that somehow got snuffed by the browser before I could press Submit. I'm not going to summarise the plot again, not just because I'm vexed at losing my first draft, but because one can hardly keep track of everything that is tossed into the mix of this movie, even after multiple viewings.

Suffice to say, The Tree of Blood has all the themes, all the elements of classic Medem, so if you know his stuff you'll probably feel this movie is a sort of artistic summation, but not necessarily the summit of his artistry. Realistically there's far too much, but on the plus side it sure ain't boring. Just a bit too busy, ping-ponging from one crisis to another.

I'll tell you, there are doubtless many reasons why a viewer might be reluctant to revisit a movie, even one they liked. Perhaps because of one tough scene, or a plot twist that spoiled things, or just because it is too exhausting an experience to want to go through it all again any time soon. How often could you sit through The Passion of the Christ, for example? Once a decade. In this case, an overdose of sex appeal is the sticking point. Actor Joaquin Furriel, in the role of Olmo, is so hyper-masculine he scarcely appears human; more like a werewolf in a man costume. He's matched by the unbearably hot Ursula Corbero, playing the role of Rebeca; adult Rebeca, I should say, since there is also baby Rebeca, six-year old Rebeca, young teen Rebeca, all different actresses. Corbero flaunts a body that, not since Nastassja Kinski made all our eyes water in Cat People (1982), has there been such a derriere in a movie, such stupendous legs. It makes one want to cry and scream and smash the screen. Why, why, why must I know that such limbs, such a tush exists in the world?

The movie has a massive complication of details, scenes, events, plot points, all tangled together like the roots of the tree, all separated like long hair brushed before bed, all arranged to make a picture like tiny pieces of colour in a mosaic. The construction, the visual beauty, these things make Tree of Blood successful. But what actually happens is pure, mad, melodrama. Melodrama, eroticism, mystery, magical realism, all thrown together to make some kind of crazy punch drink. Take a shot of it and you'll be spinning, smiling too.

Tanamera - Lion of Singapore (1989–1992)

A bold mini-series that lingers very long in the memory

[7/10 · 2 May 2024]

How are they going to get rid of Irene? That is the appalling question that arises oh so quickly. Divorce? Death by childbirth? An airstrike? A poisonous monkey? How will the complication get killed off?

It will, won't it?

Oh, we live in cynical times.

I guess romantic love is dependant upon situational obstacles, family complications, to give it savour. Like an unresolved harmony, dissonance in yearning for consonance. Of course, the lovers don't usually wish for trouble. They just want to get on with it. Do we want them to? Are we impatient? Or do we want to see them work a bit? Plenty of denial before the dinner.

Singapore, before the war. John Dexter, of the family Dexter, a name in Singapore don't ya know, falls in love with Julie Soong, of the Soongs no less. Business relations yes. Friendly relations yes. Connubial relations? Not on your nimbu! John is sent away to the London office, and Julie dragged away to San Francisco, and they'd better forget one another. Of course they can't. Separation only makes it worse. There's also the small matter of a world war in the offing, and there are other lovers or would-be lovers, jealousies, the pitter patter of tiny feet. Must true love be denied? Can it be?

It's a measure of Tanamera's quality that I still remember it, a little, thirty-five years after broadcast. It feels like it could teach us a lesson in romantic love, or just flirtation and courtship. The way John pursues Julie and Julie gently but firmly puts him off, that is without definitively putting him off her. She doesn't just give it up because she likes him too, and as a consequence (probably) he likes all the more for her resistance. The scene where he rushes to her as she's being driven away, bound for Singapore. My goodness! It has all the emotional exuberance that was missing, the other night, from the otherwise superb movie The English Patient. They needed a sandstorm to move things along in that one. Perhaps Irene will get washed away in a monsoon?

I'm definitely in it until the end, bitter or sweet, whatever it turns out to be. Worth noting, in case anyone's worried this will be too soppy, that it doesn't scrimp on life beyond the plantation. We have business deals, checking the rubber harvest, shipping negotiations, conflicts of interest both business and personal (and political). Plenty of everything. A little more nookie wouldn't have gone amiss, mind.

Compelling saga of love and conflict.

The English Patient (1996)

"Every night I cut out my heart, but in the morning it was full again."

[9/10 · 1 May 2024]

I'll stop short of giving this a perfect ten, but the negative appraisals by some reviewers on this site (sixes, or less!) are not just surprising but frankly alarming. Can some people really be so...such...(sound of huffing and tutting).

The English Patient. It reminded me, a bit, of Godfather Part 2. Quite honestly I felt that it was that much vaunted gangster drama that was overrated. The English Patient also moves between different time periods, but with a good deal more subtlety; they overlap and merge with each other, as memories, as ghosts. It's almost irritating, and it does ask a lot of the spectator, the two hours and forty-two minutes runtime, but it's all worth it, for this movie is desperately, desperately moving.

Ralph Fiennes, already looking a lot like Voldemort. He's burnt to a living cinder when his plane is shot down by the Germans. He has a female passenger, but who is she? The desert people care for him until he is transferred to an Allied convoy. Hannah, a French nurse who believes herself jinxed (everyone she cares for dies) volunteers to nurse him through his final days at a church in Italy, alone. His fate is sealed, so I guess it won't be her fault. But who is her 'English' patient?

We roll back in time to find the patient young and healthy, even hunky. The story of his affair with a married woman. When was the last time you heard the word uxoriousness used? Today it would be simplified into simping, I suppose. Anyway, it doesn't work, evidently, for Colin Firth, the lady's husband, who plays the cuckold. Fiennes is playing a Hungarian count, Alamásy.

Willem Dafoe plays Caravaggio, a mysterious stranger who knows something of the patient's past. He thinks the patient is a criminal of some kind. But he himself is a confessed thief, stealing the morphine from the patient's small stock. Watching the healthy count falling in love with Katherine Clifton (Kristin Scott Thomas), it's like watching Elizabeth Bennett dropping Mr Darcy because she's found someone better looking but even more reserved and uptight. But still, someone capable of writing the statement, 'For the heart is an organ of fire.' By contrast, her hubbie calls her "my sausage", so no wonder she strayed?

The English Patient reminded me, distantly, of other things, other movies, and the use of Bach, and presence of screenwriter/director Anthony MInghella has to remind one of his deeply loved Truly Madly Deeply. This movie, arguably, is his masterpiece (sadly, he was taken too soon). It has the magic of the desert and also the magic of all the movies set in the desert. It is beautifully scored by Gabriel Yared, who also worked on Minghella's Highsmith adaptation, The Talented Mr Ripley (1999). Ralph Fiennes is quite excellent as the patient/count, and Kristin Scott Thomas coolly bewitching as Katherine. Juliette Binoche, so glacial in English language movie Damage (1992) is here all warmth and natural emotion. Willem Dafoe and Colin Firth do superbly in smaller roles, as do Naveen Andrews and TV's Kevin Whateley, both playing bomb disposal guys. An actor who I feel is underused, Jurgen Prochnow (Das Boot; Dune) makes a chilling cameo as a Nazi interrogator.

So, is there any just criticism of this movie? Well, I suppose a little more urgency, especially in the early stages, wouldn't go amiss. Maybe a few more 'plum plums'. Some may find the love story just a little dry, apt though that may be for the desert. I confess I almost wanted to laugh when Hannah lost another one, near the start, but then your heart is in your mouth when she suddenly, in apparent despair, walks right into the minefield. The bomb disposal scene will likewise rob you of oxygen. But what I prefer to think of is instead what I marvelled at, the deftness with which the two points of the story, the burgeoning love and its aftermath, are stitched together, like Katherine's paintings glued into the Count's copy of Herodotos.

One of the great tragic love stories.

A Passage to India (1984)

Ever decreasing circles means a tightening noose of meanness

[7/10 · 30 April 2024]

Watching A Passage to India (1984) after seeing TV series The Jewel in the Crown (1984) is a bit like watching The Godfather after watching The Sopranos. You think, what's so great about this, ay? Of course, The Sopranos came decades after the Godfather movies, but A Passage to India was contemporary with the production of Jewel in the Crown, and both are inspired by literature, EM Forster's novel and Paul Scott's quartet of novels.

Reading the Wiki page for the movie, it becomes abundantly clear that the novelist, Forster, didn't want his novel turned into a film. His descendants or executors said no, as had he, until the responsibility of refusal was passed on to someone less scrupulous, at which point the rights were acquired and the production went ahead. The movie is directed by David Lean, but Lawrence of Arabia this ain't. It's a long film but not an epic one. Watching some of the same actors who were in Jewel in the Crown play in this movie, albeit in very different roles, is one thing, a curiosity, but it can't prevent the story from being stiff and queasy, like watching someone try to vomit while being on parade. A dignified hurl? There's no such thing.

Better to watch The Jewel in the Crown, which is truly exceptional, as well it might be given its title. A Passage is one of those exotic costume dramas that won Oscars because it was deemed worthy, I suspect, not because it was so very wonderful. Or, at least, it's not so wonderful now.

True Lies (1994)

Here's $100m, now do your worst. I meant best! Best!

[7/10 · 29 April 2024]

True Lies is so James Cameron, dude. I mean, it's like watching a comedy version of the Terminator movies that JC directed. Tough guy coming down the corridor, Tough guy flying through the shop window. Arnie chasing terrorist Art Malick on a motorbike (Malik on the bike, Arnie on a horse. Yes, big Arnie Schwarz' on a horse's back. I hope the animal got well paid.) The elevator bit - still horse vs motorbike - is a bit reminiscent of Commando's mall scene. The end of the chase is so insanely stupid, I wonder how my teenage self didn't walk out of the cinema in disgust. JC wrote this screenplay all on his own, which must include Arnie balling out a police horse for refusing to do the equivalent of Homer Simpson jumping Springfield Gorge on a skateboard.

"They call him The Sand Spider." "Why?" "Probably because it sounds scary."

Charlton Heston saying that "Why?" has got to be heard to be believed. As does his eyepatch.

Well, Arnie is a spy who pretends, in good Clark Kent fashion, to be a salesman, an action man whose wife and daughter think he's just a dull drone. The biggest, most ripped (that's a word, yeah? Ripped?) travelling salesman ever. Malik is a terrorist with a crazed fanatical look in his eye, and the most receding of receding hairlines ever lost over the horizon, and Tia Carrere a malevolent go-between. Jaime Lee Curtis is the bored wife hiding her inner sexpot, and Bill Paxton is the sleazy car salesman posing as a spy to trick bored wives (Curtis) into bedroom adventures. When Arnie starts spying on his straying wife using company tech, and with Malik's nefarious gang still on the loose, appearance and reality are about to become seriously, also comedically, entangled.

The interrogation scene, of Jaime Lee that is, after Arnie and co. Interrupt her already halted adultery - say that five times fast! - and she spills her guts about her midlife woes, is not the first, nor the last scene where incredulity swamps the brain of the viewer, but it might be the first scene where you think about chucking this movie for something else. That, or maybe the hotel room scene. Me, I'm just sitting, wondering where Malick's terrorist has got to, while all this Punch & Judy nonsense is going down.

I guess there have been more far-fetched movies.

Wait! I'm thinking...

The Third Man (1949)

Visitors from the New World find the Old World a bomb site

[9/10 · 27 April 2024]

According to Wiki, legendary film critic Roger Ebert said, "Has there ever been a film where the music more perfectly suited the action than in Carol Reed's The Third Man? And yet recently I heard a Youtuber, one of those reactions video people, describe the music as "obnoxious", also inappropriate to the film's subject. Hmmm. Wiki also reports this: In Britain it's a thriller about friendship and betrayal. In Vienna it's a tragedy about Austria's troubled relationship with its past." Different places, different times, different people - different viewpoints. I guess that's right for a film whose protagonist attracts such wildly different characterisations and confused emotions.

It's fascinating to see post-WW2 Vienna in this movie. The sewer scenes, or some, were shot in UK at Shepperton, and probably some interior scenes. Vienna is a magnificent, surreal bomb site of a city, with a bizarre collision of nationalities and everything flipped from official to unofficial, clean to black market, or simply everything is in the grey, trying to survive and struggle on. The zither music, for me, aside from being a unique cinematic attribute, allows the movie a kind of queasy humour, as if dignified proceedings were taking place in a world of carnival and farce. Certainly there's nothing cliched about the music, nor the movie's ending (director Carol Reed had to fight to hold onto the ending as shown).

I don't think I liked this film when I was a boy. Not enough action. Maybe too much Viennese melancholy. Getting older can mean becoming freer with regard to certain things, even as one becomes fussier and habit-bound. I watch the character played by Joseph Cotton, pulp novelist Holly Martins, playing detective and wallowing in his hopeless love, with a good deal of headshaking sympathy. Looking at Alida Valli, in the role of Anna Schmidt, it's easy to see why he'd fall so hard. She's Italian, by the way, playing a Czech pretending to be Austrian (or German); anything to avoid the Russian authorities. Magnificent because, not inspite of, limited screen time, is Orson Welles as Harry Lime. This is a bit like Sir Anthony Hopkin's brief, Oscar-winning turn in The Silence of the Lambs, but with more flattering costume and lighting. British actor Trevor Howard is unrecognisable from the soppy lover in Brief Encounter, and it's nice to see Bond movie legends Bernard Lee and Geoffrey Keen in smaller roles.

The Third Man, which in case I forgot to mention is all about an American trying to investigate the shady circumstances of his shady friend's death, conveys a good deal of feeling, contained emotion, without sentimentality. Sang froid and a few doses of drunken self pity, and some low key humour, such as the scene where four nationalities of police come to arrest Anna, the Russian stern, the German demanding, the British sympathetic, the French making sure the lady doesn't forget her lipstick. The film also doesn't go in for explicitness, so, as an example, the visit to the hospital ward is neither maudlin nor grotesque, leaving the horrible results of the contaminated Penicillin to our imagination. The askew camera work also cements the image of a world rocked by a massive earthquake, WW2.

Ok, so it's a legendary classic. Wiki informs us that the BFI voted it, in 1999, the Greatest British Film. I'd never really thought of it as a British film, but then the Americans think of Game of Thrones as an American thing, despite the largely British cast, European settings and fantasy-medieval world. We don't always know who we're dealing with, do we Harry?

Idiocracy (2006)

Colourful portrait of futuristic neanderthalisation

[6/10 · 27 April 2024]

Five hundred years from now, the world, meaning the USA, which actually is the entire world to some of its less bright citizens even today, is populated by cretins. A lazy soldier from now is cryogenically frozen for no real reason, supposedly for a year, but he wakes up five hundred years ahead to discover IQs have regressed about five thousand years. The only other person who understands is a street ho, also frozen as part of a military experiment gone wrong, and so this intrepid duo must try and dodge the dumbos who react with full neanderthalosity to anyone who uses logic, reason, or complete sentences, and try to make it to a time machine and escape back to the past.

Now, if things have degenerated to such a repulsive state as we find in Idiocracy, how could there possibly be time travel, you ask. And you're right. This film, which borrows from lots of other films, isn't very smart even on its own terms. But it is fitfully amusing. The hero, mistakenly identified as Mr Not Sure by the future society, is a good-natured Average Joe, surrounded by dribbling imbeciles who take him as a leader because what was average has become genius. It's all fairly colourful, or lurid might be the better word. Or maybe gross. Not the kind of film you bother to watch twice.

This movie actually pre-dates Wall-E, the vastly superior animated movie about a human species rendered blobulous by instant distraction, and it post-dates Demolition Man, a much smarter satire predicting a future where everything is so sanitised no-one can cope with an emergency. And for anyone wanting an anarchic comedy set in the future, there's always Woody Allen's Sleeper (1973).

Crude comedy, with a good message. Bone-up on the books, lest ye be condemned to merely bone-up with the farmer's daughter.

Forget Paris (1995)

First class romantic comedy. Why do I feel it's underrated?

[8/10 · 23 April 2024]

I get the impression Forget Paris is undervalued amongst rom-coms, which if true is unfair. Maybe it didn't get released at quite the right time of year, or something like that; things like that can jinx a movie. But maybe I'm wrong, maybe Forget Paris is loved and I'm not alone in my enthusiasm. I hope so.

A couple who are engaged sit in a restaurant, waiting for the man's friends to come and meet his fiancee. He begins a story about one couple who are expected, Mickey and Ellen, and the curious way that they met. When the other friends arrive, two by two, they pick up the story of Mickey and Ellen, the highs and lows of their relationship, until we arrive at the crunch: are they actually going to show up, given all that's happened, a lot of water under the Pont Neuf?

Mickey is a top basketball referee who comes to France so that his late father can be buried there, alongside old army buddies. Amazingly we get lots of sequences on the NBA court with Billy Crystal acting the ref alongside real stars of the league, Charles Barkley, Karim Abdul...um... and the others. This is pretty cool, even if like me, you know nothing of basketball. The love story bounces from France to the US, and back again. There's a very effective use of music to maximise the comedy, as well as narration from the restaurant friends commenting as we watch what happened. Billy Crystal and Debra Winger are both funny, but special kudos to William Hickey as Ellen's dad, Arthur. His cameo is unforgettably funny.

This is a rom-com that manages to be very poignant as well as warm and funny, even hilarious on occasion. Yes, it's very mainstream Hollywood product, but why should that be a caution? The dream factory makes dreams happen. So, join an excellent ensemble of actors and dream a little dream of love that leaps over the hurdles, but stumbles a few times too.

You asked for it, you got it!

An Ideal Husband (I) (1999)

"Love me Gertrude. Love me always."

[8/10 · 22 April 2024]

Only in Wilde to you find characters called things like Gertrude. But anyway, this isn't the first and probably not the last adaptation of Wilde for the big screen, and it is a very fine one. They don't manage to be as grand as in the 1940s version, which is a little to the story's detriment, but they do manage to, in the common parlance, crush much of the dialogue. And no-one does it better than Jane Bond himself, or rather Rupert Everett, in the role of Arthur. He gets all the wittiest lines, but also, in the last act, finds the right tone to express feeling both refined and universal, when discussing love, naturally.

For the ladies, it is the visitor from abroad, Mrs Cheveley (Julianne Moore) who matches Everett's Arthur for verbal swordplay and smiles sweetly sardonic, or however you prefer to describe polite duplicity. I also liked John Wood as Arthur's father, Lord Caversham, and the now much more famous Cate Blanchett as the aforementioned Gertrude. The weakest links are Jeremy Northam's threatened idealist, Sir Robert (his speech to the House is overcooked), and much too contemporary, Minnie Driver as Miss Mabel.

Everett was also in 2002's The Importance of Being Earnest, again for director Oliver Parker, playing off Colin Firth and also Frances O'Connor and Reese Witherspoon. That one boasted Judi Dench and Tom Wilkinson. Both films have much the same feeling, virtually the same romantic trouble, so if you've seen one you'll enjoy the other. I'd say that this one, if pressed, is a degree or two higher in stature, but not by much. I'm not entirely sure a director like Parker was an apt choice for stories set amongst the nobs, but too late to change now. Both are very sumptuous, very elegant offerings, and for costume and setting they are pure visual delight. We appreciate these things the more as filmmaking becomes ever more facile, redundant, and cheaply politicised.

And while I've got you here, on a wholly unrelated note, it's weird the way some submissions to imdb go up on site in the blink and others are refused, is it not? So, just so you know, I gave a 7 to 2013 comedy Enough Said, which I thought realistic but also depressingly flat, for all that it was quite funny. Enough said about that. And the Billy Crystal, Debra Winger romcom, Forget Paris (1995), that's an 8. Why should saying that be controversial, imdb?

Enough Said (2013)

Comedy about middle-aged malaise that is impressively depressing

[7/10 · 22 April 2024]

'At some point your have to make a decision. Are you going to be alone, or are you going to be with somebody else? Are you going to be sane, or not lonely.'

That's a joke from standup comic Dylan Moran. Nothing's funny if it's not at least a bit true, and Enough Said is one of those intelligent but depressing comedies about midlife interpersonal blues that demonstrates the truth of the joke.

I hated Seinfeld. I loved The Sopranos. Ergo, I'm more into this movie for James Gandolfini than for Julia Louis-Dreyfus. Not that I watch Enough Said expecting to be unsympathetic towards her character, Eva, but that's what the character and the plot does to me. Maybe women watch this movie, think Eva, her patronising friend Sarah (Toni Collette) and Eva's overbearing massage client/friend Marianne (Catherine Keener) are the tops. Me, nope. I think Gandolfini's Albert (Eva's new boyfriend, and as it turns out, Marianne's ex-husband), Sarah's tolerant husband Will (Ben Falcone) and Eva's ex- Peter (Toby Huss) are all likeable, reasonable people. The women are all snippy, bitchy, petty, catty, and let's be honest, dishonest. Or, at least, Eva is.

Eva is a masseuse with a daughter bound for college. Albert is a librarian who likewise has a daughter bound for college. Oops, Albert's daughter is also Marianne's. When Eva realises that her new friend/client is her boyfriend's ex- she keeps shtum, encourages Marianne (who is exhausting) to vent about Albert, and then allows herself to be influenced. She doesn't tell Marianne or Albert that she knows the other one.

Is it heading for Heartbreak Hotel? Can't say. Not sure there are any hearts beating in this movie. Actually, Eva's daughter and her bestie are more likeable than the mums and dads, so one starts wishing one could escape to college with them. It is a bit weird that Eva spends so much time with her daughter's friend, and that in the group dinner scene, a bit before the hour mark, Eva is not there with Albert, but with her daughter's friend instead. Surely she would want her ex- to see her with her new man? The friend also meets him before Eva's daughter does. Is Eva being cautious or is she just determined to sabotage her relationships?

I guess the movie is truthful about the ways people curate their memories of past relationships to make themselves come out brighter, halo for me, horns for the ex-. It's probably also the case that this is a movie intended for couples, or maybe just women, so it can be discussed at length afterwards. As a guy watching it, well, as well written and funny as it is, it's also just a bit too blah, a bit too meh, and very much lacking in something magical, or dramatic, to make it worthy of the cinema, not simply a TV movie. Really, it is a TV movie.

I expect Gandolfini's death helped generate goodwill, morbid though that sounds. Enough Said got good reviews and made its money back, so there's that. I'm starting to wonder if Toni Collette's presence (and Keener's) in a movie is a warning sign: this is going to be a little bit of too much (as a friend once memorably expressed herself). It's a movie that mutes the men so that we can focus on how trying the women are as they tie (lie) themselves in knots, overcritical of their relationships but never looking at themselves in the mirror, psychologically speaking.

I guess I just don't buy Eva's relationship with Marianne, from paying client to new best friend, when the friendship seems to be so one-way in its sharing, Marianne constantly bitching about her ex-, Albert, and Eva, a little bundle of deceit, soaking it up and never once defending him, this guy she's supposed to care for. It's horrible really, and as I type I'm still waiting for someone to take Eva to task. My fingers are not crossed.

Intelligent and frustrating.

Green Card (1990)

Leaves you wanting more. That's got to be good.

[8/10 · 20 April 2024]

Written and directed by Peter Weir. A romantic comedy. Romcoms are not often respected, and if the author is perceived as having done interesting work in other genres, preferrably drama, then the romcom becomes the poor relation. It's not really fair. I'd rather watch Green Card than Picnic at Hanging Rock any day.

A marriage of convenience. Bronte (MacDowell) needs to present herself as married in order to persuade a condo board to let her rent a special apartment. She's a horticulturalist and the flat has a greenhouse, very unusual feature. Georges (Depardieu) needs a work permit, a green card. So, they marry, and then separate. Then immigration comes to check-up on them and suddenly Bronte needs Georges to move in and together start studying each other so that they can pass for a real couple. He's not her type, ok? He's a slob. He's an oaf.

Oh dear. Guess where this is going? Yup. That's right. You got it wrong.

The other day I tried conclusions with a new romcom, Anybody But You (2023). My goodness, it was so bad it was incredible. Two hard bodies trying to pass for actors, and a series of situations that failed the credulity test within the first five minutes. Now, look at Green Card. Depardieu, the greatest actor of his generation, making his US debut. Not your chiselled, abbed, pecked, biceped and waxed hunk, by any stretch. But, unquestionably, a man, and a charismatic man at that. MacDowell really does have model beauty, but she can act to an acceptable level. And their odd couple burgeoning relationship is genuinely charming. He's in her apartment, her space, an intruder, and she wants to boss him until he's gone. And he lets her, until he doesn't, and when he takes charge...mmmm.

The musical soundtrack is a curious mix of the Celtic and the African (did you know the study of the Celtic fringe is sometimes extended to include Africa? Ahhh). Enya, who also contributed to Steve Martin's lovecom, LA Story (1991). The screenplay suggests more than it elaborates, and whilst one might wish for more discussion, wouldn't that weigh things down? It would. What this movie is great at is eliciting subtle gestures that indicate the first growth, a germinal state leading to stems and leaves and buds, of love between two people. Depardieu is good at very small facial twitches, very subtle, hence the close-ups. MacDowell manages to convey something of the change felt on the inside, almost as if a burgeoning feeling, unanticipated, of love were a kind of pregnancy.

Ok. That's enough enthusing by me. It's only fair to say that Green Card is more romantic than it is funny, more reflective than competitive (the other man, Phil, is conveniently out of sight most of the time). This is a very good example of the movie where a relationship, fractious at the start, metamorphoses into the sweet friction of love between opposites. The ultimate opposites, man and woman.

Recommended for anyone in need of a love story.

Miami Rhapsody (1995)

"C'mon. You know I get sincere when I'm nervous."

[5/10 · 20 April 2024]

Pssst! Was that line meant to be funny? (Whispering) Can we go?

I always thought Roger Ebert was the smart one. He gave 3/4 for this movie. Was he buddies with the writer/director? Cos make no mistake, David Frankel's movie is like a swimmer caught between two islands called Woody Allen and Nora Ephron, and unable to decide which to swim to...strength failing...going under...(gurgling).

I counted four attempts at humour in the first ninety seconds, none of which actually land and become actual jokes. It's an interesting thought, is a joke a joke if no-one laughs? I'd say a joke is dependent on a comedic talent to activate the humour of the audience, and in Sarah Jessica Parker the director has made a dismal choice. She can't sell the funny lines, or very few of them. She's pretty, tan (it is Miami; Mia Farrow, playing her mother, is wistful and pale, just like in the song), but she's all wrong for the character. Really, her character ought to be played by Woody Allen, or Billy Crystal.

But what's it about? Um, well...It starts off with SJP in a therapy session, then we move back in time, or was it forward? Doesn't seem to matter. The therapist doesn't come back anytime soon, begging the question, what was the therapy bit for? SJP gets engaged to Billy from Ally McBeal. Sorry, that's Gil Bellows, a sort of Matt LeBlanc for projects Matt wouldn't do (he's actually called Matt in this movie). There's a sweet scene where they have a romantic campfire and he slaps her, one of the few times I laughed during Miami Rhapsody. She's very hesitant, hesitant in a way that guy characters usually are. SJP then finds out her mother, Mia Farrow (Boo!) is having an affair (Boo!) with Antonio Banderas (Eww!). Why? Well, for one thing because dad is having an affair with his travel agent (actually he isn't; she just imagines he is). Watching SJP lavish concern and sympathy on cheating mom and then be guarded and distant towards concerned dad is sure to rile-up every guy forced to watch this movie. Blatant double-standard.

So, is the movie about SJP or her parents? Is she going to marry Billy (sorry Gill, no sorry, Matt not-LeBlanc)? I'm not crossing my fingers, and with every punchline telegraphed so carelessly one ends-up ducking (i.e. Not laughing) in order to preserve one's self esteem, I'm not crossing my legs for this movie either. I'm tempted to run to the lobby/kitchen for snacks and never come back.

The Miami setting makes me want to watch something like The Birdcage, and the Louis Armstrong music makes me want to watch a Billy Crystal comedy, Forget Paris, or When Harry Met Sally. And having Rhapsody in the title, well that just makes me want to watch Manhattan.

Oh, by the way, SJP's character is called Gwyn, which is a guy's name. I told you this part should have been played by someone with a winky.

Peep Show (2003–2015)

Often brilliant and always cringe-inducing British sitcom

[7/10 · 20 April 2024]

I'd like to give more than a 7/10 but once you start reading the senseless praise visited upon Peep Show by other viewers then it simply becomes impossible not to correct downwards.

Was it 9-seasons of Peep Show, or were there more? It feels like there were more. It seemed to go on forever, like an American sitcom. I even wrote 'seasons' above, when traditionally British sitcoms offer series, not seasons, fewer writers and fewer episodes. The upside is that the writing is tighter and the show doesn't outstay its welcome, unlike literally all US sitcoms which just keep slogging away until everyone on every side of the camera is exhausted. It's interesting to note that a US version of Peep Show keeps getting tried and keeps failing to materialise, in the great tradition of US remakes of British material.

Peep Show, as you no doubt know, is a sitcom about two college roommates who wind-up living together as they're pushing 30, Mark a prematurely middle-aged fusspot, Jeremy an eternal teenage with a modicum of laidback charm to offset his laziness. This set-up is not remotely original. It is the odd couple situation, and it's most obvious antecedent is the BBC/ITV comedy, Men Behaving Badly.

However, Peep Show goes way beyong Men Behaving Badly, adopting a more confrontational style with its POV subjective camera and also the deployment of interior monologue for the two main characters. Much of the humour derives from what is thought, not what is said, and the dichotomy between private wishes and external actions is beautifully exploited by the excellent writing. The leading players, Mitchell & Webb, were a comedy duo taken-up to play these roles, and they also had an amusing sketch show on BBC TV during the run. And what a long run.

My estimate? Seasons 3-6 are the best of it.

The thing is, US shows that go on and on and on, they tend to offer the devoted (addicted) viewers some kind of pay-off, such as a happy or at least optimistic ending. Comedy, like any form of expression, has to be relatable, and that includes to our eternal need for hope. Peep Show, which is dark and very cringeworthy, especially in its early years, offers its two resident idiots no hope of escape. Correction, it teases them (and us, since we're invited to identify with them) with the possibility of a fresh start, redemption, and then wilfully pulls the rug out and dumps them (us) back on their bottoms. After twelve years of service, that is a little too much to bear. It feeds in to a problem with the show's comedy, which was also a trend of the time, the problem of mean-spiritedness. Peep Show is, deep down, a mean little show. It's very funny, but in a very cruel way. Peep Show was famously endorsed by the great figurehead of mean comedy, Ricky Gervais. That tells you something about it.

You could say that, in a way, it's fundamentally unlovable, insofar as the characters, relatable as they often are, remain too determinedly foolish and self destructive to be lovable. And maybe the interior monologue is key to why they are so unlovable, because we cannot hear the private thoughts of others and honestly we shouldn't because we'd go mad. Just look what social media (all that unnecessary, self-absorbed venting) has done to the younger 'gens'. Widespread mental illness, even psychosis.

Peep Show is something from which you can learn, but seeing as the characters do not learn, in the end, you must part company with them. If you don't you'll get sick.

Kill Bill: Vol. 1 (2003)

An extremely painful not-quite-two-hours

[5/10 · 19 April 2024]

Was QT really pressured into cutting Kill Bill into two separate 'volumes' by bulldog Weinstein? And did he really have to give in? Is that all true? Where was his auteur's chutzpah? Admittedly, over four hours in the theatre is a long watch, but it's not unknown. Kenneth Branagh's Hamlet was a four hour cut, presented with an interval. That worked out fine, miraculously fine for those of us doing Hamlet at school. Why didn't Kill Bill simply have two long halves and a nice long interval inbetween? Let's all go to the lobby...

Whatever the background to the slicing in half of Bill, nothing can prevent this movie, and I mean Vol.1, but what I'm about to say could work for both, from being, well, basically, horrible. I say that as someone who was impressed by Dogs and delighted by Pulp, rendered sleepy by the overrated Jackie B. (Soderbergh's Elmore Leonard movie, OUT OF SIGHT, which also uses Michael Keaton, was far superior to QT's indulgent snorefest). Kill Bill, volume solo, volume duo, however you approach it is, well, horrible. QT coasting on the "QT" legend which had already sprung to life like a golem doppelganger and begun following him about.

Maybe Weinstein was right, astute even. The first vol. Is so painful to watch, with its boring dialogue, aggressive soundtrack, cocksure corniness, and its martial arts battle trailing in the wake of Ang Lee's Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon to the point of being laughable. I know, the same choreographer, but it makes no difference. Curious, isn't it? They're both fiction, but only the Ang Lee movie has conviction. QT, ever wedded to pastiche, makes the mistake of imitating a new masterpiece, not the sort of dated, B-movie genre cinema that most people had either forgotten or never seen; his usual quarry. Granted, Tiger had a feeble story too, but there was much more to its feeble story than QT's cartoonish, vacuous revenge fantasy. Remember what happened afterwards? More revenge fantasies (the whole Grindhouse thing, and so on, and on).

It just wasn't a great time for movies, the early 2000s. That's all there is to say. TV had stolen the limelight with heavy hitters like The Sopranos and others that followed it. To be frank, QT has never done anything to match the movies which established his legend. He's been living on the doppelganger for decades. If his next film is his last then I hope he recovers some of the long lost old magic. The gangster cool. The retro music (hip retro) and a structural discipline that has sadly disappeared as his movies have become fat and scant of breath.

Make it a winner, QT, when it comes, cos Kill Bill cannot be your magnum opus.

Flickering Lights (2000)

Good things come when you have a little faith

[8/10 · 18 April 2024]

You got to have a little faith in people. That's what Tracy said at the end of Manhattan (1979), and if you watch Flickering Lights long enough you'll understand why I'm referencing a New York comedy from the Seventies in a review of a Danish black comedy about criminals on the lam'. I don't want to spoil it. Just keep your ears open.

This starts and goes on in a fairly grim and chilly manner, but don't be put off because it's going somewhere sunny. Barcelona is the projected destination of four crooks who run off with a case full of money, but when their vehicle breaks down in the woods they need to hole-up somewhere a bit Blair Witchy from the look of it. Then, the movie goes from being a bit Shallow Gravey to being a bit runny gravy. You'll see. There's a lot of fuss about some sauce separating. That which is done with love won't fall apart.

Wow. Look at young Mads Mikkelsen and young Sofie Grabol. So perky, Grabol that is. Mads just looks mad. And there's Iben Hjelle, around the time she made High Fidelity with John Cusack. Has she been in anything else worth mentioning? Grabol, of course, went on to fame for The Killing, a tv series about a cop with a refined taste in pullovers. Peter Andersson is another recognisable face, if you saw The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, and its sequels. Also Ole Thestrup, for anyone who watched the wonderful political drama Borgen.

It's a bit, as I said, Shallow Gravey, a bit Trainspottingy, and one youtuber reckons it's a bit like Withnail & I; but I guess it's fairer to say that it's its own special flavour of macabre comedy. Bad people can still be good friends, and there's nothing like loyalty to keep things growing.

Well, there you have it. Plenty of text and vague as you like. No masterpiece, it's too bitty for that, but immensely likeable. Like watching the best bits of all those other shows I mentioned above.

An offbeat gem.

Anyone But You (2023)

Commercial success and artistic merit are rarely found in bed together.

[3/10 · 18 April 2024]

The opening 'dash to the coffee shop meets chivalry & the bestowal of the bathroom key' scene tells us a lot about the actors right away. Not the characters, the actors. They can't. Especially The Sweeney. The guy sounds vaguely like George Clooney, the poor man's Cary Grant, so this dude must be for spectators on life support. The Sween can always count on her bristols, but our leading lad is basically an underpants model, and anyone checking out his package can't even pretend to be listening to his patter.

Anyway, they walk around talking, they eat together at his place, talk more, fall asleep on the sofa. Re. The walking and talking: if you're starting to picture the wonderful Linklater directed 'Before...' trilogy, absolutely do not do so. This is not a smart dialogue movie. These people can barely walk persuasively, much less talk. The Sweenster sneaks off then wonders, Why did I sneak off? So she returns just in time to hear Mr Packet badmouthing her to his supposedly sassy buddy. Huh. Off she goes again, walking past a wall that has a quotation from Much Ado About Nothing inexplicably stamped on it. We're in a movie where even the murals look phony. But wait! There's more. The next scene is signposted (literally), "SIX MONTHS LATER". I suppose that's meant to be 'meta'.

Across a crowded room: Woman 1: "Pete!" Woman 2: "Hey!" Mr Packet: (waving) "Claudia!" Mr Sass: (waving) "Holly!"

The way you just read that in your head is the way it was actually said. Like in a read-through.

The director of this movie is the same creative genius behind the Timberlake/Kunis debacle, Friends With Benefits. Ok, so, we know our level: Low. But my use of the word debacle reminds me that the plot synopsis of Anyone But You, when I first read it, sounded suspiciously like the Keanu Reeves / Winona Ryder movie, Destination Wedding. Only this time we get beach and swimsuits instead of wine country and elegance. We also got one-note performances in Destination, but to its credit those were one-note performances of deliciously sardonic dialogue. The one-note was right for the two-hander, both characters defined by their being at odds with existence, their curmudgeonly misanthropy. They were disagreeable and their disagreeableness made them a perfect match. Now, what do we have here, other than clunky dialogue, flat vocals, and symmetrical vanity? Nada. Zero. The Adventures of Jockstrap and Tatas.

Allegedly this movie's a hit, despite the abundant flaws. How can that be? Well, I hate to say it, but Friends With Benefits was a hit too. So, romcom being a genre, there's also a formula for selling a movie in that genre, and evidently director Will Gluck has the (un)happy knack of knowing how. One shouldn't be surprised. Fifty Shades was a hit, and it was terrible, based upon a terrible book, which was also a hit. Commercial success and artistic merit are rarely found in bed together. It may also be that there's something wrong with the current 'gen', an inability to really value the popular entertainment legacy of their own culture, perhaps? Are we on the brink of anothar dark age? Is nostalgia a warning sign of impending collapse?

How to sign off on this review? If you are prepared to endorse Anyone But You then you absolutely need to change your whole entire way of being. You're wasting your heartbeats.

Vapid tripe.

P. S. The drying your pants with the hand dryer bit, near the beginning, is stolen from a Mr Bean movie. In any event, it's totally unoriginal, except this time it's a woman instead of a man being clutzy.

Rope (1948)

Taut thriller that teases with the danger of discovery at every moment

[9/10 · 15 April 2024]

Rope (1948), from the stageplay by Patrick Hamilton, deserves as much fame as any of the better known Hitchcock suspense thrillers. The fact that it is lesser known, however, isn't so bad. Let's call it our secret. No need to tell anyone what we're up to. You get my drift?

Two Harvard snobs murder one of their peers. They then throw a party in the room where the body is hidden. Why do we say 'throw a party'? Your guess is as good as mine, I expect. Their party is both meticulously planned and also in a sense thrown together in a separate sense, as host Brandon (John Dall) makes little final innovations before the guests arrive, and even reveals details his co-conspirator Phillip (Farley Granger) is unaware of, putting him into a state of anxiety. Brandon, the dominant one, chief sociopath if you like, is frightfully cool and collected, Phillip volatile and emotional. But who are the guests? Well, first, there's David, the corpe, then also the corpse's girlfriend Janet, love rival Kenneth, and the parents of the deceased, the Kentleys. Lastly, Rupert Cadell (James Stewart), housemaster from the boys' old prep school, and as Phillip warns, "the one man in the world most likely to suspect". Is Brandon aiming to rival Highsmith's Tom Ripley, or is he destined to become another Raskolnikov?

The movie is famous for being shot in long takes that are knit together to give the illusion of one continuous take. As such it demonstrates its affinity with its origin as a stageplay, and indeed the whole thing takes place in one setting, the apartment. The only exterior shot comes at the beginning for the opening credits. The movie begins with the death, rather than the act of murder, of David Kentley, and this bit is the least convincing segment of the movie, his cry of distress and then the moment of death sounding and then looking a little too stagey. Aside from a few minor inconsistencies along the way, the kinds of things you wouldn't notice in the cinema (but which are easily picked over when he review on our devicesm as opposed to view), the movie sets in to become completely absorbing. I love the way the screenplay draws our attention to all the figurative language used in everyday parlance, especially the kind that implies violence. For example, when Kenneth, hearing that Phillip is soon to make his concert debut, exclaims "I hope you knock them dead!", or when Janet becoming impatient with Brandon's meddling, "Oh why can't he keep his hands off people?". There is a straightforward use of light and dark as symbolism, simple but indubitable, and being in cahoots, albeit temporarily, as onlookers, we know more than the guests do and so elements take on a thrilling and unsettling character.

It's also interesting to speculate upon the sexuality, the implied homoeroticism of the movie. This must have been deliberate, but can it have been widely comprehended? Was it there in the original of 1929, or is it added by the writers who adapted it for the movie, Hume Cronyn and Arthur Laurents? Are Brandon and Phillip a couple in the closet or is the murder somehow a consequence of their repressed sexuality? We're told, later on, that Brandon was seeing Janet at some earlier period. Given the homoerotic undertones, some of the dialogue takes on a comic aspect, and the gun-in-the-pocket bit, well I'll let you infer what you wish about that one.

I suppose, were it remade today, the movie would be full of quick cuts and shots from multiple angles, reactions in close-up, and these would replace feelings of suspense in the spectator with nervous tension. Thankfully, no-one's been foolish enough to try it. Personally I think the performances could hardly be bettered. Farley Granger makes a superb show of Phillip's gradual unravelling, the effect of the drink as he gets more and more inebriated. Dall makes an effective sociopath, charming, aloof, torn between the need for disguise and a prideful wish to expose hise genius. How riveting it becomes when the camera reveals Jimmy Stewart's materialisation in the room, a movie star amongst the actors. I love the droll reference to another Hitchcock movie, Notorious (the guests can't remember the title). According to Wiki, Hitch does make a cameo, but looking at it, I ask you, really? That? Never mind.

I wanted to say something about how Rope contrasts with a film like Funny Games, but I can't think of anything beyond the fact that Hitchcock, unlike Haneke, never treats the audience with contempt. He doesn't need to shame the audience to make us appalled by crime. Patricia Highsmith, or rather Anthony MInghella and Matt Damon, manage to get us on sociopath Tom Ripley's side. We end up wanting him to escape detection. We never want Brandon and Phillip to do so despite spending so much time with them. Whether they do or do not get away with the murder of David is something you will have to find out for yourself.

Spiral (2005–2020)

Superb Crime Drama From France

[7/10 · 9 April 2024]

I once heard a TV executive say, more or less, at the network you always want more. A US TV exec, that was, but the prinicple can apply across the pond. It's become a bit of a problem, shows that exeed their natural life span on account of the network's greed and the audience's apathy/addiction. Sadly, Engrenages (Spiral) cannot be exempted from the category of shows that ought to have quit while they were ahead.

There were eight seasons of Spiral. All have merit, but some have more merit than others. Cut it in half and you have the best of things. But then eat the other half too, piggy.

Spiral focuses on violent crime. Season 1 has a brutal murder. Season 2 has an equally brutal murder to get things cooking. Literally. Season 3, another murder. And the pattern continues. What makes Spiral interesting, or one thing, is the way it bounces between the police, the judiciary, the criminals, and the ordinary citizens, all of whom are capable of nefarious behaviour. No-one is exempt. There are no white-hat cowboys and black-hat baddies. Everyone is corrupt to varying degrees. Everything is interconnected.

Shall we bring up the spectre of Jennifer Lawrence, more specifically her legendary and fatuous interview where the conceited clown claimed she was the first ever action heroine? Naturally all the male half of the species fell off its collective chair laughing at her self-aggrandizement, and then began listing all the much-loved heroines. They focused on movies, naturally, but what about TV? For Engrenages has a terrific female lead, a heroine leading her team from the front, working tirelessly, and fighting like a wild cat to protect those who matter to her. I refer, naturellement, to Captain Laure Berthaud (Caroline Proust). She's an extraordinary character, tough, uncontrollable, resolute, ruthless, but also capable of being confused, ambivalent, vulnerable, even cowardly when it comes to her personal life. An amazing blend of heroism and fragility.

There's also her antagonist, the brilliant and bloodyminded lawyer, Josephine Karlsson (Audrey Fleurot). Unusually, they are not divided but brought together, albeit temporarily, by love for the same man, prosecutor-turned-lawyer Pierre (Gregory Fitoussi). Other recurring characters include the vulpine judge Roban, the machiavellian Machard, Berthaud's two deputees, Tintin and Gilou, and the hot-headed chief of CID, Herville.

I love the way the design for the opening recap changes with each season. And what about the unusual camera angles and puddle reflections in Season 7? This is a terrifically compelling drama, with plenty of heart despite all the nefarious goings-on. However, once Fitoussi's Pierre is written out the show does start to get lost in the streets of Paris. The finale of Season 5 is absurd, Season 6 is built on improbabilities, even as the personal life angle on Berthaud becomes more interesting, and there is an inescapable feeling from Season 7 that plot-armour and convenience - for the writers, not for realism - is driving plot developments; that things are made to happen just because it suits the format of the show, not because of plausibility.

Nonetheless, even on faltering form, Spiral is wicked television and well worth seeing to its slightly inconclusive and downbeat final minutes, if only to finalise its slow-burn love story. If artists no longer seek perfection for their work maybe it is because they have imperfect audiences?

Civilisation (1969–1970)

A big jewel in the crown of classic BBC television

[10/10 · 8 April 2024]

The upside of paternalism, if you like. They couldn't make Civilisation (1969) today.

I know, I know. They tried. 'Civilisations' (cos there's been more than one, you know). Rightly chewed-up, even by the BBC's own arts critic, as a project without any sense of vision or purpose, the worthless and unnecessary sequel is destined for the scrapheap. The original, commissioned by that hero of BBC TV, Sir David Attenborough, is an immortal product of the Beeb at her most ambitious. The most extraordinary buildings and works of engineering, the most beautiful interiors and works of decorative art, the greatest achievements in music and sculpture, painting, bronze casting, and more besides; and all to show off the new medium of colour television.

And if Attenborough is a hero then so is the series writer-presenter, Kenneth Clark. The director of the National Gallery, an art historian of immense experience and erudition, and actually one of the most experienced culture broadcasters on the still developing medium of televisual broadcasting. Civilisation is a 13-part lecture series, of a kind, in which Clark endeavours to answer one question: what is civilisation? He prefers to answer it through the medium of art, his specialty, because it is less doubtful than the words of a smarmy politician or a propagandist historian. His journey takes him around Europe and across the Atlantic to the USA. He, and the recording team, are showing things to the viewer that they might never have known existed, much less had the chance to see in person.

Clark was an immense figure in the art world. He speaks with a confidence born of deep consideration of art and literature, over decades of study and writing. Write so you learn to think, talk so you learn to speak. Those are the words of Prof. Jordan Peterson. Alternatively, immerse yourself in the eloquence of great spirits such as Clark (and Peterson, naturally). For Clark's presentation is remarkable for its eloquence, as well as one or two unusual pronunciations (ca-PIT-alism, not CAP-italism; i-ron, not i-yun, as we tend to say 'iron' today). He also provides a model of how to be on camera without stealing focus from the art and architecture which is intended to be the central attraction.

The decades have passed and there have been many series on TV about art and history from different periods. None can match, few have ever attempted, the grand sweep of Clark's vision (vision is the apt word), nor his eloquent use of language, engagement without ego, or at times contained emotion. Most tv historians subsequent to Clark merely allow the producers to stroke their egos, so they toss their hair, make worthless shots looking out at vistas or sunsets, and talk as simplistically as possible so as not to threaten the dull minds with knowledge or inspiration. Or we get vapid travelogues, replete with segments on local cuisine and clowning. Clark's series is always replete with something others rarely communicate: passion. A passionate engagement with things he considered holy.

I watch whole episodes, or just bits of them, again and again, and over the decades I've come to love all the episodes, rather than having favourites. The more depressed and disgusted I become, soaking my attention in the tabloid vulgarity and sheer stupidity that teems in Socialmedia Land, the more urgently I need Civilisation, the series and what it stands for.

You're not educated if you have not seen this TV series.

Girl with a Pearl Earring (2003)

Enter a world where everything looks very Vermeery

[7/10 · 5 April 2024]

GPE gets points for its costumes and locations and also the music by Alexandre Desplat. All are quite enchanting, especially given that we don't have to live in such cramped conditions. This is a very visual movie. Lots of looks but a little lacking in emotional engagement.

Griet (Scarlett Johansson, very young) must go into service when her family falls on hard times. She becomes a maid in the house of Delft painter Vermeer (Colin Firth), given all manner of chores to do. Visits to the market attract the interest of the butcher's boy, Pieter (Cillian Murphy). Visits to the master's studio attract the interest of the artist himself. Little by little Vermeer places greater trust in Griet, asking her to buy raw materials for the paints and even to mix the colours herself. Vermeer suggests that Griet be moved to sleep in the attic, so that she can clean up first thing and her bed below stairs can be given back to head servant Tanneke (Joanna Scanlan). Every decision provokes suspicion and jealousy, in a house full of chickens and only one cockerel.

The young Johansson, attired for the 17th century period, so very pale, looks so very otherworldly. This is a part of the movie's fascination. It is a story of sexual, in a limited way, as well as aesthetic awakening. An awakening of the powers of perception. As Catharina gives birth and then becomes pregnant again, so her husband gives birth to works of art, ready to be passed on to collectors such as Van Ruijven (Tom Wilkinson). Griet's support to the artist arouses jealousy in the household, and everything draws down to the final insult, Vermeer's decision to make a model of the maid herself. Desplat's music carries a Hogwartsy sense of wonder, making something magical out of something actually quite scientific in its endeavour.

Yet, in the end, this is a movie about, well, not very much. Inspired by a novel, I think, and if so, an attempt to make something bigger out of the contribution of a face in a painting. The girl with the pearl earring only exists to posterity because Vermeer painted her. The novelist/screenwriters want to pretend that Vermeer only exists, likewise, because of the girl's presence as an inspiration. But the girl made nothing. Vermeer painted everything. It is perverse to pretend otherwise.

Firth gives his usual, constipated performance. It is meant to convey interiority, of the spirit, not of the bowels. One would like more of Judy Parfitt (as Maria Thins, Vermeer's mother-in-law) and really more of Vermeer himself, and a bit less of the girl, who despite the effort to flesh out a character is really more of an appearance than a personality.

It looks good, it sounds good, and it's not too long. But it could have been more impressive in other hands.

Tell No One (2006)

Exhilarating thriller that keeps you on the edge till the last Ooh-la-la

[8/10 · 2 April 2024]

Starring François Cluzet (from Untouchable), Marie-Josée Croze (from Munich), Kristin Scott Thomas (from Four Weddings & a Funeral), et al, TELL NO ONE is a terrific thriller that only loses a very little of its savour once you know all its secrets.

Alexandre and Margot are ready to start a family. He's finished medical school, there friends have babies, it's time. They've known each other, evidently, since childhood, and their bond is unshakeable. Then Margot is kidnapped, apparently by a serial killer, and murdered. Alexandre cannot be ruled out entirely because of suspicious circumstances, ones hard for him to explain.

Jump forward eight years. Bodies are found buried in the woods. At the same time, a mysterious email with a time specific link attached is sent to Alexandre at his paediatric clinic. When he opens it he is in for one heck of a shock. Tell no-one, it says. And it's not just the police he needs to worry about. Alexandre is being watched, and by some real scary people. If he is going to solve the mystery he's going to need to stay a step ahead of some very determined characters.

Tell No One is everything you could want in a thriller. Yes it is absurdly far-fetched, and it also relies upon a massive expositional dump at the end of the movie to explain everything, at which point it becomes absurd brulee. That doesn't stop it being an exhilarating mixture of puzzle and pursuit, courage and cruelty, honour and pride. The guitar driven scoring is super cool, the kind of sound that goes with road movies in American cinema. This being a French film music is used sparingly but always effectively (even affectively).

Anyone who's seen François Cluzet in Untouchable will probably thrill to the sight of him up and running and even fighting when provoked. Is Kristin Scott Thomas better in French movies than English? I think yes. You know, I love a film like Amelie, but with repeat viewing it becomes so ludicrous that I struggle to cope, but Tell No One, maybe because it is a mixture of mystery and menace, love story and conspiracy, I find easy to enjoy again and again despite its structural and plot weaknesses. It's amazingly compelling and tres cool, non?

Rosemary's Baby (1968)

And the award for Worst Pregnancy Ever goes to...(opening envelope)...

[7/10 · 31 March 2024]

Rosemary's Baby (1968) gave America two new stars, lead actress Mia Farrow and Polish director Roman Polanski. Prior to Rosemary Farrow was a TV actress and Polanski an arthouse hero, but Rosemary launched them into the big time. Her participation precipitated the breakdown of her marriage to Sinatra, but the possibility of an Oscar was just too good to miss. In the end it was co-star Ruth Gordon (as Minnie) who bagged the award. Polanski was nominated but had to wait until 2003 to get one (for The Pianist).

Rosemary and her husband move into an old apartment block despite warnings from their friend and current landlord that the place has a dark past. Rosemary makes friends with a young lady who promptly goes out the window. The couple next door, Minnie and Roman, are soon intruding on Rosemary's life, all the more so after she falls pregnant. But just how did she manage to get pregnant, and by whom, or by what?

I wonder, is Rosemary's severe Vidal Sassoon haircut a fashion statement or an early signifier of demonic possession? One thing's for certain, Satanic conspiracy aside, this movie is no advert for pregnancy, or for getting to know your neighbours. Farrow, c/o the makeup artist, is made to look more and more ill as her pregnancy progresses, and as viewers we are likely to become more and more anxious on her behalf. Who do you turn to when you begin to distrust everyone? In such a predicament, where do you run to?

Rosemary's Baby, as you can see from the thumbnail, had a superb advertising campaign, and a great poster. All the actors do a terrific job, especially Farrow, and Polanski slowly amplifies the disquiet without resorting to histrionics. The film works brilliantly on a first watch, but with secondary and tertiary viewing it does become a long haul. Some commentators have attempted to interpret Rosemary's final position as one of power, but that seems like wishful thinking to me. But you see the movie and you decide if there's any reason to be optimistic (assuming you're not a Satanist yourself).

Farrow described this, c.2008, as the only great movie she ever did, which is an intolerable slight upon Woody Allen, with whom she made a dozen movies, several of them great ones. It is true, however, that this is the only one that offers her 100% screen time. Rosemary is in virtually every scene of the movie, whereas most often Allen put Farrow in as part of an ensemble, not the above-the-title star, so to speak. Far as I know, Polanski never worked with her again. Not many did, except poor benighted Woody.

It is a great movie, scarier for women than for men to watch, for obvious reasons (apparently some women were very powerfully affected by Ridley Scott's Alien, because of its evil pregnancy theme). It works best the first time, but even the first time one must ask the question, what is that hairdo?

The Way Back (I) (2010)

"I'll just keep going, until it's over. Just keep walking."

[8/10 · 31 March 2024]

Peter Weir's movie, inspired by a true escape story - escape from a Soviet gulag - came out the same year as Emilio Estevez's The Way (2010). Though I retain a small, a very small soft spot for the Estevez movie, Weir's drama is the richer, fuller expression of the pilgrimage spirit.

Janusz (Jim Sturgess) is accused of expressing anti-Soviet statements, negative appraisals of Comrade Stalin, by his wife. He is sent to Siberia and to a gulag work camp. The new arrivals are told that it is really Nature that is their jailor, for there are millions of square miles of wilderness all around, and a bounty on the head of escapees. Nevertheless, Janusz intends to get away.

Janusz is initally under the wing of Khabarov (Mark Strong) but eventually finds his true ally in Mister Smith (Ed Harris). When they are transferred to mining work there is no more time to waste. With five others, including Colin Farrell's killer/gambler Valka, they break out and escape into the snow storm. And so it begins. The very long walk to freedom.

Watching people merely walking is basically boring, unless the act of putting one foot in front of another can itself be dramatised. This is something Weir's movie achieves admirably, in contrast to Estevez's comfortable stroll of a movie. Granted, the escaped convicts have much more to contend with and dramatically different territory to cross, everything from forests and rivers to deserts and mountains. They have to do it with barely enough food or water to survive, and for a while they are all very taciturn. They become more of a family, less of a band of opportunists, when they are joined by Irena (Saoirse Ronan), and like a good fairy she helps humanize them, one to the other. How? The oldest female curse-cum-virtue, incorrigible curiosity.

Ronan's pale, innocent face is the perfect contrast to Ed Harris' magnificently weather-beaten old one. Here is an actor who has the capacity to fascinate simply by his physical bearing. Like Tom (Martin Sheen) in The Way, Harris' Smith is carrying a private pain, but although not the focus of the drama, Smith's pain is augmented by a sense of guilt, and again, in contrast to Irena's gentle graceful compassionate look there is something wonderfully masculine about Harris' Smith. Even though he's not an ideas man they need him to make it, just as they don't want to go on without Irena when she starts to flag.

Weaknesses? The movie could have done with more scenes inside the camp, to really ram home the awfulness of the gulag existence. Also, there is no sense of pursuit beyond the day of escape, and a little more jeopardy, aside from the perils of the wilderness, would have been compelling. Mark Strong is sadly underused (how often is that the case), and just maybe the leading man, Janusz, could use a little something extra to make him more interesting.

But this is a story of dogged endurance, a real drama of pilgrimage. A pilgrimage towards a destination that keeps getting further away. The gang have to be creative, they have to pool their limited resources, scour the recesses of their memories for useful tidbits of practical information, such as sucking on pebbles to combat thirst, or using the skin of birch trees to make masks to prevent snow blindness. Like good pilgrims they rely on good will and good fortune, not credit cards, and they have to make their own way, haphazardly, bleeding and chapped and sunburnt. Their faces get more interesting the more weatherbeaten they become. There is also the beautiful landscape photography to enjoy, epic where Estevez's was so much dusty banality. Music is used sparingly.

Not likely to be a movie you'll programme every six months, but when you do you'll be awed by it all over again.

Big Trouble in Little China (1986)

I bet the cast stole all the props from this movie. They're so cool.

[8/10 · 30 March 2024]

'A rough-and-tumble trucker and his side kick face off with an ancient sorcerer in a supernatural battle beneath Chinatown.'

Bit patronising, no? Realistically, Wang is the hero, Jack Burton is a parody of the over-confident, boneheaded, macho American guy. The kind who shouts "USA! USA!" at sports events. That's what makes the role and Kurt Russell's willingness to poke fun at his own tough guy image such a delight.

Hey, it's ok. Don't pout. He's certainly brave (foolish) and he gets to be heroic (lucky) so there's that. Jack's heroic in a Don Quixote sort of way. He leads the charge despite not knowing where he's going or what he's going to do when he gets there. Courage sans plan. Gracie is similar, all brio and no grey matter. Good thing they've got Wang and the rest of the yellow jackets to help them face the villains.

Big Trouble is a big pleasure. It's a spoof, an action-comedy that delivers all the thrills and confrontations and shocks but in a spirit of fun. It never, NEVER, takes itself seriously, Nolan could never make a movie like this. He has too little regard for the audience.

It's a fantasy, full of mystery and monsters that suddenly pop-up. One ditzy youtuber, watching the movie, actually compared it to a comic-book (maybe) or a videogame (nope). Big Trouble is full of characters, not the usual videogame situation of an unstoppable hero (GAME OVER is never that) and an army of ciphers, plus a few bosses. John Wick is a movie videogame. It's so video-gamey it's utterly shameless in that regard. No, Carpenter, the director, understood that the audience wants to have fun watching, not sit there while the director gets to play. It's a lost art, entertaining the audience.

Preaching is the order of the day. 21st century movies also run-on too long. No worries here. We have a zesty comedy about a truck driver who loses his truck, a young man who loses his fiancee, and an evil wizard whose flesh is missing. They're all on a quest to recover what matters most.

Can't believe I didn't laugh at the Storms' hats when I was a kid. Or their weapons (one guy is armed with spanners, another with back scratchers!).