drunk-drunker-drunkest Reviews

Akenfield (1974)

A lost British gem

[9/10 · 14 March 2007]

13 million people saw Akenfield on television when it was simultaneously broadcast on LWT and premiered at London's Paris Pullman cinema (a move that is still seen as forward-thinking today - see Soderbergh's Bubble). It was chosen to open the 1974 London Film Festival. It was critically acclaimed across the board and has been shown in festivals in Los Angeles, Moscow and Tehran. It is truly a beautiful, elegiac little film. So, why has it been so totally forgotten?

Based on Ronald Blythe's 1969 book of the same name, Peter Hall (the famous theatre director) was brought on board to adapt it for the screen. It follows the story of Tom, a farmer seeking to escape the suffocating traditions and ways of country life. His tale is intercut with those of both his father and grandfather, revealing just how little has changed in the village in almost a century. A portrait of a rural English village over the changing eras and seasons, the film was shot entirely in the real Akenfield. The shoot lasted one year, with work only undertaken on weekends.

Seeking the authenticity of rural life, Hall made his cast up of local people from Akenfield and the surrounding villages. This angered Equity, the actor's union, who placed the film on a blacklist. In order to appease their strict rules, it was decided the cast would largely play themselves and could not work to a script. Instead they improvised their lines on camera and were never allowed to repeat the same words verbatim. Thus, it was deemed, this could not be construed as "acting" and would therefore not fall under Equity's jurisdiction. The result is unfailingly understated performances that have a ring of truth so lacking in many larger budget films.

Ivan Strasburg, the cinematographer, shot only with available light, even when indoors. He was forced to pioneer a new diffusion technique from behind the lens. Whilst this was almost as much an economic decision as an aesthetic one, it lead to the film's sumptuous painterly quality. Some of the sun-drenched harvest sequences, for example, are as instantly beautiful as anything Vadim Yusov photographed for Tarkovsky at the peak of his powers.

A brilliant film that, had it been made in the canonised era of Italian neo-realism, would have been accordingly recognised as a classic. As it is, it is a forgotten gem that few people remember and even fewer are likely to see in the future. It is available on DVD through the Ipswich Film Theatre, and I highly recommend you hunt down a copy before it completely disappears.

The Pervert's Guide to Cinema (2006)

Who is the pervert?

[6/10 · 14 March 2007]

More akin to a lecture from a slightly eccentric professor than anything resembling a film, Sophie Fiennes sensibly allows the extravagant Slavoj Zizek to take centre stage throughout the three parts of this documentary. Zizek himself is a very amiable presence on screen, always humorous and entertaining even when putting forward some of his more extravagant theories. That's not to say it's just a series of stationary talking-head shots, in fact it is a beautifully conceived piece of cinematography. Zizek turns up appearing to actually be in the sets of the movies he is discussing, a technique that remains visually interesting even after 150 minutes. There are also numerous clips taken from the films in discussion that, for once, thankfully remain in their correct aspect ratio.

I just never really understood who this was all intended for. As an aid to film-studies students some of the concepts and arguments are a little too abstruse, and the films covered are more than amply examined in any number of textbooks. At best it is a cross-pollination of Zizek's genuine understanding of Freudian theory and his obvious admiration for the works of Hitchcock and Lynch, without being particularly enlightening on either psychology or cinematic technique.

An entertaining look into Freudian theory through cinema, but ultimately a little pointless.

Casino Royale (2006)

"I need to take your ego out of the equation".

[8/10 · 14 March 2007]

This is the third interpretation of Fleming's Casino Royale novel (with both the woeful 1967 Feldman spoof and a lesser-known 1950's TV special with Barry Nelson as 007 coming before it) and the twenty-first "official" Bond outing. As such, you could have been forgiven for judging Barbara Broccoli's promise to deliver a fresh, new Bond into a fresh, new franchise with more than a little scepticism. But, amazingly, it wasn't all press junket hype; Casino Royale really does deliver a much-needed shock right to the heart of the ailing series.

Most of the pre-release press attention centred on the unsuitability of Daniel Craig for the 007 role. Apparently he was afraid of heights, couldn't drive a manual gearbox, had never played poker and, most alarmingly of all, was blonde. These stories may or may not have been true, I don't know, but I do know, blonde or not, Craig is perfect for Bond. This Bond, anyway. This isn't the same quick-witted schmoozer of Brosnan and Moore fame, smirking playfully behind the ubiquitous martini. Here is a Bond who somehow hasn't quite discovered how to disguise the brutality of his work behind those all-important tailored tuxedos. He is rarely genuinely charming, and is often not very nice at all. Right from the opening scene, a violent and visceral assassination in a grimy toilet, the audience can be left in no doubt that this is a different Bond. A more violent man for a more violent world, and one which Brosnan and the like could never have convincingly delivered.

The story opens with completely new material, including a spectacular "parkour" inspired set-piece through a building site and a chase to stop a terrorist destroying a new airliner. From here on in, the script follows the novel fairly closely, following a high stakes poker game. The film cleverly capitalises on the recent interest in poker to fully exploit the technicalities of the game that would previously have been double-dutch to most of us. It is here that we really begin to focus in on Bond and see behind the smarmy one-liners and Omega watches. We get to know his tells. As he says later, "I have no armour left".

Casino Royale is a Bond film that is, for once, more about Bond, the man himself, than the usual array of guns, gadgets and girls.

Oh, and thank god they didn't accept Quentin Tarantino's ludicrous offer to make an R-rated Bond revenge film. Kill Bill in an Aston Martin? No thanks.

The Passenger (1975)

"People disappear every day"

[9/10 · 14 March 2007]

Almost ten years after the heady successes of Blow-Up (1966), revered Italian director Michelangelo Antonioni found himself in the North African desert with Jack Nicholson and Maria Schneider, shooting a strange, lyrical, flawed yet beautiful lovers-on-the-run film. That film was The Passenger (1975).

Before I talk about the film itself, lets take a little time to look at one of the most interesting aspects of its recent history; its almost total disappearance from our screens, of any kind. Jack Nicholson bought the original negative from MGM in 1983. For many years following this, the film was made available to the public for screenings only at which the director himself would be present. No television, home video or any other kind of broadcast was permitted. With Antonioni being a frail, elderly man rarely well enough to travel to global festivals, this meant the film was all but lost for an eager audience. Luckily, however a new print of The Passenger has recently been released prior to a long-awaited DVD release.

Antonioni has been almost unique in his determination to leave the cinematic frame sparse, empty of any external distractions. Even in Blow-Up, set in the colourful London of the swinging 60s, a time where the city was at its most alive and chaotic, there is rarely anything on screen beyond the absolute necessary. The Passenger is perhaps the greatest marriage between the story and the director's reserved style.

It begins in North Africa. Nicholson plays a journalist named Locke seeking out rebel fighters to interview somewhere in the dusty heat of North Africa. No dialogue is contained within the opening scenes, Locke does not understand the local language and people are forced to gesticulate wildly with makeshift sign language. He returns to his hotel, where there is only one other guest. Finding this man dead, Nicholson swaps identity with the corpse. There is no discernible reason for this decision - trained by more standard Hollywood fare, we might expect him to be on the run from the police, or maybe he owes a huge sum of money to the mob? Here, there is nothing. He simply takes the dead man's passport and wears his clothes.

Along his journey he meets a young girl (Schneider), who accompanies him in the American convertible rolling through the desert. As their travels continue the girl (she is given no name in the film) becomes frustrated with Locke's lack of direction. Thinking he has assumed the identity of another to give his life some sense of purpose, some meaning, she does not understand Locke's seemingly passive drifting. They are always in motion, but never going to or from anywhere in particular.

The film ends with one of the most impressive crane shots in cinema. A seven-minute single take that lingers in the viewer's mind like a childhood memory of a skilled conjurer's card-trick. Locke is in another seedy hotel bedroom, he falls back on to the bed, exhausted. There is a window, the world outside separated by iron bars. The camera inches slowly forward. We see a vast, dusty vista, a few cracked houses, an old man is left against a wall like an unused puppet, a child throws a ball, a dog sniffs the ground, a Fiat 500 ambles in and out of shot, perhaps it is a driving lesson we wonder and suddenly we realise we are now outside. We have passed through the window and its iron bars. Exactly when this feat took place is hard to pin down. Also outside is Schneider, who watches as two men, men we recognise, emerge from another car. We continue forward, taking in everything that is happening in the hotel. Eventually we found ourselves back outside Locke's room, looking in at the now inert body. Murdered.

The Passenger is a hard film to describe, so reliant on images and themes and completely devoid of the usual plot and character motivations as it is. It is however, not a hard film to recommend. The unfortunate quarter-of-a-century hiatus it has been placed under has left it re-invigorated for a new audience. A new audience it so richly deserves.

Distant (2002)

What can we do but work?

[10/10 · 1 December 2006]

Following the collapse of Yesilcam (Turkey's answer to Hollywood) in the mid '90s few but the most prescient of observers could have foreseen such a recent pique in the Turkish film industry, arguably built upon the work of ex-photographer Nuri Bilge Ceylan.

Uzak is the director's third feature and forms something of a trilogy with his two earlier pictures (Kasaba and Clouds of May), following similar themes and techniques. The film finds Mahmoud, a commercial photographer, living alone in a small Istanbul apartment only visited occasionally by his brusque, married lover. Yusuf, his nephew, has left his village home after the closure of a factory and the loss of his job. The younger man stays with Mahmoud while fruitlessly looking for work in the city, drinking in cafés and nervously observing young women he never approaches.

The film's title is translated as "Distant", and the film beautifully illustrates every possible connotation of the word; Yusuf's physical distance from his home, Mahmoud's emotional distance from the world around him and the generational distance between the two men.

Ceylan's films rarely contain heightened dramatics, instead allowing full and rich characters to develop from within the tightly framed, static shots. He acts as director, producer, writer, cinematographer and co-editor and casts friends and family in many of the roles. Such a confined, insulated approach to film-making might be expected to lead to films hard to infiltrate and connect with for most viewers, making Uzak's undoubted humanity all the more impressive.

Ceylan is, however, a better cinematic formalist than dramatist, taking the reigns from such past masters of cinematic language as Ozu and Tarkovsky. After viewing Uzak, I can think of few better suited to the task.

Myra Breckinridge (1970)

What do you think I am, some kind of idiot?

[6/10 · 1 December 2006]

Quite how this became Hollywood's most famously reviled and ridiculed creation is almost as mysterious as how such a bizarre film was ever made in the first place.

It's the story of a gay film critic knocked unconscious in a car accident who then dreams he has undergone a sex-change operation and been recreated in Raquel Welch's image. I managed to work that much out after two viewings, the first wondering what the hell I was seeing and the second spotting the few clues to the "plotline" that exist between the scenes of insane camp and bizarre sexual acts.

Somehow, through all the confusion and early '70s delirium, I found myself enjoying it. It is a ridiculous mess, but where else are you going to see the legendary John Huston receiving a brutal Swedish massage and Raquel Welch in glorious widescreen, Technicolor Panavision wearing a strap-on and cowgirl outfit ensemble? Not in Legally Blonde, I know that much.

Whisky (2004)

Huh! That's great. Say something else...

[7/10 · 1 December 2006]

Following the more crowd-pleasing blockbusting antics of the likes of City of God and Amores Perros, it came as quite a surprise for this quieter, more restrained example of Latin cinema to perform so well on the 2004 international festival circuit.

The Uruguayan directors Pablo Stoll and Juan Pablo Rebella, following their previous effort 25 Watts (2001), once again centre their story in the small, provincial town of Montevideo. Jacobo Koller owns a modest sock factory that employs a few local women, including Marta. A year after his mother's death, his successful businessman brother Hermann visits from Brazil to attend the memorial. Jacobo requests that Marta pretends to be his wife while his brother stays. After the ceremony, the three take an impromptu trip to a small seaside resort.

While this premise may sound overly familiar from a million-and-one lightweight US sitcoms, the delivery is never short of fresh and intriguing. It rarely approaches the sort of twee sentimentality we might expect after reading a short synopsis. Almost nothing is said for the first half of the film as we observe the characters' drab, innocuous lives. And yet, despite this, the film somehow succeeds in upholding a surprisingly light and comic atmosphere. There are genuine moments of deadpan humour. The actors (schooled in the reticence of the national theatre) never force the comedy, in fact it is more often the camera that delivers the punchline; the constant repetition and rituals, the framing of the lanky Jacobo and squat Marta and a sudden romantic karaoke sequence that is all the more touching for its spontaneity.

Like the titular drink, Whisky is warm, satisfying and definitely suitable for repeat viewings.

A Day in the Country (1946)

I've been thinking of it every day....

[10/10 · 23 February 2006]

Just how unfinished "Partie De Campagne" truly is remains something of a contentious issue. There are countless differing theories and opinions, some of which seem to have been instigated by the director himself. There are those, this reviewer included, who believe Renoir originally intended this film as one-half of a double feature of Guy De Maupassant adaptations. Whatever might have once been planned, however, does nothing to soften the radiant beauty and brilliance of the film.

Renoir had collected around himself a group of friends and family in the hope of creating what he later described as a "holiday" atmosphere during the scheduled week of filming. In accordance with the story on which it is based, long summer days and balmy afternoons by the river banks were called for in Renoir's script. Unfortunately, the cast and crew were faced with a damp, dismal July which continued long into August. Cramped up in the lobby of the hotel, sheltering from the storms outside, personal tensions and rivalries soon inevitably surfaced. With the months continuing to pass and little to show the financial backers in the rushes, money became scarce. Eventually, after refusing Sylvia Bataille's request for leave so she might audition for a future project in Paris, the director himself nonchalantly announced he would be abandoning the film to concentrate his efforts on his next film, Les Bas-fonds.

Considering all of the above, it is miraculous that the film we see today is such a luminous, sensual masterpiece.

Much is made of Renoir's use of deep focus techniques in films such as Le Regle de Jeu and La Grande Illusion, quite rightly so, but it is also used to great effect in this film. The film's early scenes largely take place inside a rural inn. Renoir keeps the camera mostly in one place, stationary. Then, suddenly, a window is opened; light floods in, we see trees, a breeze blowing lightly through grass, a young woman and her mother arcing high into the summer air on swings. Now we cut to a close-up of the girl, with the camera fixed to the swing, an accomplice to her every movement. She is laughing, ecstatic, exhilarated by her surroundings. It is an exhilarating moment in cinema, the sudden infusion of life and nature into the film echoes in the viewer's mind throughout the short running time.

Renoir is a great film-maker, perhaps the greatest of all, and this is a great film, perhaps his greatest of all.

Branded to Kill (1967)

Cook me some rice....

[8/10 · 23 February 2006]

This is the film which finally forced Nikkatsu to fire their uncontrollable director Seijun Suzuki, citing his "incomprehensible movies" as a breach of contract.

Made just a year after the vibrant Tokyo Drifter, Branded to Kill shares many similarities with it's predecessor -- under a less visually creative director both films might have become little more than standard yakuza fare of the era. However, Branded to Kill is a much more traditional film-noir, visually at least, than it's forefathers. Shot wholly in black and white -- perhaps a measure to appease the studio's displeasure with Suzuki's reputation for shooting in ecstatic, garish colour -- it tells the story of the Number 3 Killer, a man who has a rather unhealthy penchant for the scent of boiling rice. There are countless scenes whose influence is so ingrained (some might even say stolen) in the work of modern filmmakers that watching them is almost like looking at the baby photos of contemporary cinema; the introduction of femme-fatale Misako driving in the rain in a soft-top sports-car, a butterfly on the barrel of a sniper rifle, the ultimate showdown in a shadowy boxing ring.

Like most of Suzuki's work the plot is of little importance here. The pot-boiler script acts as little more than a canvas for the director to paint his individual style on, and few directors in the history of cinema could ever hope to equal the style of Seijun Suzuki.

Tokyo Drifter (1966)

He's a devil if he asks you twice...

[9/10 · 21 February 2006]

In 1966 Nikkatsu, a Japanese studio, requested that one of their more "difficult" directors "calm down" on his next project. The director was Seijun Suzuki. The project was Tokyo Drifter. The result was anything but calm.

A film-noir shot through with moments of brilliant, lurid colour; the film defies all conventions be it genre, style or even something as mundane and unnecessary as narrative. One scene finds Tetsuya Watari's pouting yakuza in a tense showdown with his rival. Standing on train tracks, surrounded by clean, crisp snow the screen is split in two by a clearly visible dark blue line. The use of this visual effect is telling. It adds nothing to the story, to the characterisation, it simply looks good.

The closing sequence has to be seen to be believed. It is best described as the secret lovechild of a Gene Kelly musical and a John Woo action film. Amazing.

If for nothing else, Tokyo Drifter will long be remembered for the theme tune which hauntingly drifts through the entire film.

The Son (2002)

Do you still want to be a carpenter?

[10/10 · 21 February 2006]

The directors of 'The Son', brothers Jeane-Pierre and Luc Dardenne, are together experienced documentarians. This is made explicitly clear in the film's style, which affords the camera the rare opportunity in modern cinema to see rather than show. The difference is immense. Renoir, Ozu and Rossellini understood the difference, and now the Dardennes can be added to that illustrious list.

The Dardenne brothers are masters of exploding the minutiae of everyday life to beautiful, poetic proportions. Their films are largely concerned with observing people at work (see also Rosetta and La Promesse), obsessively detailing the intricate structures and routines of the mundane, the everyday. Hitchcock famously described film as life with the boring bits removed; a Dardenne film is life with the boring bits dissected, investigated and ultimately celebrated.

The film is about all the sons - the sons that were, the sons that are and the sons that will be - and all should see it.