Once

Once, which I saw the other day, is one of the most enchanting films I've seen for a long time. Itr's set in Dublin and filmed on a tiny budget, with no stars, and using what looks like digital video. it had originally been scheduled to be released on DVD only, in a small-scale release - then, apparently someone, somewhere, an American, saw it and took it to the Sundance Film Festival, where it was a huge hit. It took off from there, and and it's been in the top 30 box-office list for weeks, longer than some expensive blockbusters.
A lot of this can be attributed to the traditional American fondness for all things Irish, but there's gentle charm about the film that's captivating. There are no stars - the male lead is played by the singer in a little-known Irish band, The Frames, and is best-known for a small part in The Commitments. The young Czech girl, who has a baby, a mother, and lives in a grim lodging house in the shabbier part of Dublin along with several other immigrants from Eastern Europe, is played by a nineteen-year-old complete unknown. However, she's musically talented, plays the piano and sings like an angel.
It's a love story of sorts, but once again, it has echos of Lost in Translation. It's not a sexual relationship, just two lonely, but compatible people who happen to click. They part at the end, and you feel that it's doesn't matter - what's important is what they've given each other.
It's a lovely film - difficult to describe. There's lots of music, as the two pick up some other musicians and make a CD, and the film spends a great deal of time watching them get this together.
Apparently, in real life, the two leads are now an item. Whatever, it's had a huge impact. It speaks of life as it is today, with people just scratching along as best they can, and making the best of things - I loved it.

Bob Dylan

I can't wait to see the Todd Haynes film, I'm Not There. It's due to be screened at the London Film Festival this week, and it won't go on general release until Christmas, so I'll have to be patient. It's hard to describe, and I'm not going to try until I've seen it, but basically, six actors (I think it's six), portray Dylan at various stages of his career. Only they aren't called Dylan in the film. See what I mean?
I'm looking forward to seeing it because, as I think I've mentioned before, Dylan has played a major part in my life. My earliest memory of him is of hearing Tambourine Man and Blowing in the Wind and becoming hooked; buying a book of sheet music of his songs, and sitting in the front room (I was in my early-mid teens and had been learning the piano since I was seven), and doggedly playing the songs, singing them to myself. I'd never actually heard any of them, as we didn't have a record player then.
I can remember hearing Like a Rolling Stone on Radio London for the first time, one of the pirate stations, to which I listened obsessively - was it 1965? It's hard, now to conjure up a time when Dylan was new, hadn't been analysed to extinction. He was hard - wrote lyrics of a kind nobody had ever written before, and sang them with a passionate menace that was thrilling in the extreme to a teenager who was just beginning to become aware that the world was changing in ways that were only dimly becoming understood. Certainly not by my parents generation. That line - 'something is happening, and you don't know what it is, do you, Mr Jones', summed up how I was starting to feel about the world. We, the younger generation, were in possession of the world - there were more of us than them, our lives hadn't been blighted by having to fight in a war, and somehow, we felt we were in possession of a secret knowledge - we knew more than they did. I suppose it was our education, something denied to our parents, that gave us the key to all this, but Dylan spoke to us and articulated what was in our heads. HIs appearance in Don't Look Back, which I saw in about 1968, said it all. He treated people in suits with contempt - all the time he seemed in possession of a secret. It was revelatory.
So I'm looking forward with enormous anticipation to I'm Not There: I'll post more when I've seen it.

Rugby

Watched the rugby World Cup yesterday, and that has to be a first for me. I've never actually sat through a rugby match before, and I doubt that I ever will again, though you can never say never. I suppose if England, or any other of the 'home' nations ever get to the final again, that I suppose I might.
Rugby really isn't my sport, and never has been. My father was a great sports fan, but only of football, cricket, horse racing and boxing. These sports were always on TV, whenever there was something on, which wasn't often in pre-Sky Sports days, and sport was always part of my life. One of my earliest memories is going to Oxford City's White House ground (they played in the Isthmian League, one of the top amateur divisions) which was round the corner to our house. He would take me from the age of about two, to get me out of the house and give my mother a break. I spent the time toddling up and down the terraces out in the fresh air, my father would watch the football, and a good time was had by all. So football was part of the landscape of my life from the beginning.
As I grew older my brother became a football fan and played for his school team, and although he went to a rugby-playing secondary school, it remained a major part of his life.
It's not, now, and if he goes to watch anything, it's rugby. You can still stand, and there's a complete lack of yobbish behaviour, and rugby isn't, as yet, tainted with the unimaginable avalanche of money that has blighted football.
But somehow I really can't get worked up by rugby. I don't understand the rules - I know what scrums, line-outs, drop-kicks, and penalties are, but have no idea what they're awarded for, and have no real wish to know. It seems to me to consist of 15 men hurling themselves at each other for 80 minutes - I know there's a lot more to it than that, but, ultimately, my interest in finding out what that is is, is virtually non-existent.
But any World Cup final is, nevertheless, a great sporting occasion, and I always feel drawn to the big occasion - I'm sure my father would have watched it, though he didn't have a great deal of interest in rugby. I don't think he felt it was particularly relevant to his life - though I know things have changed.
So I watched it. I have to admit my eyelids drooped at times - I really don't know whether I'd have been more interested if England had won, but, to me, they never looked like doing so.
A strange experience - will it be repeated? Who knows.....
Now for Formula One tomorrow....

The Singer (again)

While watching the last scene of The Singer I was nagged by a feeling that I was reminded of something. Anyway, I was putting some back issues of Sight and Sound (1999-2004 done now, just need to do 2005-7 now) into binders today, and came across a review of Lost in Translation. A eureka moment - of course! At the end of LiT Bill Murray whispers something in Scarlet Johansen's ear, on a crowded Tokyo street, something we can't hear; she smiles. The scene has exactly the same feel and impact as the final scene in The Singer. In both scenes there's the same lack of closure, yet they feel absolutely right - lovely.

The Singer

Just been to see The Singer, a new French film starring Gerard Depardieu. I've always liked Depardieu as an actor, and in this, he's very much the film's heart and soul. he plays an ageing, overweight chanteur who makes an unostentatious living playing provincial dancehalls. He gives a nicely unselfish and self-deprecating performance and there's no sign of botox or any other cosmetic enhancements - always a major plus for me. I enjoyed enormously the way he mocks his size - 'I am the Massif Central'. He admits to hair dye, and it's a lovely touch to show him as perfectly content playing modest casinos, dancehalls, spas and other similarly unfashionable locations, and refusing to go on stage in a huge auditorium when given a chance to go on to bigger and better things.

He's utterly convincing throughout - he's not washed up, just content with his life. The key, I think is at the end, when he's sitting alone in his dressing room, singing to himself, and you suspect, for himself. In the hands of a lesser actor, the character could have been an caricature but Depardieu gives him a good-natured dignity, and what's so impressive is that the film respects all its characters and in the hands of a lesser director it would have been easy to poke fun at everyone. The film depicts ordinary, provincial, middlebrow life, the sort of scenario that British directors, especially, are often fond of sending up. Yes, the songs are cheesy and sentimental, but somehow they never come across as corny, and everyone seems to be having a good time, joining in with ancient dance routines such as the Madison.
Depardieu never makes us feel sorry for him, and I liked the ending very much. he says goodbye to the young woman with whom he's had a one-night stand. with a handshake, she leaves, and then returns. They embrace, but we never know if they'll rekindle their liaison, or whether she's just showing affection for him. The whole scene is shot behind glass doors, at a distance. I like open-ended endings, and althhough on the face of it the film is unresolved, it feels ulitmately optimistic
I liked this quote from the review in the Independent - 'it's an exceptionally astute anatomy of corniness, of the way it keeps people afloat through mundane, disappointing lives'. That, for me, sums it up beautifully. It's a lovely, quiet film that, although modest, ranks as one of Depardieu's best.

Bill Bryson

I've just started The Lost Continent, Bill Bryson's first book. I've read it before, a long time ago, but had it to hand. I needed to read something light and frothy after the marathon that was The Tenderness of Wolves, and Bryson's books are perfect for filling in those gaps when you're not in the mood for anything demanding. The last one I read was Neither Here Nor There, but the previous two were A Walk in the Woods and The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid, his most recent book. Some of them are mine, but others are borrowed - my children and my brother have several, so I never need to buy them.
I have to confess to a very slight ambivalence about him - he's my generation, and I always feel a bit funny about people my age. I wonder what their experiences of for example, the fifties and the sixties, were, and compare their subsequent lives to mine. I suppose there's a special intimacy which is absent from people from a different generation. I expect it's like this for everyone - people from the war generation will feel that particularly intensely. I suppose what reading Bryson means, for me, is that his experiences of school, college, growing up, etc all took place at roughly the same time as mine, even though his life in Des Moines was very different to mine. But not that different. Because growing up in the West in the Sixties and Seventies took place in the thick of a cultural revolution - the impact of which we are still experiencing. And our parents grew up in World War II, something which had a profound effect on our lives. We rejected their experiences, and we had to rediscover them.
Bryson's books are permeated with his childhood, and the lives of his parents and grandparents, and this has made them fascinating and compulsive for my generation, and I have to say, for succeeding generations. My children have his books, and enjoy them. I think it's their irreverence, their cynicism, yet open-hearted, wide-eyed innocence that appeals - who knows? Whatever it is, he's made a fortune, and good luck to him. He's made a pretty a decent career out of his travels and observation - it's not everyone who can construct a genial personality and make a living out of it. If that sounds a bit snarky, it's because reading his earlier books, I've come across stuff he's recycled in later books. Other writers have committed worse crimes, and Bryson only plagiarises himself - in that sense, he's a true original.
Anyway, I enjoy his freeform, improvisatory style - there's a school essay feel about them, especially the earlier books, a kind of school essay, 'what I did on my holidays' feel. He goes into places with a blank canvas and takes them as they come, but he's quite open about his prejudices. If he doesn't like a place at first sight, it's difficult for him to change his mind, but he often finds something to enjoy, even if it's only sitting in a motel room with a six-pack and a TV.
One of his main characteristics, which occurs in all his books, is his habit of making things up - I can see why he does it, it's a bit of exaggeration, a way of adding colour. Sometimes I find it a bit tiresome, but not always - sometimes it's funny. It's another thing he just does, and I suppose his books wouldn't be the same without it. He's everyman, really, but of course, he isn't any more - he's a best-selling writer, and famous.
He's a youngest child of three, and that's very obvious. There's something a bit attention-seeking about him. He wants to be heard, and noticed and feels a bit hard-dome-by if he's ignored. Often youngest children are good at playing the fool, as they often have trouble making themselves heard, or getting people to notice them. So you always get the feeling he's basking in his celebrity, and loves the attention - and who can blame him.
When he recently became President, I think it was, of the CPRE, he was all over the radio airwaves, thoroughly enjoying himself, so I hope he's hard at work. He's now an adopted Englishmen, with an English wife and children, and as is often case, more English than the English, a strange journey for someone from Des Moines, but that's the 20th century for you.

The Tenderness of Wolves

I've just finished The Tenderness of Wolves by Stef Penney. I take much longer to read books nowadays - I used to blast through books incredibly quickly but don't seem to have the ability to do so nowadays, but even by my current standards it I seem to have been reading this for ages. It wasn't a difficult read by any means, but it is a long book, and towards the end I got the feeling that Penney had become so immersed in her characters, and the atmosphere of the bleak snowbound Canadian wilderness in which the narrative takes place, that she wasn't too sure how she was going to finish it. There are a great many characters in the book, not all of them as well developed as they might be, and a map would have been useful, as I found it difficult at times to work out where everyone actually was.
However, I found much to admire and enjoy, and liked very much the fact that not all the questions were answered. The Macguffin of the bone tablet was a particularly pleasing little feature, and the central relationship between Mrs Ross and Parker was well portrayed and, ultimately very moving.
One thing that kept nagging away at me all the way through was the question of historical authenticity. I'd read that Penney had undertaken meticulous researcc in the British Library, and it shows - everything about conditions in 19th century Canada; the landscape, weather, living conditions, seems immaculately realised. But I couldn't help feeling throughout that we were seeing 21st-century people plonked down in the 19th century. The characters spoke, thought and felt with modern voices and attitudes. I didn't however, feel this was necessarily a problem - sometimes attempts at period authenticity get in the way and overpower narratives. Somehow it didn't seem to matter that a married woman would take off into the wilderness with another man to look for her son. We'd been given a picture of a woman with a complicated background who obviously had enough independance of thought to do something like this, but it didn't really ring true for me. This, surely, would never, could never have happened in the mid-19th century, even in the wilds of Canada? But who am I to question this? Penney had exhaustively researched her book, and it's possible she may have found a similar story. I'm coming round to the idea that authenticity really is an over-valued concept. What does it actually mean? We can only go by whether we think and feel something is authentic, and why.
Anyway, I stuck with the book, and, although it's by no means perfect, it ultimately convinced me. Several critics found the ending unsatisfactory - endings are difficult, and more celebrated writers have come to grief over them. I hope she writes more as I think there's plenty there to suggest she has enormous talent - I've read that she suffers from agoraphobia, so I hope that doesn't prove too great an obstacle. She produced this without leaving Britain, so obviously has a fine imagination. I look forward to more from her.

Michael Clayton

I've just been to see Michael Clayton - I often find evening screenings a bit of a struggle and there's usually 5 minutes or so when I lose concentration completely, but not this time. I was thoroughly engrossed and wide-awake all the way through.
There's no-one better than George Clooney for portraying self-loathing, but you're always aware that underneath the world-weariness there burns a fierce intelligence. Tom Wilkinson was, as always, superb, as Clooney's colleague who flips, suddenly tearing off his clothes during a business meeting. Wilkinson can always be relied upon, and is particularly good at portraying frayed, damaged personalities.
I was less sure about Tilda Swinton; I was, and still am, in two minds about her. On one hand, her character was unconvincing - would someone as badly-groomed ever get near her position as counsel for a giant corporation? Surely she would be turned-out like a bandbox, and have perfect hair. I think she was probably supposed to be an emblem for the flakiness of the company, but she just wasn't smart enough. We saw her practising her lines and perfecting her appearance, but the result simply wasn't realistic on any level. And her accent wavered all over the place.
On the other hand, her slightly manic demeanour and nervy, brittle persona was highly watchable and made the film less conventional. Swinton has made a career out of taking risks and breaking convention, and can only be admired for having a go. I'm still not sure about British actors playing Americans. I like some of them very much, (Hugh Laurie in particular) but I don't want to be distracted by thinking how good/bad their accent is. I can think of too many examples of dodgy American accents, though, to be fair, there are far more examples of bad British accents by US actors.
Back to the film - you really had to put some effort into keeping track of what was going on in this film. A couple in front of us walked out halfway through - they probably thought 'Oh great, George Clooney', thinking it would be a kind of Ocean's 11, a piece of light entertainment, only to be asked to put some work in. I like a bit of mindless entertainment - who doesn't? But I also like to be asked to think. Certainly the first half-hour of this was tricky, and I found myself wondering at times what the hell was going on, but was rewarded with a knotty, gritty, well-worked film. Executive producers, I noticed, were Anthony Minghella, Steven Soderburgh and Sydney Pollack, as well as Clooney himself. Clooney seems to be very good at getting people on board to help him get good films made. It's clear that the Oceans films enable him to do this kind of stuff. One last thing - it's always good to see actors happy to display their grey hair and absence of botox. Clooney's ageing very well, as is Wilkinson - similarly unenhanced. Would that others were so confident in their acting ability.
Grey hair rules!!

Kagemusha (again)

Well, I watched this again, and enjoyed it even more. Having read a bit about it, and having seen it the first time, I had a much better idea of what was happening and who everybody was. my concentration was better, as I watched in the afternoon, instead of Saturday night, not the best time to have a clear focus. Usually, the only thing I'm fit for on a Saturday night is one of those Channel 4 '100 Best' list programmes.
Once again, I found myself sitting back and glorying in the sumptuous visuals. I've read that Kurosawa admired John Ford, and certainly there's not a wasted shot in either director's films. Each one in Kagemusha is perfectly composed and balanced, and some are awe-inspiring. I've rarely seen anything as beautiful as the shot of the soldiers marching across a high ridge against the setting sun, near the beginning, and there are many other visual treats.
I'm developing quite a taste for Kurosawa's films - a friend is similarly hooked, so I can discuss them with him. More to come......

Kagemusha

I've just seen Kagemusha, directed by Kurosawa. Watching a Japanese film is a strange experience -it's not easy to engage with them, but some of Hollywood's most famous film's are heavily influenced by, and indebted to Kurosawa's. Indeed, Kagemusha has Francis Ford Coppola and George Lucas as executive producers, and Lucas has made no secret of the fact that the Star Wars opus was influenced by Kurosawa's films, notably his 1958 film The Hidden Fortress.
Of course Kurosawa himself was indebted to western cinema and this is evident in Kagemusha. The sweeping, panoramic battle scenes are set to an score highly reminiscent of spaghetti westerns. I caught the final hour of A Few Dollars More on TV yesterday and experienced the strange sense that movie language is even more intermingled and intertwined than I had suspected. And I'm not the only one that thinks that the battle scenes in The Lord of the Rings trilogy owe a major debt to Kurosawa - I typed Kurosawa alongside Lord of the Rings into Google and was overwhelmed by an avalanche of articles and reviews making comparisons between them.
Anyway, I watched it on a rented DVD - we're advised not to post anything due to the 48-hour postal strike starting today, so I might just take the opportunity to watch it again after having read a little bit about it. Some of the scenes are so visually beautiful and arresting that I have to see them once more. Japanese films require a great deal of concentration, as, to be blunt, it's not always easy to work out who is who. But they offer a rewarding glimpse into a history and culture of which we are largely ignorant.
What marks out Kurosawa's films as exceptional, though, isn't just their visual spendour. It's their humanity and compassion. The fate of the common thief conscipted into impersonating the mortally-wounded warlord, Shingen, in order to deceive his enemies, is ultimately heartbreaking, desperately sad.
It's whetted my appetite for more - I'm ashamed to admit that I've never seen The Seven Samurai, so that's got to be next....

Humphrey Jennings

Humphrey Jennings' documentaries were shown at the Watershed cinema in Bristol last weekend and I went along to the Sunday screening of Words for Battle, Spare Time, Listen to Britain and The Silent Village. I know his work well from studying British cinema from the 30s and 40s, but I'd only seen excerpts of his films, so this was a wonderful opportunity, especially as they'd all been digitised and remastered. The quality was superb, and it was a real treat to see such old films in such glorious condition. Jenningswas an exceptionally fine film-maker, and as well as being part of the famous documentary movement of the period, he was a surrealist. Rather fittingly, then, he met his premature death in 1950 at the age of 43 by falling backwards off a cliff as he attempted to get the right shot for a film he was making. Tragic, yes, but also bizarre.
Anyway, his films remain beautiful examples of the quality of British film-making of the period. His wartime films are lovely, and provide a remarkable picture of everyday life during the war, but, for me, I was struck most by Spare Time, made in (I think) 1937. It's a depiction of ordinary people, working and middle class, at leisure, in an era when most people had very little time off work, and it's a fascinating window into a vanished world. We're familiar with many of the wartime images, but the pre-war era, even with its radios, cars and bikes, still retains startling traces of the Victorians and Edwardians. The commentary was by the poet Laurie Lee, a voice which, in spite of his attempt at BBC English, still kept traces of its Gloucestershire burr.
Jennings' visual images are unforgettable and I found them very affecting. The close attention to the everyday lives of ordinary people, making them visually beautiful as well as interesting, is unparalleled. A wonderful afternoon.