I've just finished watching all 3 seasons of The Wire. The first two I rented from Amazon, and the last one was a box set borrowed from a friend of my son's, so I was able to get through the series quickly. That's the one that's freshest in my mind, so I'll focus on series 3.
I suppose it's been compared to The Sopranos many times, and, offhand, I certainly can't think of any other TV series that compares in terms of character, dialogue and plot development. It's n ot like any other police series I've ever seen - it's not just cops v villains - there's the police administration, city politics, and the personal lives, beliefs and difficulties of the protagonists, all of which play important roles.
The Wire is set in west Baltimore, a crumbling, decaying ghetto in which drugs form the basis of the economy. The inhabitants attempt to lead lives that do not depend on drugs but it's a struggle. The police are hardworking, lazy, venal, selfless, committed, time-serving, idealist and cynical - just like the people they're policing. The drug runners are as riven with in-fighting and internecine warfare as the police; all these elements make for compelling drama, but the quality of the script lifts it way above the run of even the best of most TV drama. It was broadcast on HBO in America, always a pretty good pointer to quality, but it hasn't found a slot on British TV, except on the obscure digital channel FX, so, apart from illegal downloading, DVD is the only practical way to see to see it.
Apparently Season 4 is about to be released on DVD and Season 5 (the last) has just premiered on HBO in the States, so there's more to come. TV of this quality doesn't come along too often, and, I have to say virtually all the best drama is American. I don't know what the problem is over here but I rarely bother with most British drama these days.
I've seen it described as 'Balzacian' and certainly the richness and complexity of the narrative stands comparison with great 19th century novels. Six Feet Under and The Sopranos are in that league but The Wire is in a category of its own. The characters are richly-drawn and many-layered, and as someone on the IMDB commented, there are no minor characters - some just have more screen time than others, everyone plays a part. Special mention, though, must be made of Omar - a Shakespearean character if ever I saw one.
Looking forward to series 4 soon - March 10th on DVD.....
Thursday 31 January 2008
Tuesday 22 January 2008
Lust, Caution
I've now seen this twice - the first time with a friend the week in its first week, then again the other day. It was, by now, its final week, and it was a wet Sunday - perfect. It was also the last day of an exhibition I wanted to catch, and there was a nice, convenient 1.30 showing of the film, so I decided to take in both. I caught the exhibition (Hans- Peter Feldmann - excellent) then popped over the river to buy my ticket. There was only one left - I bought it then went off to get some lunch. So the cinema was full - word had obviously got around.
The first time I saw it, my friend and I were overwhelmed - practically clutching each other as we came out of the cinema afterwards. Ang Lee surpassed himself with this one, brilliantly and convincingly recreating wartime Shanghai; but he was also extremely well-served by his cast, led by Tony Leung, who is well-known to western audiences, playing Mr Yee, the collaborator.
Philip French has noted that, although Lee's films are renowned for their eclectism, certain themes recur, one of which is of 'characters forced to adopt masks, to dissemble, to conceal their true nature'; Brokeback Mountain, and Ride With the Devil are notable examples. Lust, Caution is no exception; Wong Chia Chi, the central character, poses as Mrs Mak Tai Tai, one of a group of mah-jong-playing wives of Chinese collaborators in Japanese-ooccupied Shanghai. The mah-jong scenes are wonderful - the click-clicking of the counters and the brittle gossip of the women is brilliantly depicted.
The famous, now notorious sex scenes were indeed explicit but not remotely pornographic; they were a fundamental part of the narrative and seamlessly woven into it. The film was generally very well reviewed, except by my least favourite critic, Anthony Quinn in the Independent, who produced an extraordinarily shallow review even by his standards, criticising it for its lack of plausibility. No doubt Hitchcock had to endure similar critiques.
I found it to be a masterpiece; it's a fascinating construction, a rich, rewarding film with many layers - a truly adult film. It's another one I'll get on DVD to watch again and again.
The first time I saw it, my friend and I were overwhelmed - practically clutching each other as we came out of the cinema afterwards. Ang Lee surpassed himself with this one, brilliantly and convincingly recreating wartime Shanghai; but he was also extremely well-served by his cast, led by Tony Leung, who is well-known to western audiences, playing Mr Yee, the collaborator.
Philip French has noted that, although Lee's films are renowned for their eclectism, certain themes recur, one of which is of 'characters forced to adopt masks, to dissemble, to conceal their true nature'; Brokeback Mountain, and Ride With the Devil are notable examples. Lust, Caution is no exception; Wong Chia Chi, the central character, poses as Mrs Mak Tai Tai, one of a group of mah-jong-playing wives of Chinese collaborators in Japanese-ooccupied Shanghai. The mah-jong scenes are wonderful - the click-clicking of the counters and the brittle gossip of the women is brilliantly depicted.
The famous, now notorious sex scenes were indeed explicit but not remotely pornographic; they were a fundamental part of the narrative and seamlessly woven into it. The film was generally very well reviewed, except by my least favourite critic, Anthony Quinn in the Independent, who produced an extraordinarily shallow review even by his standards, criticising it for its lack of plausibility. No doubt Hitchcock had to endure similar critiques.
I found it to be a masterpiece; it's a fascinating construction, a rich, rewarding film with many layers - a truly adult film. It's another one I'll get on DVD to watch again and again.
Saturday 19 January 2008
No Direction Home
I saw Martin Scorsese's film when it was originally screened on TV a while ago, but when it was recently released on DVD, one of my sons bought a copy, and he's lent it to me. I watched both the original film, and the extras and special features on Disc 2 - many of these I hadn't seen before. It included some complete performances, from 1964 to 1966 - early TV appearances in his earnest protest-singing days, through to 1966, when he was in full, semi-deranged 'Judas' mode.
As I've said before, I know practically every note of his music in this period, right up to Nashville Skyline, after which he began to lose me. It's hardwired into my DNA, but seeing all this footage brought home to me for the first time his extraordinary diction. Every word can be clearly heard, even in the middle of his drug-fuelled, Blonde on Blonde period. This is crucial, as his words are central to what he's all about. Another thing; hearing so much Dylan at one sitting, one is reminded that he really is like Shakespeare. So many lines of his lyrics have practically passed into the language, so that you almost forget he was responsible for them.
The early footage, from '61-'62 reminds us how young he was - 20-21 when he started out, yet he was already becoming well-known enough for his performances to be filmed.
The film traces his development from his earliest years in Hibbing, Minnesota, ending abruptly with his motporcycle crash in 1966. after which he disappeared from view for 3 years, interspersed with clips from a recent interview with Dylan, in which he talks openly about his life. This is often revelatory, as he's never been one for interviews or profiles and he's never bared his soul in public to anyone before, as far as I can remember - certainly not about his background or influences. He's a highly unusual interviewee - I read the first volume of his autobiography, Chronicles, recently, and felt as if reading it was like hearing him talk; random, stream-of-consciousness stuff, overlaid with a sharp, spiky intelligence. He really does talk like that. Yet he seems a little uncomfortable; he's a bit reticent and unpractised - he's not a media-created figure, pouring out his emotions, yet on another level he's extraordibarily eloquent; it's like hearing someone speak as if they're scripted by Cormac McCarthy.
He seems to have profoundly ambivalent feelings about his upbringing in Hibbing. In the '60s he frequently claimed that he grew up somewhere more glamorous - a clip from an early interview is played in the film in which he admits to having been born in Duluth, Minnesota, but goes on to state that he grew up in Mexico. The interviewer obviously believed him, as everyone did in those days.
What's clear is that the young Dylan was a sponge; soaking up everything around him. There was little stimulus in his environment, but he made the most of it. His recollection of the carnival that used to come to town - a strange relic of pioneer days that survived into post-war society before TV took hold is vivid, and sharply detailed, and makes sense of the scene in I'm Not There in which Richard Gere encounters a travelling carnival - the characters appear as if in a dream; like a childhood memory, and mirror those recalled by Dylan.
He remembers feeling completely disconnected from his surroundings from an early age, yet he seems to have been a normal teenager, listening to the radio, and forming a band, yet his experience, as he remembers it, is of feeling as if he belonged somewhere else, like a changeling, adopted by his parents, and belonging elsewhere; feelings which must have fuelled all those invented childhoods. His self-invention is very much a part of his career trajectory - he's always been something of a shapeshifter. I remember when I saw him at the famous Isle of Wight festival in 1969; his first appearance since his motorbike crash. I almost couldn't quite believe it was him; he wore a white suit, had a skimpy beard, and had obviously put on quite a bit of weight. My picture of him up until then was that of the skinny, nervy sunglassed fugure memorialised by Cate Blanchett. Throughout his career he's perpetually reinvented himself - he's now a deejay, a very good one, but he's been all sorts of people, which is why I'm Not There works so well.
No Direction Home ends in 1966, and its centrepiece is the famous British tour in which he played with The Band, triggering the infamous 'Judas' at the Manchester Free Trade Hall. I acquired a bootleg LP of that tour in the early '70s, so was familiar with the music and atmosphere. The concert footage was superb, with excellent sound quality - it must have been remastered as sound systems then were notoriously bad. Seeing the 'Judas' footage again brought home the crushing failure to portray this sequence adequately in I'm Not There. The blistering music, Dylan's ferocious energy, with the Band's thunderous accompaniment - none of this was even remotely suggested in the film. Fascinating though Blanchett's performance was, I now feel that it didn't come near to the reality of the wasted, yet coruscating figure he'd become by 1966. Dylan performed as if possessed - astonishing. I still admire Haynes' film, but now feel that the Blanchett sequence was, in some ways, the weakest - her portrayal, precise and acute though it was, merely scraped the surface.
Anyway - a fantastic achievement from Scorsese - they were extraordinary times. The world hadn't seen anything like Dylan before and such is the nature of fame now, we won't see anything like him again. This film brought home for me the extent to which he, and his music, are deeply embedded in US culture and history - a giant of the twentieth century.
As I've said before, I know practically every note of his music in this period, right up to Nashville Skyline, after which he began to lose me. It's hardwired into my DNA, but seeing all this footage brought home to me for the first time his extraordinary diction. Every word can be clearly heard, even in the middle of his drug-fuelled, Blonde on Blonde period. This is crucial, as his words are central to what he's all about. Another thing; hearing so much Dylan at one sitting, one is reminded that he really is like Shakespeare. So many lines of his lyrics have practically passed into the language, so that you almost forget he was responsible for them.
The early footage, from '61-'62 reminds us how young he was - 20-21 when he started out, yet he was already becoming well-known enough for his performances to be filmed.
The film traces his development from his earliest years in Hibbing, Minnesota, ending abruptly with his motporcycle crash in 1966. after which he disappeared from view for 3 years, interspersed with clips from a recent interview with Dylan, in which he talks openly about his life. This is often revelatory, as he's never been one for interviews or profiles and he's never bared his soul in public to anyone before, as far as I can remember - certainly not about his background or influences. He's a highly unusual interviewee - I read the first volume of his autobiography, Chronicles, recently, and felt as if reading it was like hearing him talk; random, stream-of-consciousness stuff, overlaid with a sharp, spiky intelligence. He really does talk like that. Yet he seems a little uncomfortable; he's a bit reticent and unpractised - he's not a media-created figure, pouring out his emotions, yet on another level he's extraordibarily eloquent; it's like hearing someone speak as if they're scripted by Cormac McCarthy.
He seems to have profoundly ambivalent feelings about his upbringing in Hibbing. In the '60s he frequently claimed that he grew up somewhere more glamorous - a clip from an early interview is played in the film in which he admits to having been born in Duluth, Minnesota, but goes on to state that he grew up in Mexico. The interviewer obviously believed him, as everyone did in those days.
What's clear is that the young Dylan was a sponge; soaking up everything around him. There was little stimulus in his environment, but he made the most of it. His recollection of the carnival that used to come to town - a strange relic of pioneer days that survived into post-war society before TV took hold is vivid, and sharply detailed, and makes sense of the scene in I'm Not There in which Richard Gere encounters a travelling carnival - the characters appear as if in a dream; like a childhood memory, and mirror those recalled by Dylan.
He remembers feeling completely disconnected from his surroundings from an early age, yet he seems to have been a normal teenager, listening to the radio, and forming a band, yet his experience, as he remembers it, is of feeling as if he belonged somewhere else, like a changeling, adopted by his parents, and belonging elsewhere; feelings which must have fuelled all those invented childhoods. His self-invention is very much a part of his career trajectory - he's always been something of a shapeshifter. I remember when I saw him at the famous Isle of Wight festival in 1969; his first appearance since his motorbike crash. I almost couldn't quite believe it was him; he wore a white suit, had a skimpy beard, and had obviously put on quite a bit of weight. My picture of him up until then was that of the skinny, nervy sunglassed fugure memorialised by Cate Blanchett. Throughout his career he's perpetually reinvented himself - he's now a deejay, a very good one, but he's been all sorts of people, which is why I'm Not There works so well.
No Direction Home ends in 1966, and its centrepiece is the famous British tour in which he played with The Band, triggering the infamous 'Judas' at the Manchester Free Trade Hall. I acquired a bootleg LP of that tour in the early '70s, so was familiar with the music and atmosphere. The concert footage was superb, with excellent sound quality - it must have been remastered as sound systems then were notoriously bad. Seeing the 'Judas' footage again brought home the crushing failure to portray this sequence adequately in I'm Not There. The blistering music, Dylan's ferocious energy, with the Band's thunderous accompaniment - none of this was even remotely suggested in the film. Fascinating though Blanchett's performance was, I now feel that it didn't come near to the reality of the wasted, yet coruscating figure he'd become by 1966. Dylan performed as if possessed - astonishing. I still admire Haynes' film, but now feel that the Blanchett sequence was, in some ways, the weakest - her portrayal, precise and acute though it was, merely scraped the surface.
Anyway - a fantastic achievement from Scorsese - they were extraordinary times. The world hadn't seen anything like Dylan before and such is the nature of fame now, we won't see anything like him again. This film brought home for me the extent to which he, and his music, are deeply embedded in US culture and history - a giant of the twentieth century.
Monday 14 January 2008
Zodiac
I've just finished watching Zodiac on DVD; it was released last year and I wanted to see it at the cinema, but didn't manage it. It was, absorbing, beautifully photographed and, although it was two-and-a-half hours long, it didn't drag for a moment, and I was engrossed throughout. I've had it from Amazon for quite a while, and attempted to watch it a week or two ago, but it was a Saturday night, and, for various reasons, I'm always knackered on Saturdays, and kept falling asleep. It's not easy to follow all the dialogue, as is often the case in US movies, so for my second attempt at seeing it I switched the subtitles on, a good move.
The film is based on a true story; the unsolved 'Zodiac' murders in and around San Francisco during the 60s and 70s. It's directed by David Fincher, who first came to fame with the celebrated 7even, and went on to make the even more celebrated Fight Club; both original and remarkable films. 7even was a serial-killing classic, but Zodiac is very different. The film tails off, and, although we're left thinking we probably know who the killer is, we're never entirely sure, and as the chief suspect is dead of a heart attack near the end, we'll never know the truth.
It has a messy, unresolved ending, and is none the worse for that. Its characters, based on real people, are flawed, inconsistent human beings. One especial pleasure was Robert Downey Jnr, one of my favourite actors. He's flawed and messy himself, and I know that he attracts criticism for self-indulgence, but I've never seen a dud performance from him. He plays the clever, but louche reporter Paul Avery, who disintegrates over the course of the film into a drink-sozzled shell. Jake Gyllenhall plays the lead, Robert Graysmith, who becomes obsessed by the Zodiac case - he's a geeky character with few friends, whose marriage disintegrates under the weight of his obsession. Mark Ruffalo plays one of the detectives who investigates the case - he resigns after faking a letter purportedly from Zodiac, another example of the mess the case created. All the actors are excellent and Fincher gets the best out of them.
Another pleasure was the setting - San Francisco. It's the only US city I've ever visited, so the topography has a familiarity about it. The cinematography was wonderful - filmed, as I've since discovered, using a new digital technique which I can't pretend to understand for a moment, but was stunning. I love shots of darkened city streets with lights - I don't know why I feel comforted by cityscapes, but I guess, once a city girl, always a city girl. Anyway, Zodiac had plenty. Open countryside always seems a bit menacing to me, rather than reassuring - why that is, only a psychiatrist could tell me, I expect.
So, a great film, five stars.
The film is based on a true story; the unsolved 'Zodiac' murders in and around San Francisco during the 60s and 70s. It's directed by David Fincher, who first came to fame with the celebrated 7even, and went on to make the even more celebrated Fight Club; both original and remarkable films. 7even was a serial-killing classic, but Zodiac is very different. The film tails off, and, although we're left thinking we probably know who the killer is, we're never entirely sure, and as the chief suspect is dead of a heart attack near the end, we'll never know the truth.
It has a messy, unresolved ending, and is none the worse for that. Its characters, based on real people, are flawed, inconsistent human beings. One especial pleasure was Robert Downey Jnr, one of my favourite actors. He's flawed and messy himself, and I know that he attracts criticism for self-indulgence, but I've never seen a dud performance from him. He plays the clever, but louche reporter Paul Avery, who disintegrates over the course of the film into a drink-sozzled shell. Jake Gyllenhall plays the lead, Robert Graysmith, who becomes obsessed by the Zodiac case - he's a geeky character with few friends, whose marriage disintegrates under the weight of his obsession. Mark Ruffalo plays one of the detectives who investigates the case - he resigns after faking a letter purportedly from Zodiac, another example of the mess the case created. All the actors are excellent and Fincher gets the best out of them.
Another pleasure was the setting - San Francisco. It's the only US city I've ever visited, so the topography has a familiarity about it. The cinematography was wonderful - filmed, as I've since discovered, using a new digital technique which I can't pretend to understand for a moment, but was stunning. I love shots of darkened city streets with lights - I don't know why I feel comforted by cityscapes, but I guess, once a city girl, always a city girl. Anyway, Zodiac had plenty. Open countryside always seems a bit menacing to me, rather than reassuring - why that is, only a psychiatrist could tell me, I expect.
So, a great film, five stars.
Sunday 13 January 2008
The Road
My son lent me The Road by Cormac McCarthy recently, and I've just finished it. I'd never read any of McCarthy's books before - he'd always been one of those writers I'd put on the back burner, thinking, 'I'll get around to reading his stuff some day'.
The prospect of the imminent release of the Coen Brothers' No Country for Old Men, an adaptation of another McCarthy book, encouraged me, so I started it straight away.
I read it in record time, for me, as I usually read much more slowly than I used to, these days, and I found myself staying up until 1am to finish it. On one level it's an easy read - the chapters are divided up into short paragraphs with a line break in between, so you can put it down, pick it up and find your place; these things matter as you get older and the brain becomes less nimble. The paperback edition I read has a few pages at the beginning of comments and testimonials from various reviews, Iand wasn't the only one who blasted through the book in record time; some read the book at a single sitting.
McCarthy writes of a post-holocaust America, at an unspecified time, though one assumes it's the near future. Life on earth has been re-imagined; the world as we know it has vanished; only a rapidly-decaying detritus remains. Names have vanished - the characters are simply 'the boy' and 'the man'. Life has been extinguished, and the fragments that remain are rapidly disintegrating and dying, as those that remain cling to life as best they can. The landscape is littered with bodies, and there is no life, only ash.
Language is mutating - unfamiliar words appear; they're vaguely recognisable, but somehow different. There's a Beckettian flavour to McCarthy's language - invented words that sound familiar, yet are strange. The man talks of things from his previous life, but the boy, born after the holocaust, doesn't know what he's talking about. It gets unbearably tense at times, as you're constantly aware of the precariousness of their hold on life
It sounds bleak in the extreme, but it isn't. It's a fearful, terrifying world, deeply strange, but utterly convincing. In spite of the horrors, love remains, and at the end, hope, of a kind, appears. It's whetted my appetite for more McCarthy, and I'm looking forward enormously to No Country For Old Men.
The prospect of the imminent release of the Coen Brothers' No Country for Old Men, an adaptation of another McCarthy book, encouraged me, so I started it straight away.
I read it in record time, for me, as I usually read much more slowly than I used to, these days, and I found myself staying up until 1am to finish it. On one level it's an easy read - the chapters are divided up into short paragraphs with a line break in between, so you can put it down, pick it up and find your place; these things matter as you get older and the brain becomes less nimble. The paperback edition I read has a few pages at the beginning of comments and testimonials from various reviews, Iand wasn't the only one who blasted through the book in record time; some read the book at a single sitting.
McCarthy writes of a post-holocaust America, at an unspecified time, though one assumes it's the near future. Life on earth has been re-imagined; the world as we know it has vanished; only a rapidly-decaying detritus remains. Names have vanished - the characters are simply 'the boy' and 'the man'. Life has been extinguished, and the fragments that remain are rapidly disintegrating and dying, as those that remain cling to life as best they can. The landscape is littered with bodies, and there is no life, only ash.
Language is mutating - unfamiliar words appear; they're vaguely recognisable, but somehow different. There's a Beckettian flavour to McCarthy's language - invented words that sound familiar, yet are strange. The man talks of things from his previous life, but the boy, born after the holocaust, doesn't know what he's talking about. It gets unbearably tense at times, as you're constantly aware of the precariousness of their hold on life
It sounds bleak in the extreme, but it isn't. It's a fearful, terrifying world, deeply strange, but utterly convincing. In spite of the horrors, love remains, and at the end, hope, of a kind, appears. It's whetted my appetite for more McCarthy, and I'm looking forward enormously to No Country For Old Men.
Friday 11 January 2008
Films of 2007
For me, one of the great pleasures of a New Year is compiling my annual list. For about 10 years now, I've been keeping a book, just an ordinary exercise book from Smiths, in which I keep a 'to-do' list which is updated weekly, and note down the films I've seen and the books I've read. Every New Year I make a list of both, and add them up. Now my children are grown up I have more time to go to the movies, but, as I get older, I read more slowly (I used to blast through an alarming number of books at what seems now like top speed - I really can't do that any more; the eyelids droop, the brain slows down....). Anyway, it's always fun to do, and makes a nice start to the New Year.
What I noticed this year was the sheer quality of practically every film I saw. Yes, there was Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, but that really was the only one I went to see that I found a bit tiresome, and that was me rather than the film - it really wasn't my thing. There were others, such as The Illusionist, which I wasn't sure about, but, on the whole, it was a vintage year.
Some highlights: The Last King of Scotland, featuring Forest Whitaker's superb Idi Amin; Control, Eastern Promises, The Assassination of Jesse James, and The Lives of Others, which some were ambivalent about, but which I thought fully deserved its Oscar. Plus a trip to the cinema to see The Seventh Seal, Ingmar Bergman's masterpiece, on the big screen - a rare treat; Bergman and Michelangelo Antonioni died on the same day in July so there was much soul-searching in some quarters over the death of the auteur etc. etc. I don't believe it for a moment, as this year's crop proves. Cinema is changing, yes, but great films are being produced in greater quantity than ever, and are more popular than ever. I've sat in more packed houses this year than I think I've ever done before - there seems to be a real hunger for great cinema, and I'm extremely optimistic. The opening up of Eastern Europe and the Far East has released a flood of talent, and there's much to look forward to. I'm looking forward with excited anticipation to the coming year.
What I noticed this year was the sheer quality of practically every film I saw. Yes, there was Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, but that really was the only one I went to see that I found a bit tiresome, and that was me rather than the film - it really wasn't my thing. There were others, such as The Illusionist, which I wasn't sure about, but, on the whole, it was a vintage year.
Some highlights: The Last King of Scotland, featuring Forest Whitaker's superb Idi Amin; Control, Eastern Promises, The Assassination of Jesse James, and The Lives of Others, which some were ambivalent about, but which I thought fully deserved its Oscar. Plus a trip to the cinema to see The Seventh Seal, Ingmar Bergman's masterpiece, on the big screen - a rare treat; Bergman and Michelangelo Antonioni died on the same day in July so there was much soul-searching in some quarters over the death of the auteur etc. etc. I don't believe it for a moment, as this year's crop proves. Cinema is changing, yes, but great films are being produced in greater quantity than ever, and are more popular than ever. I've sat in more packed houses this year than I think I've ever done before - there seems to be a real hunger for great cinema, and I'm extremely optimistic. The opening up of Eastern Europe and the Far East has released a flood of talent, and there's much to look forward to. I'm looking forward with excited anticipation to the coming year.
Thursday 3 January 2008
I'm Not There
I went to see I'm Not There today; I was determined to see it before it disappeared from the big screen, as, for me, the prospect of seeing Dylan's life portrayed on screen was irresistable. I'd read the reviews, which were mixed. This always makes me want to go and see a film even more, as I'm intrigued by films that elicit a variety of responses.
Well, I wasn't disappointed; I'd read an interview with Todd Haynes, the director, and seen a few of his other film, so knew that Dylan would be in good hands, He's clearly felt that himself, as he's refused previous offers to portray him on screen. In addition, one of my favourite actors, Christian Bale, was one of the six people portraying Dylan, and I'll go and see practically anything he's in.
On one level, the film's a chaotic shambles, as it flits backwards and forwards between the various Dylans. It's basic structure consists of depicting Dylan's life in six chapters, played by, in chronological order, Marcus Carl Franklin, a 13-year-old black boy, who plays the young Dylan hitching his way out of Minnesota; Bale, who plays the protest singing Dylan; Ben Whishaw who Dylan as he moves away from the political, to the personal; Blanchett plays him as he rejects the acoustic for the electric - the 'Judas' Dylan; Heath Ledger (rather confusingly) plays him as a movie actor with a dark side, misogynist, selfish and reactionary; Richard Gere plays the Dylan who famously disappeared to 'get it together in the country', and Bale (again) plays the preaching, born-again Christian Dylan. And, to make things even more confusing, none of the characters are called Dylan; they are, respectively, Woody, Jack Rollins, Arthur Rimbaud, Jude, Robbie, and Billy. Bale's preacher-Dylan I assume, was Jack Rollins, a few years later.
All the performers are fantastic, but Blanchett's, understandably, I suppose, has gathered up most of the publicity. Ledger did really well, portraying Dylan at his most unsympathetic, and Bale - well...he did his own singing (of course he would) in both of his incarnations, but was also utterly convincing. His preacher-Dylan section was only a short sequence but I found it extaordinarily powerful. He was in a small, down-at-heel hall somewhere in the sticks, preaching to a small congregation; inattentive children played at the back, and he had a rather perfunctory gospel choir behind him. He preached the usual born-againstuff, then began to sing, and, suddenly, he sprang to life, and his stature and authority shone through. Here, Bale captured perfectly Dylan's essential charisma.
Of course, much has been written about this film - I suppose what it's really saying is that Dylan's life and career; its almost mythic qualities - I mean, who could possibly invent the story of e Jewish teenager growing up in a small town in Minnesota, borrowing the name of a Welsh poet, taking on the persona of a dustbowl troubadour and conquering the coffe houses of New York? And then recreate himself again, several times over. He's a deejay now, producing a brilliant programme every week of his own choice of music - Radio 2 broadcast it, and it's unmissable.
There was an excellent article recently in the New York Times which encapsulated him perfectly, describing his personality as 'inclusive as Walt Whitman's' and 'as unsettlingly splintered as Herman Melville's Confidence Man'. Dylan is 'vulnerable to misunderstanding', but also 'actively solicits it'.
As the article puts it, the film 'hurls a Molotov cocktail through the facade of the Hollywood biopic factory' - I couldn't possibly have put it better, and wonder if the genre will ever, can ever be the same.
Talking of Whitman, in Simon Barnes' recent book, The Meaning of Sport (excellent), he quotes Whitman:-
'Do I contradict myself?
Very well, I contradict myself
(I am large, I contain multitudes)
I copied this quote down, I liked it so much, and then was delighted to find it a few days later in Philip French's review of I'm Not There. It encapsulates Dylan perfectly, and French spotted it right away. It's funny, but at the very end, Haynes seems to acknowledge that it's impossible for anyone else to do full justice to Dylan, and the man himself appears, in a clip from the film Eat the Document. It's some footage from 1966, in which he, playfully and inventively, improvises on his harmonica.
One last thing - Haynes' command of cinematic styles is well-known; his confident reworking, visually and thematically, of the 50s domestic melodrama, in Far From Heaven, was justly praised. He's done it again here, perfectly recreating the look of each period as it appeared on screens and in photographs. His films seem to luxuriate in being films, if you get my meaning.
I intend to acquire this on DVD as I know I need to see it several times. I have to say I loved it, and can't keep it out of my head.
Well, I wasn't disappointed; I'd read an interview with Todd Haynes, the director, and seen a few of his other film, so knew that Dylan would be in good hands, He's clearly felt that himself, as he's refused previous offers to portray him on screen. In addition, one of my favourite actors, Christian Bale, was one of the six people portraying Dylan, and I'll go and see practically anything he's in.
On one level, the film's a chaotic shambles, as it flits backwards and forwards between the various Dylans. It's basic structure consists of depicting Dylan's life in six chapters, played by, in chronological order, Marcus Carl Franklin, a 13-year-old black boy, who plays the young Dylan hitching his way out of Minnesota; Bale, who plays the protest singing Dylan; Ben Whishaw who Dylan as he moves away from the political, to the personal; Blanchett plays him as he rejects the acoustic for the electric - the 'Judas' Dylan; Heath Ledger (rather confusingly) plays him as a movie actor with a dark side, misogynist, selfish and reactionary; Richard Gere plays the Dylan who famously disappeared to 'get it together in the country', and Bale (again) plays the preaching, born-again Christian Dylan. And, to make things even more confusing, none of the characters are called Dylan; they are, respectively, Woody, Jack Rollins, Arthur Rimbaud, Jude, Robbie, and Billy. Bale's preacher-Dylan I assume, was Jack Rollins, a few years later.
All the performers are fantastic, but Blanchett's, understandably, I suppose, has gathered up most of the publicity. Ledger did really well, portraying Dylan at his most unsympathetic, and Bale - well...he did his own singing (of course he would) in both of his incarnations, but was also utterly convincing. His preacher-Dylan section was only a short sequence but I found it extaordinarily powerful. He was in a small, down-at-heel hall somewhere in the sticks, preaching to a small congregation; inattentive children played at the back, and he had a rather perfunctory gospel choir behind him. He preached the usual born-againstuff, then began to sing, and, suddenly, he sprang to life, and his stature and authority shone through. Here, Bale captured perfectly Dylan's essential charisma.
Of course, much has been written about this film - I suppose what it's really saying is that Dylan's life and career; its almost mythic qualities - I mean, who could possibly invent the story of e Jewish teenager growing up in a small town in Minnesota, borrowing the name of a Welsh poet, taking on the persona of a dustbowl troubadour and conquering the coffe houses of New York? And then recreate himself again, several times over. He's a deejay now, producing a brilliant programme every week of his own choice of music - Radio 2 broadcast it, and it's unmissable.
There was an excellent article recently in the New York Times which encapsulated him perfectly, describing his personality as 'inclusive as Walt Whitman's' and 'as unsettlingly splintered as Herman Melville's Confidence Man'. Dylan is 'vulnerable to misunderstanding', but also 'actively solicits it'.
As the article puts it, the film 'hurls a Molotov cocktail through the facade of the Hollywood biopic factory' - I couldn't possibly have put it better, and wonder if the genre will ever, can ever be the same.
Talking of Whitman, in Simon Barnes' recent book, The Meaning of Sport (excellent), he quotes Whitman:-
'Do I contradict myself?
Very well, I contradict myself
(I am large, I contain multitudes)
I copied this quote down, I liked it so much, and then was delighted to find it a few days later in Philip French's review of I'm Not There. It encapsulates Dylan perfectly, and French spotted it right away. It's funny, but at the very end, Haynes seems to acknowledge that it's impossible for anyone else to do full justice to Dylan, and the man himself appears, in a clip from the film Eat the Document. It's some footage from 1966, in which he, playfully and inventively, improvises on his harmonica.
One last thing - Haynes' command of cinematic styles is well-known; his confident reworking, visually and thematically, of the 50s domestic melodrama, in Far From Heaven, was justly praised. He's done it again here, perfectly recreating the look of each period as it appeared on screens and in photographs. His films seem to luxuriate in being films, if you get my meaning.
I intend to acquire this on DVD as I know I need to see it several times. I have to say I loved it, and can't keep it out of my head.
Wednesday 2 January 2008
Nosferatu (Herzog)
I watched Werner Herzog's Nosferatu the other evening, and then I watched it again with the director's commentary. Not many directors' commentaries are worth listening to, but Herzog's always are.
It is, of course an extraordinary film, with the matchless Bruno Ganz playing Jonathan Harker and the incomparable Klaus Kinski as the vampire. Kinski was a notoriously difficult actor to work with, but somehow Herzog managed to coax some of his finest performances out of him. Actually performance is something of a misnomer, as he inhabits his characters rather than produces a performance. In the commentary Herzog says Kinski was, for him, extremely biddable and caused very little trouble; normally he would pick fights with crew members, and stage fearsome tantrums on a regular basis. His portrayal of the vampire has an extraordinary humanity, which is largely absent from other versions. Nosferatu here is needy, imprisoned by his ungovernable desires. He is acutely aware of his condition and of its implications. Kinski brings the vampire to life; there's an extraordinary scene in which Ganz as Harker, cuts his finger. The vampire knows that he must, and will, suck Harker's blood, but, at first, turns away, almost in horror and disgust with the knowledge, before suddenly pouncing. In the commentary Herzog states that Kinski performed the scene in a single take, and was entirely self-directed. Kinski seems to have understood the vampire on a visceral, instinctive level, producing an extraordinarily moving performance, giving the vampire a fragile, needy dignity and vulnerablity.
In the book, Herzog on Herzog, he states that, although he is actually on the screen for only 17 minutes, his presence dominates every single scene, such is his power, and that in the next 50 years no-one else will be able to produce a performance that comes close to it. I have to agree; Kinski is mesmerising.
Of course, as with all Herzog's films, music is central, and the film is meticulously scored, with beutiful and unearthly music from Florian Fricke, who scored several of his films.
Herzog talks about his motivation for re-making Murnau's famous 20s film, one of the classics of German Expressionism. He needed, at this point in his life, to reconnect with the roots of German cinema, as he puts it, 'a declaration of my connection to the very best of German cinema' and with the German cultural heritage, which had been so savagely breached by Nazism. He succeded triumphantly with this beautiful film, and went on to make Woyzeck immediately afterwards, using the same crew, and Kinski. So, the next one on my list!
It is, of course an extraordinary film, with the matchless Bruno Ganz playing Jonathan Harker and the incomparable Klaus Kinski as the vampire. Kinski was a notoriously difficult actor to work with, but somehow Herzog managed to coax some of his finest performances out of him. Actually performance is something of a misnomer, as he inhabits his characters rather than produces a performance. In the commentary Herzog says Kinski was, for him, extremely biddable and caused very little trouble; normally he would pick fights with crew members, and stage fearsome tantrums on a regular basis. His portrayal of the vampire has an extraordinary humanity, which is largely absent from other versions. Nosferatu here is needy, imprisoned by his ungovernable desires. He is acutely aware of his condition and of its implications. Kinski brings the vampire to life; there's an extraordinary scene in which Ganz as Harker, cuts his finger. The vampire knows that he must, and will, suck Harker's blood, but, at first, turns away, almost in horror and disgust with the knowledge, before suddenly pouncing. In the commentary Herzog states that Kinski performed the scene in a single take, and was entirely self-directed. Kinski seems to have understood the vampire on a visceral, instinctive level, producing an extraordinarily moving performance, giving the vampire a fragile, needy dignity and vulnerablity.
In the book, Herzog on Herzog, he states that, although he is actually on the screen for only 17 minutes, his presence dominates every single scene, such is his power, and that in the next 50 years no-one else will be able to produce a performance that comes close to it. I have to agree; Kinski is mesmerising.
Of course, as with all Herzog's films, music is central, and the film is meticulously scored, with beutiful and unearthly music from Florian Fricke, who scored several of his films.
Herzog talks about his motivation for re-making Murnau's famous 20s film, one of the classics of German Expressionism. He needed, at this point in his life, to reconnect with the roots of German cinema, as he puts it, 'a declaration of my connection to the very best of German cinema' and with the German cultural heritage, which had been so savagely breached by Nazism. He succeded triumphantly with this beautiful film, and went on to make Woyzeck immediately afterwards, using the same crew, and Kinski. So, the next one on my list!
Tuesday 1 January 2008
The West Wing
I'm working my way through series 5 of The West Wing at the moment, as my son, another addict, and has the entire series on DVD has lent me both 5 & 6, and he needs them back soon to lend to newly-addicted friends. He's coming over from Ireland next week so I need to finish it then. So I'm furiously watching as much as possible.
Of course, I saw them when they were first screened on Channel 4, and when they migrated to More4, the digital channel. Apparently it achieved low ratings, but I'm also very aware that the following it attracted, small though it may have been, was passionately loyal. A long-running thread appeared on the Guardian messageboard which started at the beginning of the third series and continued until long past the seventh series, the last.
I have to say that I loved it from the start. It presents a picture of US politics as it might exist in an alternative universe. Jed Bartlet, the president, is a liberal, Democrat, Nobel prize-winning academic, surrounded by equally-liberal heartfelt Democrats who believe, above all, in the Constitution, to which they are dedicated to upholding. All of them have their faults - Bartlet's is a patrician arrogance, which comes from his impeccable liberalism, and some of the most entertaining episodes concern his principles coming up against reality.
One of my favourite characters is Toby, the Press Secretary; often conflicted, tortured, bad-tempered, but with his heart firmly in the right place, he gives the series a welcome acerbity.
The First Lady, is a card-carrying feminist, whose beliefs often clash with the realities of government, and some of the best episodes concern very real moral, political and ethical dilemmas. A solution is rarely found, and this is the whole point. In a democratic republic there are never any easy answers, and this is the series' glory. The best episodes dramatise unresolvable problems and compromises have to be reached; this is, and must be, always better than the alternative. The US is portrayed as the best form of government there is, with all its imperfections, a picture of government as it should function, not, of course, as it actually does.
The acting is top-notch; Martin Sheen plays Bartlet, making a character who might have been insufferable in other hands, deeply human. We don't always like him very much, but we see why he's President, the buck always stopping at his door.
Religion also plays a part, which would be unthinkable in this country - Bartlet, a Catholic, is often seen tussling with God, frequently arguing with Him, dramatising the very real battles between Faith and politics. This was seen most effectively in an episode when Bartlet, after the funeral of his beloved secretary, who was killed in an accident, standing alone in the cathedral after everyone else had gone, contemptuously lit a cigarette, then threw it to the ground, angrily stamping it out.
After four series, Aaron Sorkin, the originator of the series, left, and his sharp, witty scripts went with him. It was never quite the same after, but the remaining three series were still a treat, following the fortunes of the presidency as it gradually acquired 'lame duck' status. As the government wound down it all began to fall apart, and soul-searching, self-interested careerism and fear began to take hold among the staff, their individual destinies becoming compelling.
A new President was elected at the end, the implausible Latino Santos. I don't know anyone who didn't prefer his rival Republican, played with consummate finesse by Alan Alda.
Its lack of cynicism was what was most refreshing about it - instead of depicting politicians as venal and self-serving, they were idealistic, with the best of intentions, if flawed in their execution. I miss it badly, but the DVDs of the 7 series remain compulsive viewing. I always watch it with the subtitles switched on so as not to miss any of the dialogue, which is unparalleled anywhere else.
The most interesting Presidential election for years gets going in 2008, and Barack Obama, the most West Wing-like candidate imaginable, is one of the favourites. The West Wing has therefore become even more essential, and perhaps more realistic after the catastrophic Bush regime, which, with any luck, may seem a bad dream by this time next year.
Of course, I saw them when they were first screened on Channel 4, and when they migrated to More4, the digital channel. Apparently it achieved low ratings, but I'm also very aware that the following it attracted, small though it may have been, was passionately loyal. A long-running thread appeared on the Guardian messageboard which started at the beginning of the third series and continued until long past the seventh series, the last.
I have to say that I loved it from the start. It presents a picture of US politics as it might exist in an alternative universe. Jed Bartlet, the president, is a liberal, Democrat, Nobel prize-winning academic, surrounded by equally-liberal heartfelt Democrats who believe, above all, in the Constitution, to which they are dedicated to upholding. All of them have their faults - Bartlet's is a patrician arrogance, which comes from his impeccable liberalism, and some of the most entertaining episodes concern his principles coming up against reality.
One of my favourite characters is Toby, the Press Secretary; often conflicted, tortured, bad-tempered, but with his heart firmly in the right place, he gives the series a welcome acerbity.
The First Lady, is a card-carrying feminist, whose beliefs often clash with the realities of government, and some of the best episodes concern very real moral, political and ethical dilemmas. A solution is rarely found, and this is the whole point. In a democratic republic there are never any easy answers, and this is the series' glory. The best episodes dramatise unresolvable problems and compromises have to be reached; this is, and must be, always better than the alternative. The US is portrayed as the best form of government there is, with all its imperfections, a picture of government as it should function, not, of course, as it actually does.
The acting is top-notch; Martin Sheen plays Bartlet, making a character who might have been insufferable in other hands, deeply human. We don't always like him very much, but we see why he's President, the buck always stopping at his door.
Religion also plays a part, which would be unthinkable in this country - Bartlet, a Catholic, is often seen tussling with God, frequently arguing with Him, dramatising the very real battles between Faith and politics. This was seen most effectively in an episode when Bartlet, after the funeral of his beloved secretary, who was killed in an accident, standing alone in the cathedral after everyone else had gone, contemptuously lit a cigarette, then threw it to the ground, angrily stamping it out.
After four series, Aaron Sorkin, the originator of the series, left, and his sharp, witty scripts went with him. It was never quite the same after, but the remaining three series were still a treat, following the fortunes of the presidency as it gradually acquired 'lame duck' status. As the government wound down it all began to fall apart, and soul-searching, self-interested careerism and fear began to take hold among the staff, their individual destinies becoming compelling.
A new President was elected at the end, the implausible Latino Santos. I don't know anyone who didn't prefer his rival Republican, played with consummate finesse by Alan Alda.
Its lack of cynicism was what was most refreshing about it - instead of depicting politicians as venal and self-serving, they were idealistic, with the best of intentions, if flawed in their execution. I miss it badly, but the DVDs of the 7 series remain compulsive viewing. I always watch it with the subtitles switched on so as not to miss any of the dialogue, which is unparalleled anywhere else.
The most interesting Presidential election for years gets going in 2008, and Barack Obama, the most West Wing-like candidate imaginable, is one of the favourites. The West Wing has therefore become even more essential, and perhaps more realistic after the catastrophic Bush regime, which, with any luck, may seem a bad dream by this time next year.
Ballet Shoes
I watched BBC's Ballet Shoes on Boxing Day. I had to - Ballet Shoes was a major part of my childhood, as I suspect it was for many girls growing up in the 50s and early 60s. The cast looked good, with reliable performers such as Victoria Wood, Emilia Fox, Harriet Walter, the peerless Eileen Atkins, and the impressive and highly promising Marc Warren.
None of them disappointed, and the young actresses who played the Fossil girls were well-directed. The costumes and scenery were meticulously realised, and the accents were better than usual. The older generation, of course, were fine, but Fox and Warren did very well indeed, and the girls who played the Fossil sisters did as well as could have been expected.
My main gripe, though was the changes to the story. I realise that some had to be made, but these were tiresome. Warren played Mr Smith, a single gentlemen lodger who runs a garage - in the book, Mr and Mrs Smith are a couple. This allowed the creation of a spurious love interest for Sylvia, the girls' guardian, and we had to have a ridiculous wedding scene at the end. In the book Sylvia remains single, accompanying Pauline to Hollywood, but this was clearly unacceptable for TV controllers. Sigh......
I got my Puffin edition of the book out from my shelf of children's books (I never throw anything away!) and had a look. It's an incredibly matter-of-fact book, with few flights of fancy. It's based firmly on everyday life with enough wish-fulfilment to satisfy. For me, it was as fantastical as Harry Potter is to today's generation, bearing no relation to my life whatsoever. yet it was the descriptions of everyday life that I relished most. I do think reality is unnecessary for a great children's book and I devoured Streatfield's stories of girls (they were all girls) achieving stardom against the odds, reading them over and over again.
The production truncated a great deal, as I suppose it had to, but it was an enjoyable way to spend 90 minutes, though it's 9.00 start was clearly aimed at 50-somethings who knew the book. I can't imagine it would grab any of today's 12-year-olds - but who knows?
None of them disappointed, and the young actresses who played the Fossil girls were well-directed. The costumes and scenery were meticulously realised, and the accents were better than usual. The older generation, of course, were fine, but Fox and Warren did very well indeed, and the girls who played the Fossil sisters did as well as could have been expected.
My main gripe, though was the changes to the story. I realise that some had to be made, but these were tiresome. Warren played Mr Smith, a single gentlemen lodger who runs a garage - in the book, Mr and Mrs Smith are a couple. This allowed the creation of a spurious love interest for Sylvia, the girls' guardian, and we had to have a ridiculous wedding scene at the end. In the book Sylvia remains single, accompanying Pauline to Hollywood, but this was clearly unacceptable for TV controllers. Sigh......
I got my Puffin edition of the book out from my shelf of children's books (I never throw anything away!) and had a look. It's an incredibly matter-of-fact book, with few flights of fancy. It's based firmly on everyday life with enough wish-fulfilment to satisfy. For me, it was as fantastical as Harry Potter is to today's generation, bearing no relation to my life whatsoever. yet it was the descriptions of everyday life that I relished most. I do think reality is unnecessary for a great children's book and I devoured Streatfield's stories of girls (they were all girls) achieving stardom against the odds, reading them over and over again.
The production truncated a great deal, as I suppose it had to, but it was an enjoyable way to spend 90 minutes, though it's 9.00 start was clearly aimed at 50-somethings who knew the book. I can't imagine it would grab any of today's 12-year-olds - but who knows?
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