This is a real original - I'd seen and taped (I still have it) London, made by the same director, Patrick Keillor around the same time, the mid-1990s, and knew that Robinson existed, so I decided to rent it from Amazon.
Well, above all, it's a period piece. Released in 1997, it chronicles a Britain on the cusp of electing a Labour Government by a landslide, after nearly 20 years of Thatcherite conservatism and the seismic changes wrought by that government. Labour was to preside over a similar level of change, but of course no-one was to know that in 1997. A kind of malaise hangs over the country but of course now we know what happened after it is loaded with unintended meaning.
Basically 'Robinson' is commissioned by an unspecified employer to investigate the 'problem' of England, and undertakes 7 journeys with his companion, the narrator, voiced by the late, great Paul Scofield. I had a look at some stuff on the web about the film, and apparently it's a contemporary version of Daniel Defoe's travels as a spy around the country in the 17th century.
Anyway, I found it a fascinating film. All it is is a series of shots of the landscape; shopping malls, factories, used and disused, bypasses, motorways, service stations, building sites, historical monuments and properties, railway stations - but also Oxbridge and Eton. The narrative tells a hidden story - visibly, the country seems to be in decline - there's dereliction everywhere. But underneath runs power, it's in the hands of the few, and it's invisible.
So there's a powerful message, but, to be honest, I was held by the images, the sort of places that
I've always loved - railway stations, places of transit, run-down city areas, I have a natural affinity with them. They make me feel comfortable in a strange way. Somehow I prefer city streets to empty landscapes, which sometimes have an undercurrent of menace. But that's just me.....
So, now for London - I saw it years ago but I've forgotten it ; I shall look forward to it with anticipation.
Sunday 30 March 2008
Friday 21 March 2008
Derek Jarman
I've been having a bit of a Derek Jarman-fest over the last few days. I taped a film portrait which was screened on More4, together with Blue, and found an old tape I'd made years ago of The Last of England, and then The Garden, my latest rental from Amazon. I taped Derek, a biographical portrait, and Blue, his last film when they were screened on More4 recently, so I finally got around to watching those as well.
I first came across Jarman without realising it in 1971 when I saw Ken Russell's The Devils. Jarman was responsible for the extraordinary sets - modernist white walls and tiles for a film set in 17th century-France. The Devils remains one of my top ten films and is scandalously unreleased on DVD, though I have a bootleg copy I got on Ebay. It demands a special edition with copious extras but Warner Bros won't play ball....sigh.
Anyway, back to Jarman. Of course in 1971 I had no idea who Jarman was, but over the years I became aware of his forays into the frontiers of avant-garde Super-8 film. So, was he a 60s, 70s, or 80s figure? It's difficult - he was born in 1942, so was in his 20s in the 1960s, but came to prominence in the 70s, and was at the heart of the punk scene and of the anti-Thatcherite Gay Liberation movement in the 1980s, eventually dying of AIDS in 1994
Watching Derek though, it's clear that he was always immersed in anti-establishment, 60's values and beliefs. His life from the moment he went to the Slade in London was a revolt against his upbringing, which was a very typically middle class army background. Derek is full of home movies showing an affluent, suburban household, with nicely dressed children playing on manicured lawns, yet in all Jarman's work there is a very 60s nostalgia for the trappings of his parent's life. This was always one of the great paradoxes of the 60s - as evidenced by the fashion for dressing up in Victorian costume and facial hair. Yes, it was a fad, but old photos and films became part of the visual landscape in a way they had never done before, and I think it was part of a reaction against the post-war obsession with modernity at all costs. The rejection of modernist architecture was part of all this. Jarman's films are saturated with the past - even though he is nearly always angrily rejecting it, attacking it, or satirising it or laughing at it.
Anyway Jarman, although a child of the 60s, came of age with the advent of punk and obviously felt far more comfortable with it ethos, such as it was, than with the hippies. And, as a gay man, he had more to reject. Although gay lib grew out of the 60s demands for liberation, free love was largely a heterosexual affair.
The Last of England, made in 1988, is a distillation of his feelings towards his native land. Made at the height of the AIDS panic/crisis, it's an angry, often confused but also elegaic vision of post-industrial decline, steeped in apocalyptic alienation yet replete with beautiful, startling images. It's full of home movies and 'found' footage, with a paradoxically upper-class voice speaking Jarman's narrative (actor Nigel Terry).
Today it looks a period piece and reminds me of the films we used to make at art school in the late 60s. Armed with a Super-8 camera (which is what Jarman used in many of his films), we went out into derelict houses and shot bizarre, meaningless little movies, which we took extremely seriously. There's a scene in The Last of England in which a couple of men have sex on a Union Jack spread out on a floor and it's the sort of filming we would love to have made in 1969.
The Garden was released in 1990 and by now Jarman knew he had full-blown AIDS. It's a strange film, made in the now-famous garden of his cabin in Dungeness. It's clearly an amazing place, inspirational and haunting, with the huge nuclear power station looming in the near distance and Jarman was obviously inspired by living there. The film's full of religious imagery - in Derek he talks about his education, and he was at St Juliana's, a private convent in Abingdon, for a while. I remember the place - we used to play them at netball. I'd be amazed if it's still there; it was one of those tiny little private schools, of which there were many in and around Oxford. Anyway, The Garden is full of Catholic imagery - obvously the Church had come out heavily against homosexuality, but in Jarman's films, there's always this split personality there, love and hate. There's a lot of gay martyrdom, and the whole Clause 4 debate and the AIDS panic must have engendered a feeling of intense persecution among gay men.
Much of The Garden is tediously tiresome, but I'm glad it was made, and it's great to have footage of his garden, as now it's become a bit of a tourist attraction, something I'm sure he would have hated.
Blue was his last film, and is simply a blue screen with a voice-over. By now Jarman was virtually blind, and the narrative chronicles his descent into the privations and huniliations of his treatment. It's rather wonderful and, typically, iconoclastic and challenging. It's funny, but in the interviews with him recorded for Derek, it's clear that he was such a nice man, funny and charming, with a great deal of self-deprecation - typically English, one might say, and that's clearly how he saw himself.
I'm looking forward to seeing some of his earlier films - they're rather addictive and compelling. I must mention the sound and music - it's tremendous. He worked with the same composers repeatedly, and in fact a glance at the IMDB will tell you that people worked with Jarman over and over again. There's the famous ones, such as Tilda Swinton, who could almost be called Jarman's muse, but many others turn up repeatedly. he obviously attracted people to hilm and they loved him - simple as that. It shows.
I first came across Jarman without realising it in 1971 when I saw Ken Russell's The Devils. Jarman was responsible for the extraordinary sets - modernist white walls and tiles for a film set in 17th century-France. The Devils remains one of my top ten films and is scandalously unreleased on DVD, though I have a bootleg copy I got on Ebay. It demands a special edition with copious extras but Warner Bros won't play ball....sigh.
Anyway, back to Jarman. Of course in 1971 I had no idea who Jarman was, but over the years I became aware of his forays into the frontiers of avant-garde Super-8 film. So, was he a 60s, 70s, or 80s figure? It's difficult - he was born in 1942, so was in his 20s in the 1960s, but came to prominence in the 70s, and was at the heart of the punk scene and of the anti-Thatcherite Gay Liberation movement in the 1980s, eventually dying of AIDS in 1994
Watching Derek though, it's clear that he was always immersed in anti-establishment, 60's values and beliefs. His life from the moment he went to the Slade in London was a revolt against his upbringing, which was a very typically middle class army background. Derek is full of home movies showing an affluent, suburban household, with nicely dressed children playing on manicured lawns, yet in all Jarman's work there is a very 60s nostalgia for the trappings of his parent's life. This was always one of the great paradoxes of the 60s - as evidenced by the fashion for dressing up in Victorian costume and facial hair. Yes, it was a fad, but old photos and films became part of the visual landscape in a way they had never done before, and I think it was part of a reaction against the post-war obsession with modernity at all costs. The rejection of modernist architecture was part of all this. Jarman's films are saturated with the past - even though he is nearly always angrily rejecting it, attacking it, or satirising it or laughing at it.
Anyway Jarman, although a child of the 60s, came of age with the advent of punk and obviously felt far more comfortable with it ethos, such as it was, than with the hippies. And, as a gay man, he had more to reject. Although gay lib grew out of the 60s demands for liberation, free love was largely a heterosexual affair.
The Last of England, made in 1988, is a distillation of his feelings towards his native land. Made at the height of the AIDS panic/crisis, it's an angry, often confused but also elegaic vision of post-industrial decline, steeped in apocalyptic alienation yet replete with beautiful, startling images. It's full of home movies and 'found' footage, with a paradoxically upper-class voice speaking Jarman's narrative (actor Nigel Terry).
Today it looks a period piece and reminds me of the films we used to make at art school in the late 60s. Armed with a Super-8 camera (which is what Jarman used in many of his films), we went out into derelict houses and shot bizarre, meaningless little movies, which we took extremely seriously. There's a scene in The Last of England in which a couple of men have sex on a Union Jack spread out on a floor and it's the sort of filming we would love to have made in 1969.
The Garden was released in 1990 and by now Jarman knew he had full-blown AIDS. It's a strange film, made in the now-famous garden of his cabin in Dungeness. It's clearly an amazing place, inspirational and haunting, with the huge nuclear power station looming in the near distance and Jarman was obviously inspired by living there. The film's full of religious imagery - in Derek he talks about his education, and he was at St Juliana's, a private convent in Abingdon, for a while. I remember the place - we used to play them at netball. I'd be amazed if it's still there; it was one of those tiny little private schools, of which there were many in and around Oxford. Anyway, The Garden is full of Catholic imagery - obvously the Church had come out heavily against homosexuality, but in Jarman's films, there's always this split personality there, love and hate. There's a lot of gay martyrdom, and the whole Clause 4 debate and the AIDS panic must have engendered a feeling of intense persecution among gay men.
Much of The Garden is tediously tiresome, but I'm glad it was made, and it's great to have footage of his garden, as now it's become a bit of a tourist attraction, something I'm sure he would have hated.
Blue was his last film, and is simply a blue screen with a voice-over. By now Jarman was virtually blind, and the narrative chronicles his descent into the privations and huniliations of his treatment. It's rather wonderful and, typically, iconoclastic and challenging. It's funny, but in the interviews with him recorded for Derek, it's clear that he was such a nice man, funny and charming, with a great deal of self-deprecation - typically English, one might say, and that's clearly how he saw himself.
I'm looking forward to seeing some of his earlier films - they're rather addictive and compelling. I must mention the sound and music - it's tremendous. He worked with the same composers repeatedly, and in fact a glance at the IMDB will tell you that people worked with Jarman over and over again. There's the famous ones, such as Tilda Swinton, who could almost be called Jarman's muse, but many others turn up repeatedly. he obviously attracted people to hilm and they loved him - simple as that. It shows.
Wednesday 19 March 2008
There Will Be Blood (part 2)
I went to see this again last night, and my view broadened and deepened that this is one of the finest films in recent memory. I took a son who hadn't seen it before and the one who came with me the first time came too as, like me, he was keen to see it again.
The beginning has to be one of the most audacious ever attempted. Plainview is prospecting, alone, the camera follows his progress in close-up, and there's no dialogue. It's a brutal scene, and it gives us an astonishingly visceral picture of the lives of the people who forgedAmerica, and created its wealth. I noticed the sound this time - it gets you right into the heart of Plainview's world. Jonny Greenwood's music is crucial, dissonant, unearthly at times - it's the bedrock of the film.
The first time I saw the film I wasn't really aware that Paul Dano played 2 parts - Paul and Eli Sunday; I sort of knew but forgot, as Paul appears near the beginning, informing Daniel that there's oil on his family's land. Eli, of course is his brother, the preacher. It's deliberately confusing, I think, and I've seen it suggested that it's intentionally ambiguous; that we're never quite sure that Paul and Eli are distinctive characters - they could be two sides of the same person. It's an intriguing possibility, and perfectly plausible, given the intelligence and complexity with which the film is constructed.
It's a film of extraordinary richness, but I don't know if I could ever bring myself to watch it on DVD. It demands to be seen on the big screen. A masterpiece.
The beginning has to be one of the most audacious ever attempted. Plainview is prospecting, alone, the camera follows his progress in close-up, and there's no dialogue. It's a brutal scene, and it gives us an astonishingly visceral picture of the lives of the people who forgedAmerica, and created its wealth. I noticed the sound this time - it gets you right into the heart of Plainview's world. Jonny Greenwood's music is crucial, dissonant, unearthly at times - it's the bedrock of the film.
The first time I saw the film I wasn't really aware that Paul Dano played 2 parts - Paul and Eli Sunday; I sort of knew but forgot, as Paul appears near the beginning, informing Daniel that there's oil on his family's land. Eli, of course is his brother, the preacher. It's deliberately confusing, I think, and I've seen it suggested that it's intentionally ambiguous; that we're never quite sure that Paul and Eli are distinctive characters - they could be two sides of the same person. It's an intriguing possibility, and perfectly plausible, given the intelligence and complexity with which the film is constructed.
It's a film of extraordinary richness, but I don't know if I could ever bring myself to watch it on DVD. It demands to be seen on the big screen. A masterpiece.
Sunday 16 March 2008
Emeric Pressburger
I've just watched a tape I found which I'd made years ago of a Channel 4 documentary, made by Kevin McDonald (director of The Last King of Scotland and Touching the Void among much else), about the early life of his grandfather, Emeric Pressburger. Pressburger life pretty much typified that of many central Europeans. Born in 1902 in what was then the Austro-Hungarian Empire, he found himself to be living in Romania after the First World War had redrawn the boundaries of much of Europe. This radically changed everything as his hitherto comfortable and prosperous Jewish family life was now heavily circumscribed by Romanian law. He moved to Germany and worked for UFA, the revolutionary film studios which flourished in Weimar Germany, then, of course his life changed yet again as the Nazis gained power. Anyway, like many emigres he landed in Britain, thankfully long before war broke out, and, , after sleeping rough for a while, he found shelter in a block of flats in Marble Arch which was entirely occupied by emigres.
Anyway, to cut a long story short, he met Michael Powell, the film director, and the rest is history. The pair, with Powell directing, and Pressburger's scripts, called their partnership the Archers, and were responsible for several landmark British films, such as A Matter of Life and Death, I Know Where I'm Going, The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp and Black Narcissus, among many others.
McDonald's film focused on his early life, and how he found sanctuary in Britain, eventually developing a deep love of Britain and becomeing 'more British than the British'. Many of his films, notably Colonel Blimp, touch on this theme, and Anton Walbrook, who plays the German soldier who flees Nazism in the Thirties, embodies the deep affection for, and admiration of, British culture which Pressburger learned to love so much. Walbrook played another gentle German in the Archers' 49th Parallel, and this was a theme that recurred throughout their films, that of the almost mystical love of Britain by foreigners, which was intensified in the crucible of war.
Anyway, a fascinating film, and one which had a special resonance in the week in which the BBC explored the impact of the torrent of immigration, notably from Eastern Europe, on British society, in their White Season.
Anyway, to cut a long story short, he met Michael Powell, the film director, and the rest is history. The pair, with Powell directing, and Pressburger's scripts, called their partnership the Archers, and were responsible for several landmark British films, such as A Matter of Life and Death, I Know Where I'm Going, The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp and Black Narcissus, among many others.
McDonald's film focused on his early life, and how he found sanctuary in Britain, eventually developing a deep love of Britain and becomeing 'more British than the British'. Many of his films, notably Colonel Blimp, touch on this theme, and Anton Walbrook, who plays the German soldier who flees Nazism in the Thirties, embodies the deep affection for, and admiration of, British culture which Pressburger learned to love so much. Walbrook played another gentle German in the Archers' 49th Parallel, and this was a theme that recurred throughout their films, that of the almost mystical love of Britain by foreigners, which was intensified in the crucible of war.
Anyway, a fascinating film, and one which had a special resonance in the week in which the BBC explored the impact of the torrent of immigration, notably from Eastern Europe, on British society, in their White Season.
Wednesday 12 March 2008
Before Sunrise/Before Sunset
I rented both these films from Amazon because they were directed by Richard Linklater, an interesting director, and I was intrigued by the concept. I didn't know too much about them, only that they both starred Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy, and they played the same characters in each film. But that was about all.
Anyway, I was enchanted by them both. Before Sunrise is the first; released in 1995. Two young people, Jesse, an American (Ethan Hawke), and Celine (Julie Delpy), a French student, meet accidentally on a train, somewhere in Central Europe. They form an instant connection, and spend a magical night together, wandering round Vienna, talking, and making love in a park. They promise to meet again in 6 months time.
Before Sunset takes place nearly 10 years later - Jesse's become a successful writer, and is doing a book signing in Paris which Celine attends. They re-establish their connection almost right away, but they've changed and a lot has happened. Jesse has a wife and son, and Celine has become a fiercely independent political activist. Jesse has an hour before he leaves for the airport to catch his plane back to the US and the film is played almost in real time as they wander around Paris. They end up at Celine's flat and the film ends abruptly, so we never know whether Jesse catches his plane.
Before Sunrise brought back vivid memories of nights when I'd gone with friends to a gig in London and ended up wandering round empty streets, or sitting in deserted Golden Eggs, killing time waiting for the milk train back home. In your late teens/early twenties life is experienced vividly, viscerally, and when one remembers, one re-experiences, feels again. And this is what I experienced when watching this film - I re-felt my feelings, if that makes sense. It wasn't that the film described my experiences, but it made me feel the ones I'd had over again. The joyful. heady experience of meeting someone, making a connection so strong you feel you'll never have that again was there in this film. That's another thing I know about. That there's something intensely pleasurable as well as heartbreaking about parting from someone with whom you've had a brief but intense experience, when you know that you will not, cannot, meet again. When Jesse and Celine arrange to meet again in 6 months they don't quite do enough to make sure their relationship will endure. They don't exchange phone numbers or addresses, so when Jesse turns up, but Celine can't because of the sudden death of her grandmother (so she says) they have no way of getting on touch. it's as if they have arranged for their encounter to remain perfect, preserved in time.
So when they meet again in Before Sunset, it's again accidental (sort of), and it's clear that the connection is still there, but things are more complicated now, as they are in one's 30s. Jesse's marriage is failing, and Celine, while leading an active, busy, committed life has what is clearly a semi-detached and confusing relationship with a photographer. The walls are closing in on them, and this is what life does to you as you age. The absence of resolution at the end is absolutely correct, that's what life is like, and the film makes much more of the simple pleasures of things like having a coffee in a cafe. Their brief sexual relationship is less important than their conversations; about love, loss, loneliness, memory. In the first film they meet a street palm-reader who tells Celine 'You must resign yourselves to the awkwardness of life'. Sometimes we meet the love of our lives but we cannot spend our lives with them. And we spend our lives with people who disappoint.
The thing about the films is that they tell the truth - few of us are writers or activist, or live in Paris, but they are about life as it is lived - messy, complcated, uneven, full of joys, sorrows, pleasure and disappointment. The ending is perfect - Jesse picks out a CD from Celine's shelves. It's Edith Piaf, and he puts it on the player. Celine starts to sing along, impersonating Piaf. I can't really do proper justice to the scene - it's just beautiful.
These are two films I know I'll watch over and over again - I don't often find many I'm prepared to actually buy, but these two I will.
Anyway, I was enchanted by them both. Before Sunrise is the first; released in 1995. Two young people, Jesse, an American (Ethan Hawke), and Celine (Julie Delpy), a French student, meet accidentally on a train, somewhere in Central Europe. They form an instant connection, and spend a magical night together, wandering round Vienna, talking, and making love in a park. They promise to meet again in 6 months time.
Before Sunset takes place nearly 10 years later - Jesse's become a successful writer, and is doing a book signing in Paris which Celine attends. They re-establish their connection almost right away, but they've changed and a lot has happened. Jesse has a wife and son, and Celine has become a fiercely independent political activist. Jesse has an hour before he leaves for the airport to catch his plane back to the US and the film is played almost in real time as they wander around Paris. They end up at Celine's flat and the film ends abruptly, so we never know whether Jesse catches his plane.
Before Sunrise brought back vivid memories of nights when I'd gone with friends to a gig in London and ended up wandering round empty streets, or sitting in deserted Golden Eggs, killing time waiting for the milk train back home. In your late teens/early twenties life is experienced vividly, viscerally, and when one remembers, one re-experiences, feels again. And this is what I experienced when watching this film - I re-felt my feelings, if that makes sense. It wasn't that the film described my experiences, but it made me feel the ones I'd had over again. The joyful. heady experience of meeting someone, making a connection so strong you feel you'll never have that again was there in this film. That's another thing I know about. That there's something intensely pleasurable as well as heartbreaking about parting from someone with whom you've had a brief but intense experience, when you know that you will not, cannot, meet again. When Jesse and Celine arrange to meet again in 6 months they don't quite do enough to make sure their relationship will endure. They don't exchange phone numbers or addresses, so when Jesse turns up, but Celine can't because of the sudden death of her grandmother (so she says) they have no way of getting on touch. it's as if they have arranged for their encounter to remain perfect, preserved in time.
So when they meet again in Before Sunset, it's again accidental (sort of), and it's clear that the connection is still there, but things are more complicated now, as they are in one's 30s. Jesse's marriage is failing, and Celine, while leading an active, busy, committed life has what is clearly a semi-detached and confusing relationship with a photographer. The walls are closing in on them, and this is what life does to you as you age. The absence of resolution at the end is absolutely correct, that's what life is like, and the film makes much more of the simple pleasures of things like having a coffee in a cafe. Their brief sexual relationship is less important than their conversations; about love, loss, loneliness, memory. In the first film they meet a street palm-reader who tells Celine 'You must resign yourselves to the awkwardness of life'. Sometimes we meet the love of our lives but we cannot spend our lives with them. And we spend our lives with people who disappoint.
The thing about the films is that they tell the truth - few of us are writers or activist, or live in Paris, but they are about life as it is lived - messy, complcated, uneven, full of joys, sorrows, pleasure and disappointment. The ending is perfect - Jesse picks out a CD from Celine's shelves. It's Edith Piaf, and he puts it on the player. Celine starts to sing along, impersonating Piaf. I can't really do proper justice to the scene - it's just beautiful.
These are two films I know I'll watch over and over again - I don't often find many I'm prepared to actually buy, but these two I will.
Thursday 6 March 2008
There Will Be Blood
What an amazing film! I've just been to see it - I'd read all the reviews, and of course Daniel Day Lewis was awarded Best Actor Oscar and BAFTA for his performance, so I knew I should expect something special, but this film exceeded all my expectations.
Several of the reviews threw down a gauntlet - 'reinventing the language of cinema', said Mark Kermode on Radio 5Live; it has 'overshot the runway of movie modernity with something thrillingly, dangerously new', said Peter Bradshaw in the Guardian; 'in its imaginative scope and its delirious, almost demented ambition, as bold a film as has been made in recent years', said Sukhev Sandhu in the Telegraph.
Whew! I couldn't wait (although I had to for a couple of weeks), but finally got there this evening. Although it's a long film - 2 & three-quarter hours, and I was tired, I was riveted throughout. Daniel Day-Lewis is astonishing and fully deserves his Oscar. It's funny, watching him just after seeing Olivier in Richard III I realised that he has what Olivier had - the ability to make you watch him. It's extreme acting, acting taken to its furthest limits - you can't believe he can go as far as he does , and then he goes even further.
The film makes demands on its audience, another bonus. My favourite films are the ones that make you work. And it means that I'll need to see it again. I went with one son, and another son wants to see it. They don't drive and cars are necessary to get to the multiplex. Anyway, it means I have a nice excuse to go to the movies.
So I'll do another post after I've seen it a second time - Kermode recommended seeing it 3 times and why not? I haven't seen a film 3 times for a while - the last was Volver in 2006 so it's about time......
Several of the reviews threw down a gauntlet - 'reinventing the language of cinema', said Mark Kermode on Radio 5Live; it has 'overshot the runway of movie modernity with something thrillingly, dangerously new', said Peter Bradshaw in the Guardian; 'in its imaginative scope and its delirious, almost demented ambition, as bold a film as has been made in recent years', said Sukhev Sandhu in the Telegraph.
Whew! I couldn't wait (although I had to for a couple of weeks), but finally got there this evening. Although it's a long film - 2 & three-quarter hours, and I was tired, I was riveted throughout. Daniel Day-Lewis is astonishing and fully deserves his Oscar. It's funny, watching him just after seeing Olivier in Richard III I realised that he has what Olivier had - the ability to make you watch him. It's extreme acting, acting taken to its furthest limits - you can't believe he can go as far as he does , and then he goes even further.
The film makes demands on its audience, another bonus. My favourite films are the ones that make you work. And it means that I'll need to see it again. I went with one son, and another son wants to see it. They don't drive and cars are necessary to get to the multiplex. Anyway, it means I have a nice excuse to go to the movies.
So I'll do another post after I've seen it a second time - Kermode recommended seeing it 3 times and why not? I haven't seen a film 3 times for a while - the last was Volver in 2006 so it's about time......
Wednesday 5 March 2008
Richard III
I've just been watching the 1955 film version of Shakespeare's Richard III, directed by, and starring Laurence Olivier as Richard. I taped it off Channel 4 years ago, and it's the on the first of my vast collection of videos of films, with the odd interesting documentary filling in gaps. I thought I'd go through them and watch them all, a bit of an undertaking, and probably a bit sad, you may say, but never mind, I do that sort of thing.
Anyway, it made fascinating viewing. I'd forgotten what an amazing, incredible actor Olivier was. As soon as he appears your eyes are riveted to him. He compels your attention. he acts with his whole body and becomes the character. His Richard is often seen today as a caricature, but he made him real, not just a mouthpiece for Shakespeare's language. And he was funny - I found myself smiling throughout. He brought the language to life. The only other actor who came near him was Ralph Richardson's Buckingham - the others were stereotypical old-school act-ors.
The most recent Richard I'd seen was Al Pacino in Looking for Richard, documenting Pacino's quest to play Richard. I loved it; and saw it twice. Pacino was a superb Richard and did what Olivier did - brought him to life. Another revelation was Kevin Spacey, who Pacino hired to play Buckingham, and he gave him a menacing, scary depth which I'd never seen before. Both Americans made a creditable attempt at speaking the language - it's not easy; if it's not done well Shakespeare remains impenetrable.
Good diction is essential as well. Olivier's was, of course, impeccable, as was everyone else's - it used to be taught properly, and Pacino and Spacey were fine. But too many of today's actors are impossible to understand becuse they don't speak clearly enough. I didn't need subtitles to watch my ancient video recording, but I have to switch them on too often these days.
It's funny, but leaving aside the obvious advantages of DVD, the picture and sound quality, the extras, the availability of subtitles, video still has certain things in its favour, mainly the ease with which you can pause and stop, then go and do something, then pick up where you left off. You can do this with DVD to a certain extent, but then it switches off after a while and you have to go through the rigmarole of finding the scene again. At least you have to with my DVD player.
Videos may be clunky, and take up a lot of room, but they're durable, and simple. And I won't be getting rid of all mine by any means - there's too much precious, irreplaceable stuff on them.
Anyway, it made fascinating viewing. I'd forgotten what an amazing, incredible actor Olivier was. As soon as he appears your eyes are riveted to him. He compels your attention. he acts with his whole body and becomes the character. His Richard is often seen today as a caricature, but he made him real, not just a mouthpiece for Shakespeare's language. And he was funny - I found myself smiling throughout. He brought the language to life. The only other actor who came near him was Ralph Richardson's Buckingham - the others were stereotypical old-school act-ors.
The most recent Richard I'd seen was Al Pacino in Looking for Richard, documenting Pacino's quest to play Richard. I loved it; and saw it twice. Pacino was a superb Richard and did what Olivier did - brought him to life. Another revelation was Kevin Spacey, who Pacino hired to play Buckingham, and he gave him a menacing, scary depth which I'd never seen before. Both Americans made a creditable attempt at speaking the language - it's not easy; if it's not done well Shakespeare remains impenetrable.
Good diction is essential as well. Olivier's was, of course, impeccable, as was everyone else's - it used to be taught properly, and Pacino and Spacey were fine. But too many of today's actors are impossible to understand becuse they don't speak clearly enough. I didn't need subtitles to watch my ancient video recording, but I have to switch them on too often these days.
It's funny, but leaving aside the obvious advantages of DVD, the picture and sound quality, the extras, the availability of subtitles, video still has certain things in its favour, mainly the ease with which you can pause and stop, then go and do something, then pick up where you left off. You can do this with DVD to a certain extent, but then it switches off after a while and you have to go through the rigmarole of finding the scene again. At least you have to with my DVD player.
Videos may be clunky, and take up a lot of room, but they're durable, and simple. And I won't be getting rid of all mine by any means - there's too much precious, irreplaceable stuff on them.
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