I went to see Of Time and the City recently, directed and narrated by Terence Davies. It's his paen to the Liverpool of his childhood, and was received with great acclaim at Cannes in the summer.
I went with a group of friends, one of whom was someone who'd grown up in Liverpool at around the same time, the post-WWII period. He was deeply moved by the film, appreciating Davies's grasp of Liverpool, not as a geographical entity, but as a place of imagination and feeling. I feel very much the same about Oxford - the place where you grew up becomes part of your DNA, a place that you feel rather than see. I visited Oxford a couple of years ago - the first time for quite a while. I'd left at the age of 32, after spending virtually my whole life there, and had only returned a few times, but walking round the streets of the city, it was as if I knew every paving stone, every brick in the wall. Even though much in the city has changed beyond recognition, everything is still there, not just in my memory, but in my unconscious, in every fibre of my being.
So I recognised where Davies was coming from, and so did my friend. On Mark Kermode's film review slot on Radio 5, he talked about the torrent of mail he'd received after he'd praised the film to the skies the other week. Many people had gone to see it after hearing his recommendation, but had ended up bored, or hating it. Though there were some who'd loved it. Davies's voice was a problem for some, and it's not a normal one - like other Liverpudlians he had elocution lessons (Beryl Bainbridge is another) as the L'pool accent was seen as a massive handicap before the Beatles came along and made it fashionable. So his voice is fruity and posh, with an acerbic, but yearning tone which encapsulated the act of memory, of return, of looking back, perfectly
The film is a collection of found footage woven together to form a tapestry of Liverpool then and now. And that's basically it, though I cannot overemphasise that it's actually much, much more. I will certainly buy the DVD when it's released as I think it will be a film that I'll return to over and over again. Thank you, Terence
Saturday 29 November 2008
Tuesday 25 November 2008
Dylan again
I watched my videos of the BBC's collection of programmes they screened a few years ago the other day (I think they're from about 2005). I watched them when they were first shown, and I taped them all as I knew I'd want to see them again. The first was Martin Scorsese's No Direction Home which one of my sons has on DVD and I'd borrowed it from him a few months ago. but I couldn't resist seeing it yet again for the third time.
Here is an artist at the height of his powers, but who's clearly realised that everything's beginning to get out of control. I was struck this time by how acutely intelligent and perceptive Dylan is during this period (early-mid-60s). It's as if he has a kind of X-Ray vision and sees stuff no-one else can. He's a sponge, and soaks up everything that's going on around him. No Direction Home is interspersed with snippets of recent interviews with him and he's at great pains to tell us, as he has done throughout his life that he has no interest in politics or attitudes, or opinions. This was horribly at odds with 60s attitudes, and got him into much hot water as he repeatedly came up against people who wanted him to be their spokesman and a mouthpiece.
Dave van Ronk says in No Direction that he somehow tapped into the collective unconscious of the early 60s and could see that there was a fundamental sea-change going on (as evidenced by his famous 'something is happening and you don't know what it is, do you, Mr Jones?'). He was a cultural magpie, and his endlessly fertile brain soaked up everything around him like a sponge. This, together with his fascinatiopn with words, and their power, enabled him to produce epics like Hard Rain in which vast spaces and distances open up - giving us new visions with a myhtic, epic quality that have never been surpassed.
Tambourine Man was a kind of catalyst (it certainly was for me). Its wild, poetry took off into the stratosphere, taking us young folks who were ready and waiting with it, giving us a feeling that there wasn't anything that we weren't capable of. His quicksilver mind always outwitted the clumsy preconceptions of his interviewers, who were left trailing in his wake of his fierce intelligence.
There's wonderful footage of his performance at Newport in 1965 with the Paul Butterfield Band. The coruscating guitar of Mike Bloomfield begins Maggie's Farm, and in a way, it's even more cataclysmic than his later stuff with the Band. Boos and jeers ring out, and people who were there queue up to try and distance themselves from the hatred and rancour that greeted him. Few are prepared to admit now how much they loathed it all.
I remember clearly hearing Like a Rolling Stone for the first time and feel privileged to have been able to do so. It was on Radio Luxembourg, with its dodgy reception and Horace Batchelor
ads. What a time that was! To me, it remains his greatest period - Bringing it All Back Home, Highway 61 and Blonde on Blonde. His motorcycle accident happened soon after, but he was still able to produce the magisterial John Wesley Harding. Then something happened - and out came the dismal Nashville Skyline and although I dutifully bought it, Dylan was never the same for me.
I've just started reading Greil Marcus' Invisible Republic, about the Basement Tapes, so perhaps that'll shed some light. I'll post more when I've finished.
Anyway, No Direction is a wonderful picture of an artist at the height of his powers and Dylan has atremendous chronicler of his life in Scorsese. More please!
Here is an artist at the height of his powers, but who's clearly realised that everything's beginning to get out of control. I was struck this time by how acutely intelligent and perceptive Dylan is during this period (early-mid-60s). It's as if he has a kind of X-Ray vision and sees stuff no-one else can. He's a sponge, and soaks up everything that's going on around him. No Direction Home is interspersed with snippets of recent interviews with him and he's at great pains to tell us, as he has done throughout his life that he has no interest in politics or attitudes, or opinions. This was horribly at odds with 60s attitudes, and got him into much hot water as he repeatedly came up against people who wanted him to be their spokesman and a mouthpiece.
Dave van Ronk says in No Direction that he somehow tapped into the collective unconscious of the early 60s and could see that there was a fundamental sea-change going on (as evidenced by his famous 'something is happening and you don't know what it is, do you, Mr Jones?'). He was a cultural magpie, and his endlessly fertile brain soaked up everything around him like a sponge. This, together with his fascinatiopn with words, and their power, enabled him to produce epics like Hard Rain in which vast spaces and distances open up - giving us new visions with a myhtic, epic quality that have never been surpassed.
Tambourine Man was a kind of catalyst (it certainly was for me). Its wild, poetry took off into the stratosphere, taking us young folks who were ready and waiting with it, giving us a feeling that there wasn't anything that we weren't capable of. His quicksilver mind always outwitted the clumsy preconceptions of his interviewers, who were left trailing in his wake of his fierce intelligence.
There's wonderful footage of his performance at Newport in 1965 with the Paul Butterfield Band. The coruscating guitar of Mike Bloomfield begins Maggie's Farm, and in a way, it's even more cataclysmic than his later stuff with the Band. Boos and jeers ring out, and people who were there queue up to try and distance themselves from the hatred and rancour that greeted him. Few are prepared to admit now how much they loathed it all.
I remember clearly hearing Like a Rolling Stone for the first time and feel privileged to have been able to do so. It was on Radio Luxembourg, with its dodgy reception and Horace Batchelor
ads. What a time that was! To me, it remains his greatest period - Bringing it All Back Home, Highway 61 and Blonde on Blonde. His motorcycle accident happened soon after, but he was still able to produce the magisterial John Wesley Harding. Then something happened - and out came the dismal Nashville Skyline and although I dutifully bought it, Dylan was never the same for me.
I've just started reading Greil Marcus' Invisible Republic, about the Basement Tapes, so perhaps that'll shed some light. I'll post more when I've finished.
Anyway, No Direction is a wonderful picture of an artist at the height of his powers and Dylan has atremendous chronicler of his life in Scorsese. More please!
Monday 10 November 2008
The Leopard
I watched this film twice (my latest DVD rental) - I'd always wanted to see it but had never managed it so finally caught up with it. I'd long had a fascination with Italian cinema ever since I did an Open University course in post-war French and Italian society which had a substantial component on Italian neo-realist film.
Visconti was an especially interesting character - a Marxist, homosexual aristocrat who made one of the earliest neo-realist films, Ossessione. We were sent a video with various film clips as part of the study pack and there were several clips from Ossessione, but I soon obtained it on video, and even went to see it at the cinema a few years ago. I can't remember why it was on, but there was a one-off screening at the Watershed one Sunday afternoon, so I couldn't possibly miss that. It had become one of my favourite films - gritty, in black-and-white, it depicted the underside of Italian society for the first time ever. It was made during Mussolini's regime - I don't know how Visconti managed it, but it was an act of great courage. He went on to make La Terra Trema a seminal film in the neo-realist canon, but post-war, his career path followed a highly individual trajectory.
The Leopard was released in 1963 and by then Visconti was making large-scale epics about Italian history, notably Rocco and his Brothers in 1960, which I remember my father going to see on his own. It was about a family of boxers (my father was a huge boxing fan) and of course it had subtitles. Dad's hearing had been damaged in the war, so the subtitles made a huge difference. He didn't go to the cinema much, so this must have been pretty special for him, though I have no idea what he made of the film.
Senso, which was set in the mid-19th century, dealt with the Italian aristocracy, a subject of which Visconti had a feeling for, and knowledge of which was unsurpassed. I haven't seen Senso, so it'll go straight on to my rental list. Later he made The Damned which was about the German upper classes' complicity with Nazism, and starred Dirk Bogarde. I did see that a long time ago, but my appetite has been whetted so that'll go on the list as well.
The Leopard was graced by Burt Lancaster in the leading role as Prince Don Fabrizio Salina, the head of a decaying Sicilian family, buffeted by Garibaldi's revolution. I written about Lancaster before, and although he's dubbed here, his presence illuminates the film from begininng to end. Dubbing is perfectly normal in Italian cinema, even Italian dialogue is often dubbed for Italians, so it doesn't really seem out of place. It does enable actors such as Lancaster, Bogarde, and Alain Delon, another Visconti favourite who features here, to feature quite comfortably in Italian films. Anyway, Lancaster's performance is masterly. His character knows and accepts that he and his class are doomed to pass away, and the final scene, in which Salina leaves the grandiose ball alone, on foot, leaving everyone else to drive off in ther carriages, and slowly wanders the darkened streets, stopping and quitely genuflecting as a religious procession passes by, manages to be deeply moving. I can't possibly explain why - Lancaster's in long shot, the camera's withdrawing and letting the action unfold - but after nearly 3 hours in his company, both he and Visconti have managed to make us care about him.
It's full of glorious set pieces, the centrepiece the ballroom scene at the end which is a full 40 minutes. I suppose many would consider it goes on for far too long, but it lets us in to the heart and soul of Sicilian society - magnificent.
I must mention the music. Visconti uses music a great deal, in fact his films are operatic. It's yearning and emotional, and pretty old-fashioned. I loved it - it's elegaic, emotional and full of longing and sadness. It's by Nino Rota, who was responsible for the music for The Godfather. I can imagine it wouldn't be to everyone's taste, but it's a perfect marriage of sound and vision.
Italian cinema nosedived in the 1970s but appears to be on the brink of a resurgence - ;et's hope so, the Italians have a rich cinematic tradition. Meanwhile I'll revisit some of its greatest hits.
Visconti was an especially interesting character - a Marxist, homosexual aristocrat who made one of the earliest neo-realist films, Ossessione. We were sent a video with various film clips as part of the study pack and there were several clips from Ossessione, but I soon obtained it on video, and even went to see it at the cinema a few years ago. I can't remember why it was on, but there was a one-off screening at the Watershed one Sunday afternoon, so I couldn't possibly miss that. It had become one of my favourite films - gritty, in black-and-white, it depicted the underside of Italian society for the first time ever. It was made during Mussolini's regime - I don't know how Visconti managed it, but it was an act of great courage. He went on to make La Terra Trema a seminal film in the neo-realist canon, but post-war, his career path followed a highly individual trajectory.
The Leopard was released in 1963 and by then Visconti was making large-scale epics about Italian history, notably Rocco and his Brothers in 1960, which I remember my father going to see on his own. It was about a family of boxers (my father was a huge boxing fan) and of course it had subtitles. Dad's hearing had been damaged in the war, so the subtitles made a huge difference. He didn't go to the cinema much, so this must have been pretty special for him, though I have no idea what he made of the film.
Senso, which was set in the mid-19th century, dealt with the Italian aristocracy, a subject of which Visconti had a feeling for, and knowledge of which was unsurpassed. I haven't seen Senso, so it'll go straight on to my rental list. Later he made The Damned which was about the German upper classes' complicity with Nazism, and starred Dirk Bogarde. I did see that a long time ago, but my appetite has been whetted so that'll go on the list as well.
The Leopard was graced by Burt Lancaster in the leading role as Prince Don Fabrizio Salina, the head of a decaying Sicilian family, buffeted by Garibaldi's revolution. I written about Lancaster before, and although he's dubbed here, his presence illuminates the film from begininng to end. Dubbing is perfectly normal in Italian cinema, even Italian dialogue is often dubbed for Italians, so it doesn't really seem out of place. It does enable actors such as Lancaster, Bogarde, and Alain Delon, another Visconti favourite who features here, to feature quite comfortably in Italian films. Anyway, Lancaster's performance is masterly. His character knows and accepts that he and his class are doomed to pass away, and the final scene, in which Salina leaves the grandiose ball alone, on foot, leaving everyone else to drive off in ther carriages, and slowly wanders the darkened streets, stopping and quitely genuflecting as a religious procession passes by, manages to be deeply moving. I can't possibly explain why - Lancaster's in long shot, the camera's withdrawing and letting the action unfold - but after nearly 3 hours in his company, both he and Visconti have managed to make us care about him.
It's full of glorious set pieces, the centrepiece the ballroom scene at the end which is a full 40 minutes. I suppose many would consider it goes on for far too long, but it lets us in to the heart and soul of Sicilian society - magnificent.
I must mention the music. Visconti uses music a great deal, in fact his films are operatic. It's yearning and emotional, and pretty old-fashioned. I loved it - it's elegaic, emotional and full of longing and sadness. It's by Nino Rota, who was responsible for the music for The Godfather. I can imagine it wouldn't be to everyone's taste, but it's a perfect marriage of sound and vision.
Italian cinema nosedived in the 1970s but appears to be on the brink of a resurgence - ;et's hope so, the Italians have a rich cinematic tradition. Meanwhile I'll revisit some of its greatest hits.
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