Accident

I watched Accident the other day - a British film directed by Joseph Losey and released in 1967 and now vanished into the cinematic ether. I'd videotaped it years ago but had never watched it, so was catching up.
I remember going to see it when it was first released (I used to see practically everything in those days) but hadn't seen it since, so it was an intriguing experience, rather like revisiting the scenes of one's childhood. I can't remember what certificate it was, but I obviously managed to get in without any problems if it was an X. I do remember that it was a pretty notorious film at the time, with its sex scenes, and 'permissive' (in the parlance of the time) attitudes, and of course it featured Dirk Bogarde and Stanley Baker, both 'A' list British actors who were attempting to reinvent themselves after a decade or so making endless war movies, and in Bogarde's case, Fifties froth such as Doctor in the House. Part of this process involved working for Losey, for whom both he and Baker had already worked. Losey, an American, was a director of some distinction, who had come to Britain after being blacklisted by Joseph McCarthy, and, after starting with potboilers, proceeded to make films which became increasingly more complex and intriguing as the British Sixties film boom took hold.
The 60s saw the beginnings of the sexual revolution, which was depicted in films as consisting of predatory men and submissive and available women. Accident was no exception, though it did take a more nuanced view, showing Bogarde as tormented and confused by women, and the Baker character as opportunistic and callous.
Seeing the film now was a strange experience. I can't remember what I thought of it in the 60s, but this time I found it brought up a great many memories. I think it's the Oxford setting that did it - it caught the atmosphere of the time perfectly. Claustrophobic, with beautiful women, pretending to be enigmatic by whom one always felt threatened. It somehow captured the feeling of the period - I found myself remembering long-forgotten parties in sprawling suburban houses I'd never been to on the edge of Oxford. We'd hear there was something going on - that someone's parents were away, we'd all pile in someone's Morris Minor and rush off to God knows where for a party which almost invariably turned out to be a disappointment.
I suppose that's what adolescence is all about - excitement, uncertainty and let-down. You thrive on the rush, the buzz and it doesn't matter really about the outcome, though occasionly you'd get lucky, and meet someone, or actually have a good time.
Anyway, it really is a peculiar little film. It was obviously made pretty cheaply, but Losey makes the most of what he's got. There are several long takes of Bogarde's country house scattered throughout the film, and there's a rather unsettling lack of music, I suppose the cinemtic equivalent of Pinter's famous silences.
An interesting experience. People get all nostalgic about the 60s, but not me. I prefer the 70s, that supposedly God-forsaken decade. I was older, happier, wiser - and the music was better!

Nick Cave

Nick Cave is someone I've always been aware of , yet I've only got into his music relatively recently. I watched a compilation of his appearances on Jools Holland's Later the other day and it was fascinating to see the way in which he's evolved over the years. The earliest performances were from around 1990, when he would have been in his early 30s, and the most recent in March this year, so there was nearly 20 years to look at and appreciate.
He has certainly, unlike many musicians, become rougher round the edges as he's got older - his performing style is pretty deranged nowadays. The 50-year-old Cave is a true original, wild and woolly, and his recent garage-band album, Grinderman, and his latest, Dig, Lazurus, Dig, are albums I'll certainly be getting as soon as possible. I think my musical taste is evolving along a similar trajectory.
He's open about his insistence on dying his hair a stern and uncompromising black, has a fearsome moustache, and often dresses in an un-popstar-like suit and tie. He has an extensive online presence, with personal websites and a MySpace page which has several tracks available for listening. Films are something he's heavily involved in, doing the soundtrack for The Proposition and appearing in The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, a wonderful film, whose treatment at the hands of the distributors was nothing short of scandalous. (It appeared at the Watershed in Bristol for a couple of weeks, and that was that. Although Roger Deakins won an Oscar for his cinematography, it was shamefully neglected in all the other categories, in spite of it featuring Brad Pitt's finest performance to date - I could go on...).
I discovered from his Wikipedia site that one of his songs featured in Ascension, an X-Files episode. Apparently, although he doesn't watch much television, he's a fan of the show, which in my book, is a major badge of honour. (I'm a massive fan myself, and will be blogging soon on the subject). I could go on on - what is there not to like? He also writes and paints, but one of his most endearing features is his Australian nationality. In spite of the fact that he now lives in Brighton, he's very much an Aussie. His singing's a bit tuneless, and his 'dancing' is not great, but he's retained a punk sensibility, while becoming a fascinating personality, and a bit of a polymath.
Anway, he's a pretty recent discovery for me, so there's lots to look forward to as I discover his stuff.

In Search of the Midnight Kiss

I went to see this the other day, and enjoyed it very much. It's a tiny, low-budget film, made in black-and-white; very much in the mould of Before Sunrise/Before Sunset; clearly a major influence. 2 people, a young man and young women, meet up by chance on New Year's Eve, and wander the streets of Los Angeles all night. And that's basically it. It sounds simple, and it is, but it's a funny, touching picture of how people actually talk and behave, and how city streets actually are, not how they appear in movies.
Wilson, an impoverished and miserable aspiring screenwriter, posts a personal ad online, and meets up with Vivian, an aspiring actress on New Year's Eve. She's brash, challenging but beautiful, and they walk the streets of LA. There's plenty of funny, spiky dialogue, and I was able to enjoy my penchant for city streetscapes at night.
It gives us a very different view of the Los Angeles we know from TV and the movies - it's an unfamiliar LA, with small shops and grungy apartments. It shows us that ordinary people do live there, living ordinary non-Hollywood lives. It's not just a film set. This is underscored by a shot of the famous HOLLYWOOD letters up on the hills outside the city which pops up intermittently. There are no stars in this film, just people.
Anyway, it's a film which, in spite of its small scale, resonated. It's about something which concerns us all, and as the blurb which was handed out at the cinema tells us, 'the nature of romance in the age of texting, Facebook and MySpace'. But, as the blurb also noted, the film has 'a classic, timeless feel'. It mentions the cinematography - it's shot in black and white, which instantly gives it an extra edge, and disguises the low budget.
I loved it, and hope for more from this director. Very refreshing.

Sebastian Faulks

I've just finished a Sebastian Faulks marathon - I was lent a pile of his recent books and I read my way through them. I fancied reading them together to get a feel for his writing and style.

He's very much the popular writer of his age, but I detect in his more recent books, a desire to complicate and challenge. The actual content and themes of Human Traces and Engleby, his most recent books, although not at all difficult in terms of their style, were testing. Human Traces is concerned with the pre-history and germination of psychoanalysis, and it asks, implicitly, what if a different path had been taken? Freud isn't mentioned at all, yet his shadow hangs heavily over the book. The two protagonists, Thomas and Jacques, are striking out a path through the undergrowth of psychiatry in the late 19th century, but have no-one to guide them. It's an ambitious book, but not wholly successful, I thought. Faulks struggles with period settings and has trouble getting his characters to speak and behave as if they're actually living in the age into which they've been born. For example, Sonia, the main female character, can't help living speaking and breathing as a 21st century woman. Characters frequently employ modern vernacular and behaviour, and this made it difficult for me to be convinced by the book. Also Faulks has a rather literal, plodding style and sometimes you long for a poetic passage, but that's not his forte at all, so he sensibly steers clear.
Engleby was better, I thought, as it was set in the 1970s and 80s, a period though which Faulks has actually lived himself, so the book was much more convincing, though it still didn't stay with me after I'd finished it. He's not much good at narrative, and I felt both books meandered, and lacked a real focus. His books don't really satisfy, and don't linger long in the memory. I feel as if I've just munched on a Kit-Kat rather than a few squares of Green and Black's.
The Fatal Englishman was better. It's non-fiction for a start, the stories of three young men who lived in the 20th century and died prematurely for various reasons after living lives of great promise. I enjoyed the last one most, the story of Jeremy Wolfenden, the young gay man who died just before homosexuality became legal. Yet again, though, the books didn't stay with me for long, and failed to be truly memorable.
I don't know, perhaps it's just me getting old. Maybe my brain is less receptive. I'm going to go back to reading Jane Austen and the Brontes soon to test myself against the classics.

We Are Together

I went to see We Are Together last week, a film about a children's choir in an orphanage in a South African township. It's an inspiring story, and very moving; the children are mostly AIDS orphans, and the film follows their progress as they overcome all sorts of difficulties, most of which would be unimaginable to Western children.
In the course of the film, Slindile, who turns out to be a wonderful singer, suffers the death of her older brother from AIDS whhich has already carried off her parents. You get to see her sorrow, resignation, but also incredible powers of endurance, as she eventually gets to New York, along with the others from the orphanage, to perform with Paul Simon and Alysha Keys.
It's a feel-good film and has been criticised for it, but I can't see that it's anything but inspirational. We are far too complacent about the little frustrations and hardships that come our way, and although there's not a lot we can do about global poverty and AIDS, its instructive to be reminded of out good fortune, and to know that we can, and must live more frugally and humbly.
Anyway, sermon over - it's an entertaining film, well put together. It was only on for a week in Bristol but the cinema was packed for the late-afternoon showing. Perhaps if the cinema chain had had a bit more faith more people would have seen it - it's the sort of word-of-mouth film that builds an audience a bit more slowly than distributers like, but can pack people in for weeks if they get the chance.

The Forsyte Saga

A friend has just lent me the boxed set of videos of the original 1967 BBC serialisation of the Forsyte Saga, and I've found myself completely hooked. Why? It's ancient telly, black and white, videotaped in cramped BBC studios. The hairstyles and costumes are antideluvian; a lot of work's gone into the costumes and set dressing, and I know that at the time it was considered an expensive production, but, by today's standards, the whole thing looks rickety and a bit makeshift. And then, there's the mid-60s hair and make-up, with the women looking like Chelsea dolly-birds in Victorian costume. Nearly everyone is clearly wearing an alarming wig - hairsprayed to death.
The concept of period authenticity was in its infancy in the mid-60s, but the Edwardian period was still a living memory to many, and there was an authenticity about the tone which seems remarkable these days. The actors knew how to speak Galsworthy's dialogue convincingly, which they don't today, so we now get lumbered with Edwardians speaking Estuary English in too may production. So the production may look pretty flakey, but it sounds brilliant, like a window on a lost world.
Anyway, I have to declare an interest - a few years ago I researched the serial as part of an academic thesis, so I know an awful lot about it, though I could only manage to get a video with the first 4 episodes so this is the first time I've been able to watch all 26 episodes.
I do remember watching it when it was first broadcast, as I was still a young teenager who was usually in on Sunday nights. I invariably had homework, which I always left until the last minute, and ended up doing it late on Sunday night, so watching The Forsyte Saga, in those long-ago pre-video days, was probably a good excuse for putting it off.
In spite of the clunkiness, then, it's compulsive viewing. The whole thing is basically a high-class soap opera, and in those days there wasn't any such thing so the novelty value was enormous. Each episode ended on a cliffhanger and the serial introduced compulsive viewing to the bulk of TV viewers. Soaps barely existed - Coronation Street and Z Cars had begun but this was different. Of course the original novel was a major blockbuster when it was published and there must have been many people still alive in 1967 who could remember its publication and knew the book well.
It was an astonishing world-wide success. I've seen documentation stored in the wonderful BBC Written Archive Centre which tell of it's extraordinary impact in, for example, both the US and Soviet Russia. Public events were postponed all over the world so that people could watch it, and audiences all over the world were enthralled.
It resurrected Kenneth More's career, which had slid downhill badly after his affair with Angela Douglas, many years younger, became public. His experience and charisma reminded audiences why he had been so popular and his presence was crucial to the success of the production. But it was Eric Porter's performance as Soames and Susan Hampshire as Fleur which captivated audiences.
Anyway, it still stands up, whereas the recent lavish ITV production a few years ago has sunk without trace. The 1967 production is now available on DVD and the reviews from punters on Amazon testify to its enduring quality. Old telly has become a cottage industry and I found a leaflet insert in my latest Radio Times which advertised tons of old series which can now be acquired in box sets. The old Forsyte Saga was listed, but not the new one - says it all....

Ken Loach

Ken Loach is another British director (see Mike Leigh) who stimulates ambivalent feelings in me. Why? He's a national treasure, a living legend etc.etc., but I've sometimes found myself hating his films, for their schematic politics, predictability and unsympathetic characters. No doubt he would argue that this is because he sets out to challenge preconceptions and that this is uncomfortable for people, but the problem is that I don't find his films challenging, but predictable.
But we're talking about ambivalence, and there's a lot to appreciate in Loach's films. His methods - using untried actors, some of whom have gone on to greater things, as well as household names, and his resolute independence are admirable. And this is the trouble - one admires Loach's films, but finds it hard to love them. I'm sure he would say he doesn't want to be loved, that's not what he does, but I'm thinking of films you want to see over and over again, because they're just so damn good, endlessly stimulating, leaving you wanting more. Loach's films, however, interesting and politically challenging, don't do this. Again, I'm sure that's not his intention, but it means I don't automatically rush out to go and see his films at the cinema, as I would, say, a Scorsese film.
I did go and see The Wind That Shakes the Barley; that was good, and certainly Loach's films have become more nuanced in recent years. There's always an overriding theme, though, that ordinary people are endlessly betrayed by those in power and always will be. I find there's a deep pessimism at the heart of Loach's films, even when there's an ostensible message of hope. Betrayal is inevitable.
This was most strongly expressed in Land and Freedom. It was my most recent rental from Amazon - I'd never seen it, and had always wanted to, so decided that it was about time I caught up with it. It was the first (I think) of Loach's ventures into history, as he decided to address the Spanish Civil War. This is pretty much virgin territory for filmmakers, scandalously, really, as it's a fascinating subject, full of possibilities. Perhaps it's because it's not a straightforwardly simple situation, the various factions, and, of course, there are large helpings of betrayal.
George Orwell's Homage to Catalonia is the only book I can think of by someone who was actually there, and, Loach's film has prompted me to revisit it, so I'll be catching up on it soon, digging out my old, faded, Penguin copy. Orwell joined the POUM, the anarchist grouping who were shafted by the Communists, and Land and Freedom focuses on a band of POUM members. They're a feisty bunch, and there's an American fighting with them, and guess what? He's the one who argues that they need to join up with the Communists, that they're finished, and he does just that. You can see it all coming, and it's inevitable that it's an American who does it, not the noble working-class Liverpudlian, played by Ian Harte, whose story is at the heart of the film. The POUM members are passionate, and are a mixed bag of firebrands and more sober souls, but their hearts are in the right place. Of course, the Communist s, funded by Stalinist Russia, overwhelmed any outbursts of individuality in the Civil War, and they're a doomed little band of brothers. All is lost, but they go down nobly. I enjoyed it, but a Loach film is essentially a cerebral experience.
It's left me feeling that I must revisit his earlier stuff, but what I really want to see is his famous Days of Hope TV serial, firat broadcast in the late 1970s. I missed it when it was on, and, although it was celebrated at the time, it was extremely controversial, and has since sunk without trace. A DVD special edition is long overdue - come on BFI!