Sin Can Be Caught As Easily As The Plague: The Devils (1971)

I had real trouble picking out a quote for this particular film, because as is the case with this and Altered States, ashamedly the only other film by Ken Russell I have viewed, every bit of dialogue is delivered with a sense of the literary grandiose, made all the more so by it narratively existing in 17th century france, a place rife with religious issues that extend outward to include intense problems in regards to repression of sexuality and a variety of diseases spreading through the country, Ken Russell who taps into such excesses and oppressions with surgeon-like precision excels with the material here.  I am aware that one could certainly read The Devils as being antithetical to all things horror, the theme of the blog this month, and to a certain degree I would tend to agree, however, I am also of the split opinion that The Devils is wholly a work of horror filmmaking, existing in the genre more so than many of the films I have viewed this month that have purported themselves to be fully genre, particularly the atrociously misguided and ill-conceived Hostel.  Russell, who makes it a method of his to question the limitations of human nature in both physical terms and sensorial, managing to extend this movement through spatial and temporal awareness to include the very means by which cinema records such non-linear trips.  A work like The Devils is horrific, in the same way the work of Kubrick, Hitchcock or Jodorowsky are intensely so, never backing down from imagery that is confrontational and though notably surreal, never inconsequential.  I will admit that I was not fully involved with this film, at least in the same sense as I was with Altered States, but that is primarily due to the somewhat lackluster prints of the film currently made available, whose graininess and general lack of cleanliness for a release print can be somewhat off-putting, especially considering that this film is decidedly cinematic, relying on detailed compositions wherein depth of field factor heavily into the interpretations of characters acts and emotions in real and quantifiable ways.  The Devils is a cinematic experiences in the same vein as Salo, becoming a point of reference for later exploitation films, most notably School of the Holy Beast, but in the hands of Russell it manages to extend to its own discordant cinematic world.

The Devils focuses on a religious town in 17th century France overseen by Cardinal Richelieu (Christopher Logue) a leader hoping to convince a flamboyant Louis XIII (Graham Armitage) to change the fortifications of France as a means to destroy a Protestant power move while also assuring his own advance in power.  Louis agrees to these demands but makes special provisions for the town of Loudon, for which he promised protection to its late governor.  The town is now overseen by the well-respected, albeit sexually voracious priest Urbain Grandieur (Oliver Reed) who is the object of affection for woman both in the community and behind the convent walls longing to consummate a relationship with the priest.  Grandieur, undoubtedly aware of his sway, moves through Loudon using his power as a priest to seek confession with various women, eventually settling on marrying a woman named Madeleine (Gemma Jones), much to the frustration of Grandieur's former lover Sister Jeanne (Vanessa Redgrave) who mounts a religious uprising against Madeleine, wholly a result of her feelings as a scorned lover.  Meanwhile, indifferent to the demands on the part of Louis XIII to spare the city of Loudon, one of Richelieu's men arrives in the city of Loudon intent of overtaking its population.  In the wildness of all this, Grandieur's debauchery is brought to the attention of a higher ranking priest, who mounts an inquisition on the town of Loudon, specifically on the convent in which Sister Jeanne and others reside.  The head inquisitor Pierre Barre (Michael Gothard) arrives at the convent only to discover it in a state of absolute lunacy, complete with naked nuns, who are having sexual experiences atop a giant crucifix, while suggestively stroking sacramental candles.  In a false attempt at exorcism, Barre and the others reveal the false state of the possession, but also show the entire act of an exorcism to be equally performative leading to a divide within the groups resulting in the ability of the town to be overcome by Richelieu's men that much easier.  When Grandieur returns to the town, he is called up for heresy and put on trial, alleged to be in league with Satan and despite his refusal to confess to his sins, he is burned at the stake, leaving a lovelorn Madeleine to leave the space of the city, entering onto a literal long and winding road with only the company of skeletons hanging on pikes outside the city.

Russell, as a filmmaker, perhaps most closely associates with the work of Alejandro Jodorowsky, in so much as their films, while linear, are only so in very tangential cohesions. Take, for example, the relationship between the experiences of of Richelieu and Louis XIII in relation to Grandieur and the town of Loudon, to a degree they could exist outside of each other, both in a temporal and spatial sense, only really relating because the film denotes itself as a historically-based period piece.  Aside from this distinction, Russell takes as many liberties as he sees fit, moving between showing the most abject of experiences available from the time, whether it be the very real plagues facing the space of France in the 17th century, or the disturbingly oppressive ways in which gender was relegated within patriarchal constructs of the time.  Russell is not attempting to make a wholly disturbing and unwatchable critique of religious wars, but instead; clearly intends to play up the absurdity and frivolity of the entire occurrence, at times overlaying his film with zany music to give even a exorcism a layer of Felliniesque absurdity.  Perhaps the best element of Russell's approach to the period piece, is to accept that a blanket recreation would not drive home the theme of unchecked authority and gendered privilege, thus making a degree of his set and visuals indicative of something within a science-fiction framework, giving the high walls and evasive angles of buildings a certain feeling that Loudon is a microcosm of a large dystopia, decidedly true of this point in history.  At times the film feels as though it could be lifted right out of an Orwell novel, while in other instances one could imagine its visuals fitting nicely inside of Michel Foucault's discussions of panopticism.  Russell is a filmmaker aware of the craft of filmmaking as an inherently fallible craft, wherein other period pieces push and strive for authenticity, without accepting that their very existence rejects a truth of the past, Russell instead uses the space to directly comment upon how past events can draw parallels to current problems, whether it be the on-the-nose references to religious power and the Ku Klux Klan or a more clever suggestion that exoticization and desire thrust upon those in a space of religious piety are far from contemporary issues, everything is working in a constant state of dialogue. Russell, wants his film to be a historical reconsideration, after all most period pieces emerge at a time when their narratives are decidedly relational to contemporary issues, The Devils was such a case, although in a nearly prophetic manner it still proves equally pertinent almost fifty years later.

Key Scene:  The exorcism obviously, whether it be for its pulling from Dreyer or from Fellini, it still manages to be a decidedly unique vision from the world of Russell.

I would rent this film, not because it is bad, but because the print is not ideal.  Hopefully, it will be salvaged by BFI or Criterion into a cleaner print than what is currently made available.

2013 Summer Reading Classic Film Book Challenge (Book 2) British Cinema and the Cold War: The State, Propaganda and Consensus

I recall earlier on in my academic career giving a presentation on the image of Latin America in Hollywood from the forties through the seventies, which meant that I had to discuss the effect of Cold War ideology on a particular set of films released from the fifties through the sixties.  After I had completed my presentation a former professor of mine asked my thoughts on what "caused the Cold War" to which I do not recall my exact response, but I am certain it was something along the lines of suggesting that is impossible to pinpoint all the complexities of what started and to another degree what ended the war of ideals.  I figured that by entrenching myself behind the purely filmic I would never have to deal with such analysis, or could at least pass it off with vague indifference.  I used to think that, but then I read Tony Shaw's magnificent study of British cinema during the era titled British Cinema and the Cold War: The State, Propaganda and Consensus.  Where many historians will occasionally throw a piece of culture or two into their political breakdowns as a means to show that they are not stuffy intellectuals, Shaw does not bend under the pressures of historical exactitude and manages to draw out the necessary information about British involvement between East and West opposition.  Furthermore, when doing histories of cinema, it is often the case that the film historian working on the piece will make sweeping brush strokes about rather detailed historical moments, hoping that by doing so the reader will glean only enough to make their argument worthwhile.  Shaw does neither, he works with intimate care to assure that both the history and the cultural product receive an equal degree of mention, making sure to acknowledge the moments when an event led to a cultural product, just as he notes moments when a film, or a series of films lead to a political movement or were used in a propagandistic manner to affirm or discredit a cause.  I can say with absolute certainty that there is not a better text written about Cold War culture available and would even argue that Shaw's text stands to be one of the best works on history of film in general, holding such importance as Haskell's From Reverence to Rape or pretty much any text released by the late Roger Ebert.  Simply put, there are few texts with such cohesion as Shaw's, and it only helps that he choses absolutely enthralling films to discuss.

The Cold War and cinema does, admittedly, seem like a highly specialized topic and one that would be relevant to only those doing research.  Indeed, I came to it by the way of looking for information about masculinity in the era and while Shaw's book does not provide much in the way of that topic, it did prove quite informative in my understanding of studio systems, production and the process of British filmmaking that will invariably help me undertake at least two different imminent projects.  As noted earlier, this serves a hybrid text that intersects two areas of academia flawlessly allowing for unison to form.  When this is unsuccessful the result can be unflattering, as is the case with Jeremy Black's incredibly well-researched buy dry and unreadable The Politics of James Bond.  I would go so far as to suggest that Shaw's book is the ideal place to start if a person were interested in looking at the way in which politics influence film, regardless of era or locale.  Similarly, Shaw handles the equally complex topic of propaganda with such grace and poise that were it not for the seminal text by Edward Bernays I would say that this would be the place to begin such a quest for understanding.  Fortunately, even with his ability to attract the most general of readership, Shaw's text provides moments of insight and hidden gems for the more seasoned reader, tackling more experimental and non-mainstream texts alongside the important franchise works of the time, given brief but necessary credit to both the Carry On series, as well as James Bond.  Furthermore, in his understanding of the global nature of Cold War cinema, Shaw occasionally taps into the wealth of American films made during the time to draw upon ones that would extend metaphorically to Britain as well.  His reading of Dr. Strangelove is spot on and refreshing in comparison to its usual entrenchment within the psychoanalytic.  For those who have a preconceived notion of British cinema existing in a stuffy vaccuum of period piece melodramas and quip heavy comedies should take a glance at British Cinema and the Cold War, it will cause you not only to reconsider an entire nationhood's film history, but it will inspire you to branch your research beyond just the cinematic texts.

Best film discovery of the book:  While it is technically a rediscovery, because I know I watched it at least once as a kid, Shaw's discussion of the 1954 animated version of Animal Farm speaks to it as being one of the highlights of Cold War cinema, despite its seemingly specified audience.  A bit baffled by its inclusion, I decided to catch up with it only to realize that it is a creepy and thematically dark text that does wonders to metaphorically comment upon the Cold War, as well as existing as a solid adaptation.  You can find relatively cheap copies of the text readily available on Amazon, for which the cool cover helps.

After All, What Is Time? A Mere Tyranny: A Matter Of Life And Death (1946)

The idea of melodrama is something that has its grounding solidly within the romance genre and tends to branch out in minimal ways to other genres.  This is a pretty consistent thought about the stylistic choice, unless, of course, one is referring to the works of the beloved and highly influential masters of Technicolor Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, whose works are no stranger to this blog.  As I imagine most people did, I came to this duo via The Criterion Collection who have done an excellent job of bring many of their films to homes of cinephiles seeking out the most mesmerizing and stellar of movie experiences.  Yet, the film I had the joy of catching up with recently, their 1946 pseudo-war film A Matter of Life and Death, also known as Stairway to Heaven, has yet to receive the illustrious Criterion touch.  As such it went off of my radar for quite some time, but when I heard its mention first on an episode of Filmspotting regarding "romantic gestures in film" only to be followed by its inclusion as one of the hundreds of clips in the all-encompassing Story of Film miniseries, I knew that both its unique narrative and its visual style were something that I needed to witness.  Imagine, if you will, a film that has some of the grandly woven romantic offerings of the best World War II romance stories, but with the surrealist eye of Cocteau.  Moving perfectly between black and white and the Technicolor cinematography which made the duo famous, A Matter of Life and Death is serene, fantastical and easily one of the most artistic moments in all of cinema.  It is clear where other directors would draw heavy influence, whether it be the obvious borrowing by Wim Wenders for Wings of Desire or in more subtle ways for a variety of East Asian romance film.  A Matter of Life and Death, however, does not simply stop at looking amazing, it continues on to be a perfectly pitched story of sacrifice and acceptance of loss that is so masterfully acted it is really a surprise it has not received a larger awareness, because in some ways it is a better film than The Red Shoes or Black Narcissus, both of which are definitive masterpieces.  I have allowed myself almost a week to let the film wash over me to before I was certain, but I know definitively that this is my new favorite work within the romance genre.

A Matter of Life and Death begins in the midst of a sky fight between Axis planes and a handful of British pilots, most notably Peter Carter (David Niven) whose realization that he will inevitably be gunned down and die leads him to seek solace in the radio assistance of American woman June (Kim Hunter).  While he is initially playful with her reciting poetry and telling her she has a wonderful voice, the imminence of death lead to the two confessing their shared hopes for love.  Tragedy is not avoidable, however, and Peter's plane does crash.  This event is followed by a transferring of the narrative to the black and white world of what is assumedly the afterlife, where a variety of deceased figures deal with the incoming deaths, many of which are soldiers.  The bookkeeper, as well as one of Peter's fellow pilots note his absence, despite it being clear that he could not have survived the crash.  At this point Peter's assigned aide to the afterlife Conductor 71 (Marius Goring) admits to having missed grabbing him due to the thick British fog.  This realization then leads viewers back to Earth where a Peter who has survived his crash navigates the land, only to instantly run into, of all people, June.  The two seize the inconceivable occurrence as a sign to pursue their love, realizing quickly that their feelings are quite real.  Yet when Peter begins seeing visions of Conductor 71 and smelling fried onions, the concerned Doctor Reeves (Roger Livesey) steps in to help diagnose Peter's visions.  Reeves comes to the conclusion that Peter has suffered from serious head trauma that, if not treated, will result in his death.  This narrative in reality begins paralleling Peter's own experiences with Conductor 71 who says that he can be afforded a trial to justify his staying on Earth, one that allows him to pull from any person in the history of time to serve as his defendant, but it must happen in the upcoming hours, coincidentally at the exact same time as his surgery.  Finding it difficult to choose a counsel, Peter is hesitant, but when a motorcycle accident takes the life of Doctor Reeves he appears in the afterlife and reluctantly agrees to help Peter.  What unfolds after is a trial between Peter and the laws of the afterlife that transcends space and time, where he is to convince those in attendance that he should be allowed to pursue love that was allowed to blossom as a result of the miscalculation on the part of the conductor.  Heated and heavily semantical, Peter, along with the help of a brief dream induced visitation by June, convinces the jury of his deserved chance and the two are given their lives on Earth, where he survives his tricky surgery and the two are assumedly to live a long and love-filled life.

What makes A Matter of Life and Death both a great romance and an important moment in cinema is that it manages to take its subject matter and extend it to a large scope, considering not only what grounds a persons notions of love, but what causes a person in a different setting to have feelings of animosity.  We are shown the relationship between June and Peter as one entirely of adoration, that goes against the societal norms of British folks marrying one another and Americans staying within the states, although as history certainly showed, that was far from the case.  Similarly, the film analyzes the, then, deeply seeded resentment between some loyalist British and Americans as to their relationship to one another, despite fighting on the same side of a larger war that questioned the value of human life on a scale larger than mere nationality.  Powell and Pressburger manage to deal with the questions with a precise combination of levity and seriousness that shows how entrenched distrust can cause for sadness to more than a single person and, further, how the seeming simplicity of two persons and their shared love can extend well beyond their rather personal experiences.  By pulling from a wide net of historical narratives and centering it with the era of World War II, where combat casualties were high, the film becomes both a reflection and expose on the nature of how love forms quickly or slowly depending on time allotments and how in its most enriching experiences it can take on an otherworldly feeling of importance.  I claim to be no scholar on the ethics/philosophy of love, nor fully aware of its biological process, but having lived long enough to know that it is a real feeling and one that ebbs and flows according to the aforementioned factors, I can affirm that, for me personally, this film really gets the beauty entrenched within true love and passion paints the film both narratively and visually, making it first about a love between characters and secondly about the very love of using cinema to share a worldview.  A Matter of Life and Death, much like its story, extends between at least two worlds of thinking and manages to combine them into a shared moment of wonder.

Key Scene:  The film, as noted earlier, was also called Stairway to Heaven.  There is a scene in the film that makes this name obvious and boy is it a feat of movie technology.

This film is hard to come by, I would suggest seeking it out by alternative methods or patiently await a Criterion release, it should only be a matter of time before it makes their prestigious list.

Simplicity Can Only Be Achieved By Great Agony Of Body And Spirit: The Red Shoes (1948)

A viewing of The Red Shoes has been a long time in the making, it was probably the biggest gap in my film viewing catalogue and was always a point of shame when I would have to admit to having never seen it when talking with fellow cinephile.  Finally, on Friday I had yet another individual with excellent taste in film mention it to me and I decided then and there that I would go home and watch it without hesitation.  Going into it I expected nothing short of perfection and I can say with every degree of certainty that the film still overwhelmed me with its magic, its madness and its sheer cinematic mastery.  The Red Shoes, has made a very welcomed come back thanks to the diligent work of some film preservationists at UCLA, the tireless efforts of the gang over at Criterion and a surprise advocation for the film coming from Martin Scorsese whose filmmaking oeuvre certainly does not reflect this ballet heavy, musical influenced film from the masters of Technicolor Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger.  There is not a moment within The Red Shoes that is not entirely entrenched within the cinematic spectacle, much like Singin' In The Rain the film exists as a work of grandiosity so artistic that to profess to disliking it would essentially be admitting that you hate living.  As pretentious as that may sound, The Red Shoes seriously is an impeccable film and aside from a few moments of wry British humor there is nothing about this film not to completely love, in fact, it manages to the cross the seemingly divergent lines of classicist filmmaking styles and highly expressionistic experimental filmmaking with such fervor that it has the feeling of being a colorful rendition of an early Busby Berkeley dance number.  Furthermore, like the aforementioned Singin' In The Rain you can easily go into this film assuming you know the plot to the film, yet it will very much unfold in front of you with such expertise and layers that when the close finally does come in its climactic intensity you will realize that you may well have stopped breathing for a few minutes.  It is still baffling that this highly realized film is essentially just an adaptation of a children's fairy tale, all be it a dark one.

The Red Shoes begins with a crew of students rushing an auditorium to witness the performance of an acclaimed ballet piece from Boris Lermontov (Anton Walbrook) whose prestige has led to all group regardless of class to view his work, including Julian Craster (Marius Goring) an aspiring conductor who is immediately baffled to realize that his own pieces are being lifted for the performance.  Also in attendance is Victoria Page (Moira Shearer) an aspiring dancer whose ties to high places afford her an opportunity to meet the elusive Lermontov post performance, using her charm to assure a chance to audition.  Craster via letter confronts Lermontov about his theft, only to regret his decision, in the process meeting Lermontov who hires him on the spot.  Both Craster and Page become witness to the insanity and deception latent within the world of ballet performance, and begin to fathom how much power Lermontov truly wields.  Each, nonetheless, takes their turn in making an identity for themselves, Page by dancing wildly at a minor performance for the company, where as Craster jumps at the opportunity to rewrite a ballet adaptation of The Red Shoes, which he does brilliantly leading to Lermontov choosing it as the company's next pieces.  It is within this performance of The Red Shoes that harmony comes together beautifully as Craster and Page unleash a chemistry undeniable in a ballet performance that literally transcends the space and time of the theater.  The show of course receives rave reviews and the names of Page and Craster become well known, yet they fall for one another, much to the disapproval of Lermontov who sees it as a risk to his newly found cash cow.  He demands that they split leading to a deep depression in the two and the subsequent falling apart of the company.  Lermontov, nonetheless, manages to convince Page to return to the performance, which leads to a falling out between her and Craster who leaves dejected.  Realizing her mistake Page attempts to return to Craster, only to encounter her demise in what is easily one of cinema's most harrowing moments.  Of course, The Red Shoes is danced on, although the lack of Page is a very real thing when the troupe decides to perform without the presence of their leading lady, or any person in her place.

I once attended a conference where I saw a presentation comparing The Red Shoes to the then recently released Black Swan.  A majority of the discussion grounded the comparison in a use of Jacques Lacan's mirror theory which at the time was something I was unfamiliar with making for a rather difficult to understand talk, although I certainly think, upon seeing The Red Shoes that something is to be said about the notion of identity, sanity and the affects of performance demands on the individual.  Both films feature female performers whose quest for perfection and acknowledgement lead them to spiral into a degree of madness, although in Aronofsky's film the madness is tied to sexual inexperience and clear mental distress.  In the case of The Red Shoes it is a desire for success and a clear passion for the art of ballet, which by all accounts is probably the most labor intensive art one could choose.  Furthermore, where as Black Swan is about a singular individual, The Red Shoes focuses on a group of peoples' experiences, viewers have just come to associate the film with Moria Shearer, because it is her image the dominates the most magical and cinematic portion of the film.  The Red Shoes is much more a film about navigating the world of art, which has inherent ties to prestige and bourgeois power moves.  We see this in Page's complete disconnect from the fact that she is able to attend and leave practice in a chauffeured car, where as her fellow dancers must walk everywhere.  In sharp contrast is Craster whose identity as a student means he has little wealth or power to navigate, making his being robbed of his musical identity the exact thing to push him into impassioned action, which has relative success, up until the films closing moments of course.  Where The Red Shoes and Black Swan seem to come back together is in the closing moments of both main female characters, each arguably perform their last leap of perfection with dire results, but both also raise the question as to where one can go but down after achieving perfection.

Key Scene:  This is a no brainer, the entire dance sequence in the middle of the film could play on repeat on televisions and I know I would watch it countless times.

The Criterion bluray really is something to be amazed by and well worth owning.

He Had Become The Still Center Of That Spinning Wheel Of Misfortune: Croupier (1998)

Predating Fight Club by at least a year and emerging as a film well before Clive Owen would become a household name in the world of acting, Croupier exists as a well-executed low-fi film about the sleazy world of gambling and urban London, while also focusing on the inherent misgivings of humanity.  Told in a first-person narrative style, this has all the hipness of Fincher's now famous film, minus the theatrics and intense visuals of Fight Club.  Of course, this detachment from such intensity does not make this film any less cinematic, in fact, I would argue on some accounts it is a superior film to Fight Club, especially in its depictions of some of the lesser respectable individuals in society.  The narrative provides viewers with a suave and seemingly infallible protagonist who navigates through life as though he were predestined to succeed at ever corner, yet in the careful hands of director Mike Hodges viewers are reminded that this seemingly perfect man is always on the verge of complete collapse should any of his carefully placed tiles fall under his heavy moral weight.  Croupier is surprisingly void of law enforcement throughout and exists as a film where an individual is demanded to engage their protagonist with their own predisposed philosophies and emotions, helping to create a film that is both reawatchable and constantly evolving as a viewer returns to its gritty, yet heavily emotive concept.  Croupier does not paint humanity in a particularly optimistic light, but this could be a result of the world it chooses to study, one that it inherently attached to the sins and iniquities of society, one where money, greed and vice seem assured of success.  As such when the narrative does decide to introduce a notion of law and rules into its equation, the results are quite intense and problematic, never being completely resolved, but only slightly altered to assure temporary complacency.  Croupier as a film provides for an essential example of all the good that can come from low-budget filmmaking both in its stylistic approaches, as well as the opportunities it affords to provide a disconcerting reflection of viewers own failures and delusions.

Croupier centers on the life of aspiring author Jack Manfred (Clive Owen) the super hip ladies man who sees those in his world as stepping stones to his own success, and in hopes of finding inspiration for a best-selling book agrees to return to the world of gambling as a blackjack dealer and roulette croupier, something he is exceptionally good at, particularly when it comes to catching crooks and cheats.  His girlfriend Marion (Gina McKee) is quite opposed to his lifestyle change firstly, because it means that their time spent together is greatly diminished and, secondly, that it will detract from his true passion to become a writer.  Jack seems quite indifferent to it all and undertakes his job with zeal realizing that the loathsome people moving through the den of sin, as he refers to it, are perfect inspiration for his writing, as well as the very co-workers and bosses he meets along the way, specifically the troublingly sexual Bella (Kate Hardie) and the against-the-world minded Matt (Paul Reynolds).  Although Jack is quite aware of the rules against fraternizing with punters (gamblers) or hooking up with employees he nonetheless does both, receiving an high paying job opportunity via one wealthy client named Jani de Valliers (Alex Kingston) for whom he begins to fall for romantically.  Even with this in mind and the eventual loss of Marion to vengeful gamblers, Jack manages to escape with only minor bruises and emotional injuries, taking nobody with him and sparring no expenses when he finally publishes his memoir, anonymously, about the bleak world of being a croupier.  Even though his book is a best-seller he avoids changing his lifestyle after realizing that the entire set-up was part of a larger con to help his father earn money.  Yet, Jack cannot deny his new level of transcendence to gambling in the films vibrant closing scene, he fancies himself the immovable center of a spinning wheel of contingency and chance, completely unaffected by any result of the balls veritable landing.

It is challenging then to consider how ethics work in a film where even the protagonist, who is relatively ethical, manages to disassociate himself with such ideals when it proves profitable.  Much of Jack's persona is influenced my his refusal to gamble on anything, whether it be in the literal sense of playing cards or in the grander sense of venturing into an unfamiliar job field.  Jack seems to see the world as a constant set of probabilities, in which he has learned to navigate through a set of often grounded stereotypes and assumptions about the world around him and when he is misguided by one of his notions, he quickly learns from the mistake and adapts it to his next encounter, particularly the case with Jani, which begins as a matter of her seducing him into a dangerous job, but results in his own personal advancement when he realizes he can secure safety from the world around him.  At this point it seems as though ethics become a thing of relativity to being caught, for example, both Bella and Jack smoke pot one night, but it happens to fall on Bella to be drug-tested the next day leading to her firing.  Jack knows the probability of this happening to be slim thus making the ethical act of doing so less serious, but, nonetheless, present.  Yet when it concerns helping punters cheat he does so only once knowing that between the cameras and lecherous behavior of his co-workers and customers that the probability of being caught is quite high.  However, what is likely the greatest reminder in the films is that even when one thinks that the odds are entirely in their favor that one can still be beaten, as Jack learns when he loses to his father in the hand that really mattered, even if he won ever other contest prior to date, the fact of the matter is that sometimes luck really is a factor. This helps Jack disconnect from the woe and assumptions of the world around him, knowing that to be in complete control of the world, one must necessarily dismiss all ideas of control.  The closing scene is a nirvana inducing bliss in which Jack transcends the spin of worries and probability to live in a actuality all his own.

Key Scene:  The opening shot is so simple and paired with Jack's narrative it helps to foreshadow the philosophical evolution which will take place in the following narrative, it truly is quite exceptional.

I watched this on DVD and its quality was stellar, although it is available to watch instantly on Netflix so that may be the best course of action for most to view this necessary piece of cinema.

Romantic Love Is The Last Delusion Of The Old Order: Anna Karenina (2012)

Much hype circulated around this recent adaptation of Anna Karenina, which of course has proven to be a staple of film, for many decades, seemingly having some adaptation for pretty much every decade within the history of cinema.  It is hard to justify creating a new version of such works, especially when it is arguable that nothing new can be provided on the subject matter, however, Joe Wright does manage to exact something that is fresh both in terms of the age old material, as well as in regards to cinematic production as well.  This particular version, similar to one of my favorite films Dogville, immediately demands that viewers accept the world of their film to exist within a distinct and minimized space.  While it is certainly not as diluted as in Von Trier's work, Wright's adaptation of Anna Karenina is seemingly set within the confines of one theater, which proves both expansive and restrictive, much like notions of love and intimacy so ever-present within Tolstoy's seminal novel.  Many critics, specifically the guys at Filmspotting, seem decidedly split on Wright's vision, a few arguing that it brings a much desired vibrance to the antiquated text, while others seem content to claim its showy spectacle as a distraction.  I would venture to say that an argument could be made for either, although I favor the new life argument and happily embrace Wright's vision, although it could be influenced heavily by my deep adoration for his breakout hit Atonement.  Of course, this adaptation of Anna Karenina is not perfect and certainly has a handful of flaws, especially in regards to embracing consistency within the rather condensed diagetic framework, however, when this minimalist approach coalesces perfectly with the grandiosity of the cinematic narrative magic does exist on a nearly unprecedented theatrical level, and to Wright's credit he manages to evolve and appropriate specifics of the novel to an contemporary audience, which results in a quite an enjoyable film and one of the deserved stand outs from this year in film.  Furthermore, it never hurts when a movie incorporates stars from the hottest show from across the pond, which, as you certainly know, is Downton Abbey.

The story of Anna Karenina is all to familiar, even for those who have not read the novel or seen an adaptation earlier, the premise and plot has been adapted and reworked to fit a variety of films and other cultural outputs, regardless, a rehashing of the plot is a bit necessary as it is a dense work with many characters moving throughout the narrative.  Essentially there are two intertwined story lines, the first focusing on Matvey (Eric Maclennan) a wholesome pseudo-aristocrat who has taken to a life of hard labor as a means to become closer to his employment, as well as those that work for him, much to the demise of his family and his dear friend Oblonsky (Matthew Macfadyen).  Despite his troubled identity, Matvey is quite resolute in his adoration of Dolly (Kelly Macdonald) a baroness who is the object of many suitors, specifically Count Vronsky (Aaron Taylor-Johnson) a soldier who helps tie in Anna Karenina (Keira Knightley) the somewhat vapid wife of Russian diplomat Karenin (Jude Law).  Dolly refuses the marriage pleas of Matvey because of her infatuation with Count Vronsky, however, Vronsky's eyes wander to Anna upon their initial meeting, a desire that is shared by Anna who despite her position of power as it is tied to Karenin engages with Vronsky and becomes his mistress.  Needless to say their improper engagement leads to levels of distrust and infidelity ones with very serious societal and political consequences, eventually leading to the ruin Vronsky's military career and Anna's being shunned by proper social groups.  In the wake of being left by Vronsky, Dolly returns pleading forgiveness from Matvey who embraces her desires gladly and their life begins with dueling sacrifices intended to display their mutual loves, which proves beautifully successful.  In sharp contrast is the relationship of Anna and Vronsky one that has detrimental effects mentally on Vronsky and enacts clearly physical changes upon Anna, one of which being her eventual death.  However, even in her lack of existence, the narrative suggest that her presence lingers on even in the most subtle of situations.

The beauty of the metaphor of a closed space within this version of Anna Karenina is not easiliy lost and, in fact, is quite welcome.  The notions of politics, polite society and infidelity are often intimately tied together.  Hell, look at the recent General Petraeus scandal and its aftermath, not so much for its degree of shock concerning its effects on how we understand privacy and the value of respect associated to public figures.  Wright's adaptation certainly plays into these ideas in how we are led to view characters like Anna and Vronsky, whose relationship does have an element of sincerity and legitimacy, yet the very clear acts of infidelity and disregard for other individuals makes it loathsome, especially since in the confined spaces of this particular narrative many of their acts of betrayal occur while the other individuals are literally standing within eyesight, take a dance scene for example.  Incidentally, this notion of close quarters also allows for guilt and paranoia to consume those engaging in acts of betrayal, as well as those being betrayed, which happens with near cinematic perfection when we are shown Karenin leaving his house, only to look through a glass window to see not his reflection, but that of Vronsky, a cruel reminder that exiting the stage does not mean that the terrible and bothersome actions are occurring any less.  This moment is almost hypermeta, in that Wright questions what is lost when acknowledging that a character in a play, despite being off stage, in all likelihood still hears words and actions occurring on stage as they are often in earshot.  This is doubly exposed in the moment of Anna's death, which while exceptionally graphic is more so intense because the characters close to her appear to fell the physicality of her passing, not on a ethereal level but one of a very real factor, because it is occurring in the rafters above the theater, at least the diagesis of this work would lead us to believe such things.  Beyond these moments of brilliance, Wright also makes nods to The Rules of the Game and Children of Paradise that cannot and should not be ignored in this specific reading.

Key Scene:  The horse raise is really fucking intense, so much so that the expletive is necessary to drive the point home

This film is cinematic and meant for theatrical consumption, fortunately for everyone it is still in theaters and quite deserved of your money.  Drop what your are doing and go watch it immediately.

He's A Nowhere Man: Yellow Submarine (1968)

The story goes that the animated film, centering around the alter egos of The Beatles, known as The Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, was made purely as a means to get the famous group out of their undesired movie contract, yet once they viewed the final product that was Yellow Submarine they were so enthralled and happy by the outcome that they agreed to provide a live-action epilogue as a pseudo thank you.   It takes only moments into this spectacularly psychedelic film to realize why exactly The Beatles would come to love such a film, one that is absolutely extraordinary in what it achieves via hand drawn animation, as well as societal commentary.  It is no small task to make a successful animated film, let alone one that is decidedly geared towards an older audience, yet in the careful hands of George Dunning viewers are provided with something spectacular.  While The Beatles  music has never been begging to be visualized it is clear that Yellow Submarine evokes the words, social outcries and existential angst that came to so obviously signify the work by the group for the latter portion of their career.  Like many of the great films, Yellow Submarine suffered from existing as nothing more than rotations on British television, yet when this particular piece of Beatles nostalgia was revived, a rekindling and remembrance of how truly spectacular this work was emerged.  Furthermore, the accessibility, universality and certainly the trippy nature of Yellow Submarine resulted in a whole new generation coming to love and appreciate The Beatles in a way transcendent of their music, and with a recent bluray upgrade, it only proves that more people will have a chance to discover this seminal work.  A mix of tragedy and celebration, Yellow Submarine exudes a poetic nature that demands its viewing, multiple times and with multiple people, as it truly proves to be something far grander than a film made by The Beatles to get out of an undesired movie contract.

Yellow Submarine begins with an introduction to the world of Pepperland, in which people sing, dance and exist in merriment to the tunes and beats of Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.  The idyllic world of Pepperland, however, comes under attack by the scrutinizing and condemning eye of The Meanings, a group of blue persons who live to causes sadness and depression, while always answering "NO" to any question raised.  Their wave of malaise sweeps over Pepperland causing all those existing within its colorful landscape to turn blue and freeze in time, including SPLHCB, who are specifically trapped in a bubble.  The only person who escapes the onslaught of this attack is Old Fred (Lance Percival) a wily elderly man who in a state of befuddlement takes the town's Yellow Submarine and travels to what we can assume to be Liverpool, since it is there that he meets up with The Beatles.  Of course, this vision of England, shown while Eleanor Rigby is playing, reflects the current state of Pepperland, as each of the band members moves through the streets and houses with a sense of desolation.  After many failed attempts to understand Old Fred whose phrases are nearly intelligible, the group agrees to join him on the submarine and travel to Pepperland.  This journey takes them forwards and backwards in time, even passing their past selves on the journey.  Along the way they pick up a mask wearing rodent whose name is Jeremy Hilary Boob, PhD., or as the members of the group suggest a veritable Nowhere Man as he spouts off poems, ideas and feelings that have no logical grounding.  After losing Ringo at least once, the group eventually makes it to Pepperland where they take on The Meanies, at first finding little success with their music, yet when they release the SPLHCB from their prison and realize that they have an uncanny similarity to them, they attack The Meanies with great success and bring vibrancy and life back to Pepperland.  The film then closes with the song All Together Now, as unity seems to be the suggested course of action for the future.

Yellow Submarine is, as should be obvious, inundated with the feelings and advocacy of social revolution so seemingly inherent in the sixties, especially 1968.  Primarily, this is a film that contests the notion that disconnect and social malaise are positive, particularly if said distancing is the result of heavy conservative values that dismiss any sort of revolution, whether it be rioting in the streets or speaking out politically.  The freezing of SPLHCB represents political suppression to some degree, especially since it is done by The Meanies, whose "NO" spouting ideologies represent the most dangerous variations of conservatism. One can extend this consideration to incorporate the pointing hand that is a weapon of The Meanies.  Its judgmental connotations, reflect another element of conservative values, ones in which individuals find scape goats for their problems, signifying difference as a means to separate, even if their actions harm nobody, or actually suggest egalitarian ideals or progressive actions.  Jeremy/Nowhere Man then becomes an interesting figure in this context because he exists both as a voice to transcend conservatism and the social malaise overtaking Pepperland (The Western Global Community), yet he has become so disenfranchised and disillusioned that any of the theories or ideas he promotes are so incoherent that they seem absurd or almost mocking.  This only makes The Beatles eventual love of their film that much greater, because it shows that they realize their place as musicians to provide commentary to society, one that advocates love and unity and answering "Yes" when possible, and doing so "all together now."

Key Scene:  It is a dead tie between the Eleanor Rigby and Nowhere Man scenes,  both of which are incredibly sad and poetically transcendent.

This movie will surprise you, and if you have not seen it in some time revisit the work, especially post-restoration, it is seriously a thing of beauty.  Grab the bluray immediately.

I Am The Perfect Servant, I Have No Life: Gosford Park (2001)

After watching the recent PBS broadcasting of Downton Abbey Revisited and discovering that Julian Fellowes was responsible for not only this spectacular Masterpiece Theater show, but Gosford Park as well I knew I had no excuse not to watch the film.  Upon discovering that the film was directed by Robert Altman I could not restrain my desires to see the work.  Chocked full of considerably notable British actors, Gosford Park is a brilliant whodunit with the cinematic poise and narrative complexities one comes to expect from the late director.  Furthermore, this work, while not perfect, serves as a great vision as to what would become something like Downton Abbey and exceptionally serious piece of cultural output masking itself under the guise of dark comedy.  Abound with social commentaries and political discourse one finds very little trouble finding the way in which satire subtly evolves to make a grander statement something that, by this point, was well perfected in Altman's oeuvre, although he had been doing it since at least the times of Nashville.  Of course, Altman is not entirely to be credited for this film, because it certainly has much to do with the writing and acting as well, Fellowes and co-writer Bob Balaban create a dialogue that is both quick, believable and quite memorable.  It has the feel of a Aaron Sorkin film without the dialogue that seems far to perfected to reflect that of normal engagements.  Again Gosford Park is not the most brilliant piece of cinema ever released and manages to fall short of being perfected, but it is an exceptional work and has moments of sheer brilliance, often using the visual as a means to advance the narrative or undermine the events occurring.  Altman often fills the space of a shot with multiple events, many of which the characters are unaware of occurring and just when you think you have pieced together the next moment in the plot a not so subtle cinematic clue will remind you that perhaps not all is as one expects and indeed anybody is capable of an act of aggression when they have been doubly wronged.

Much like many of the period pieces presented on Masterpiece Theater, Gosford Park focuses on the life of people living on an estate and in early forties Britain that meant the existence of a life above and below stairs.  Above stairs a party is being planned for the arrival of a group led by Sir William (Michael Gambon) a surly elderly gentleman who clearly thinks himself superior to not only his guests and staff but the rest of his family as well.  Other occupants film the house, most memorably the demeaning and flippant Countess of Trentham (Maggie Smith), as well as American director Morris Weissman (Bob Balaban), his star actor Ivor Novello (Jeremy Northam) and Weissman's servant Henry Denton (Ryan Phillipe).  Of course there is also a world below preparing the meals, including the mysterious Mr. Parks (Clive Owen) who has been hired on specifically to help with a guest, the sexually active and always promiscuous Bertha (Teresa Churcher), the sly yet surprisingly honest George (Richard E. Grant) and even the poised under pressure Mrs. Wilson (Helen Mirren).  Things slowly begin to unravel as a hunting party proves a bust when Sir William is grazed by a misguided bullet and it is revealed that Henry is not a servant, but actually one of Mr. Weissman's up and coming actors who felt it a challenge to pass as a servant, much to the chagrin of the staff.  Yet things explode into chaos when Sir William is murder, especially considering that he has been stabbed, only to discover that he was dead before the attack, a result of poisoning.  Even with the emergence of the self-proclaimed expert detective Inspector Thomson (Stephen Fry) little is made way in discovering who the killer is and viewers are left to make the discovery upon the admission of various individuals throughout the film.  The reveal is understated and of course somewhat inconsequential to the larger commentary within the film.

The obvious commentary resides in the social divisions that were indicative in Britain in the early 20th century, something that certainly still exists (Think House of Lords/House of Commons) but certainly does not have the clear spatial divide that would have existed in Pre-WW2 days.  The question though in the film is more of where a line should be drawn as to the expectations of those in servility towards their masters, particularly when the questions and demands are of a particularly problematic nature.  We see this in a simple sense with The Countess of Trentham who often requires her maid to clean clothing and make food only to decide upon its delivery or completion that she no longer desires it, yet she has little, if no, awareness for the work and effort placed upon getting these tasks done and seems content to assume that they occur magically.  Similarly individuals like Lord William and Lady Sylvia (Kristin Scott Thomas) find that it is completely within their means to demand sexual favors of their staff, or within their limits to touch and harass their servants in whatever way they please, a clearly problematic statement on oppression and power dynamics.  Yet, the staff under the stairs has managed to create their own forms of rebellion, whether it be prolong smoke breaks, the consumption of the wine post dinners or a refusal to curtail meals to dietary demands.  The emergence of Inspector Thomson completely undermines the notions of division though, because as a person of the law he is able to move between both spaces to inquire and cannot be turned away, even by the Countess who sees his intrusion as uncivil, despite its inherent civic nature.  Yet even as he attempts to cross class barriers, whilst trying to help himself to libations in the library his assistant reminds him that they have not dusted those bottles, although it more importantly suggests that he cannot have access to certain privileges, regardless of the law.

Key Scene:  The moment when bloody mary's are made for the outdoor lunch serves as the turning point for the entire films shift into a crime drama and one dropped glass serves as a great metaphor that is delivered masterfully by Altman.

Netflix Watch Instantly...it is the quickest and most appropriate way to enjoy this neo-classic by one of America's best and most missed auteurs.

Offer Relief To My Patients, With Little Chance Of Killing Them: Hysteria (2011)

The film Hysteria came and went with very little hype, despite having a well-respected Maggie Gyllenhaal and zany Rupert Everett and being directed by a woman.  Perhaps it is the subject matter of the film that proved problematic to individuals considering that it is essentially a film centered almost entirely around the invention of the vibrator.  A film with such subject matter runs a risk of being blatantly exploitative and degrading to women in its commentary, and while director Tanya Wexler certainly displays the problematic, misogynist patriarchal place of science and medicine circa 1890, this period piece is anything but exploitative.  Sure it uses a great degree of comedy to deal with discussing women's sexual awakening, but this comedy rarely, if ever, envelops the greater statement on a great moment right at the cusp of the push for women's enfranchisement.  It is a film that certainly suffers from attempting to coalesce a few too many stories and ideas into a small narrative window and can at times seem a bit trite, but I cannot help but praise its existence, firstly as a film of considerable quality by a relatively unestablished female director and secondly for handling such a important topic in women's health with some degree of respect.  It would be easy to read this film as a male dominated fantasy about what they believed to be their role in women's sexual awakening, but it is quite clear from the onset that the male figures in this film are set up only to undermine and mock, something done both within the writing and often with some very clever cinematography.  I would be cautious to call this one of the better films of 2011, particularly considering the amount of great work that did come out that year, however, Hysteria is a fantastically funny, surprisingly pertinent and incredibly enjoyable work.  I only hope it does not spiral into obscurity for the sake of its great message and for some absolutely hilarious acting on the part of Rupert Everett.

The film, while focused on the invention of the vibrator and the debunking of the term hysteria, nonetheless, fixates on the doctor credited with the devices invention Mortimer Granville (Hugh Dancy) an up and coming young doctor who finds trouble maintaining a job in any hospital for his, then absurd, theory that germs were causing a serious hazard to medical safety and practice.  Feeling quite dejected, despite the assurance of his friend and aristocrat Edmund St. John-Smythe (Rupert Everett) that he is more than welcome to have money from him to pursue whatever medical research he desires.  On a last chance shot, Mortimer approaches a clinic for women's health run by Dr. Robert Dalrymple (Jonathan Pryce) who is known for a particular "technique" that allows women to receive satisfaction and relief form hysterical build up, of course it is quite clear that all that is occurring is that of bringing the women to orgasm, something they have not had the pleasure of experiencing within their marriages.  All the while, Dr. Dalrymple plans on passing the practice on to Mortimer, along with his prodigal daughter Emily (Felicity Jones) who studies various social sciences, as well as the now outdated science of phrenology.  All seems idyllic in Mortimer's new life, aside from serious hand cramps, until he takes an unsuspected liking to Dr. Dalrymple's less conventional daughter Charlotte (Maggie Gyllenhall) who runs a free health clinic/daycare/community outreach center, all while continually advocating for women's right, most notably voting rights.  After word comes to Dr. Dalrymple that he has been aiding Charlotte, as well as failing to relief his clients, Dr. Dalrymple demands that he leave his practice.  Dejected, Mortimer returns to Edmund in shambles, only to discover that the free-floating aristocrat has been toying with electrical devices, causing Mortimer to come up with a crazy notion to create a device specifically for dealing with hysteria.  This proves a rousing success, and after some problematic run-ins with the law, centered around Charlotte's refusal to adhere to gender norms, the two find success in the profits from the device called a "Jolly Molly" named after a rather "affectionate" female character in the film, Charlotte and Mortimer are then engaged happily as they undertake a task of creating a better community outreach program within their community.

This film, as I noted earlier could have been incredibly exploitative and problematic in its portrayal of the invention of the vibrator.  I say this because it could have been a far more sexualized film, one in which the male gaze would come into play and the work would play into fantastical pleasures of sexual acts. This is not the case with hysteria, in fact, there is no nudity whatsoever, and the moments of "treating" hysteria are done with a perfect combination of humor and gravitas as to assure that they are not exploitative.  Furthermore, the film makes certain that the doctors depicted are neither experts in women's sexual organs, nor adapt at performing this treatment outside of a medical setting, suggesting that it is not an act entirely to be credited to male egos.  Instead, the film very much places the invention with a context of larger women's rights issues, in this case their awakening to disillusionment and overall dissatisfaction with their sexual lives.  Furthermore, the women depicted in the film are of a diverse setting, of course all white though since the film is set in 1890 England, once again not idealizing the women's body as a means of sexual conquest for the male figures in the film, certainly not for Mortimer who takes his job quite seriously and seems to see it as a rewarding act to help women with what he believes to be a serious medical condition.  Finally, and perhaps the best argument for why this is a film detached from exploitation, is the amount of time devoted to the character of Charlotte and her quest for equality in terms far larger than intimacy.  She is an activist through and through, particularly in her concern for helping lower class individuals, as well as her demand for suffrage.  If the film were to be exploitative she would not have been considered even passingly, instead, Wexler centers her in the narrative, helping to explain some of the disjointed issues in the overarching narrative.

Key Scene:  The side panels during the credits are particularly fun and help to ground the historical narrative nature of the work.

This is a fun and informative movie that is frankly hard not to enjoy.  While it is not a must own work, it is well worth renting.

God Made Me For A Purpose, But He Also Made Me Fast: Chariots Of Fire (1981)

While the film is probably best known for its theme song, Chariots of Fire did indeed win the Best Picture Oscar the year of its release.  While I know have  been critical of such a claim giving a film validity, I figured with the recent closing of the London Summer Olympics there was no time like the present to revisit this film, which as you may know is about British track athletes.  I knew the movie was going to be a traditional sports narrative of characters overcoming some social or physical obstacle in order to deliver a stunning feat of athleticism.  What I did not know going into this work is how terribly British the film would be overall.  While I have not seen Kes yet, I cannot help but suspect that this will serve as the penultimate definition of British filmmaking to me; however, there are a slew of Hitchcock films and David Lean works that could suffice.  Overall the dialogue and choice for what made the narrative cut simply is not that of an American sports film and in a surprising way the film really has very little to do with Track and Field and much more to do with individuals identities and their confrontations with a society that simply does not accept things that are different.  Chariots of Fire, is of course excellent as far as soundtracks are concerned, but beyond that obvious fact lies a well acted and incredibly shot film that inevitably causes viewers to reconsider their notions of a sporting film.  At a very basic level, it is a movie about competitive running, on a grand scale it is a commentary on human strife fully realized.

Chariots of Fire is set in the early twentieth century, beginning a few years before the 1924 Olympics which will be held in Paris.  The narrator of the film, Aubrey Montague (Nicholas Ferrell) serves as the eyes and voice of the story, although as it is made quite clear from the onset, his roles simply to observe and report the actions of Harold Abrahams (Ben Cross), a fellow Cambridge classmate who happens to also be Jewish, a label he caries with contentious pride.  Abrahams desires nothing more than to prove the deans of the school and pretty much the whole of society that he is just as capable as any other Englishman of competing in athletics and that his ethnic existence does not cause him the slightest disadvantage.  On the other side is and out of the narrative gaze of Montague is Eric Liddell (Ian Charleston) a famous Scottish rugby star who is devoutly Christian and finds joy and harmony serving as a missionary.  However, due to some rather forceful nudging by a family friend, Liddell is convinced to also compete for a spot on the Olympic team, something he deems acceptable because it will prove as a form of glorifying God.  The two men begin their quest for Olympic competition as they compete in various track meets eventually facing one another in a race.  Liddell wins by the slightest of margins, losing as he later discovers by making the mistake of turning to check on the place of Liddell in the race  Abrahams is quickly approached by the professional trainer Sam Mussabini (Ian Holm) who helps advance the young athlete considerably, despite the disdain of Cambridge's deans.  The two eventually  make the Olympic team, along with Montague and a handful of other Cambridge students and head off by boat to compete.  It is at this point that Liddell discovers his race will fall on a Sunday, his day of rest, a fact that causes him to refuse to run.  He is moved into a slot in the 400m race, which means that Abrahams has a clear shot to win his 100m race, something he does with vivacity.  All that remains is for Liddell to win his race, despite being far from a favorite in the sprint he manages to also win.  The narrative then ends with the two of them returning to their daily lives as new Olympic gold medalists, forever cemented in the history of Britain.

Interesting enough, for playing so heavily into the differences between Liddell and Abrahams religiously, it is quite surprising that the film does not cause this to be a point of division between both athletes.  While there are certainly moments of clear problems between the two culturally, they nonetheless manage to create a bond through athletics that makes them friends.  Considering this fact within the narrative, it is clear that Chariots of Fire is about the transitive power of sports to merge seemingly divided groups of people.  In a non-sports setting it would be improbable that Liddell would ever meet Abrahams, let alone engage with him in more than passing terms.  Furthermore, the placement on a national and global podium allows for both men to share their stories and personal opinions in such a way that the world is forced to acknowledge their concerns.  This is evident with Abrahams throughout the film, but comes full frontal when Liddell refuses to run on the Sabbath an action that makes national headlines.  By doing so he is praised by fellow Christians and is even allowed to deliver a sermon at a prestigious church as a result.  While the face of such abilities have change in the new century, one only needs to revisit the countless moments of courage and confrontation that occurred during the past few weeks of the Olympics.  Individuals like Oscar Pistorious and Kirani James used their moment in the global spotlight to give a voice to paraplegics and impovershed peoples respectively.  In a sense, they are this eras Abrahams and Liddell, both were out to prove something and both did so with great results.

Key Scene: Abraham's final race is an editing spectacle.

Chariots of Fire will always be a piece of must-see cinema, I suggest doing so while the aura of the Olympics is still fresh in your mind, however, owning this film is not necessary and renting it will more than suffice.

We’ve Both Spent Our Lives Looking For The Weaknesses In One Another: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011)

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy was one of the films that I knew I had missed out on by not seeing it in theaters.  Fortunately, for me, the advances in home entertainment have allowed for theater like experiences to exist outside of actual theaters, and this, combined with a Redbox coupon allowed me to view the spy thriller in a setting that replicated the big screen.  The grandiosity of such a film is only helped by viewing it in an encompassing manner, particularly considering that the film is both incredibly cinematic and narratively dense.  Viewing the film is no passive activity and between the brilliant screen adaptation of the seventies miniseries and a veritable onslaught of Academy Award deserving performances, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is everything one could desire in a thriller.  It is becoming rarer and rarer to find a thriller that is not easily predictable or repetitive and despite knowing the plot to this film prior to engaging with it, I still found myself on the edge of my sofa wondering what would happen next and at what point each character would meet their demise.  The release of this film, along with The King’s Speech a year earlier is quickly restoring my faith in the presence of British filmmaking, something that for so long seemed to  be carried solely by Danny Boyle.  Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is a giant achievement in reminding moviegoers of how complex and magical a piece of cinema can be when executed correctly.

The plot for Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is a long, drawn out piece of narrative that is to be experience and would suffer from the slightest of spoilers.  However, I will attempt to give a cursory explanation as to the workings of the film in order to allow readers some semblance of what the workings of the film.  The narrative places those watching within the aftermath of a recent assassination of a British spy, one Jim Prideaux (Mark Strong) who was sent by a higher up with the intent of ratting out a Russian spy within their own forces.  His assassination is unexpected and the result of an overreaction by persons within the Russian infiltrate.  Realizing the emerging danger within such actions, British intelligence brings their best spy George Smiley (Gary Oldman) out of retirement in hopes of finding the rat within their organization.  Armed only with his wits and the help of a younger agent, Smiley delves into an investigation that leads him to the realization that every individual within British Intelligence is suspect to odd behavior, including himself.  Smiley quickly becomes a point of contempt by members of the agency and is watched as closely as those he is investigating.  Travelling between Britain, Hungary and France Smiley unfolds a trail of deceit and paranoia that also forces him to reflect on his own past, one that is full of loss, despair and disillusionment.  Ultimately, the film ends with an explosive climax of realizations on both national and personal scales fading out with what will perhaps prove to be the best use of Julio Iglesias music ever.

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is an incredibly nostalgic film.  It would seem odd to call a spy film about the divisive effects of The Cold War to be such, but the signs are all there.  The characters exist in a world very similar to that of the television series Mad Men, when unspoken rules of etiquette and social mores outweighed individuals desires to prove a point or rise in the world.  This notion is only double when placed within a British society that highly values manners and formalities.  The characters in the film clearly exist to provoke viewers into reflecting on a past when spies could get drunk at parties and bureaucracy could be overturned simply by knowing the right individuals.  Despite reflecting fondly on the past, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is also fairly critical of the era, making note of the incredibly misogynist existence of the agency, manifested quite clearly in the dismissal of the suspicions of one female spy within the film.  Furthermore, the other women within the film are either relegated to the corners of the scenes or completely non-existant, as is the case with Smiley’s wife Ann, who never makes an appearance, despite the film existing in multiple time periods.  Furthermore, when characters engage in behaviors seen as socially unacceptable behavior they do so behind close doors, because their being spies only exacerbates their possibility for exploitation.  To some extent, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy plays out like an old school James Bond film in that it seems cool on a surface level, yet is clearly problematic when one looks at each of the pieces individually.

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is profound.  It is well worth owning and in this case bluray is the only way to go.

Don’t Go Chasing Shadows: The Woman In Black (2012)

A time long ago in cinema history known as the 1970’s witnessed a particularly offering of horror films from the illustrious company known as Hammer Films.  This company become popular quite quickly given their keen understanding of Gothic horror and a substantial use of corn syrup blood.  Tragically, as technology advanced it appeared as though the magnificent company lacked the relevance to continue successfully franchising their films when competing with films with larger production scales.  However, the recent release of the surprisingly enjoyable The Woman In Black proved a success for the newly revived company and offers the promise of a good future for Gothic horror.  Perhaps it is just the right mix of Daniel Radcliffe, jumpy scares and rotting children’s toys that makes the film so damn creepy, but while watching the film I could not help but find myself reminded of the eerie nature of The Wicker Man, as well as the dreary desperation of contemporary Asian films.  It is not necessarily a new offering to the genre of horror, but it is certainly refreshing to see the genre done right, because it is becoming more difficult to find consistently good horror offerings in the past few years.  Essentially, The Woman In Black is your textbook horror film and as such it is a welcome viewing experience that respects its absurdity without losing any of its suspenseful elements.

The Woman in Black focuses on Arthur (Daniel Radcliffe) a wraithlike young man who is coping with the untimely death of his wife after the birth of their son.  He is scraping by attempting to provide care for his child while also making a name for himself as an up and coming lawyer.  Despite his best efforts, he is threatened with his job unless he agrees to take on some clerical work in a desolate village that is a lengthy travel by train.  Upon arrival to the town, Arthur is dismissed given his foreign nature and clear attachment to technologies and his clearly urban leanings, attempting to find help from the various townsfolk with no success, Arthur is eventually befriended by Daily (Ciarin Hinds)  the only man in the village who owns a car.  Oblivious to the eerie nature of the town, Arthur demands a ride to the manor of Eel Marsh, which belonged to the late Alice Drabow.  It is once he ventures into this house that he realizes the village is not quite as simple as it initially let on.  After viewing a mysterious woman walking through the cemetery outside the manner, Arthur begins to ask questions about what actually happened at Eel Marsh.  Despite the attempts by the villagers, including Daily, to extract himself from the situation, Arthur continues to dig and discovers that Drabow actually lost her own child after it was removed from her custody given her instable mental state.  If this were not bad enough, Drabow was forced to watch her child die in the lake in front of her unable to provide assistance as she was locked away in a cellar.  As a result, Drabow’s ghost takes vengeance on the village causing the town’s children to kill themselves inexplicably.  Arthur, both adamant about keeping his job and realizing his otherness allows him access to hidden parts of the village, takes it upon himself to fix the situation.  With the help of Daily he discovers the location of Drabow’s dead child and returns it to her room, hoping that by reuniting the two the curse will forever end.  However, as Arthur awaits the arrival of his son to the village, the film cuts to the now empty house as the voice of Drabow yells her refusal to provide forgiveness, this is followed by Arthur’s son walking onto the tracks of an oncoming train, only to cause Arthur to dive to his rescue.  The film then cuts to the two walking in a darker version of the train station to discover Arthur’s dead wife, the scene implies that the family is reunited with the death of Arthur and his son and the three walk off into the darkness of the tunnel ahead.  In the closing image, the camera pans to a statue of Drabow in the corner as the head moves to make direct eye contact with viewers, suggesting that her curse is transferred off the screen and into reality.

While horror films are often relegated to a lesser film genre given their usually schlocky nature, it is important to note that they, perhaps more than any other genre, allow for possibilities of alternative narratives and previously unseen characters.  Take the original Night of the Living Dead for example.  In this work, the main character is a black male, which prior to this film was something considerably unusual, particularly in such a popular film.  This happens to some extent in The Woman in Black, as Arthur is certainly not your traditional hero.  He is a young widowed dad who is not entirely masculine and is undoubtedly not mentally stable.  Arthur clearly suffers from some level of crippling depression, which affects his behaviors and allows him to become in touch with the spiritual world.  In another setting, the hero would have been a stalwart character of social power, perhaps a police officer or a soldier.  Another notable feature of this particular horror film is its dealings with unjust seclusion to a person with mental illness.  To some extent, the character of Drabow nicely reflects that character of the crazy woman in the attic from Jane Eyre who would be given her own narrative in Jean Rhys’s Wide Sargasso Sea.  The reflection exists in the fact that a person is placed in solitary confinement for no apparent reason and is not allowed access to the world she created.  It is only suggested that Drabow had a child and that the child’s father is completely out of the picture.  Similar to the woman in the attic who burns down the Rochester house in revolt, Drabow is doing so out of vengeance, as well as lack of acknowledgement.  It could be argued that if Drabow were simply allowed access to her child then none of the terrible instance would have occurred.  Unfortunately, this is not the case and the result is gruesome to say the least.  Horror predicates itself on the absurd, however, it also reminds viewers that in  many of these instances the vengeful ghosts are doing so for a clear social injustice done to them in the past, and as such it is a call to end such irrational behavior in contemporary settings.

The Woman in Black is still making its way through theaters and is incredibly cinematic.  Take some friends with you, as it is certainly an edge of the seat viewing experience.  As for the eventually release, it is certainly a bluray grab for horror fans.