Nil by Mouth (1997)

Director: Gary Oldman

Stars: Ray Winstone, Kathy Burke, Charlie Creed-Miles, Laila Morse

27 years after its release, it's remarkable that Gary Oldman’s one and only director credit is for Nil By Mouth, a searingly personal and accomplished film that is now a classic of British cinema.

Remaining the rawest slice of London underclass life committed to film, Nil by Mouth is also a work of art – an assembly of career best performances framed by tight, shaky, fly-on-the-wall camerawork, like the view of a nervous child peeking at what the grown-ups are doing. It’s by turns intimate and claustrophobic – when family are at peace it’s comforting, but when things are kicking off there’s nowhere to go. Switching between dark, smoky bars, blue-grey bleak day-time and the sickly neon green of streetlighting and council flat corridors, ironically one warmly-lit scene is of heroin addict Billy injecting himself with something that likely feels better than his environment. The depiction of domestic violence remains as some of the toughest stuff you’ll see on screen, but gradually the line of matriarchs that stoically form the backbone of this family emerge in place of the brash and aimless chatter of pained and frustrated men.

The Unforgiven (1960)

 

The Unforgiven (1960)

Director: John Huston

Stars: Burt Lancaster, Audrey Hepburn, Audie Murphy, Lillian Gish

Short Review, no spoilers

An unusual, folk-western shot through the lens of a big character director but reluctant auteur, The Unforgiven was abandoned even by John Huston himself as the one he liked least of all the films he made. In awkward opposition I find it to be one of my favourites. Of the many aspects I find fascinating about the film, I advise to look past any cynicism with regards to the casting of Audrey Hepburn, because it is one of the many curiosities that make the film so disarmingly unique. A mixture of quirky artistry, high melodrama and surreal fable, its ending is flawed but overall, I find it to be another unsung gem of the western genre.

Full Review (spoilers)

Despite director John Huston’s condemnation of The Unforgiven and also general disregard for any claims that he could be described as an auteur, it’s arguable that his singularly eccentric style and fondness for ambitiously hopeful but romantically flawed characters shines through as distinctly in The Unforgiven as in any of his other films. It is perhaps also this combined with the commercially driven forces of star Burt Lancaster’s production company that Huston was so against that actually produces a quite fascinatingly contentious fable of a community torn apart by racial tension. As a result, a mixed environment grasping for authenticity, loyalty and heritage is whimsically realised in a compelling drama with moralities explored in all their rightful complexity.

Whereas many characters in classical westerns are elevated as romantically historical and cultural figures, what is pleasing about the protagonists of The Unforgiven is their rustic and authentically accented hick charm. These are the real pioneers – stoic families attempting to sow roots in the middle of nowhere under constant threat of Indian attack, with belief more than right spurring them on. They talk plain, are unabashed in their manner and they dance and clown with the unselfconsciousness of an isolated community unjudged by outsider eyes. They are not actually from this land at all, something acknowledged in Momma’s appreciation and ability to play Mozart on the ‘piani’. Played by veteran doe-eyed darling of the silent era, Lillian Gish, she’s also a tough old buzzard, wielding a shotgun with the naturalism of an experienced survivalist. As seemingly straightforward as these folk may seem to be however, secrets and lies have been accumulated in the building of their small patches of white American colonisation. This is alluded to from the outset with the arrival of a dust-covered ghost in the form of a mad, wandering war veteran on horseback, Kelsey. Waiting for the menfolk to return from a trip, young Rachel and Momma are alone at the homestead, and at first Momma speaks with sad sympathy of him as one of many traumatised post-war vagrants drifting through the desert before recognition is sparked and with it the threat to their familial harmony. Discord is temporarily suspended when beloved son and brother Ben returns with siblings Cash and Andy in tow, but Kelsey haunts their celebration and it is clear that trouble is on the horizon. In a stunningly eerie and surreal sequence, Ben and Cash go after a howling, warbling Kelsey through the swirl of a dust storm in a cactus field, only to lose him when he comes like a banshee with sabre aloft and Cash stumbles away in his wake.

As the family get back to business, we gain further understanding of the characters and their relationships with each other, something that is established by excellent performances, particularly by Lancaster, Hepburn and Murphy. Lancaster’s typical gravitas is here channelled in to a portrait of a charismatically bombastic if naïve man, fiercely loyal to his family and to the land they call their own, a man whose sheer self-belief and courage against all reason is endearing even as his bluster is so dangerously uncompromising. Despite this, he is a natural leader of men and still has the capacity to demonstrate diplomacy, not least when handling boozy racist Cash - Audie Murphy in an older, more rugged role that nevertheless here plays younger brother to Lancaster. And then there’s dark-haired sister Rachel, doted on by all but brought to the family a Native American foundling - the big secret only Momma and Kelsey know and which will ultimately blow the family and community apart when it is revealed.

The idea that Audrey Hepburn, an icon of sophisticated European elegance as depicted by Hollywood, could pull off playing a Native American girl and one that scrubs around in a 19^th century Texas western might seem unlikely, but it’s actually a fascinating piece of casting. It’s a refreshing change to see her dancer-trained athleticism used not for a stylish mannequin but instead to portray a scrappy, hillbilly wild child, her physicality moulded in to a beautiful, wiry and impish youth with an uncultured and naïve but wittily provocative girlishness who is direct in her demands for courtship and marriage, but also playful and free in her impulses to jump on her beloved horse and ride bareback across the prairie. She adores Ben and the playful mocking banter of ‘brother and sister’ lies lightly over an underlying and building romantic tension.

The character of Johnny Portugal – a surprisingly cool John Saxon - lays bare the racial tensions in the community. As a Native American working for Ben, he laconically out-machos a bristling Cash by throwing a knife in to the side of a wagon and then sauntering over to hang his hat on it, then shows the bumbling whites how to break a horse with gentle respect and patience. However, his innocent removal of a burr from Rachel’s hair is a step in the wrong direction for Ben - who had previously defended him – and he jealously chastises both him and then Rachel for hanging around the menfolk. Later though, Portugal is the best man to chase down Kelsey and the horse he stole from Rachel in an exhilarating scene when Portugal takes 3 horses to breathlessly pursue the mad, troublemaking thief.

Such is the rough and tumble of these characters and their dealings with and in front of each other. Ben’s emphatic declarations of power inspire awe and delight when he delivers the piano to his beloved Momma by lifting it from the wagon using only his back, but the same spirit is shown to be dubious when he calls the land and sky above him his and his alone to the Native American warrior that comes to collect his natural born sister, Rachel. Kelsey appears and chillingly speaks of avenging angel madness and howls hymns of God and country in lost lunatic tones, however it is he who is the link with the past and the truth that our heroes try desperately to avoid. The music, composed by Dimitri Tiomkin, weirdly complements the wayward eccentricity of the film, sometimes playfully and sometimes melodramatically evoking the spirit of a bullish, prancing, warrior-peasant.

In the final battle scene, the beleaguered Zacharys bravely and foolishly defend their little home, and family loyalties are thrown in to the wind to resettle where they may. Truth and blood is spilled, and love wins out over birth kin. The Zacharys meet the Indian war drums with Momma’s piano, then having to leave it to the spears of the warriors but fighting with admirable spirit that sees death but battles it anyway. Nevertheless, there is no sense of glory or triumph in the killings of Native Americans who initially come with peace and reason and are attacked on the orders of Ben. Rachel kills her own true brother and at first it appears that this might be a turning point as she walks in conflicted anguish past Ben and Andy. But in the end, she is ultimately reunited with the only family that she has ever known and the one that risked everything to stand by her.

There is an aching sense of doom in the finale that appears to build towards what would have been a more understandable ending of the heroes perishing: Andy’s regret at never losing his virginity in Wichita and the bittersweet confirmation of Ben and Rachel’s love. The fact that they survive is inexplicable, although the rousing return of Cash to help save them papers over some of the unfeasibility. The last moment of the film is a reference to Rachel commenting on migrating geese being like humans but only flying a little higher, and seems like a conclusion thrown on after an exhausting production that the director had had enough of by the time it came to it. This is unfortunate because despite its troubles, the film really isn’t as bad as Huston thought it was, and at the end of it all is actually probably even more complex than he had hoped for and as enthralling as Lancaster wanted.

Overall, The Unforgiven is a strange, flawed treasure and a misfit, but I would argue that this just makes it that much more surprisingly compelling.

Next Goal Wins (2023)

 

Next Goal Wins (2023)

Director: Taika Waititi

Stars: Michael Fassbender, Oscar Kightley, Kaimana

Short Review, no spoilers

A typically funny and endearing film from Taika Waititi, the New Zealand director ventures in to the tricky realm of sports film and wins. In expanding his interest for elevating the little man from Hunt for the Wilderpeople and Jojo Rabbit, he demonstrates that he’s very well placed to honourably portray a redemptive story about what were once described as the world’s worst football team, the American Samoan national side. The performances all round are delightful and a dedicated Michael Fassbender strikes a perfect balance between comedy and pathos as the previously successful but troubled coach sent to turn things around. Although a standard David and Goliath story where the Goliath is the team’s aim to score their first goal of all time as well as other things, it’s also a non-elitist diversion that playfully contrasts the easy-going ethos of a tiny country in the middle of the Pacific Ocean with the high stress, high-aiming ambitions of the white western world.

Full Review (spoilers)

Taika Waititi’s brand of goofy humour may not be to the tastes of all but the open-minded will be rewarded if they allow themselves to enjoy the director’s attention to daft but irreverent and affectionate detail. Waititi himself opens proceedings as the character of a priest and representative of the island’s deep-seated faith, but goes on to allow the rest of the colourful ensemble cast to build a picture of a small, characterful nation. Wiry, highly strung Thomas Wrongen (Fassbender) arrives from the US after a humiliating meeting with national football top dogs to a warm greeting from the American Samoan team president, Tavita, who also serves as a restaurateur and cameraman for the local news program. This dopy, cosily benign overseer introduces him to a team of varying shapes, sizes and talent, including one of their top players who also happens to be transgender, the beautiful but unfocused Jaiyah, and an endearing but hopelessly gentle current coach with the woefully inadequate name Ace. As the project progresses, Wrongen discovers that all of the individuals involved in representing their nation need to have other jobs, revealing a view of the bottom end of a football spectrum increasingly driven by lop-sided millions.

The training montage is hilarious and opens Fassbender’s remarkably authentic turn as a stressed-out football coach. Sports movie cliches are sent up in references to Any Given Sunday but overall there is surprisingly fresh and entertaining new life brought to the genre without resorting relentlessly to knowing nods. Kaimana as Jaiyah is charismatic and the inevitable obstacles faced by her character are handled sensitively without topical contrivance, and there is tear-jerking pathos in an unexpected revelation from Wrongen when forced to admit his own tragic hang-up.

Gratefully there is no use of the word togetherness but instead a much improved and stirring pre-match war dance that demonstrates the sentiment rather than describes it. Here the standard climactic contest that proves improvement is a qualifier against rivals Tonga, a finale that maintains the ongoing humour with a well-constructed dramatic tension, and even finds an inventively oddball way to convey success – for instance, look to the background and you will see a relaxed man waiting for treatment for a knife injury as we discover the team’s fortunes. Don’t worry, it’s all good – he raises a bottle of beer to the team triumph.

Next Goal Wins isn’t a life-changer but it’s a lot of fun and a significant entry in to the sports movie genre. It also offers the opportunity for some pleasingly light relief from Fassbender that betrays a talent for comedy, much as it did for Scarlett Johanssen in Jojo Rabbit.

Best Christmas Films? No light without darkness

 

Best Christmas Films? No light without darkness

The majority of Christmas films are gaudy, commercial and overly sentimental. They purport to tell us what true happiness is, but how can this be known without knowing the absence of it? The best seasonal films acknowledge some of the pain of real life as well as universal aspirations for joy, and go against the grain in terms of traditional and specific notions of family and harmony. Instead, they embrace the potential for comfort in what we actually have, however small and imperfect that may be.

Conversely, the best Christmas films either deal with a darker interpretation of the season or are at least tinged with something less simplistically joyful to the sentimentalised ideal. Please see below:

1.                   A Christmas Story (1983)

This was a revelation to me when I recorded it from television many years ago based on nothing more than a 4-star rating in the Radio Times, but this film is so beloved in America that there is a channel showing it 24 hours a day around Christmas. I limit my viewing of it far more with the aim of preserving the sanctity of a very precious thing, but I cannot praise it highly enough as the ultimate Christmas film. A seemingly simple and under-assuming story of a boy who wants a BB gun for Christmas in the 1940s, it tracks the everyday travails of lower middle class family life with exquisite charm and humour throughout. Based on radio DJ Jean Shepherd’s musings and life stories, further reading on his philosophy that consumerism merely taps in to desires that are already there rather than imposing drives and wants in to innocent beings can be found here: https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/betrayal-jean-shepherd-and-a-christmas-story/

2.                   Black Christmas (1974)

Inexplicably, the best family Christmas film and the scariest horror film were directed by the same man and both are set in what should be the most merry of seasons. Bob Clark is a director that deserves more attention - see https://www.popmatters.com/bob-clark-films-2646125288.html for suggestions of a surprisingly influential filmmaker. Black Christmas is considered by those in the know to be the true benchmark American slasher film, coming four years before Halloween and providing such inspiration to John Carpenter that Clark apparently advised him. It may seem ridiculous to try and find auteuristic similarities between this and A Christmas Story however, both are shot in a low-key Clarksian style with relatable characters and the same warm, grainy aesthetic that creates nostalgia in A Christmas Story but that becomes perversely warped in Black Christmas. In the latter, a serial killer is picking off sorority girls one by one at Christmas in the creepiest way imaginable, making the most hideously weirdo prank calls in between murders. And aside from its seasonal context, it’s a classy horror with interesting, sometimes tough female characters including Margot Kidder and Olivia Hussey, an old movie that set a tone before the cliché became one of busty screamers and contrived slaughterhouse plots.

3.                   It’s a Wonderful Life (1946)

Frank Capra’s rightful classic exudes small town, anti-capitalist values with endearing, old school charm and is propelled by performances led by expert everyman James Stewart. It’s the opposite of A Christmas Carol in that an exceptionally good man rather than a bad one has to be taken in hand by supernatural forces to save himself and a community. For a film hailed as the ultimate Christmas movie it’s incredibly dark, dealing with various issues that are potentially life-sinking in reality, and in fact the whole story is built around a prospective suicide. It’s crushingly heart-breaking pretty much from the get go – at the corner of every happy moment is a tragedy to the point you could cry throughout the whole damned thing. But trust me, if you are willing to take the rough with the smooth, it’s worth it. Hot dog!

Spoiler alert - it drifts slightly at the end and is disappointing when George sees Mary as – yarg! an unmarried woman wearing glasses and working in a library!? - as the terrible outcome if George had never lived. Gratefully though, it’s a minor blip that we can overlook in an otherwise truly wonderful film.

4.    Scrooged (1988)

The 1980s TV exec context is cleverly utilised for a re-examination of the morals of A Christmas Carol, whereby a man with wealth and power achieved by cold-blooded heartlessness is forced to confront himself and the impact of his actions on others.

Although Scrooged seems to have divided critics since it’s release – and Bill Murray himself has derided it – there are those who feel it has become a Christmas classic, and I’m unashamedly one of them. Marking a sensational comeback after a four-year hiatus following Ghostbusters, it’s right up there with Groundhog Day as an excellent showcase for the Murray brand of sarcastic wit that he balances impressively well with the more sentimental side of things. Highlights are an endearing love story and nice chemistry with Karen Allen as the girlfriend, a host of cameos including Robert Mitchum and David Johansen of New York Dolls, the tear-jerking fate of a homeless man, and a ball busting fairy who makes sure Frank feels some of the pain he causes others. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, Yule love it!

5.    Carol (2015)

Meticulous in period detail while also a very grown-up Christmas film for the modern age, this is also my second favourite film directed by Todd Haynes behind Safe. A key auteur from the 1990s American indie era, Haynes’ characteristic subtlety and empathy reaches its peak in this Patricia Highsmith adaptation of a love affair between a young shop girl and a wealthy older woman in the 1940s. Beautiful cinematography with performances that are affecting in their delicate, restrained power assist a story loaded with heartbreak and poignancy. And in a film so decorated with the trappings of the Christmas period, it is profoundly meaningful that the big day itself passes without acknowledgement, appropriately denying the hypocrisy of a celebration built around being with the ones you love when our heroines are denied it themselves.

6.            Tangerine (2015)

Pretty much the ultimate anti-Christmas film in that, although it takes place on Christmas Eve, aesthetically and thematically it goes against everything apparently held dear in terms of the traditional wintry, family-affirming ideal. Here instead we have the non-travails of two transgender prostitutes trawling the Strip in sun-baked LA as recorded via smartphone by excellent American indie filmmaker, Sean Baker. Swear-ridden and frankly depicting street-bought sex, it is refreshing in its address to the experiences of those not normally featured in holiday fare, but also in its humour and a finale in which not everything is tied up in a happy bow. The warm feelings do come for anyone who understands outsider-ness, and from an ending where the two leads share a quietly powerful moment in which true friendship - defiant in the face of poverty, social status and heterosexual-based family orientation – wins out.

 

 

7.            Gremlins

This is the unusual story of a Christmas present delivered to an adult child, and one in which seasonal merriment is all but destroyed by the deviousness of some small but extremely destructive creatures. Set in a Bedford Falls-esque scenario, a young, small-town man receives from his failing inventor father a Mogwai, a cute critter sold to him by the young grandson of a Chinese man, and all is adorable until the rules that must be followed when caring for the strange animal are broken - then all hell breaks loose. A stand-out scene is Billy’s mother defending her kitchen and home with the bravery and ruthlessness of any domestic warrior queen. Massively Christmassy but with some very dark twists on the season as well as on the small town, family-oriented backdrop in typical Joe Dante-fashion, it’s now an iconic ‘80s classic and cult Christmas favourite.

8.            The Snowman

Another 80s childhood favourite in a far more wistful sense, this one brings with it an ocean of tears like the one James and his wonderful snowman friend fly over in the iconic scene. Delightfully sketchy in its hand-drawn animation aesthetics and cosily ordinary in its quintessential Englishness - even a woolly jumper-clad David Bowie in the haunting introduction – The Snowman has come to perfectly represent the poignancy of disappointment as it comes so hard on the heels of fleetingly transcendent joy.

9.            Die Hard (1988)

“Yippee ki-yay mother****er!” This one’s for grown-ups only - the dark side of Die Hard is that it is a classic 80s trigger happy and tongue-in-cheek action movie in its approach to rampant violence, but it’s also some of the most fun you can have watching a Christmas film. Bruce Willis as John McClane is an unashamed throwback to all all-American tough guy movie heroes who get shit done against all the odds, taking on villainous Europeans, a building under construction, as well as dumbass police chiefs and stoopid, suit-wearing FBI agents. Just as quotable and iconic is the excellent Alan Rickman as Hans Gruber, the German nemesis looking to rob a whole load of bearer bonds by staging what he had hoped would be a quietly elaborate siege on an office block until New York cop McClane singlehandedly makes himself a serious fly in the ointment. It’s actually really smart stuff, directed with visual style by John McTiernan and featuring assured, compelling performances by all. And it gave birth to the best Christmas jumper ever.

10.          Edward Scissorhands

If there are both horrors and pleasures to be found in either city living or suburban dwelling at Christmas or otherwise, the worst of small-town existence is brought to the fore in this now classic modern fairy tale from Tim Burton at his very best. Here the small-town community is ultimately dastardly, intolerant of otherness when it no longer suits its own purposes and presented in ghastly hues of pastel horror in contrast to the gentle Goth boy Edward, who is ushered in to town by twinkly, well-meaning Dianne Wiest. Brought in to being by inventor Vincent Price as a vulnerable, caring and creative humanoid with ‘hands’ that suggest the complete opposite – elaborate and savagely sharp giant scissors – Edward’s accidental weapons are first used to the delight of the townsfolk he arrives in the realm of before hysterical small-mindedness turns the former welcomers in to a witch-hunting mob. Johnny Depp is perhaps underrated for conveying so subtly well a sense of Edward’s capacity for love, sorrow and burgeoning humanity underneath the make-up and Robert Smith hair, before he’s so emphatically rejected by the comparatively weird community at the bottom of the hill his gothic mansion home sits atop. There is also wry humour peppered throughout, but a haunting and mournfully beautiful Danny Elfman score, along with visions of snowy heartache make for an exquisitely bittersweet Christmas classic.

11.          Home Alone

The respective heroes of Home Alone and A Christmas Story are strangely similar in that both are cute blonde little boys whose wants and desires are frustrated by adults, and both imagine themselves far more capable in life than any of said adults give them credit for. The crucial difference is that trying and failing is an inevitable and relentless part of life in A Christmas Story, whereas in Home Alone, Kevin gives us an emphatic demonstration of how, with enough tenacity and optimism, he can successfully triumph over those who would doubt or even destroy him.

Like many of my generation, I can’t help but have fondness for the film – it has a masterful soundtrack that is now iconic and inextricably linked with the season; visually, it exudes Christmas in spades with the warm glow of lights and cosy interiors contrasting with Christmas card snow scenes that invite serious sledding and decent-sized snowmen. And there is also some humorously authentic family discontent. However, as much as we celebrate the courage and ingenuity of little Kevin fending off the dastardly burglars in the final showdown, I always felt there was something a bit deranged about the super-violence he visits upon them. Inspired by the article on Jean Shepherd mentioned above and also this one on Home Alone - https://www.vice.com/en/article/8gkbjg/americas-favorite-child-soldier-home-alone-25-years-later  - it occurred to me that Ralphie’s fantasy in A Christmas Story of what he could achieve if he had a toy gun versus Kevin’s reality of the power he wields when literally armed in Home Alone is like comparing a form of liberal nihilism with the post-Reaganistic optimism referenced in the Vice article. The latter also makes interesting points about the dubious underlying class/racial issues detectable in John Hughes’ films generally, here identified as depicting Harry and Marv - respectively Italian-American and Jew - as grubby and despicable in contrast to the bickering but otherwise clean and New Money-rich McAllister family. Ultimately for me, Home Alone is a guilty pleasure, but give me the school of futility (in which one’s most fervent desires are rarely realised as one would want) in A Christmas Story over the playpen of triumph in Home Alone any day.

12.          Batman Returns

Tim Burton again and, like Die Hard, not so much a Christmas film as one that happens to be set at Christmas, Batman Returns utilises many holiday hallmarks in delightfully twisted ways. Snowy and present-filled, the context of Burton’s excellent Batman sequel only supports the loneliness, discontent and family fuck-ups of the Christmas experience suffered by many/some (delete as you see fit): the Penguin emerges to avenge his parental abandonment and Catwoman spits angrily in the eye of cosily celebratory hypocrisy in a movie where a huge bow-adorned gift offers violent carnage and a light switch-on results in crowd-viewed beauty queen assassination. It sounds disturbing but it really is a lot of fun – Burton before he and the world became so oppressively family friendly.

13.          Holiday Affair (1949)

Just as director Todd Haynes showed his appreciation for classic Hollywood melodrama in his tribute to Douglas Sirk’s All That Heaven Allows with Far From Heaven, it seems likely that he was familiar with Holiday Affair when making Carol. Carol is effectively the gay Holiday Affair – in both, a romance begins in the toy section of a department store at Christmas where the beautiful mother of a young child comes in to buy a train set from the salesperson who will trouble her prospective future with a more conventional, dependable lover. In Holiday Affair, the latter is a lawyer offering financial stability to war widow and single mother Connie (Janet Leigh), and is set up against the wry and naturally perceptive charm of rival Robert Mitchum as Steve Davis, a free-wheeling and charming bum with dreams of boat building in a role aimed at tempering real-life Mitchum’s marijuana-bust controversy by appearing in family-friendly fare. A Christmas romance with various twists and turns, it’s classy stuff thanks to the performances and chemistry between the leads, (spoiler alert) and a conversation between Connie and Steve about the train set he buys for her son again calls to mind Carol and its happy ending:

Connie:  But he shouldn’t feel that he’ll always get everything he wants.

Steve:  Well not always, no. But every now and then so that he’ll know that these things can happen.

14.          Remember the Night (1940)

Classic Hollywood doing it interestingly again in a Preston Sturges scripted film starring Barbara Stanwyck. She’s typically gutsy and problematic as a thief who ends up spending Christmas with the guy who will be prosecuting her once the holidays are over. Difference is that the film deals with her more empathetically than in her typical roles as femme fatale, and she shows she can deliver vulnerability as well as playing the diva, maybe even better. Nice chemistry between her and Fred MacMurray in the first of their pairings that would be repeated in the classic noir Double Indemnity, as he plays a guy from the same part of the country as her but with a loving upbringing unlike her own youth with a cold, judgemental mother. For once the period of inactivity between Christmas and New Year when usually nothing useful gets done performs the perfect function of bringing these two opposites together in heart-wrenchingly romantic fashion.

15.          Meet Me in St Louis

The most sentimental Christmas moment that has me properly booing is the scene in this film where Judy Garland sings ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’, but again perhaps because of the melancholy behind her sad reassurances to a little sister crying at the thought of moving away from their beloved city. It’s a film that actually moves through all four of the seasons, but the winter scenes are at Christmas and form the crucial turning point in the fates of the Smith family in this vivid classic musical from Vincente Minelli.

 

 

Killers of the Flower Moon (2023)

 

Killers of the Flower Moon (2023)

Director: Martin Scorsese

Stars: Leonardo Dicaprio, Lily Gladstone, Robert De Niro

Short Review, no spoilers

Although unmistakeably Martin Scorsese in style, this is a distinctly serious film from the veteran director as he takes on a true story of outrageous injustice as visited on the Osage Indian community in 1920s Oklahoma. What is unusual about this as a Scorsese movie however, is that there is a love story at the heart of it. Not only that but it is a challenging, thoughtfully played out and well performed romance by stars Leonardo Dicaprio and Lily Gladstone.

An important and impressive film even if it does lag disappointingly at the end.

 

Full Review (spoilers)

Despite perhaps still being best known for his iconic gangster films, Martin Scorsese has actually taken on an eclectic range of subjects in his long career. The exploitation and murder of Native Americans in Killers of the Flower Moon is a daring one in that it is a conversation still not had often enough. However, it does suggest a continuation of Scorsese’s interest in early days white America-building as seen in Gangs of New York, delving in to pockets of the past with meticulous attention to detail to depict times that were brutal and morally conflicted – as if they were so different now … Both films also revolve around the story of a grapple for power headed up by white men that are sociopathic in their obsession to obtain it. Robert De Niro’s Bill Hail is in fact arguably more despicable than any of Scorsese’s mobsters to the point that his dastardly dealings almost make Henry Hill and co.’s look like scampish antics.

Although Scorsese once again casts A-list muse Leonardo Dicaprio in the lead role, his is one half of a relatively unglamorous couple as far as Hollywood goes, with Dicaprio playing an uncharacteristically dumbed down doof, while Lily Gladstone is a beauty of the natural kind as well as the very image of serene stoicism. The matching up of Earnest and Molly is curiously endearing and Gladstone makes it believable that she would fall for such a dumbass who, in spite of his clumsy ways has a certain cheeky charm that she can’t help falling for. Although cinemagoers might see an uglified Dicaprio, Molly sees a handsome man and their relationship comes together in convincing fashion, even as Earnest would appear to be punching way above his weight. Dicaprio often plays chilly, intense men but the warmth drawn out in this unusual role for him is an interesting diversion and aided in no small part from co-star Gladstone.

Not for the first time, Scorsese presents us with a complex anti-hero but Earnest has got to be one of the most challenging to sympathise with. Herein lies the brilliance of how he is depicted however. Even mugging, grave-robbing, assisting in murders (including those of Molly’s entire family), as well as poisoning the wife he apparently loves, you still get the sense that he doesn’t fully comprehend what it is that he himself is doing, that he really is that dumb. All of it is orchestrated by his uncle, Bill Hail, but it just goes to show that the stupid man is as dangerous as the man who manipulates him. As wholly depressing as it is, it is important to bear witness to Hail’s utter lack of morality, as he kills and keeps alive to suit his purposes rampantly and with a disturbingly pure sense of entitlement. As is his way, Scorsese pulls no punches when it comes to the casually inflicted violence that certain men are capable of.

Once established, dramatic tension is built when threats to Hail’s stranglehold begin to emerge. There’s the seemingly insipid Bill Smith, a ‘rabbit’ in the eyes of his wife, and whose own moral judgement is somewhat in question after he quietly marries her sister soon after the death of said wife. He is surprisingly intrepid however in investigating the growing number of murders among Osage natives, and goes on to demonstrate boldness in the face of a sneering Earnest. The double murder of Smith and his wife is nasty but at least is a significant contribution to the mounting evidence when Hail’s schemes begin to crumble. Other members of the town begin to show resistance also – when a ‘suicide’ goes wrong and Hail tries to implicate a local shopkeeper by encouraging him to run from suspicious law enforcement, the man calmly declares that he’s staying put and that he is no friend of Hail’s. Following a visit to Washington, it seems that the efforts of Molly and the Osage elders to request help have been futile until a team of the newly born FBI assisted by a charismatic Indian from another tribe turn up to investigate. Scorsese carefully and intelligently skirts a patronising white man saviour narrative though by portraying the agents as dry and seemingly benign professionals rather than glorified heroes. This also serves as a pleasing contrast with the visible panic in Hail and Earnest as they gradually get their comeuppance. However, just as the tide is beginning to turn, the brakes are put on for some reason and the action begins to grind at a frustratingly slow pace. Points are laboured and needlessly spelled out, and Earnest’s interrogation scene is inexplicably lengthy just as things should be gathering pace. After a time, the film picks up slightly and interest is maintained by seeing just how much the marvel that is Molly will forgive.

Despite the flabby ending, Killers of the Flower Moon is an admirable and compelling film and a welcome addition to the still too few stories that address ongoing Native American injustice. On a side note that is worthy of mention, it features the last (and best?) soundtrack by long time Scorsese collaborator Robbie Robertson before his death very shortly before the film’s release. It literally provides the heartbeat of the film, realised so well perhaps because of the personal investment Robertson had in the project. Of Native American descent himself, Robertson had spoken of his delight at Scorsese’s decision to explore the subject, and his creation of a mix of bluegrass and un-cliched Native American sounds is masterful throughout. A highlight of artistic unity is the moment early on when young male Osage Indians dance in a well spring of black oil to a thumping tribal drum beat and wry electric guitar riff.  It’s a moment of celebration pitch perfectly attuned to the original master of dark coolness in the context of archly ironic social context.

 

Barbie (2023)

Director: Greta Gerwig

Stars: Margot Robbie, Ryan Gosling

Short Review, no spoilers

Overall, Barbie is something of a peculiarity however, who am I to argue with the millions who have been to see it, and its apparent power to get banned in several countries. Nevertheless, I left the cinema wandering who would be most satisfied with the film as a whole – it didn’t strike me as either particularly child-friendly or nostalgically adult-friendly and in fact, probably better suited to Greta Gerwig fans than Barbie fans. It’s quite fun briefly but then descends in to verbose, concentration-testing dialogue and feminist sentiments which may or may not be inspiring, perhaps depending on how much you’ve heard it all before and better delivered. Gerwig seemed keen to protect her indie image with attempts to intellectualise and referencing Pavement rather than attempt a brave and fresh look at what Barbie offers the world today. It feels like a disappointingly missed opportunity.

Full Review (spoilers)

I feel that I went through a brief but tumultuous relationship with the new Barbie movie (better half of the Barbenheimer phenomenon? I have yet to endure the masculine side of this very straight, white coupling). My initial cynicism was abruptly overturned when the trailer was played at my local cinema – I loved it! It seemed to be what I had never thought of, or thought possible in this day and age – a vision of Barbie that was equal parts ironic and celebratory. I was as super-excited as every Barbie fan should be – as a world-weary almost 40-year-old it seemed to offer both exaggerated nostalgia and a wryly humorous examination of the daft fantasy that is Barbie. It looked funny! Where once I was puzzled over the assignment of Greta Gerwig as director, I now speculated that she may actually be perfect for the job. A situation where in taking two seemingly polar opposites – an enduring dinosaur of mass-marketed mega toys and ‘indie’ darling of current day American film - a perfectly complementary balance might well be achieved.

What in fact seems to have occurred is less an odd couple match made in heaven as a match made in hell. The ultimate outcome is that girls and women are dictated to by a pair of overbearing parents helicoptering over them and inexplicably, it is the plastic doll who sits there inanely but consistently promoting sentiments that girls can be and do anything they want through a dogma that has been taken apart many times and more effectively for years that engages more sympathy. By the end, I felt sorry for Barbie - bullied nigh on out of existence by modern day, surface-level soul-searching – and myself for having to endure long, drawn out, apparently meaningful moments that were really an example of the unfocused, unimaginative, social media-style muddle that is current debate these days – overly influenced by a treacherous tussle between hardline capitalism and modern day right-on ‘left’ espousements.

When I first settled in to a pleasingly packed auditorium (at 11am in the morning by the way) and took in an interesting mix of audience with many getting in to the pink spirit of things, I felt something of the thrill of a uniting and somewhat significant event. And the start of the film seemed perfectly in keeping with what I had come to expect. Beginning with a wonderfully wrought vision of how Barbie came in to being, it plays as the opening moments of 1959: A Doll Odyssey, as little girls dash their baby dolls in to the earth when a giant monolith of glamorous, womanly toydom in a fetching swimsuit emerges in to their realm, revealing aspirations beyond a fantasy of domesticity and motherhood.

Shooting forward to the present day, Barbieworld appears as an expansion of everything that was opposite to the original baby doll – utterly divorced from the real world, virginal, individualistic, and heavily materialistic. I chuckled wryly, remembering the peculiarity of my simultaneous fascination and frustration with this toy as a child – the Dreamhouse that has a little elevator but no walls, the presence of ghastly but intoxicating pink everywhere. It seemed to be working through what I had anticipated – a knowing but amusing examination of the obscure practicalities we accept of a mass-produced doll, like tip-toed feet that fit perfectly modelled high heeled shoes, and permanent shiny-toothed happiness. However, it wasn’t long before my open-minded want to enjoy gradually began to close down like a fading grin. I’m clearly out of date – I haven’t perused a toy catalogue gorging on which pink nightmare I would just love to own for at least 30 years. But I could not believe that any toy based entirely around fantasy (which all toys are) has been rolling out dolls based on real human beings … EVER. So for me the presence of more real-looking diverse ‘Barbies’ in Barbieworld jarred immediately. I wasn’t aware that they had ever made Barbies that are BMI bothering, anything other than strictly and clearly man or woman, or frankly just normal looking. Barbie awareness of its totalitarian white promotion of a particular kind of surface aesthetic beauty is no new thing – they made Christie a long, long time ago to address the race issue, but really, she was just a brown-skinned, black-haired version of Barbie. THAT’S Barbieworld. Everyone is just a modified version of Barbie. Ok so maybe that’s what the filmmakers are deliberately doing here, except that everyone is Barbie or Ken in name instead of physicality? But in which case, if it’s a simple reversal, then the same applies? In that here a community would seem to be diverse but actually isn’t because they’re all called by the same name? I didn’t get the sense that that particular level of irony was being explored to its fullest potential if at all.

Another significant back-fire and mis-hit is that - in a film apparently promoting reclamation of power and attention from men - Ryan Gosling’s Ken completely steals it. He gets more of the comedy and more of the character complexity; Gosling’s performance is better than Margot Robbie’s (although he has much more to work with); and whereas Ken realises a full character arc, Barbie’s role falters just as it might have developed, and positively disintegrates as the film progresses. It is also one of the notable circumstances through which the film opens up an interesting can of worms before tying itself in a knot by apparently trying to resolve it. Ken’s delight at discovering the world of patriarchy is very funny at times but results in getting caught between the two potentials of either illuminating something pointedly and entertainingly or developing a premise more fully and critically. What plays out is a wayward address to the problem of patriarchy followed by acquiescence through equality. As a result, Barbie is demoted as the heroine and star of her own particular universe and Ken is promoted from his traditional role as supporting sidekick. By the end, Ken no longer has to endure the quiet valiance of taking a step back and allowing the limelight to his girlfriend, instead enjoying reward for his patriarchal petulance, while Barbie’s ending is the excited demand for a real-life vagina. In offering Ken equality, the film misses the entire point of Barbie promoting women to the forefront, and of Barbie being a central - if fantastical - offering as a heroine to girls the world over.

One of the questions no one is asking is why a toy that is aimed at girls is so fraught with neurosis when toys stereotypically designed for boy’s apparent wants are not burdened by the same. It seems like a wasted opportunity to explore such things in a radical way that need not necessarily fear upsetting the sponsors/manufacturers. I did enjoy the inclusion of ‘weird’ Barbie – my own childhood favourite doll was an accidental misfit: she ended up somewhat grunge, with dreadlock-ish hair and adorned with Mr T’s red, off the shoulder, long-sleeved T-shirt. By happy accident, she was transformed from just another dumb doll to something kind of cool. What I am trying to say is that ultimately, Barbie has the potential to be a fantasy toy that girls can interpret how they want, appropriate or reject as they wish. Instead, this film briefly introduces the freedom to play before heavily burdening it with the anvil of already-developed adult angst that frankly we could all do with a little less of.

To sum up, if I found watching Barbie an ultimately deflating and at times angering experience, the aftermath was that I did reflect nostalgically on what Barbie meant to me as a child. And one of the most significant of those reflections is that I remembered how much I always preferred Sindy

 

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood  (2019)

Director: Quentin Tarantino

Stars: Leonardo DiCaprio, Brad Pitt, Margot Robbie

Short Review, no spoilers

The setting of this hotly anticipated and characteristically stylish Quentin Tarantino movie is 1969 at the time and place of the Manson murders. A love letter to Hollywood generally, and eulogy to the Golden era, the film is naturally full of meticulously assembled period detail and pop culture references. Leading a cameo-riddled cast are the two biggest hitters in present day Hollywood, Leonardo DiCaprio and Brad Pitt, ironically playing two individuals rather low down in the industry food chain - a fading western star and his stunt double respectively. A double narrative thread incorporates Rick Dalton’s (DiCaprio) attempts to revive his career with a recreation of the events leading up to the night Sharon Tate (played by Margot Robbie) was murdered by Charles Manson-led hippy cult members. Engaging throughout, but brace yourself for a controversial depiction of Bruce Lee, and watch out for that ending – whatever it is or isn’t, it’s definitely not predictable.

Full Review (spoilers)

Here comes Tarantino over the Hollywood hills, wreaking a bizarre fantasy revenge on Charles Manson and the hippy cult that threatened to destroy the Dream Factory from within. Don’t look like he’s fooling around – or is he?

That’s the final scene by the way, which we can talk about now that the dust has settled. There is more to say about Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, a frustrating film if not because it could have been something quite good. Tarantino got critics (and China) in a real fizz over his latest, but it is his engagement with them that causes the film to suffer. There are moments, not least in the wacked-out finale, that can surely only be understood as such. The overcooked ending, which upends the whole thing and mocks anyone who invested in what had gone before, can only be seen as a personal reaction to the personal criticism that Mr T takes pleasure in violence against women. Such a consistently stoic bastion for the glories of traditional film-making practices and cinema-going should know better than to make fools of his audience, and to descend in to what I suggest is senseless provocation born out of personal beef.

The best moments of Once Upon a Time in Hollywood are where you feel like an actual film is being made, and one which, without Tarantino’s temperamental distractions, could have been entertaining and interesting. Touching on tensions between the hippy drop-outs and superstars co-existing in Hollywood in the late 1960s, which culminated in the dreadful carnage that occurred on that fateful night, there is a constant creeping sense of ominousness behind the faded, sunny façade of 35mm photographed California. It also sticks quite faithfully to documented accounts of the Manson murders before wildly re-writing history in the final act. His depiction of Spahn Ranch and some of the more notorious members of the Manson ‘family’ (Clem, Tex, and a brilliantly passive-aggressive turn by Dakota Fanning as Squeaky, who is wholly menacing even as she lounges in deadpan squalor) is hauntingly close to what is described in Vincent Bugliosi’s book, Helter Skelter. The result is genuinely chilling at times, not least when we catch a glimpse of the man himself, Charles Manson, grinning at the unwitting Sharon Tate as she stands on her doorstep.

As for the main players, I rated this as one of DiCaprio’s more assured performances and one in which I liked him very much as washed-up cowboy actor, Rick Dalton. As his stunt double and best buddy, Brad Pitt as Cliff Booth is effortlessly cool, a bemused smirk on his face throughout. The rapport between them is good but their relationship is underdeveloped – another aspect of the film that deserved more attention. Margot Robbie is also fine as Sharon Tate, and I found the scene in which she watches herself delightedly at a movie theatre alone quite endearing. Despite accusations that Tarantino is a poor creator of female characters, one of the successes of the film is Julia Butters as Trudi, Rick’s child co-star in the pilot they are shooting for a western TV series. The interaction between Butters and DiCaprio is a joy – she regards him with haughtiness at first, as he coughs heavily and spits, looking very old and uncouth next to the precocious little girl. The scene is of the two actors taking a break and contains dialogue more characteristic of traditional Tarantino – a natural, low-key and seemingly banal conversation between characters that subtly reveals significant aspects of their personalities. The conversation is both funny and moving, featuring a discussion about what books they’re reading which leads Rick to break down and confess his insecurities about his faltering career. In another scene, one amusing sideswipe at the misogyny accusers occurs when Rick throws Trudi to the floor while in character, only to apologise and ask if she’s ok. Trudi gamely replies in the affirmative, assuring him that she’s been practicing her falls – a clear reference to the furore over Uma Thurman’s treatment during the filming of Kill Bill, during which it was suggested that Tarantino is a fanatical bully.

Now, for the whole Bruce Lee thing - at best it will induce frown-and-puff-out puzzlement, but for anyone with even a vague idea of Lee’s iconic and legendary brilliance, it is surely jaw-drop horror and throw things at the screen stuff. What is inexplicable is that Tarantino is a Bruce Lee fan, so I really don’t know what he’s getting at other than being mindlessly provocative. Plenty has been said on this subject but I think ultimately we can bin it off to the category of silly and indefensible.

Where Tarantino does show a lot of respect is in his beloved homage to western TV shows of the era and their stars. In true pop culture referencing form, tribute is paid to shows such as Lancer and Bonanza, and stars such as James Stacy, Wayne Maunder and Ty Hardin, demonstrating his usual meticulous geek attention to detail in which you may or may not be interested. At first, I found myself growing impatient when I seemed to be watching a film within a film courtesy of the director’s over-indulgence. However, after delivering a lengthy and difficult speech in one take, which is devastatingly interrupted by his own failure to remember the rest of his lines, I realised that I was being invited to respect and admire what it is that Rick does. Performed excellently by DiCaprio, Rick’s frustration further demonstrates the high standards and professionalism he expects of himself, even in the ‘low-brow’ arena of 1960s TV westerns. It is moments such as these that are more poignant and effective in reflecting Tarantino’s desire to shine light on unacknowledged dime store entertainment heroes, rather than others where his heavy-handed demands that you love something as much as he does can become tedious.

Sadly, any potential the film has in these areas is spectacularly thrown in the bin at the finale. As my esteemed companion said on witnessing the debacle, a spaceship may as well have landed in the middle of it and the effect would have been the same. A stupid scene of extreme violence, the action is wildly overblown and badly filmed. As sickening as what you’re actually seeing is, the horror of it was lessened by the fact that it reminded me of the Farrelly brothers firing blanks – dumb but not funny. Tarantino used to do controversy with naturalism, style and wit, but it seems coolly delivered violence made alarming for its casualness is out, letting over-the-top, dumbass fantasy in.