Archive for July, 2009

Life is sweet (1991)

July 28, 2009 at 9:09 am · Filed under Tedious ·Tagged , , , ,

Jane Horrocks virtually ruins this film with her nasal impersonation of a whiny cockney teenage bulimic. She’s like a nastier and unfunnier version of Harry Enfields spotty adolescent “Kevin”.

Other Mike Leigh films have suffered from actors getting too “stuck”. Instead of creating credible “characters” they slide into grotesque caricature. Timothy Spall in this film also overcooks the goofball eccentricities of Aubrey; his acting becomes parodic, becomes a “performance” of quirky mannerisms; he’s fallen flat into a 2 dimensional comedy sketch character from off The Fast Show.

Mike Leigh has to take the rap really; he’s allowing actors to become ridiculous. A serious failure of judgement is going on. When i first saw this film back in the early 90’s i had the same dismayed reaction to it as i have now. It was the first film of his where i’d thought, “No, this isn’t working – it’s crossed over from being comedy of cringe into simply being embarrassing. Not embarrassingly funny; embarrasingly bad”.

Even Alison Steadman resorts to the verbal mannerisms of roles she’s played before (ala Beverley in Abigails Party), doing her little this and little that… “Aww bless him”… “You’re jokin me“”….and “little” chuckly laughs, trying to make light, make trite of everything.

Jane Horrocks says “bollocks” alot, and needs boyfriend David Thewlis to do wierd sex on her. “Not again, it’s borin” he groans. “I’m not doing it then” she says. “Lie down then” he says. “You pervert”. Turns out she likes to be tied up to the bed and have chocolate spread smeared and sucked off her flat chest.

David Thewlis is about the only character that works, has authenticity. “I don’t want “it”, i want “you”. I want to treat you like a real person rather than a fucking shagbag” he says. “You’re a fake” he says.

He’s right. Not only not a real person. But not even a real character. A genuine fake.

“Piss off then!” she snarls.

So he does. He leaves her.

I cheered him out the door

Dir: Mike Leigh, England

4/10

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Henry Fool

July 24, 2009 at 9:30 pm · Filed under Tedious ·Tagged

First thing to say: this is one load of primary bollocks. Which is nothing unsual for a Hal Hartley film.

Simon Grim is a stick-thin bespectacled garbage collector. Who also happens to be a Nobel Prize winning poet in the making. Which is where Henry Fool comes in. To make him.

Henry Fool is not a Nobel Prize winning writer. Although he want to be. Or thinks he already is.

Simon Grim has a slutty sister called Faye. She wants to be fucked. Often. She’s got her slutty eye on Henry. But the Fool fucks catatonic mom on the sofa instead.

Henry Fool wears a 3-piece charcoal suit, has foppish locks, talks in sonorous tones like a academic of Literary Theory: “The relativity of cadence in relationship to the readability of form” he opines. But he looks like a thuggish street-dealer. And goes around impregnating various fawning females. “Beast! Fiend! Rapist!” He fucks Faye eventually. Gives her is progeny.

Henry has jumped parole. “What did you do?” asks Simon. “I got caught” says Henry. Got caught screwing a 13 year old girl. Got 7 years. So, not a literary genius – a paedophile.

Mom is playing piano. “That was nice”. “Yes, it was nice – but it was unmemorable” “Does that matter?” “Yes it does”. Mom puts down piano lid. She reads Simons pornographic poem. Slits her wrists. That was memorable enough.

Simon gets his poem published. Becomes a literary sensation. Becomes feted, awarded, rewarded. Becomes the famously respected genius Henry Fool will never be. Henry Fool is just a schmuck. Just a notoriety. Just a kiddie-fucker. A good for nothing drunk. A deluded pretentious twat.

On the scale of pretentious twatism this film wins hands down.

All the characters seem like they’re seriously disassociated from the normal range of human feeling. Like they might be suffering from mild to severe variations of Aspergers syndrome.

I used to be more tolerant, even indulgent, of this po-mo kind of stuff 20 years ago.

But not anymore.

Dir: Hal Hartley, USA

5/10

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Grown Ups (1980)

July 15, 2009 at 11:36 am · Filed under Good ·Tagged , , , , ,

Strictly speaking this isn’t a feature film but a play made for BBC 2.

You’ve got “Mand” (Lesley Manville)  as the newly married working class wife (with a fag on in that pic there) of Dick (Philip Davis) in his horrible cross-ply synthetic cardigan.

They’ve just moved into their first house/home together in Canterbury. Next door happens to live Mr Butcher, their old RE teacher and his Brummie wife (Lindsay Duncan) “I ated im, he used to keep goin on abaht me teef” grumbles Dick.

It’s a typical Mike Leigh film. Intensely improvised “types” who are crudely characterized by habitual tics, mannerisms, catchphrases. Kind of like comedy sketch characters from the Fast Show, only sadder – and with pretensions at depicting real-life pathos. There’s

Surly “Mand”: doing her fish-face “Don’t be so stewpid Dick”

Sullen Dick: “I’ll get er oova“…. lying like a lazy lump on the settee “I’m bleedin tellin ya – make me a cup of tea!“

Sister”Glor” (Brenda Blethyn): popping around all the time “Hello Dick, here i am again”

Mr Butcher: Loch Ness Monster obssessive with peculiar clearing his throat voice mannerism.

Mrs Butcher: doing her Brummie accent “Cheerio”.… knitting away “Some of your ex pewpills here”

Very surly friend of “Mand”  Sharon (Janine Duvitski) popping around to cast a moany eye on their new home “It’s filthy. He’ll never lift a finger will he?” She can’t stand Dick. Cus he gloats at how boyfriendless she is.

It’s a world where you put the milk bottles out in your fluffy blue slippers with that perpetual fag on, making endless cups of tea. House warming is a Party Can of Watneys and a fry-up on toast. Dreary suburban 1980’s life on a Canterbury council estate.

Mand wants to start a family “I fancy getting a dog” says Dick. She wants to come off the pill. “I’ve told you – you’re not! You’ll stay on the pill if i have to ram it down your bleedin frote!” he snarls.

Sharon is still on Sweets and not getting anywhere finding a bloke.

Mr Butcher  is demanding of Mrs Butcher “Get me a biscuit. I want a Garribaldi” Her shoulders visibly deflate.

Dick and Mand are getting fed up of “Glor” popping continually around “Thought you were going home Glor?”

Glor don’t get the hint. “She’s soft in the bleedin ead!” shouts Dick. A ruckus kicks off. Dick throws Glor out. She runs off hysterical to the Butchers next door and locks herself in their bathroom. Much shouting and argy bargy trying to wrestle Glor down the stairs. “Grown-ups” acting – and regressing – to being the bleedin kids they mostly are, is the message.

With Mrs Bucther acting as the capable Mothering person she is never going to be. There’s a touching moment of pathos in bed later when she finally, desperately, lets out that “I want sex, i want love – and i want a family, thats what i want”. And goggle-eyed Butcher carries on reading his encyclopedia regardless, impervious – stone-cold as the abstract “facts” he’s obssessing about.

It’s funny – it is i suppose. You find yourself laughing at how grossly trapped they all are in their tic-fixated stuck personalities. Yes, they’re amusing to wryly chuckle at; and yet they’d get very irritating eventually. Luckily, you’re only stuck in a film with them; where a credible story is being shaped out of all this thick neurotic pathos, and it’ll be all over with in 90 minutes.

Phew! Glad i don’t live next to, or with, any of that bunch of sorry saddo’s.

Thats the feeling you have. I always have anyway, whenever i watch a Mike Leigh film.

You’re laughing at how crudely, and sadly, pathetic all us human beings unwittingly often are.

Dir: Mike Leigh, England

7.5/10

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Three Monkeys (2008)

July 7, 2009 at 4:13 pm · Filed under Good ·Tagged

Watched this film twice; second time around not quite so impressed.

Maybe because the pace is a little too studiously slow, the characters a little too earnestly construed, the photography a little too artfully deliberate.

It’s still pretty good though. And Nuri Bilge Ceylan’s “pretty good” is both pretty to look at, and good to ponder over, be seriously in contemplation of – not only after the film has finished – but during the film, as you sit there, quietly watching.

There’s not that much talking going on between the 4 main characters; a lot of looking, and a lot of thinking – or ruminating, or worrying – and a lot of internalised emotions simmering away just underneath the cracked surface.

The restless heat of a Turkish Summer insinuates these sultry emotions through windows of listless curtains, or through half opening doors; the boy – the son – keeps going back to flop apathetically on the bed, escape the oppressive heat, or his lack of energetic purpose.

The father is in prison, so his energetic purpose is momentarily stymied also.

Until he gets out. And he finds out whats been going on. The wife at it behind his back – with the very person he went to prison for (it was for money though, not altruistic sacrifice)

This film is like the other films of Ceylans i’ve seen; isolated people, separated or separating from one another, finding it difficult to connect; taciturn individuals infected with melancholy and undisclosed sadnesses; not able to talk about anything very much, not able to articulate the deep human hurt that has got into their souls, stuck there, beyond redemption or transformation.

There’s an air of futility about these films. Something sadly human, but futile. Travail is omnipresent. Hope isn’t coming.

Dir: Nuri Bilge Ceylan, Turkey

7.5/10

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Pi (1998)

July 3, 2009 at 8:27 am · Filed under Good

An odd film about an odd  skinny reclusive Jewish bloke. Prone to attacks of panic. Has intense migraines. In need of medication. In need of maths. In need to know the meaning. Behind numbers.

Using Number Theory punched through Main Frame computers in his bedroom Max Cohen is looking for a “Pattern” to reveal the Meaning of Everything.

Beardy Jewish Kabbalists are after his Number. A Corporate Agency is after his Number.

“This is insanity Max” says his Maths Mentor Sol. “Maybe it’s genius?” says Protege Max

“The answer is 216″ (a string of 216 numbers that is)

“You’re driving yourself over the edge – you need to stop” says Sol. Numbers are spirally around his head. He shaves his head. Draws numbers in ink on head. Drills into his heady head head – with a drill.

Corporate Agent corners him, “I don’t give a shit about you. I only what what’s in your fucking head” she screams. She’s not gonna get the Number.

Beardy Kabbalist Sect capture him. He’s not going to reveal to them the Number either, “The number in my head is the true name of God” he says maddeningly.

The film making “style” is conspicuously foregrounded;  in stark black and white, claustrophobic camera close-ups, intrusive shots, reclusive angles. I suppose you could say “Artsy”. Some people might even say “Fartsy”.

I don’t quite know what it’s all meant to mean. It means 216. It meant some freaky Jewish genius went a bit mad. Then saw the light. Through the trees.

Dir: Darren Aronofsky, USA

7/10

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