Two films in one night. What a rebel.

Last night, I saw two films – one at the cinema (it’s been a while) and one at home (it really hasn’t been a while). The first was Gran Torino, and I’m in two minds as to whether it was any good or not. It’s the sort of film that produces a sort of schizophrenia – one persona shakes its head, brow furrowed, wagging a finger at Clint Eastwood for becoming a bit self-parodying and artistically invalid, and the other is the hedonistic side that basically accepts that it is an absolute stonker of a film.

If you’re not familiar, Eastwood plays an old racist man, alienated from his family who care more about the next paycheck than they do their own flesh and blood. A bunch of ‘gooks’ (or naturalised immigrants from Vietnam, for the sake of political correctness) move in next door, and Eastwood really doesn’t like them – to begin with. After he accidentally saves a boy named Thao’s life by forcing his attackers at gunpoint off his lawn (delivered with the trademark Eastwood lip-curling hatred, just a bit more ghoulish given his age) he and his whole extended family basically fall in love with him, giving him food and other crap that stops him from opening his front door. Initially, he hates them for this, as old racists do, but eventually warms to them and realises he has more in common with “these goddamn gooks” than he does his own family. In his old, embittered cynical way, he begins to love them with his cracked ex-cowboy Korean war hero heart. Meanwhile, being old and all that, he’s dying of cancer, providing a perfect existentialist backdrop to his heroic suicide mission to out the bad guys once and for all (by standing outside their house and pretending, in some Alzheimer’s-induced hallucination, that his hand is a rifle, only to be shot by the whole lot in front of a load of testifying witnesses). The problem with this film is that there are elements that are obviously meant to be heartwarming and sad (like the messianic, “ooh, I just sacrificed meself” pose he strikes when he dies) but the rest of the film is just so obvious that you can’t take it seriously. It’s basically Clint Eastwood’s last chance to do anything close to a cowboy film, and he’s done that superbly. Just don’t expect any element of catharsis, because there just isn’t any.

The other, wildly contrasting film was Into The Wild, which I’ve been raving about for a while but only got round to seeing last night. If you flick down below this post, you can see the trailer, and perhaps you’ll begin to see why I loved it so much – the character (played adorably by Emile Hirsch) Christopher McCandless, up until the point where he dies of starvation in the middle of Alaska (silly boy) has such a strong, outdoorsy spirit that I’d hope to aspire to. I’ve said it before, but this film basically encapsulates tragedy and absolute fulfilment of one’s desires, especially given it’s told from a dual perspective – that of McCandless himself, and his sister, Carine. It’s based on a true story, but that’s to an extent irrelevant, as it’s a masterwork in filmmaking by itself – Sean Penn was the director (and writer of the screenplay, if I remember rightly), and while his acting career may have taken a bit of a dip before Milk (excellent, but I’ve raved about that before) he proves to be just as good behind the camera as in front of it.

All in all, two very good films – one because it’s a subtle yet magnificent riot, and the other because it’s fantastic to watch in that hazy, no-end-to-ambition mood I usually reach at about one in the morning.

Tomorrow, I’m up early so I can get tickets for three plays at the Royal Exchange Theatre (in Manchester): Widowers’ Houses, Eat Me and The Pianist. The first one’s just part of the theatre season and I know nothing about it (but it’s £4 so who gives a toss), the second is a one-man show at The Studio (their little mini theatre in the same building) as part of the Queer Up North… thing, and the latter is part of the Manchester International Festival, and looks to be brilliant – at least, it’d better be, given that it’s costing as a whole £10.50 more.

I might buy a book this weekend, too. I’ve got a bit more disposable income than usual, which is nice. Either that or alcohol, but it doesn’t look like I’m going to have much time for that, given that my main opportunity for socialising this weekend involves two extreme cynics and a depressive. I may pass it up.

My review of Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail ‘72

Also on Amazon UK.

If you’re a huge HST fan, probably don’t read this. I’ll just come off as arrogant.

Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail ‘72 is an odd book if, like me, you have only a bare bones understanding of American politics. Those familiar with the political figures of the ‘72 US election will, undoubtedly, have a different stance, but I felt oddly schizophrenic when reading it. I’ll explain why.

Much of the book is dedicated to facts, figures, numbers, percentages, and predictions - possibly more than Thompson, calling the work a ‘campaign diary’ and not a historical document, would care to believe - and as such these are fairly meaningless to me. Not just because I know nothing about the 72 election, what with it being a) in a different country and b) eighteen years before I was born, but also because they often require context, something that Thompson sometimes spares us.

Then there’s an intermediary area, where Thompson examines the key campaign figures as people, rather than flat-out politicians. This is interesting to me, simply because (with the exception of Richard Nixon, who I’d have to have been living in a box to avoid) Thompson’s interpretation is the only one I’ve ever received. In this respect, someone approaching the election with no prior knowledge almost sees the whole thing through HST’s eyes - I have no other perspective, so the images he creates - true or otherwise - are all I have to go on.

And then there’s the gonzo spark - that key sense of involvement that drives HST’s writing. This is the bit that appealed the most, I’m ashamed to say - not the precision storytelling, or the analyses of each campaign figure, one at a time, but when Thompson becomes part of the story. The part of this book that will stay with me is his account of how, during the outcome of one of the primaries, HST is nowhere near a television, or any campaign figures; instead, he goes down to the beach in the middle of a storm, swims out to sea and nearly drowns.

If you’re expecting Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas all over again, don’t. This is a fairly even balance of the decadent mess of Las Vegas that makes that novel a classic, and serious political reportage that will only really appeal to those who have a cursory understanding of the key figures in the 72 election. But by all means, give it a go.

District 9

I went into the cinema to watch District 9, already knowing that it was good. So far, every review - not a majority, not most, but every single one - I’ve read has been positive. What I didn’t expect, however, was to see something completely original.

And that’s exactly what District 9 is - stunningly original. It’s an emotional drama, disguised as a political nightmare on camera, disguised as an alien film, disguised as a documentary - there are so many disguises here, it’s difficult to make head or tail of it. The fact was, it felt real - the “oh shit there’s some really freakish-looking aliens” element was taken for granted by the characters, and as a consequence you end up in the same mindset. Why? Because there’s too much other stuff going on. The film follows two characters in the main - Sharlto Copley’s fantastically-played Wikus Van De Merwe (it’s only after watching the film that I found out that he improvised most of his lines - I already knew that’s his first ever part) and “Christopher Johnson”, a creature fully rendered in CGI, with no actual lines, but equally as convincing.

That, of course, is another thing that’s so baffling about this film - we’re talking about one million alien refugees, more or less, and every single one that appears in the initial eviction scenes has its own characteristics - they’re believable as characters, despite being completely computer-generated and communicating via a series of artificially-created clicks and pops. It’s almost as if there’s an entire extra cast made completely out of wireframes and Photoshop textures, but they’re believable - something cinema doesn’t usually achieve, or hasn’t up until now.

Some turns from the almost all-amateur/new cast are a little ridiculous, namely the chief soldier dude, who’s almost unbelievable in his completely stereotypical villainy, but this isn’t a film about a triumph of good over evil - bear in mind that Wikus starts out as a bad guy (though only really by association) and it takes a good hour or so for him to make the pretty harrowing transition. And he has to grow an alien arm to be shocked into it.

Go and see this film. The best description I can fathom is that when it comes to themes, it’s a grittier, reverse-engineered, indie incarnation of Avatar, only with about 20% more believability and a fuckload of imagination.

I ♥ I ♥ Huckabees

Just seen it, and I’m impressed. It also made me wonder if I should be doing something with this tumblelog, something more than just writing about my daily worries.

Any film where Jude Law actually pulls off an accent is impressive by itself, but the theme of the film in general - how romanticism and nihilism are both too pure to be right, and how there are facets of both that actually make sense in reality. And the fact that the film did this while restraining itself from being utterly pretentious impressed me. Even Jason Schwartzman wasn’t aggressively annoying as the protagonist.

I don’t know why exactly, but that film’s made me feel good. And that, in itself is good - not that I’m content, but that I’m feeling something. Everything’s been a bit monochrome lately.

Damn you, actors, with your varied careers.

A while back, I downloaded Adventureland, and put it on the pile of other films I’ve yet to watch. Naturally, being in a folder with The Godfather trilogy, the Star Wars prequels, and Monsters, Inc. I wasn’t exactly in any rush to watch it, but on a whim last night I decided I’d see what it was like.

Christ, was I shocked.

Rather than post a synopsis, here’s the trailer:

Everything about the film was just right. At the points where you fear it’s going to veer off into dramatic cliché, it cleverly stops just short, and the acting’s just perfect. Jesse Eisenberg’s brilliant as James, a guy whose life experience comes primarily from literature, Martin Starr as Joel is nerdish but not to the point of caricature, and Kristen Stewart’s “Em” is ten times more fanciable in this than in fucking Twishite (bringing me to the title of this post - she’d have to be incredible in this to be forgived for that abomination of a film). Even Ryan Reynolds is good as the slightly dickish maintenance guy Mike Connell.

The thing that’s good about this film is that there are no obvious goodies or baddies. James Brennan is a character with good intentions, but an incredibly skewed outlook on life. Connell, despite fucking Em behind James’s back, is a good-natured guy who at least has good intentions when it comes to dispensing advice to James. Joel’s a nerd, yes, but he’s not closed to human interaction and does at least have the capacity for emotion. In fact, the “villains” of the piece are usually semi-irrelevant to the plot - Em’s stepmother, James’s mother, even an unpleasant character called Frigo who has a habit of punching James in the balls, all have no huge bearing on the story as a whole. Add in the fact that this is all brilliantly understated despite the full-on, theme park setting, and it’s just fantastic, heart-breaking and funny at the same time.

The laughs mainly come from Bill Hader’s park manager, who carries on doing what he does best by being batshit insane, and the recurring theme of the song Rock Me Amadeus. It’s not comedy-heavy, but it does have a light touch and a “coming-of-age” rather than “romance-melodrama” narrative thread.

Up until now, I was glad my birth took place outside the eighties, with its horrible pretensions, bad techno and the further distinction of cliques, but this almost made me want to have seen it for myself. And I definitely want to work a shitty job at a theme park now.

The inevitable and hopelessly rushed Avatar review

Although probably 80% of bloggers have mentioned Avatar in some way or another by now, I reckon it’s only fair if I contribute my thoughts to the orgy of opinion out there.

I’ll start by saying I liked it, and not in the way I expected. I expected to treat it as a guilty pleasure - something pretty to look at, but lacking any real substance. Instead, I quickly discovered that the visuals WERE the substance, and that there was absolutely nothing wrong with that. Usually, in a packed IMAX theatre, there’s always a few wankers who provide their own running commentary, or the odd ones who react to the effects like people do at a fireworks display, all “oohs” and “aahs”. This time, though, everyone was stunned into silence. True, the hype was annoying, but then it’s incredible the level of detail that’s been applied.

I’ve got all the usual criticisms, of course - the plot was a bit crap, the characters a little one-sided, but the fact that there WAS a story was enough. My greatest issue with it lay in the idea that the supposed “good guys” had a system based around the worship of a goddess called Eywa - naturally, as a committed anti-theist, that seemed the weakest point that propped up the rest of the film’s presuppositions. But overall, It was good. Seen without the oh-shit-it-looks-amazing factor, I might even appreciate the storyline more - at times I felt a little swept away by the scale of it all.

If you haven’t already, go and see it. It’s worth it. Aside from anything, the sheer visual scale of the world James Cameron’s created is unlike anything in cinema before. This is definitely a turning point in cinema, and it’s worth watching if only so you can say a couple of decades down the line “I was there”.

CJF.

Last Year’s New Year’s Resolutions

Before I make a few for this year, I figured I’d actually have a look at the twelve I planned out at the dawn of 2009. Here goes:

I will finally complete the compilation I have been working on for far too long.

This was, if you remember rightly, The Chewy Cerebrum and Other Stories (then called Parasitic Dementia For Dummies until I realised I was subconsciously thieving from Jhonen Vasquez, and yeah, I finished it. It’s here if you fancy it.

I will write another 89 short stories (anything from the length of flash fiction to slightly longer pieces) for a compilation which I will release by the end of the year. Current working title is Did I Write This?, scrawled on the front in something akin to the Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas font. After this, I will try and contribute to literary journals on a constant basis, so I have something in my portfolio by the time I leave university.

A couple of things came out of this - one, that there was no way I was going to write 89 stories, and two, that Did I Write This is a shit title. Since then, it’s still being written, though I’ve left it behind a bit, it’s going to be just under 200 pages and it’s so far called Tales From The End. As far as literary journals go, there’s a clear lack of them at York, but I’ve got something published next term.

I will try and read a book a week.

I tried, in fairness - I managed it up until about March - but other commitments, like work got in the way. I’m still reading, but not quite with the same amount of pressure.

I will focus wholeheartedly on my studies, in the hope that I get decent grades so I don’t spend the next three years of my life wondering what I did wrong.

That didn’t quite happen. I came out with alright grades, and scraped a place at university despite not meeting the entry requirements. So the second part at least is null and void, but only by the skin of my teeth.

I will finish renovating HiatusMedia.com entirely, adding all the relevant literature I need to, at which point I will cease to update it with old shit, only adding things which have been recently written.

…nah. HiatusMedia’s still there, behind a tiny little link, but I’ve given up updating it. If I write anything, it’s here.

I will cease to be reliant in any way on Joe. It fucking kills me to write this, as it a) acknowledges that I am (in some respects) reliant on him, and b) means that I’ll have to distance myself - at least mentally.

Yeah. This happened. He’s still pretty much the only person I spend time with, but I’m not desperate to be around him all the time. In fact, I’ve learnt that distance breeds affection.

I will cease to be reliant in any way on anyone.

Ha. Yeah. Definitely. I’ve become a complete saddo.

I will seize social activity, even if it seems somewhat dangerous. I will continue to weigh up risks to my integrity, though the possibility of not having somewhere to sleep on a particular evening of revelry should not be a factor. These things come about during the course of an evening.

Mmsortof. I haven’t quite been as confident as I’d hoped, but I think that’s more to do with finding my feet than becoming a recluse. Next term, I should be a bit more open.

I will stay in control when drinking.

That was never going to happen.

I will realise if I am procrastinating, and do something about it, even if it means moving/switching whatever electronic device off/moving whatever electronic device I am using. The end product is usually better.

Not quite, though my procrastination’s become more productive.

I will save for Morocco as soon as is comfortably possible, so I can feel safe for when it comes around. This is no mean feat, as I still need another four hundred pounds or so.

I managed this, and I ended up spending a lot less than I expected.

I will resist the urge to feel compelled to update this tumblelog when I don’t really have anything to say. No-one, especially me, is interested in rambling bullshit.

… you be the judge. Privately, that is.

Oh, and I’m sorry, world, but I’m going to do a few more New Year’s Resolutions in a bit. Look away now if you value your time.

Brief and belated film reviews

Zombieland

Finally got round to watching it tonight at the student cinema. It’s a great film, first off - plenty of laughs, not just an out-and-out comedy, and the zombie kills were just exquisite. It’s also got probably the best Bill Murray cameo ever, and the interaction between him and Woody Harrelson is fantastic.

Only criticism - the two girls could’ve done with a bit more character development, and there are a lot of plot holes (how can you kill hundreds of zombies with just a few clips? More importantly, how can you power an entire theme park when the world’s effectively ended?). However, the general feel of it is fairly hedonistic - it doesn’t matter that there’s plot holes, and there’s enough comedy in there to stop you from getting too hung up on the believability of the characters.

9

Not to be confused with the Daniel Day-Lewis musical, I watched this back in my room in the early hours of the morning. Visually, it’s stunning, and is faithful enough to Shane Acker’s original. The screenplay’s noticeably short, which makes sense - the original characters were all mute - and this ends up being a story about heroics against an amazing backdrop, rather than an amazing backdrop trying to prop up a weak plot.

Again, there’s just one criticism, and it’s that it could’ve been a bit longer. You could tell there’d been cut scenes, and perhaps it’d do better with spending a bit more time getting to know the strange little characters, rather than continually trying to push on the story.

OK, I’m done for tonight. Night chipmunks.

3 Reviews: Apocalypse Now, Brick, Up in the Air

Apocalypse Now

Boy, that shit is good. I watched the theatrical cut, rather than the redux version that’s stupidly long, but this worked well enough. Aside from anything, it felt real - something a lot of war movies fail to do (I’m looking at you, Saving Private Ryan), and there were points it was actually scary.

One thing Francis Ford Coppola definitely got right was the setting - there isn’t one shot that feels off, and he does a remarkable job of making the landscape against which the war’s being fought look stunning. For me, though, the real treat is where Conrad’s ideas come to the fore - when Marlon Brando as Colonel Kurtz delivers the earth-shattering monologue at the end, I could actually feel the darkness enveloping the characters.

One “classic” film I thought I wouldn’t really enjoy (I’m not a history buff, and you need a vague idea of the Vietnam War’s context and cultural effect to “get” this film), and it’s really shocked me. I might even watch it again someday.

Brick

Brick was one of those films that I thought looked interesting at the time of its release, but beyond that it didn’t really go anywhere. Now that I’ve seen it, I’m glad I have. Essentially, it’s a dark teen drama with the script of a noir film, and nearly (I’ll get there) every performance is flawless. Joseph Gordon-Levitt (most recently in 500 Days of Summer) is an amazing lead, and completely believable as an outcast with inside links, and Nora Zehetner (who up until now I’d only seen in Heroes) is believable right to the last second as the deceitful bombshell - though she lends an air of ambivalent tenderness to a part that’s usually just reduced to cold lust.

It’s one of those films where if the plot’s laid out, then it’s ruined prior to watching it - it’s a detective film, and the mystery doesn’t finish unravelling until the very last frame. My only criticism is the characteristic “villain” of the piece, given the nickname “The Pin”, who’s just a little bit too unbelievable. There’s obviously a degree of poetic licence when you’re giving a group of high-schoolers a 1940s seasoned dialect, but that doesn’t mean you have to give the bad guy a cape. Come on.

Up In The Air

I saw this one today (the others were yesterday evening) at the cinema in the centre of York, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I went by myself. Why? Because if anything, Up in the Air is a film about being a loner. George Clooney’s masterful in this film, never going to emotional extremes, and while the themes of family relationships and romantic ideology are certainly major, there’s never a sudden epiphany that Clooney’s character has to settle down and start a family. Really, that’s where the true force of the film comes in - although human connections have their own force, the jetsetting lifestyle that Clooney’s character opts for has its own merits too.

Ultimately, rather than having a proper narrative thread, it’s a film about empathy between lifestyles, and mutual acceptance. And while it’s certainly a drama, it’s kept fairly light for the most part, and there are a few laughs in there to stop it getting too much like one long dark night of the soul.

An Education (review)

I nearly didn’t see An Education, the adaptation of Lynn Barber’s memoir of the same name - an overrunning Amnesty meeting meant I had a choice between running back to my room, grabbing my glasses, running over to the student cinema and getting in before they shut everything up or walking back and missing the whole thing. I chose the first on a whim, and now I’ve seen it I’m glad I did.

That said, I can’t make my mind up if I liked it or not. It’s difficult to explain… there’s something about strong, borderline arrogant female leads that tends to set me at a sense of unease, and no doubt it’s probably some subconscious misogyny in me. But bearing that in mind, there’s no question that Carey Mulligan in the lead role of Jenny Miller (an inspired choice) is endearing in her own way, and there’s a great deal of empathy. Perhaps it’s the contradiction that comes out of caring about a character and wanting to see them get their comeuppance. The fact that she eventually gets it is something of a consolation, then, and by the end of the film all the elements of Jenny that set me a little on edge had been swept away.

It’s not just that either, though - An Education is superbly acted on all fronts, even with the bit parts, and it’s an intensely personal story. At points, just because every emotion feels real, you find yourself not sure what to do in the same situations that the characters are unsure of how to behave. Of course, at the same time you laugh at the moments of hilarity, cry at the inevitable heartbreak and smile at the sort-of happily-ever-after ending. Something so human will inevitably have its ups and downs.

All in all, it’s an excellent coming-of-age film, and probably deserves the Best Picture Oscar (though there’s others that probably deserve it more - I’m looking at District 9 and Up In The Air, and if Avatar and/or Precious get it I’ll probably spontaneously shit everywhere, then post it straight to the Academy). However, there are elements that are easily ignored - the cinematography’s nothing special, oddly enough I didn’t think about the soundtrack once, and there’s nothing amazing about the directing either. Where this films shines is with its actors - at least three, and possibly up to around eight pitch-perfect performances are what make An Education shine.