Sunday, 7 February 2010

Rope - At the Almeida






A wonderful production of what can hardly be called a classic theatrical text.

Traditionally, the piece is seen as a study of two Oxford undergraduates who, in committing a murder to show their freedom from moral restraints, hold the mirror up to Nietzsche. But the director seems less interested in the killers than in their charismatic guest, Rupert Cadell, at a party staged around a chest containing the victim's body.

"Rupert, a war-damaged Wildean poet filled with ennui, is the play's most original creation. Bertie Carvel suavely demonstrates that Rupert is a man who minces everything but his words, but also reminds us that the play is really about the character's moral awakening: Carvel offers a riveting portrait of an affected nihilist who discovers the hollowness of his credo, that the slaughter of 1914-18 has devalued individual murder."

Rupert more than justifies the revival - a combination of Truman Capote, Eric Cartman and Hercule Poirot. There's a beautiful passage delivered by Rupert as he teases the two murderers, delaying them while the police gather outside. Ruminating on the lateness of the evening - it is five and twenty to eleven - he delivers what I thought was a beautiful description of that haunting hour when theater shows are about to end, cabaret shows have yet to begin, taxis and busses throng the streets as punters rush home to go to bed (only to wake up to a day almost exactly the same as the day that preceded it), ruined women saunter down dark streets etc etc and "pleasure itself is found wanting."

Where's the sequel? Huh? Rupert-focused obvs.

"Bertie Carvel gives the finest performance of all, though, as a wickedly camp, coldly amusing aesthete, a survivor of the trenches with a tin leg and an apparently icy heart who finally supplies this cruel and brilliant play with what small measure of compassion it possesses."

Rupert's towering, don king-esque hair is also a lovely touch. A mincing, limping, amoral, judgemental, alcoholic, brilliant detective. Mmmm, sounds a lot like House actually. oops. Guess it's been done.

NOTE: These pictures of Rupert don't nearly do justice to just how strange and "queer" a presence his is (or was, or something...)



Friday, 23 October 2009

Word of the Day

Lambent

–adjective

1.
running or moving lightly over a surface: lambent tongues of flame.
2. dealing lightly and gracefully with a subject; brilliantly playful: lambent wit.
3. softly bright or radiant: a lambent light

Origin:
1640–50; lapping, prp. of lambere to lick wash (said of water or fire)

Sunday, 26 April 2009

Let the Right One In (2008)






Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's good, but not that good. Too much of it is too carefully and obviously staged for my liking. And yes, the swimming pool scene is breathlessly innovative and wonderful, but why does the bully keep the heroes head under the water when his brother and his brother's friends are being torn apart by a flying teen vampire? Coz it looks good that's why. Just a tad too contrived.

Paranoid Park (2007)





Argh, this movie is excruciating. Unfortunate teen kills security guard in grisly train bifurcation incident! Teen is basically nice, super-normal boy who doesn't deserve anal rape in prison! Will teen be discovered?!? Aaaaaarrgh?!?! The suspense and dread that permeate this movie make it very difficult viewing, despite how beautiful and lush it is.

As far as the performances go, Van Sant appears to have taken a leaf out of 'The Hills guide to acting and dramatic arts'. I think almost all the actors are amateurs. The teens in particulat are achingly naturalistic. Naturlistic in the sense that they are awkward and wooden and self-conscious in the way only teens can be, and aching in the sense that all the awkward self-consciousness is excruciating!

You can debate whether or not the film is realistic or argue, as some critics have, that the depiction of teenagers is aestheticized and clichéd but there's something that feels very tru about the film. This is interesting and provocative film-making. Still, ick.

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay (2009) - Michael Chabon




A beautiful and at times moving and evocative homage to comic books. The opening chapters of the book, revealing details of Joseph Kavalier's study of escapology and his eventual escape from prague in a large coffin containing the actual-factual Golem, are spellbinding. The atmosphere of simultaneous dread and hope that Chabon manages to sustain through this thread is as thrilling as anything I've seen in the cinema, and the image of the Golem, in fact the very idea of the Golem, lingers and persists through the course of the entire novel. The simple introduction of this piece of Jewish folklore, so obvious and natural once Chabon has done it, serves to link the notion of the superhero to a series of fundamental human desires and dreams and primes the reader for what's to come.

Despite its moments of brilliance the novel doesn't quite hang together in my opinion, becoming increasingly sketchy and unwieldy as the plot tries to find some kind of resolution. I wonder if, like a comic book series, any kind of ending would remain unsatisfactory. After having created such wonderful and engaging heroes it's impossible for the reader to imagine that their adventures could not carry on beyond the bounds of this story. The conclusion therefore feel a little forced ad clumsy to me. This narrative failing, if that's what I can call it, is mitigated by rich veins of characterisation which run through the book, as well as scenes which are so well-imagined that they feel both utterly real and yet also utterly thrilling. Due to my own personal (and especially romantic) interests I found the development of Sam Clay's character particularly engrossing, and the scenes between him and his wholly unbelievable suitor have an emotional veracity that's completely devastating.

There's a scene where Clay and the aforementioned love-interest, Bake (Tracy Bacon), make their way to the abandones remains of the New York World Fair and clamber inside the Perisphere - an Epcot like sphere containing a scale model of the city of the future [see pics of the real thing include in this post]. Chabon describes the intricate workings of the display as Bake and Clay gain entry through some sort of service hatch...describing them as the dernier cri of the art of clockwork machinery, finally...

"Sammy went over and stood beside Bacon for a moment. Then he eased himself down on the ground beside him. He folded an arm under his chest and, inclining his head slightly, squinted his eyes, trying to lose himself in the illusion of the model...he was a twentieth of an inch tall, zipping along an oceaninc highway in his little antigravity Skyflivver, straking past the silent faces of the aspiring silvery buildings. It was a perfect day in a perfect city. A double sunset flickered n the windows that threw shadows across the leafy square of the city. His fingertips were on fire.
"Ow!" Sammy said, dropping hislighter. "Ouch!"
Bacon let his own flame go out. "You have to kind of pad it with your necktie, dopey," he said. He grabbed Sammy's hand. "This the one?"
"Yeah," Sammy said. "The first two fingers. Oh. Okay."
They lay there for a few seconds in the dark, in the future, with Sammy sore fingertips in Tracy Bacon's mouth, listening to the fabulous clockwork of their hearts and lungs, and loving each other.

Okay, so I know it's bit hammy, but I'm normally starved for writing of this quality that includes any kind of man-on-man action (just to be a little crude so that things don't get too soppy). I know it's just a failure of imagination on my part, and that all great love-stories should have this effect on me, but gosh, sometimes this is just necessary.

There's an even better scene later:

"Sammy pursed his lips and allowed a long strand of saliva to dangle downward, tipped by a thick bubbled head. The bubble lowered itself like a spider until it hung just over Bacon's face..."Ew," said Bacon. He thrashed from side to side and struggled under the weight of Sammy on his wrists, while Sammy dangles the silvery thread over him again. Then, abruptly, Bacon stopped struggling. He looked at Sammy, level, calm, and with a dangerous glint in his eye; of course he could have freed himself easily...His look said so. He opened his mouth. The pearl of spit dangled. Sammy cut the thread."

Brilliant.

The novel's also interesting because of the way it highlights the fact that so many of America's most enduring myths, and the expression of those myths in new media (film/Hollywood, comics etc) were created by Jewish immigrants. Food for thought, no?

Basic Plot Summary to refresh my memory: Samule Clay awoken late one evening by the unexpected arrival of his Czech cousin, Joe Kavalier. After studying escapology in Prague, Joe manages to escape the Third Reich's clutches by being smuggled out of Prague in a coffin containting the Golem. A talented artists, Joe is quickly enlisted by Sammy in his plans to break into the burgeoning world of comic book [Superman having just recently appeared in the pages of Adventure Comcs]. With Joe's assistance Sammy manages to convince the vaguely sleazy boss at the novelty company he toils for to fund their foray into comic book adventures. Amazing Midget Radion Comics launches with the adventures of The Escapist, Kavalier and Clay's most successful creation, and finds almost immediate popularity and profitability. The fate of his family in Prague continues to gnaw away at Joe who channels his anger into the pages of the Escapist - superpowered nemesis of axis forces everywhere. Sammy and Joe earn unprecendented money, but their paltry salaries are dwarfed by the profits of their employers. Joe meets and falls in love with Rosa Parks, while Sammy stumbles into an unexpected romance with a handsome actor, Tracy Bacon. Joe manages to secure a place for his brother on a boat rescuing Jewish children from Europse. Boat is torpedoed by Germans. Joe enlists. Through a cruel twist of fate Sammy and Bake are arrested for lewd behaviour after a gay getaway is busted by the police. Humiliated and ashamed, Sammy breaks off his affair with Bake and marries Rosa in order to allow her to have Joe's baby. In another cruel twist of fate, Joe is stationed in Antarctica [The Arctic?] and narrowly survives the accidental gassing of his fellow soldiers before hunting down a German expedition consisting of a lone German scientist. Joe finally makes it back to NY, but hides out in the Empire State Building for 10 years before inadvertantly making contact with his family and meeting his son. Sammy becomes embroiled in the congress hearings into the morally dubious nature of comic books and is, in effect, outed on prime-time TV. Freed from pretences, Sammy kinda escapes his family and moves to LA, leaving Joe and Rosa to raise their son Tommy (named after Joe's dead brother). The End.

Monday, 30 March 2009

En la ciudad de Sylvia (2009)



Spanish director José Luis Geurin inflicts his audience with this laboured, tedious and pretentious exploration of voyeurism and the allure of images - both cinematic and actual. The heavily deconstructed narrative follows an arrestingly angular young man as he attempts to track down a former lover on the streets of Strasbourg. Despite the chiseled features and eurotrash pose, both the searcher and the film prove surprisingly irritating considering their brief screen time - an excruciating 84 minutes. The approving reviews from the artier side of the popular press are mystifying.

Antonioni does this so so so much better.

Sunday, 22 March 2009

Vineland (1990) - Thomas Pynchon



I love this book. I'm a big pynchon fan I've discovered.

UPDATE: Okay, I've finished Vineland, and I'm still a great fan, even if it isn't necessarily a great book. There are just so many wonderful moments, imaginative and hilarious turns of phrase and incredibly culturally potent conceits that I couldn't not love it.

Gore Vidal thinks Pynchon gives his characters the most awful names, but I think they're incredibly poetic in the sense that they seem to have been chosen for certain expressive or purely aural effects. Here's a rundown of some of the more interesting names and characters featured...

Zoyd Wheeler: The ostensible hero of the book
Frenesi Gates: ...
Brock Vond: ...
Prairie Wheeler: ...
Darryl Loiuse Chastain (otherwise known as DL): ...

Some interesting ideas include the Thanatoids Blah blah need to finish sometime

A few amusing images or turns of phrase (selected almost at random):
"I used to worry about you, Zoyd, but I see I can rest easy now the Vaseline of youth has been cleared from your life's lense by the mild detergent solution of time, in its passing..." Hector sat slumped in zomoskepsis, or the contemplation of his soup."

Later, describing the suerlative way DL breaks open the door of a government facility, Pynchon says something along the lines of, "she didn't Jimmy so much as James it open"

Friday, 20 March 2009

Tuesday, 10 March 2009

The Class (Entre les murs) - 2008


The Class is based on an autobiographical novel by author and former teacher François Bégaudeau, about working at a tough multi-ethnic school in the Parisian banlieux. Remarkably, Bégaudeau plays himself, or a version of himself; and he does it very well, although as Peter Bradshaw reminds us 'teaching is all about putting on a performance commanding enough to subdue the toughest audiences' so maybe that shouldn't surprise us.

The class of 14- to 15-year-old kids in the film is made up of non-professionals, and their unobtrusively superb and authentic classroom scenes have apparently been devised through improvisation.

Definitely one of the better movies I've seen this year. There are a couple of contrived, overtly didactic moments, but the rest of the movie is so enthralling (who woulda thunk a language lesson could be so exciting) that they hardly tarnish the experience.

I thought it raised lots of interesting questions about authority and the legitimacy of authority in schools (related to descriptive and prescriptive modes of language and teaching). Naice.

The Dead Girl (2006)



The Dead Girl is a quintet of stories about seemingly unrelated people whose lives converge around the murder of a young woman - not in the sense that they overlap in strange, unconvincing and implausible ways (ala Crash), but rather that the death of one girl (Brittany Murphy actually) becomes a device or, more accurately, an entry-point into the lives of 4 other women, all of whom are suffering in some tragic way. [Click on pics above for larger versions.]

The Daughter: Toni Collette plays an emotionally stunted woman terrorized by her emotionally abusive and domineering mother (who's also an invalid requiring constant attention, natch). After finding the dead girl's body, and nicking a little momento, Collette leaves her mother and embarks on an awkward love/sex-affair with serial-killer-obsessed store-clerk Giovanni Ribisi. Hilarity ensues as Collette subtly but implacably makes BDSM-related demands to be tied up and beaten etc etc - my personal fave

The Sister: Woman with missing/abducted sister mistakes body of dead girl for her sibling, coz she's also a coroner, obvs.

The Wife: Wife of man discovers man to be vicious serial killer of young girls. Decides not to turn him in.

The Mother: ha ha ha. Check out Marcia Gay Harden's costume! She's a small-town, uptight, but essentially good woman (duh! look at that collar) who discovers that her missing daughter is not only dead, but was also the dreaded hooker-lesbian-junkie combo. Marcia rescues newly-discovered grandchild from evil poor people and manages to make some sort of peace with daughter's hooker lover. Total TV movie.

The Dead Girl: Brittany Murphy ends up dead.
The Take-out: A serious, sombre and relatively bleak film which is remarkable for managing to be a film about women without becoming a 'women's film', if that makes any sense.