Ghostbusters (2016)

It is apparently incumbent on every white dude on the internet to register his opinion on this new ‘reboot’ of Ghostbusters, the 1984 film which brought together a handful of comedic actors and writers (most prominently from Saturday Night Live) in a supernatural-themed comedy pitting aforesaid actors against a demonic threat to New York City. And so again we have a handful of comedic actors and writers (mostly from SNL) in a supernatural etc. etc. The remake largely refocuses the film on the four titular characters (three dorky scientists and one subway worker played by Leslie Jones) and their comedic interactions. Supporting characters — including their chief antagonist, who in a nod perhaps to the source of much of the online “criticism”, is an introverted, maladjusted guy with very little in the way of a defined character — are reduced to a number of cameos from the original cast, and a fine turn by another SNL alum Cecily Strong as the mayor’s sceptical and unhelpful aide. Oh, and Chris Hemsworth as a beefy but very very stupid receptionist, who threatens at times to steal the film. He doesn’t though, because Kate McKinnon does that, as the compellingly weird Jillian Holtzmann, who also gets one of the key later action sequences, a relatively short but thrilling single-handed paranormal combat. I don’t know, maybe the script isn’t so tight in all respects, and I have to concede I was pretty drunk when I watched it, but I really fail to understand a lot of the film’s critics. Perhaps the humour won’t appeal to everyone, but it all seemed pretty funny to me, plus there were scares reminiscent of the first film. And as far as I can recall, there aren’t any scenes of anyone being sexually pleasured by a ghost, so bonus marks for that. As I see it, though, quite aside from the comedy and horror, the key points are: representation for leading characters who are women, who don’t need the help of men, who get to be intelligent and have that define them rather than their looks or their sexuality, and who get a happy ending. That much seems rare enough in contemporary Hollywood blockbuster films that I think it’s worth trumpeting.


NEW RELEASE FILM REVIEW
Director Paul Feig | Writers Katie Dippold and Paul Feig (based on the 1984 film by Dan Aykroyd and Harold Ramis) | Cinematographer Robert Yeoman | Starring Melissa McCarthy, Kristen Wiig, Kate McKinnon, Leslie Jones, Chris Hemsworth | Length 116 minutes || Seen at Peckhamplex, London, Friday 22 July 2016

Adult Life Skills (2016)

There are, sadly, too many new films where I have to really struggle to say nice things when the film ultimately underwhelms me by overreaching with bad dialogue, over-elaborated symbolism or clunky metaphors. Indeed, all of the above, quite often. This has frequently been the case with new British films (and I can only imagine the situation getting worse in our post-“Brexit” world as European film financing dries up). Thankfully, then, this recent debut is on the whole rather delightful, even if it does have a certain twee and precious quality: its protagonist Anna (played by Jodie Whittaker) makes lo-fi films using her thumbs as characters; there’s a child portentously dressed as a cowboy (Ozzy Myers); and a love interest for Anna with a Jemaine Clement level of deadpan delivery (Brett Goldstein’s part-time estate agent Brendan). It’s certainly better than the director’s short film of a couple of years ago, for in expanding the premise of a 30-year-old woman living in her mum’s shed, it also adds to the pathos of her situation without overlabouring some of its plot parallels (the child whose situation mirrors her own could have been done so much more clunkily). Perhaps it’s just that Whittaker’s s gentle Yorkshire accent makes everything sound more agreeable, but I think this is on the whole a solid debut film and I look forward to more from director/writer Rachel Tunnard.


NEW RELEASE FILM REVIEW
Director/Writer Rachel Tunnard | Cinematographer Bet Rourich | Starring Jodie Whittaker, Ozzy Myers, Brett Goldstein | Length 96 minutes || Seen at Stratford East Picturehouse, London, Tuesday 28 June 2016

Criterion Sunday 88: Ivan Grozniy (Ivan the Terrible, 1944/1958)

© The Criterion Collection

Eisenstein’s final film (he’d planned a third part but died after starting to film it) follows the now very much de rigueur pattern of splitting its story into two separate films, though one would assume given its Soviet origins this wasn’t done for commercial reasons. Indeed, the second part was shelved for 12 years following its completion because apparently Stalin was disconcerted with the portrayal of his great hero Ivan. Knowing this obviously lends some compelling subtext to Nikolai Cherkasov’s portrayal of the increasingly paranoid and despotic ruler, though the first film has him posing far more innocently, adopting all those heroic poses he’d already mastered in Alexander Nevsky (1938). There’s a huge amount of beauty to Eisenstein’s framing, all glowering black-and-white close-ups of the principal characters — a huge amount of the drama is conveyed not through dialogue but by the movement of the actors’ eyes, and the frenetic mien of their expressionistic faces. In many ways, it’s like a modern soap opera, as bitter rivals grimace at one another, or go for hugs while revealing their true feelings to the camera over the other character’s shoulder. Much of the film takes place indoors, in cavernous chambers and long hallways, which means the lighting design and use of shadows is at times spectacular. The second part gets progressively darker, until, in a moment of surprise, there’s almost a dance sequence in (slightly reddishly-degraded) colour, before things lapse back to the previous stark monochrome. With a lot of the thematic development done via acting and staging, it’s the kind of film which would surely repay repeat viewings, but the central thrust of its thesis is nevertheless as evident to us as it must have been to Stalin.


FILM REVIEW: Criterion Collection
Director/Writer Sergei Eisenstein | Cinematographer Andrei Moskvin and Eduard Tisse | Starring Nikolai Cherkasov | Length 187 minutes (split into two parts of 99 and 88 minutes respectively) || Seen at a friend’s home (DVD), London, Monday 2 May 2016

Criterion Sunday 87: Alexander Nevsky (1938)

© The Criterion Collection

By 1938, Sergei Eisenstein was already a celebrated filmmaker (not least for his masterful 1925 silent film Battleship Potemkin), but one increasingly held at arm’s length by the Soviet authorities. His previous film, Bezhin Meadow (1937, see extras below), was suppressed, so on the grand patriotic canvas of Alexander Nevsky, he was assigned a co-director (Dmitri Vasilyev) and a co-screenwriter to keep him in check. They needn’t have worried because he turns in a very watchable epic about the resistance mounted against the invading Teutons by the reassuringly ordinary Prince Alexander of the title (Nikolai Cherkasov). Of course, given the historical context, one can’t help but draw the parallels between the noble suffering Soviet people and the threat posed by Hitler’s Nazis (and Roman Catholics, besides) invading from the West. Nevsky is introduced as an ordinary man, fishing in a lake among the people, though as soon as the Mongols ride up to address him, he’s all arms akimbo against the sky, the heroic everyman who shines as a beacon of hope and strength. Indeed, the presentation of Nevsky is consistently as heroic as one can imagine, almost to the point of self-mocking campness, and perhaps this is Eisenstein’s point. In any case, the film moves ahead with a fairly straightforward narrative, and culminates with a frenzied battle scored to Prokofiev’s music, with a little romantic subplot along the way involving Nevsky’s compatriots Vasili (Nikolai Okhlopkov) and Gavrilo (Andrei Abrikosov).

Criterion Extras: There’s a significant section on Eisenstein’s lost previous film, with a reconstruction of it from what materials remain (the first and last frames of each shot), which can’t help but be a shadowy approximation of the original but does at least prove it had some gloriously beautiful images.


FILM REVIEW: Criterion Collection
Directors Sergei Eisenstein and Dmitri Vasilyev | Writers Sergei Eisenstein and Pyotr Pavlenko | Cinematographer Eduard Tisse | Starring Nikolai Cherkasov, Nikolai Okhlopkov, Vera Ivashova | Length 111 minutes || Seen at home (VHS), Wellington, June 1998 (and most recently on DVD at a friend’s home, London, Sunday 3 April 2016)

Criterion Sunday 86: Eisenstein: The Sound Years

© The Criterion Collection

This box set brings together Eisenstein’s surviving sound films Alexander Nevsky (1938) and Ivan the Terrible (1944/1958), as well as fragments from his lost Bezhin Meadow (1937). I’d count those surviving ones as two films, except that Ivan pioneers the now standard industry practice of splitting a single epic story into two films, the second of which was so disliked by Stalin that it didn’t see a release until after his death. The director’s reputation was made by a series of silent films (not released by Criterion, presumably for rights reasons), but there’s still plenty of interest to this set. Indeed, the images in both films are so striking and singular that one can only hope for a Blu-ray remastering. Nevertheless, this is still essential cinema.

Criterion Sunday 85: Pygmalion (1938)

© The Criterion Collection

George Bernard Shaw’s satirical play about the fragility of the English class system gets a fine adaptation here, with Leslie Howard (also the film’s co-director) portraying the mercurial and largely detestable Henry Higgins, and Wendy Hiller as his flower-girl muse, her Cockney accent rather patchy in the early portions of the film. There’s a prickly intensity to the relationship between the two, and it’s not exactly clear who ends up with whom at the film’s close (without giving anything away, there’s a hint that’s what’s seen may be imagined, or so it seems to me), but in the meantime there’s a feisty comedy of manners, as Higgins seeks to teach Eliza the King’s English, well enough to pass as aristocracy in the right kind of setting. And so, without quite meaning to, he essentially destroys her — or effectively tries to — by replacing her self-respect with the indignities of middle-class morality. It moves along at a fair clip with some jaunty editing (by David Lean, in an early film role for him) and the two leads trade barbs in a watchable and comedic manner.


FILM REVIEW: Criterion Collection
Directors Anthony Asquith and Leslie Howard | Writers George Bernard Shaw, W. P. Lipscomb, Cecil Lewis and Ian Dalrymple (based on the play by Shaw) | Cinematographer Harry Stradling Sr. | Starring Leslie Howard, Wendy Hiller | Length 96 minutes || Seen on a train to London (DVD), Sunday 22 May 2016.

Criterion Sunday 84: Ohayo (Good Morning, 1959)

© The Criterion Collection

A late film by Yasujiro Ozu which is set amongst a small group of neighbours in a Tokyo suburb and treats childhood with a light, comic touch. The plot, such as it is, has the kids of one family refusing to speak after being scolded by their father (Chishu Ryu) for going round to a neighbour’s home to watch sumo wrestling on TV. In a fit of pique after being refused this modern convenience — their father inveighs against its stupefying effect — the kids reject the language of their parents and what they see as all the stupid meaningless banalities of conversation like “hello”, “goodbye”, “thank you” and of course “good morning”. Meanwhile, gossip spreads amongst the neighbours when the local residents’ association dues haven’t been paid, as first one and the another member of this tight-knit community is suspected of having absconded with the cash. It may depict a long-vanished world in which doors are always open and people can pop round to one another’s home to chat, but at the heart is the tension brought about by the modern consumerist world and its increasing technologisation. The gossip centres largely on the purchase of a washing machine, while the TV also seems to divide the families. Things never get too dark –- everyone converses with a fixed and ready smile, even when you suspect they’re pretty angry, and indeed entire conversations proceed with a surface level of the kind of banality that the kids hate, even as other feelings are being expressed. The comedy is provided by the kids, and for all Ozu’s austere reputation, there’s a recurring farting game that consistently goes wrong for one of the kids.

Criterion Extras: Another very basic edition, with only the written notes and nothing on the disc, though it’s as fine a transfer as ever of this rare Ozu colour film.


FILM REVIEW: Criterion Collection
Director/Writer Yasujiro Ozu | Writers Kogo Noda and Yasujiro Ozu | Cinematographer Yuharu Atsuta | Starring Haruko Sugimura, Chishu Ryu | Length 94 minutes || Seen at my mother’s flat (DVD), Wellington, Tuesday 15 March 2015

Losing Ground (1982)

You sort of expect that all the best works of an era will be known and widely celebrated already, but then you see something which was once obscure that blows you away. This feature-length debut by Kathleen Collins (an academic and playwright who died a few years later) is said to be the first feature film by a Black woman in America, but despite that it’s very far from being some pioneeringly amateurish stab at filmmaking from a dilettante. Rather this is a deeply-felt, very carefully constructed film that shapes its narrative and characters in very particular ways, in which Collins makes full use of the cinematic means at her disposal. There’s drama in its story of a relationship between Sarah (Seret Scott), an intellectual professor of philosophy who is serious-minded and likes order in her life, and her husband Victor (Bill Gunn, himself a director of pioneering films like 1973’s Ganja & Hess), a loose, louche painter of abstracts with a ready smile and the desire to constantly move around. Yet there’s also plenty of comedy, not to mention a filmic tone that keeps pushing at the edges of both registers, never resolving any of its characters into stereotypes or boxes but allowing them many forms of expression. It’s remarkable too that this story of middle-class intelligentsia is exclusively made and performed by people of colour, but that may be the reason for its marginalisation since its initial release. Whatever the reasons for its obscurity, it’s a brilliant film with some fantastic performances that presents a really compelling and complex inner journey of one woman.


SPECIAL SCREENING FILM REVIEW
Director/Writer Kathleen Collins | Cinematographer Ronald K. Gray | Starring Seret Scott, Bill Gunn, Duane Jones | Length 86 minutes || Seen at BFI Southbank (NFT3), London, Wednesday 25 May 2016

Femina Ridens (The Laughing Woman aka The Frightened Woman, 1969)

The two English language titles (The Laughing Woman vs The Frightened Woman) are suggestive of the ways in which Italian films of the giallo style sometimes straddle the line between gynophobic/misogynist exploitation and empowered critiques of patriarchy. Rather, I should say that most fall pretty clearly on the former side, but this one manages to be both — the original title is in Latin, which seems to place ‘woman’ as something of a scientific curio — and in doing so is rather delightful. That said, having called it giallo (a heightened form of Italian horror film), it isn’t exactly that, but is mixed with comic pop-art inflected psychodrama. The drama of the film — a two-hander of power and control between Mary (a glorious Dagmar Lassander) and the manipulative Dr Sayer (Philippe Leroy) — moves one way then is suddenly reversed, much like the visual jokes which come suddenly out of nowhere, masterful uses of the set design and quirks of acting: the leap from bathtub to trapeze! the automated partition between halves of the bed! the car-boat!! Femina Ridens is filled with the joy of mise en scene, plus a bit of stylish S&M-lite in its story of toxic masculinity confronting its emasculating other.


SPECIAL SCREENING FILM REVIEW: She’s So Giallo Season
Director/Writer Piero Schivazappa | Cinematographer Sante Achilli | Starring Dagmar Lassander, Philippe Leroy | Length 108 minutes || Seen at Barbican Cinema, London, Wednesday 22 June 2016

Bang Gang (une histoire d’amour moderne) (Bang Gang (A Modern Love Story), 2015)

Probably exactly the kind of film we won’t see much if we leave the European Union, it feels so quintessentially French, despite dealing with themes that seem to always be prevalent: the fear of young people and what they do in their spare time. There’s a certain prurience to the premise I suppose, but it’s all fairly artfully handled, with equal opportunity nudity for our youthful cast experimenting with sexual desires but actually using it to open the emotional wounds of growing up. There’s a slightly judgemental tone to the way it resolves but on the whole this is an earnest attempt to deal with teenage disaffection.


NEW RELEASE FILM REVIEW
Director/Writer Eva Husson | Cinematographer Mattias Troelstrup | Starring Marilyn Lima, Daisy Broom, Finnegan Oldfield, Lorenzo Lefebvre | Length 98 minutes || Seen at Curzon Soho, London, Wednesday 22 June 2016