I will be guest blogging over at pop culture maven and fellow vampire fan Alyssa Rosenberg's blog for the next 2 weeks. I will have the odd post up here, but most of my writing will be on her site.
alyssarosenberg.blogspot.com
Friday, 4 December 2009
Monday, 30 November 2009
Re-thinking GaGa
I think I am going to have to be a little less dismissive of Lady GaGa.
hen she first appeared, she seemed so studied and artificial as a creation that I couldn't get a sense of any life or juice from her as an artist. She seemed to be a bit too desperately quirky, which aside from the 'bored hispter' attitude, is about my least favourite pop culture trope. I didn't actually like most of her music (I still don't as a matter of fact) and couldn't imagine that she would become the dominating force that she has become.
But slowly, in the last two months I have started to re-think my original position. It started with Paparazzi, a song I actually liked and thought had some pretty interesting lyrical ideas. It continued on to Bad Romance, and in particular the fantastic video which I thought was the first time that I could see her bringing elements of her style together in a visually interesting way. And now she has launched her new tour which the Guardian has convinced me would be something of a must see.
We constantly harp on about how homogenous pop music is, how reality TV and conglomerates spit out identikit acts at a frightening pace. I think I was too quick to judge Lady GaGa - it was an act of intellectual laziness to merely assume she was bullshit. I don't quite know if GaGa can really become the Madonna for the next generation. We don't have any other contenders. But she does seem to be aiming for some kind of pop art symbiosis of the visual and aural which Madonna achieved at her height in the late eighties/early nineties which is actually quite daring in today's market. Working within the circumscribed parameters of a mass-market pop star she is attempting to be different. I hope she continues to have that opportunity, because ultimately, pop music is more interesting with her in it.
And on the note of interesting pop music, here is a link I found on a blogger called Stalepopcornau. Its a live performance at an Aussie music awards show of three female singers who I had not heard of. I think the three sound sensational - each having their own different groove but utterly beguiling in their own right.
hen she first appeared, she seemed so studied and artificial as a creation that I couldn't get a sense of any life or juice from her as an artist. She seemed to be a bit too desperately quirky, which aside from the 'bored hispter' attitude, is about my least favourite pop culture trope. I didn't actually like most of her music (I still don't as a matter of fact) and couldn't imagine that she would become the dominating force that she has become.
But slowly, in the last two months I have started to re-think my original position. It started with Paparazzi, a song I actually liked and thought had some pretty interesting lyrical ideas. It continued on to Bad Romance, and in particular the fantastic video which I thought was the first time that I could see her bringing elements of her style together in a visually interesting way. And now she has launched her new tour which the Guardian has convinced me would be something of a must see.
We constantly harp on about how homogenous pop music is, how reality TV and conglomerates spit out identikit acts at a frightening pace. I think I was too quick to judge Lady GaGa - it was an act of intellectual laziness to merely assume she was bullshit. I don't quite know if GaGa can really become the Madonna for the next generation. We don't have any other contenders. But she does seem to be aiming for some kind of pop art symbiosis of the visual and aural which Madonna achieved at her height in the late eighties/early nineties which is actually quite daring in today's market. Working within the circumscribed parameters of a mass-market pop star she is attempting to be different. I hope she continues to have that opportunity, because ultimately, pop music is more interesting with her in it.
And on the note of interesting pop music, here is a link I found on a blogger called Stalepopcornau. Its a live performance at an Aussie music awards show of three female singers who I had not heard of. I think the three sound sensational - each having their own different groove but utterly beguiling in their own right.
Defining what it means to be gay
You may have noticed that this is a very gay blog. That is no accident, since I am a very gay person. I don't like to think that being gay as my sole defining characteristic, but it is certainly something which I see as being intrinsically part of me. I think being gay, accepting that part of myself and engaging with the feelings of exclusion which it can sometimes bring from 'mainstream' society has made me a better person - more empathetic and understanding then I might otherwise have been. It forced me to grow up early and quickly. I don't want to sound like I have the whole life thing figured out or anything (I am still a regular fuck-up) but being gay is important to me. I wouldn't be straight for the world.
I know that my own personal acceptance of being gay is not the case for many people - that their individual journeys towards an acceptance of their sexuality can be immeasurably more torturous and complicated for personal, family, social, economic or religious reasons. I do not think there is a single way of being gay or a gay identity that all homos should be aiming towards. Which is why I think the current battle lines which are being drawn in California about the question of what it means to be gay are so fascinating. I can't imagine another minority who would be subjected to this kind of invasive questioning of their very right to exist. Religion, which I see as far more mutable and less defensible then sexuality would never have been subjected to this. But if there is one thing that American gays have learnt, it is the the usual rules just don't apply to them.
A little background for those not up to speed. In 2008 Californian voters passed Proposition 8, which over-turned the state Supreme Court ruling allowing gay people to marry. This defeat for gay rights, which took place the same night as Obama's victory, was a deep shock to the gay community. After months of recriminations, and some fairly convincing post-mortems about how the campaign was distorted by the lies of religious organisations, a strategy of attacking the proposition at a state court level and working to repeal it at another election was instituted by the leading gay rights organisations.
Then, in stepped David Boies and Ted Olsen, conservative legal stars who nevertheless recognised gay marriage as an civil rights issue and one which they fervently supported. Against the wishes of the mainstream gay organisations, they filed against the proposition in federal court in the states, with a view to eventually taking the case to the US Supreme Court. Broadly, if they succeeded, the Supreme Court would grant gay people the title of 'suspect class' and in that single ruling, the entire edifice of state and federal gay discrimination laws would be struck down. It is a breath-taking gamble - one that has the potential to massively advance gay rights or trip them up for decades to come.
You should read the article to get a sense of what is in play here. Essentially, the Court would be asked to rule that being gay is something intrinsic to a person's identity. That it is not something destructive to society which state and federal authorities have the right to draft discriminatory laws against. All these things which are self-evident to gay people are potentially to be out in the hands of nine elderly people - six men, three women, largely conservative and disproportionally Catholic.
This is insane.
No, let me say that again, this is INSANE!
I have no idea what the chance of Olson and Boies winning are. I doubt anybody does. But Olson and Boies are not babes in the wood. They were opposing lead counsels in the historic Bush v Gore case which decided the 2000 Presidential election. Their reasons for taking this chance are routed in a basic belief that gay people have waited long enough (one which the current occupants of the White House and Downing Street would do well to think on). It would force a clear, almost foundation level debate about who gay people are, and what their role in society is, without the clouding theatrics of the Sky Fairy Brigade.
Perhaps that type of apocalyptic showdown is precisely what America needs in order to see gay rights as a true civil rights issue. These piecemeal referenda in states play directly into the hands of bigots by denying gay people a grander narrative about oppression, one which is vital if straight people are to sit up and take notice. A Supreme Court battle, pitching conservative lawyers against religiously funded opposition about the role of gay people in civil society would be about as ideal a framing as possible in the current climate.
I don't mean to imply that everything is hunky dory over here in the UK. On Friday I went to the Rapahel Samuel's Memorial Lecture which was given historian Jeffrey Weeks about the development of the gay community in the last couple of decades and he made it clear that while there have been huge strides in the legal status of gay rights in England, there was still work to be done, particularly around ensuring full marriage equality and that homosexuality is included in the proposed Equality Bill. Once that's done, there is only the small matter of centuries of toxic socially ingrained homophobia to counteract. As the movements for gender and racial quality have shown, laws are ultimately only part of the battle if the social forces favouring oppression aren't similarly engaged.
I know that my own personal acceptance of being gay is not the case for many people - that their individual journeys towards an acceptance of their sexuality can be immeasurably more torturous and complicated for personal, family, social, economic or religious reasons. I do not think there is a single way of being gay or a gay identity that all homos should be aiming towards. Which is why I think the current battle lines which are being drawn in California about the question of what it means to be gay are so fascinating. I can't imagine another minority who would be subjected to this kind of invasive questioning of their very right to exist. Religion, which I see as far more mutable and less defensible then sexuality would never have been subjected to this. But if there is one thing that American gays have learnt, it is the the usual rules just don't apply to them.
A little background for those not up to speed. In 2008 Californian voters passed Proposition 8, which over-turned the state Supreme Court ruling allowing gay people to marry. This defeat for gay rights, which took place the same night as Obama's victory, was a deep shock to the gay community. After months of recriminations, and some fairly convincing post-mortems about how the campaign was distorted by the lies of religious organisations, a strategy of attacking the proposition at a state court level and working to repeal it at another election was instituted by the leading gay rights organisations.
Then, in stepped David Boies and Ted Olsen, conservative legal stars who nevertheless recognised gay marriage as an civil rights issue and one which they fervently supported. Against the wishes of the mainstream gay organisations, they filed against the proposition in federal court in the states, with a view to eventually taking the case to the US Supreme Court. Broadly, if they succeeded, the Supreme Court would grant gay people the title of 'suspect class' and in that single ruling, the entire edifice of state and federal gay discrimination laws would be struck down. It is a breath-taking gamble - one that has the potential to massively advance gay rights or trip them up for decades to come.
You should read the article to get a sense of what is in play here. Essentially, the Court would be asked to rule that being gay is something intrinsic to a person's identity. That it is not something destructive to society which state and federal authorities have the right to draft discriminatory laws against. All these things which are self-evident to gay people are potentially to be out in the hands of nine elderly people - six men, three women, largely conservative and disproportionally Catholic.
This is insane.
No, let me say that again, this is INSANE!
I have no idea what the chance of Olson and Boies winning are. I doubt anybody does. But Olson and Boies are not babes in the wood. They were opposing lead counsels in the historic Bush v Gore case which decided the 2000 Presidential election. Their reasons for taking this chance are routed in a basic belief that gay people have waited long enough (one which the current occupants of the White House and Downing Street would do well to think on). It would force a clear, almost foundation level debate about who gay people are, and what their role in society is, without the clouding theatrics of the Sky Fairy Brigade.
Perhaps that type of apocalyptic showdown is precisely what America needs in order to see gay rights as a true civil rights issue. These piecemeal referenda in states play directly into the hands of bigots by denying gay people a grander narrative about oppression, one which is vital if straight people are to sit up and take notice. A Supreme Court battle, pitching conservative lawyers against religiously funded opposition about the role of gay people in civil society would be about as ideal a framing as possible in the current climate.
I don't mean to imply that everything is hunky dory over here in the UK. On Friday I went to the Rapahel Samuel's Memorial Lecture which was given historian Jeffrey Weeks about the development of the gay community in the last couple of decades and he made it clear that while there have been huge strides in the legal status of gay rights in England, there was still work to be done, particularly around ensuring full marriage equality and that homosexuality is included in the proposed Equality Bill. Once that's done, there is only the small matter of centuries of toxic socially ingrained homophobia to counteract. As the movements for gender and racial quality have shown, laws are ultimately only part of the battle if the social forces favouring oppression aren't similarly engaged.
Friday, 27 November 2009
A Tale of Two Journalists - Part 2
OK, after that cleansing rant, I get to discuss a writer whose work always gives me hope for its intelligence, passion and determination to fight for those without a voice.
Johann Hari is 30 years old, and if I could point to a career is journalism as emblematic of what I would have wanted to achieve, then Hari’s is it. He is an openly gay writer in an industry that is suffocatingly macho, who has taken on some of the most difficult and complex topics in modern society. For a taster of his work, read his recent piece in The Independent about the rise of a group of ex-Jihadists who are trying to turn young Muslims away from extremism. Like all his best work, it is wonderfully clear sighted, tough but empathetic. His archive at http://www.johannhari.com/ is a treasure trove of provocative, well written and impassioned journalism.
Plus anybody who can come up with a list of enemies like this must be doing something correct;
Yet I find myself torn by his latest article, which concerns the continued downplaying of the effect of older men having sex with younger boys in the work of some famous gay writers.
This is dangerous territory for any gay writer to go into, and it is a mark of Hari’s own bravery and respect for those he admires that he criticises three gay cultural icons in such an honest fashion. Hari detects in the work of Stephen Fry, and especially Alan Bennett a deliberate insistence that young teenage boys who are fondled or abused by older men aren’t being damaged in any way, and further, that it is the adult who is really the victim in the power exchange.
I think it is worth quoting Hari at length so you can get a sense of what he is trying to say;
If Hari is quoting fairly from the themes of Bennett’s work (and I have no reason to doubt him) then this is hugely problematic and he is right to call out a writer for what I would agree is a complete moral failing, even if that writer is one as beloved as Bennett is.
But I do find myself torn by this article, for two reasons.
Firstly, one of the age old canards that all gay people, but especially men, face is that we are a bunch of paedophiles, preying on young boys and recruiting them into a life of sexual depravity. However, a difficult reality for gay men is that a lot of us will have had our first sexual experience as a teenager with an older man. We like to think that this is something natural and that no harm between any party was done. We then extrapolate that to all such couplings without thinking through the power dynamics inherent in each situation.
A lot of gay men will defend Bennett by saying that as a teenage boy they were gagging for sex and that they were the ones who seduced an adult (most often an authority figure). And that’s fine for them if that was their experience, but as always, the plural of anecdote is not data. Just because their specific experience didn’t appear to damage them, does not mean that this holds true for others. There is a perfectly valid reason for concepts such as the age of consent, and abuse of trust and we shouldn’t seek to downplay these for fear of the results (just look at the latest reports of Catholic Church abuses in Ireland to see the end result of that particular mindset).
I don't believe that Hari should not have written the article, but there is a part of me which winces when I think of the reactionary dickheads who will read this and have their suspicions confirmed. But that isn't Hari's fault - he should not censore himself because others will miss the nuance and sophistication of his writing.
My second point is that I don’t think Hari makes a proper distinction between the different age groups he discusses. A 13 year old is different developmentally from a 17 year old – while the potential for abuse is present in both cases, the power dynamics are different. I have less of a problem with some of the material in The History Boys (where they are older teenagers) then I would with what Britten does with 13 years olds.
This is the type of area where I feel myself on really shaky ground. For example, I went to see An Education on Tuesday (brilliant film by the way!) which looks at the relationship between a 16 year old schoolgirl and an ‘older man’ in 1960s London. The relationship, which turns explicitly sexual on her 17th birthday, is shown as a complex entity, with the dynamic between both characters shifting at different points. There are emotional and social costs to the girl when the relationship implodes, but it is ultimately seen, at least I believe it is, as a positive experience.
I had sex with an older guy when I was 17. It was not with anybody who was in a position of responsibility over me, and it was something I initiated and wanted. And yet I am slapped in the face by my earlier phrase about the plural of anecdote not being data. I think ultimately it is a complex intermingling of age, maturity and the relative position of the older person which determines the appropriateness of something like this. But blanket statements that Bennett makes do have the effect of creating a chilling atmosphere for those who were damaged to come forward and face their abusers. That is a shameful blind spot for a writer who was so expert at placing himself in the shoes of a wide variety of characters.
Johann Hari is 30 years old, and if I could point to a career is journalism as emblematic of what I would have wanted to achieve, then Hari’s is it. He is an openly gay writer in an industry that is suffocatingly macho, who has taken on some of the most difficult and complex topics in modern society. For a taster of his work, read his recent piece in The Independent about the rise of a group of ex-Jihadists who are trying to turn young Muslims away from extremism. Like all his best work, it is wonderfully clear sighted, tough but empathetic. His archive at http://www.johannhari.com/ is a treasure trove of provocative, well written and impassioned journalism.
Plus anybody who can come up with a list of enemies like this must be doing something correct;
Since he began work as a journalist, Johann has been attacked by the National Review, the Daily Telegraph, the Daily Mail, John Pilger, Daniel '007' Craig, Peter Mandelson, Peter Oborne, Private Eye, the Socialist Worker, Cristina Odone, Jon Gaunt, the Spectator, Andrew Neil, Mark Steyn, the British National Party, Medialens, al Muhajaroun and Richard Littlejohn. 'Prince' Turki Al-Faisal, the Saudi Ambassador to Britain, has accused Johann of "waging a private jihad against the House of Saud". (He's right). Johann has been called 'Maoist' by Nick Cohen, 'Horrible Hari' by Niall Ferguson, "an uppity little queer" by Bruce Anderson, 'a drug addict' by George Galloway, "fat" by the Dalai Lama and "a cunt" by Busted.
Yet I find myself torn by his latest article, which concerns the continued downplaying of the effect of older men having sex with younger boys in the work of some famous gay writers.
This is dangerous territory for any gay writer to go into, and it is a mark of Hari’s own bravery and respect for those he admires that he criticises three gay cultural icons in such an honest fashion. Hari detects in the work of Stephen Fry, and especially Alan Bennett a deliberate insistence that young teenage boys who are fondled or abused by older men aren’t being damaged in any way, and further, that it is the adult who is really the victim in the power exchange.
I think it is worth quoting Hari at length so you can get a sense of what he is trying to say;
What I object to is not the compassionate depiction of these men, but the claim that the victims are unharmed, or even enjoy it. This suggestion has featured in the work of several writers I normally admire. In Bennett's previous play The History Boys, a 50-something teacher called Hector routinely gropes his 17-year-old pupils' genitals – and they react either with flattered amusement, or by longing to be the next to be groped. The headmaster who objects is depicted as a prejudiced buffoon…
In interviews, Bennett makes it clear he is on Hector's side, saying: "I've been criticised for not taking this seriously enough. I'm afraid I don't take that very seriously if they're 17 or 18. I think they are actually much wiser than Hector. Hector is the child, not them." He added that good teaching is inherently "erotic".
In his new play, Bennett takes this analysis further. Benjamin Britten, the composer, is one of the main characters. He was sexually attracted to young boys – 13 was his
perfect age – and throughout his life he picked out choirboys, gave them a special role in performing his music, and lavished adoration on them… Yet Bennett, in his introduction to the play, expresses only one problem with this. "A boy whose voice suddenly broke could find himself no longer invited ... which would seem potentially far more damaging to a child's psychology than too much attention." He also spares a thought for the "fat boys and ugly boys" who were never admitted to this sanctum.
If Hari is quoting fairly from the themes of Bennett’s work (and I have no reason to doubt him) then this is hugely problematic and he is right to call out a writer for what I would agree is a complete moral failing, even if that writer is one as beloved as Bennett is.
But I do find myself torn by this article, for two reasons.
Firstly, one of the age old canards that all gay people, but especially men, face is that we are a bunch of paedophiles, preying on young boys and recruiting them into a life of sexual depravity. However, a difficult reality for gay men is that a lot of us will have had our first sexual experience as a teenager with an older man. We like to think that this is something natural and that no harm between any party was done. We then extrapolate that to all such couplings without thinking through the power dynamics inherent in each situation.
A lot of gay men will defend Bennett by saying that as a teenage boy they were gagging for sex and that they were the ones who seduced an adult (most often an authority figure). And that’s fine for them if that was their experience, but as always, the plural of anecdote is not data. Just because their specific experience didn’t appear to damage them, does not mean that this holds true for others. There is a perfectly valid reason for concepts such as the age of consent, and abuse of trust and we shouldn’t seek to downplay these for fear of the results (just look at the latest reports of Catholic Church abuses in Ireland to see the end result of that particular mindset).
I don't believe that Hari should not have written the article, but there is a part of me which winces when I think of the reactionary dickheads who will read this and have their suspicions confirmed. But that isn't Hari's fault - he should not censore himself because others will miss the nuance and sophistication of his writing.
My second point is that I don’t think Hari makes a proper distinction between the different age groups he discusses. A 13 year old is different developmentally from a 17 year old – while the potential for abuse is present in both cases, the power dynamics are different. I have less of a problem with some of the material in The History Boys (where they are older teenagers) then I would with what Britten does with 13 years olds.
This is the type of area where I feel myself on really shaky ground. For example, I went to see An Education on Tuesday (brilliant film by the way!) which looks at the relationship between a 16 year old schoolgirl and an ‘older man’ in 1960s London. The relationship, which turns explicitly sexual on her 17th birthday, is shown as a complex entity, with the dynamic between both characters shifting at different points. There are emotional and social costs to the girl when the relationship implodes, but it is ultimately seen, at least I believe it is, as a positive experience.
I had sex with an older guy when I was 17. It was not with anybody who was in a position of responsibility over me, and it was something I initiated and wanted. And yet I am slapped in the face by my earlier phrase about the plural of anecdote not being data. I think ultimately it is a complex intermingling of age, maturity and the relative position of the older person which determines the appropriateness of something like this. But blanket statements that Bennett makes do have the effect of creating a chilling atmosphere for those who were damaged to come forward and face their abusers. That is a shameful blind spot for a writer who was so expert at placing himself in the shoes of a wide variety of characters.
A Tale of Two Journalists - Part 1
I studied journalism because I wanted to change the world.
I fled journalism because I realised I was a romantic idiot.
Every so often an article crops out that through its sheer shameless nastiness becomes emblematic of precisely why I am thankful, though I sometimes regret my cowardice, that I no longer have to make the moral calculation of working for a newspaper. Simply put, I would never want to be in the situation where economic or professional considerations would force me to write for a pile of vomit and diarrhoea like The Daily Mail or The Express.
The Daily Mail currently has a story running that exemplifies everything that is rotten and disease ridden about its mindset. It is not a story written by a new writer, but by Sue Reid, a disgraceful piece of shit who has been caught inventing stories to scaremonger about immigrants before. The story is almost too depressing to go into, but basically, Reid was ‘sent’ a picture of a map in Chelsea and Westminster hospital which allowed mothers in the ante-natal unit to put a sticker on their country of origin. There were a lot of stickers placed in countries around the world, and not that many on the UK. From this flimsy piece of evidence, Reid concluded that foreign babies were putting a ‘strain’ on NHS services.
Yes, this vile, nasty woman has decided that treating sick babies is a strain on one of London’s most famous hospitals because she saw a picture of a map with stickers on it. From that, she used a couple of anonymous quotes from ‘concerned’ mothers and a lot of baseless alarmist rhetoric to say… what exactly? That sick babies should be turned away? That foreigners are taking spaces that English (ie white) babies should be given? She has absolutely no proof of any of this other than a poster on a fucking wall with a couple of fucking stickers on it.
Stuck at the very end of the article is the hospital’s response which demolishes Reid’s article for the careless, nasty little stitch-up that it is. It turns out the poster has been up for four years, while there are approximately 600 babies treated every year. This year, only two babies have been from overseas parents.
Sue Reid should be sacked. But it’s The Daily Mail, home to the slimy, deranged quintet of Amanda Platell, Richard Littlejohn, Peter Hitchens, Melanie Phillips and Jan Moir so nobody should be surprised. She fits right in with their hateful little screeds.
And for proof that it’s not just The Mail, check out the front page of today’s Express.
The reason I get upset about this, is that this stuff matters. It might be a rhetorical game to sell papers to Paul Dacre and his parasitical bosses but millions of people have their views on the state of Britain shaped by this type of shit. Solving the problems of a multicultural society which has a massive and growing income gap with an ageing population and paralysed political system is made immeasurably harder by media which lies and distorts reality to such an alarming degree. It is a daily barrage of lazy, racist, misogynist and homophobic crap that is designed purely to tell its readership that there is an us and them and it is their fault that your life feels like it is spinning out of control.
Anton Vowl, who does Trojan work at Enemies of Reason put together his Top 10 Things I've Hated Reading in the Newspapers This Year. It makes for depressing but necessary reading, and shows the depth that these publications sink to (I would add The Spectator’s AIDS denialism to that list but am too depressed to try and remember any more).
Once more, this stuff matters. When Reid makes a completely baseless claim that a hospital is under strain when it treats sick children of foreign born parents, the unspoken idea is that there are British children who suffer. It’s no wonder that the BNP and other racist organisations see The Daily Mail as there best friend. It is an almost perfect reflection of their values.
I don’t want every paper to be The Independent or The Guardian. There is a space for principled right wing and conservative voices. But that’s not what The Mail or The Express are. I wouldn’t use them to wipe a dog’s arse.
I fled journalism because I realised I was a romantic idiot.
Every so often an article crops out that through its sheer shameless nastiness becomes emblematic of precisely why I am thankful, though I sometimes regret my cowardice, that I no longer have to make the moral calculation of working for a newspaper. Simply put, I would never want to be in the situation where economic or professional considerations would force me to write for a pile of vomit and diarrhoea like The Daily Mail or The Express.
The Daily Mail currently has a story running that exemplifies everything that is rotten and disease ridden about its mindset. It is not a story written by a new writer, but by Sue Reid, a disgraceful piece of shit who has been caught inventing stories to scaremonger about immigrants before. The story is almost too depressing to go into, but basically, Reid was ‘sent’ a picture of a map in Chelsea and Westminster hospital which allowed mothers in the ante-natal unit to put a sticker on their country of origin. There were a lot of stickers placed in countries around the world, and not that many on the UK. From this flimsy piece of evidence, Reid concluded that foreign babies were putting a ‘strain’ on NHS services.
Yes, this vile, nasty woman has decided that treating sick babies is a strain on one of London’s most famous hospitals because she saw a picture of a map with stickers on it. From that, she used a couple of anonymous quotes from ‘concerned’ mothers and a lot of baseless alarmist rhetoric to say… what exactly? That sick babies should be turned away? That foreigners are taking spaces that English (ie white) babies should be given? She has absolutely no proof of any of this other than a poster on a fucking wall with a couple of fucking stickers on it.
Stuck at the very end of the article is the hospital’s response which demolishes Reid’s article for the careless, nasty little stitch-up that it is. It turns out the poster has been up for four years, while there are approximately 600 babies treated every year. This year, only two babies have been from overseas parents.
Sue Reid should be sacked. But it’s The Daily Mail, home to the slimy, deranged quintet of Amanda Platell, Richard Littlejohn, Peter Hitchens, Melanie Phillips and Jan Moir so nobody should be surprised. She fits right in with their hateful little screeds.
And for proof that it’s not just The Mail, check out the front page of today’s Express.
The reason I get upset about this, is that this stuff matters. It might be a rhetorical game to sell papers to Paul Dacre and his parasitical bosses but millions of people have their views on the state of Britain shaped by this type of shit. Solving the problems of a multicultural society which has a massive and growing income gap with an ageing population and paralysed political system is made immeasurably harder by media which lies and distorts reality to such an alarming degree. It is a daily barrage of lazy, racist, misogynist and homophobic crap that is designed purely to tell its readership that there is an us and them and it is their fault that your life feels like it is spinning out of control.
Anton Vowl, who does Trojan work at Enemies of Reason put together his Top 10 Things I've Hated Reading in the Newspapers This Year. It makes for depressing but necessary reading, and shows the depth that these publications sink to (I would add The Spectator’s AIDS denialism to that list but am too depressed to try and remember any more).
Once more, this stuff matters. When Reid makes a completely baseless claim that a hospital is under strain when it treats sick children of foreign born parents, the unspoken idea is that there are British children who suffer. It’s no wonder that the BNP and other racist organisations see The Daily Mail as there best friend. It is an almost perfect reflection of their values.
I don’t want every paper to be The Independent or The Guardian. There is a space for principled right wing and conservative voices. But that’s not what The Mail or The Express are. I wouldn’t use them to wipe a dog’s arse.
Tuesday, 24 November 2009
I'm in love with Ben Goldacre
Because I read so many books, I tend to form intense, passionate attachments to authors. I can actually get turned on by an author's style or voice. In that spirit, I would like to say that I want to make passionate, geeky love with Ben Goldacre's big squishy brain.
I first came across Goldacre through his Guardian column Bad Science and website badscience.net. Goldacre did the entire world a service by doing the painstaking but ultimately rewarding work of exposing Gillian McKeith as the fraudulent scold that she is. I am almost finished his first book and it is everything that I have always wanted to read.
Bad Science (The Book) is basically a fun, clear and concise distillation of the basics of scientific testing and trials. He uses real world examples to show how quacks, doctors, researchers, major corporations and the media routinely misuse data, either on purpose or because they don't know any better and how that dangerously skews our knowledge on a range of health and lifestyle issues.
Goldacre is scrupulously fair and hugely entertaining. Like Bill Bryson's A Short History of Neary Everything, it is a book whose enthusiasm for sharing knowledge is palpable. He wants his readers to understand that the fundamentals of science is not out of reach of the general population and that it is in all our interests to be able to make a basic judgement on a piece of research which could be used to justify costly but useless interventions.
I have a feeling this is one I will be using and returning to for a long time to come.
I first came across Goldacre through his Guardian column Bad Science and website badscience.net. Goldacre did the entire world a service by doing the painstaking but ultimately rewarding work of exposing Gillian McKeith as the fraudulent scold that she is. I am almost finished his first book and it is everything that I have always wanted to read.
Bad Science (The Book) is basically a fun, clear and concise distillation of the basics of scientific testing and trials. He uses real world examples to show how quacks, doctors, researchers, major corporations and the media routinely misuse data, either on purpose or because they don't know any better and how that dangerously skews our knowledge on a range of health and lifestyle issues.
Goldacre is scrupulously fair and hugely entertaining. Like Bill Bryson's A Short History of Neary Everything, it is a book whose enthusiasm for sharing knowledge is palpable. He wants his readers to understand that the fundamentals of science is not out of reach of the general population and that it is in all our interests to be able to make a basic judgement on a piece of research which could be used to justify costly but useless interventions.
I have a feeling this is one I will be using and returning to for a long time to come.
Monday, 23 November 2009
Civil Disobedience
This follows on perfectly from my previous post about the marriage equality debate in Ireland.
At 10.15am Katherine Doyle and Tom Freeman will head to Islington Registry Office and attempt to register for a civil partnership. It is almost certain that it will be denied, as civil partnerships are only available to gay and lesbian couples. Doyle and Freeman believe that the civil partnership law, which enshrined a 'separate but equal' status for same sex couples is discriminatory and they intend to prove this by forcing the British Government to defend the law under the EU equalities legislation.
Thank you Katherine and Tom.
Unlike Ireland, the civil partnership law in the UK gives same sex couples exactly the same rights as married couples. It just refuses to recognise them as married. Nobody can quite articulate why this should be the case, aside from vague and predictable appeals to tradition.
Tom has written about the reasons behind his decision and I think he puts it more eloquently then I can.
Update
As expected, Islington Council have refused their application and Katherine and Tom say they will seek legal advice on whether to take this to the European Court. Good luck to them, and I think that the gay community should support them.
There seems to be a little bit of a disconnect between some gay people about what Katherine and Tom are trying to do. I have read a lot of comments saying that this is just an attempt by straight people to colonise civil partnerships. I think it is pretty clear that the couple are doing this in order to highlight the discriminatory aspect of the civil marriage/partnership split. Seriously, there is simply no good reason for gay couples to have a separate mode of state recognition for their partnership as straight couples. The only real arguments are based on religious grounds. But since religions will always be free to exempt themselves from blessing any unions they do no approve of, it makes no sense to have the state be similarly discriminatory.
At 10.15am Katherine Doyle and Tom Freeman will head to Islington Registry Office and attempt to register for a civil partnership. It is almost certain that it will be denied, as civil partnerships are only available to gay and lesbian couples. Doyle and Freeman believe that the civil partnership law, which enshrined a 'separate but equal' status for same sex couples is discriminatory and they intend to prove this by forcing the British Government to defend the law under the EU equalities legislation.
Thank you Katherine and Tom.
Unlike Ireland, the civil partnership law in the UK gives same sex couples exactly the same rights as married couples. It just refuses to recognise them as married. Nobody can quite articulate why this should be the case, aside from vague and predictable appeals to tradition.
Tom has written about the reasons behind his decision and I think he puts it more eloquently then I can.
Update
As expected, Islington Council have refused their application and Katherine and Tom say they will seek legal advice on whether to take this to the European Court. Good luck to them, and I think that the gay community should support them.
There seems to be a little bit of a disconnect between some gay people about what Katherine and Tom are trying to do. I have read a lot of comments saying that this is just an attempt by straight people to colonise civil partnerships. I think it is pretty clear that the couple are doing this in order to highlight the discriminatory aspect of the civil marriage/partnership split. Seriously, there is simply no good reason for gay couples to have a separate mode of state recognition for their partnership as straight couples. The only real arguments are based on religious grounds. But since religions will always be free to exempt themselves from blessing any unions they do no approve of, it makes no sense to have the state be similarly discriminatory.
Marriage Equality in Ireland
One of my best friends visited me over the weekend and we had a long talk about the marriage equality debate which is going on in Ireland. The Irish Government is in advanced stages of putting a civil partnership bill through the Irish Parliament. To be fair, this is much sooner then I ever thought Ireland would move on the issue so I think the Government should be commended on that basis. I'm sure the Fianna Fail government themselves thought this would only reflect well on them, and that the gay community itself would be tripping over themselves in gratitude. Considering homosexuality was only decriminalised in 1993, this wasn't an unfair expectation.
What has actually happened is a split has occurred in the gay community between those who support the introduction of civil unions and those for whom this second best option is not enough. Those who support the law, understandably, are excited about finally being given legal protection for their relationships. For many people who have lived with Ireland's stifling homophobia, the idea that their lives and relationships are being officially sanctioned, even if they are being treated as second best, is a historic moment.
However, there is a large and vocal constituency for whom the Civil Partnership Bill is unacceptable. They argue that the Bill enshrines discrimination into Irish law, and that the Constitution, which doesn't define marriage as an institution between men and women but does state that all citizens should be treated equally, should guarantee that gay couples receive full civil marriage equality.
My initial thoughts were that if the Bill offers full rights to gay couples, then it may be worth accepting it as the political will to push for full marriage equality may not be there (the Irish Government is in serious trouble at the moment). The Catholic Church is cowed after the damning Ryan report into systematic sexual abuse by priests and nuns in Irish institution, so there may never be a better moment then now to introduce this. I even argued this with Robert. But the Bill doesn't offer full rights and, crucially in my opinion, denies couples who are civil partnered adoption rights. This decision, which was taken in a nauseating attempt to placate the 'family values' crowd in Ireland actually is a piece of hateful anti-family discrimination and to me would be a deal breaker.
It is a horrible choice that gay people in Ireland are having to make - and it is easy for me to sit here in London and pass judgement on what they should or should not do. But I think that the compromises in the legislation go too far. With full marriage equality now happily enshrined in several countries, even ultra-Catholic Spain, we know that the Chicken Little-sky-is-falling predictions about the potential destruction of marriage as an institution by allowing gays to take part is bollocks. It also seems that a majority of Irish people actually support giving gay couples full marriage rights. So why this legislation which is actually less progressive than the Irish population?
Marriage is seen in a slightly skewed way in Ireland compared to a lot of Europe. Divorce was illegal until the nineties, so it was incredibly rare for couples to split up until very recently. Marriage was intensely associated with the Catholic Church and there was really no concept of a separate civil institution. Since most people would instinctively view a marriage as incomplete if only done in a registry office, they have less of a problem about opening it up to gay people. That's my pet theory anyway.
Still though, its exciting to hear that gay people are becoming more visible and empowered, which can only help successive generations as they come out. The debate in the gay community has spilled over into the general population, with many leading media and political figures coming out in favour of full marriage equalityh. This is a hugely exciting development.
This has been a difficult day for me personally, and I didn't think that anything could cheer me up. But my friend Robert told me to track down the speech given by Dublin drag queen Panti at this year's Pride and I am glad I did. I was really moved by what Panti said, as well as the sight of hundreds of proud Irish gay men and women cheering in the bright sunshine. I would have loved to have been there.
What has actually happened is a split has occurred in the gay community between those who support the introduction of civil unions and those for whom this second best option is not enough. Those who support the law, understandably, are excited about finally being given legal protection for their relationships. For many people who have lived with Ireland's stifling homophobia, the idea that their lives and relationships are being officially sanctioned, even if they are being treated as second best, is a historic moment.
However, there is a large and vocal constituency for whom the Civil Partnership Bill is unacceptable. They argue that the Bill enshrines discrimination into Irish law, and that the Constitution, which doesn't define marriage as an institution between men and women but does state that all citizens should be treated equally, should guarantee that gay couples receive full civil marriage equality.
My initial thoughts were that if the Bill offers full rights to gay couples, then it may be worth accepting it as the political will to push for full marriage equality may not be there (the Irish Government is in serious trouble at the moment). The Catholic Church is cowed after the damning Ryan report into systematic sexual abuse by priests and nuns in Irish institution, so there may never be a better moment then now to introduce this. I even argued this with Robert. But the Bill doesn't offer full rights and, crucially in my opinion, denies couples who are civil partnered adoption rights. This decision, which was taken in a nauseating attempt to placate the 'family values' crowd in Ireland actually is a piece of hateful anti-family discrimination and to me would be a deal breaker.
It is a horrible choice that gay people in Ireland are having to make - and it is easy for me to sit here in London and pass judgement on what they should or should not do. But I think that the compromises in the legislation go too far. With full marriage equality now happily enshrined in several countries, even ultra-Catholic Spain, we know that the Chicken Little-sky-is-falling predictions about the potential destruction of marriage as an institution by allowing gays to take part is bollocks. It also seems that a majority of Irish people actually support giving gay couples full marriage rights. So why this legislation which is actually less progressive than the Irish population?
Marriage is seen in a slightly skewed way in Ireland compared to a lot of Europe. Divorce was illegal until the nineties, so it was incredibly rare for couples to split up until very recently. Marriage was intensely associated with the Catholic Church and there was really no concept of a separate civil institution. Since most people would instinctively view a marriage as incomplete if only done in a registry office, they have less of a problem about opening it up to gay people. That's my pet theory anyway.
Still though, its exciting to hear that gay people are becoming more visible and empowered, which can only help successive generations as they come out. The debate in the gay community has spilled over into the general population, with many leading media and political figures coming out in favour of full marriage equalityh. This is a hugely exciting development.
This has been a difficult day for me personally, and I didn't think that anything could cheer me up. But my friend Robert told me to track down the speech given by Dublin drag queen Panti at this year's Pride and I am glad I did. I was really moved by what Panti said, as well as the sight of hundreds of proud Irish gay men and women cheering in the bright sunshine. I would have loved to have been there.
To Lost Friends
I found out this afternoon that a friend of mine died suddenly on Saturday night. He was somebody who I had only really gotten to know in the past year. I knew his partner longer - he died earlier in the year. Both men were responsible for giving me the incredible gift of my first flat, where I am typing this right now.
Tiny was one of the most decent, generous, open-hearted men I have known. I think its cruel and shitty that he was taken this weekend. Mike's death was horrible, but he was surrounded by those he loved and who he had the chance to speak with before the cancer and stroke took him. He died, comfortable, in his own flat with his husband with him. Tiny wasn't allowed that
With Mike, I got the chance to say goodbye and to say thank you. With Tiny, this will have to do. Thank you so much for everything - you were a truly good man.
Tiny was one of the most decent, generous, open-hearted men I have known. I think its cruel and shitty that he was taken this weekend. Mike's death was horrible, but he was surrounded by those he loved and who he had the chance to speak with before the cancer and stroke took him. He died, comfortable, in his own flat with his husband with him. Tiny wasn't allowed that
With Mike, I got the chance to say goodbye and to say thank you. With Tiny, this will have to do. Thank you so much for everything - you were a truly good man.
Top 10 Reasons that Untitled is My Favourite Film of the Noughties
I have decided that Untitled is my favourite film of the decade. Note that I didn't call it the best - I think there are too many films of real enduring quality for me to even think about what might be the best. But it is my favourite, the one that speaks directly to me, the one that best reflects what I love most about art.
Quick note before I begin the count down; most people will know Untitled by the name of the theatrical version of the film - Almost Famous. I always adored the film in that incarnation, but the director's cut version, which restores about 30 minutes or so of footage and was renamed Untitled is a thing to treasure. It is that version of the film that I am discussing here.
Number 10
The moment in the title sequence where Frances McDormand's name is spelt wrong and the unseen writer rubs out the error and corrects it. I don't quite know why, but that moment kills me every time.
Number 9
Speaking of Frances McDormand, she makes number 9 on my list for portraying the best mother in cinema history. Just as Gregory Peck in To Kill a Mockingbird is the cinema dad I have always wanted, Frances McDormand as Elaine Miller would be my cinema mum. Modelled closely on Crowe's own mother (who is an utter and complete delight in the commentary track on Untitled), Alice is vibrant, intelligent, infuriating and marvellously alive. A lot of actresses would have done well with this brilliantly written role. But McDormand is magical - giving an indelible portrait of parental love and anxiety without ever losing her individuality as character. She often turns on a dime between comedy and pathos in the same scene and nobody is as good at giving a dressing down as she is - the scene where she berates Russell and then tells him to go do his best ("be bold and mighty forces will come to your aide") encapsulates everything that is moving, funny and tender about the character in just 2 minutes of screentime.
Number 8
The film is wonderfully astute about the relationship between a journalist and his subject. The scenes of Russell's subtle manipulation of the star struck William ably highlight the compromises that most journalists face as they get close to their subjects. William is presented with a dilemma - as a fan of Stillwater, he is given unprecedented access to the band. But to create his own art, he must in some way destroy his friendship and risk destroying the band also. It sort of ties in with that Michael Chabon interview I highlighted a couple of days ago - William learns that to be a real fan, one must also be a critic. Or in the words of the the immortal Phillip Seymour Hoffman playing Lester Bangs "You wanna be a true friend to them? Be honest, and unmerciful.". I think journalists could do a lot worse then having that phrase tattooed on the foreheads so they see it every time they look in the mirror.
Number 7
Crowe's films are always glorious acting ensembles and Untitled is just a dizzying array of talent right down to the extras. Though I highlight two actors in particular on this list (no prizes for guessing who the second will be), the whole cast are exceptional. Billy Crudup simply is Russell Hammond - it is the type of performance which should have turned him into a major star and seen him nominated for an Oscar. Jason Lee mines amazing levels of comedy and surprising pathos as the terminally second place lead singer (he also should have been up for Supporting Actor that yEAR). Zooey Deshanel, Anna Paquin and Fairuza Balk give little masterclasses in creating characters that feel alive with minimal screen time. Every single performance is perfectly on key. Patrick Fugit, who was damned with a sort of faint praise in many of the original reviews is really wonderful as William. He has a natural, unforced innocence which works beautifully. I have long liked the idea of giving an Oscar for an ensemble as the Screen Actors Guild does, and that the casting director should be given the award. In 2001, Untitled would have been my choice and Gail Levin, who also put together the superb cast for Jerry Maguire, gets my fantasy award for her brilliant work.
Number 6
The music. I admit it, I have virtually no musical aptitude. I am one of those rare people who just doesn't listen to a lot of music, though I love to read and listen to people talk about why it moves them. But I know when it works in cinema and the music in Untitled is wonderful - both the song choices on the soundtrack and the instrumental pieces written for the film. I mean you would expect that a film about a band would pay attention to music, but Crowe's choices never feel obvious and the music accentuates the emotions of the film without ever ever feeling false or manipulative.
Plus, this...
This scene almost instantly became a source of parody, but it has also rightly become a something of a defining scene for Crowe's aesthetic as a artist.
Number 10
The moment in the title sequence where Frances McDormand's name is spelt wrong and the unseen writer rubs out the error and corrects it. I don't quite know why, but that moment kills me every time.
Number 9
Speaking of Frances McDormand, she makes number 9 on my list for portraying the best mother in cinema history. Just as Gregory Peck in To Kill a Mockingbird is the cinema dad I have always wanted, Frances McDormand as Elaine Miller would be my cinema mum. Modelled closely on Crowe's own mother (who is an utter and complete delight in the commentary track on Untitled), Alice is vibrant, intelligent, infuriating and marvellously alive. A lot of actresses would have done well with this brilliantly written role. But McDormand is magical - giving an indelible portrait of parental love and anxiety without ever losing her individuality as character. She often turns on a dime between comedy and pathos in the same scene and nobody is as good at giving a dressing down as she is - the scene where she berates Russell and then tells him to go do his best ("be bold and mighty forces will come to your aide") encapsulates everything that is moving, funny and tender about the character in just 2 minutes of screentime.
Number 8
The film is wonderfully astute about the relationship between a journalist and his subject. The scenes of Russell's subtle manipulation of the star struck William ably highlight the compromises that most journalists face as they get close to their subjects. William is presented with a dilemma - as a fan of Stillwater, he is given unprecedented access to the band. But to create his own art, he must in some way destroy his friendship and risk destroying the band also. It sort of ties in with that Michael Chabon interview I highlighted a couple of days ago - William learns that to be a real fan, one must also be a critic. Or in the words of the the immortal Phillip Seymour Hoffman playing Lester Bangs "You wanna be a true friend to them? Be honest, and unmerciful.". I think journalists could do a lot worse then having that phrase tattooed on the foreheads so they see it every time they look in the mirror.
Number 7
Crowe's films are always glorious acting ensembles and Untitled is just a dizzying array of talent right down to the extras. Though I highlight two actors in particular on this list (no prizes for guessing who the second will be), the whole cast are exceptional. Billy Crudup simply is Russell Hammond - it is the type of performance which should have turned him into a major star and seen him nominated for an Oscar. Jason Lee mines amazing levels of comedy and surprising pathos as the terminally second place lead singer (he also should have been up for Supporting Actor that yEAR). Zooey Deshanel, Anna Paquin and Fairuza Balk give little masterclasses in creating characters that feel alive with minimal screen time. Every single performance is perfectly on key. Patrick Fugit, who was damned with a sort of faint praise in many of the original reviews is really wonderful as William. He has a natural, unforced innocence which works beautifully. I have long liked the idea of giving an Oscar for an ensemble as the Screen Actors Guild does, and that the casting director should be given the award. In 2001, Untitled would have been my choice and Gail Levin, who also put together the superb cast for Jerry Maguire, gets my fantasy award for her brilliant work.
Number 6
The music. I admit it, I have virtually no musical aptitude. I am one of those rare people who just doesn't listen to a lot of music, though I love to read and listen to people talk about why it moves them. But I know when it works in cinema and the music in Untitled is wonderful - both the song choices on the soundtrack and the instrumental pieces written for the film. I mean you would expect that a film about a band would pay attention to music, but Crowe's choices never feel obvious and the music accentuates the emotions of the film without ever ever feeling false or manipulative.
Plus, this...
This scene almost instantly became a source of parody, but it has also rightly become a something of a defining scene for Crowe's aesthetic as a artist.
"You are home" = genius.
Number 5
In the Untitled DVD commentary, Cameron Crowe talks about how Kate Hudson was originally signed on to play William's sister Anita. But as the process of casting continued, it became clear that she was the right choice for Penny Lane and she eventually won the role. I had a look at Hudson's bio on IMDB and she really hadn't done anything before Almost Famous. Seeing her performance in the film, it's hard to believe that anybody else could have been chosen. Penny Lane is a challenging role - she has to play a muse, somebody who everybody is a little or a lot in love with. Hudson does this effortlessly - the character feels instantly iconic, but, once more, alive and real. I think if you were to make a list of greatest performances of the noughties, she would have to be a contender. It's gorgeous, soulful, funny and sexy work and I don't give a shit about how many crappy films she made since. She helped give the world Penny Lane. For that, I will always be grateful.
Number 4
The script. I am in awe of what Crowe achieved with this screenplay. He says repeatedly what a challenge it was for him to make this film but it never shows on screen. There is an effortlessness to the entire thing. Scenes are stuffed with sparkling dialogue. Characters not only breathe onscreen but feel like they live outside the film as well. You could train the focus of the movie on anybody and create an interesting story. It's ultimately a romance - for music, for people, for a time in your life. This was used by some critics to attack the film for not being a 'warts and all' portrayal. But that wasn't the story that Crowe set out to tell, and wasn't necessarily his actual experiences either. The movie is honest about the emotional costs for each of the characters, which end up being considerable. The happy ending feels completely earned. I thought Crowe's script for Jerry Maguire was one of the finest of the nineties and never received the credit it deserved. Untitled is even better, and he can rest easy knowing he has written something which can be spoken of in the same terms as the best of his idol, Billy Wilder.
Number 3
The film is just gorgeous to look at, a visual marvel that you can watch on silent and just drink in John Toll's marvellous cinematography and Betsy Heimann's fabulous costumes, both of whom should have at least been nominated for Oscars. Heimann should have won - think of how much of Penny Lane's impact is due to the look created for her by Heimann (that coat alone deserves its own special award). Untitled isn't overtly flashy but it is there are several sequences and moments, big and small which feel burned on to my memory (the final moments after William's first concert when it is just him and Penny outside the stadium for example) and I think is about as good an example of pure, classic, beautiful photography that I can think of.
Number 2
The vibe. Ultimately, everything I have spoken about are the elements of the film that I adore. But what makes the film special is the indefinable vibe that it generates. Moment to moment, scene to scene it gradually builds until it leaves me giddy and joyful and inspired at the final fade out. Not everybody will be as clued into the vibe as I am. As I mentioned above, the film speaks directly to me on so many levels, not least because it is basically my fantasy onscreen. If I could write something as generous and beautiful as this one day, I would consider my life well led. You can sense it amongst the cast. You can sense it between Crowe and his wonderful mum on the DVD commentary. Close your eyes and listen to the characters talk and you can feel that vibe singing right off the screen. If you haven't realised it yet - I adore it.
Number 1
This... proving that sometimes you can still capture magic on screen
In the Untitled DVD commentary, Cameron Crowe talks about how Kate Hudson was originally signed on to play William's sister Anita. But as the process of casting continued, it became clear that she was the right choice for Penny Lane and she eventually won the role. I had a look at Hudson's bio on IMDB and she really hadn't done anything before Almost Famous. Seeing her performance in the film, it's hard to believe that anybody else could have been chosen. Penny Lane is a challenging role - she has to play a muse, somebody who everybody is a little or a lot in love with. Hudson does this effortlessly - the character feels instantly iconic, but, once more, alive and real. I think if you were to make a list of greatest performances of the noughties, she would have to be a contender. It's gorgeous, soulful, funny and sexy work and I don't give a shit about how many crappy films she made since. She helped give the world Penny Lane. For that, I will always be grateful.
Number 4
The script. I am in awe of what Crowe achieved with this screenplay. He says repeatedly what a challenge it was for him to make this film but it never shows on screen. There is an effortlessness to the entire thing. Scenes are stuffed with sparkling dialogue. Characters not only breathe onscreen but feel like they live outside the film as well. You could train the focus of the movie on anybody and create an interesting story. It's ultimately a romance - for music, for people, for a time in your life. This was used by some critics to attack the film for not being a 'warts and all' portrayal. But that wasn't the story that Crowe set out to tell, and wasn't necessarily his actual experiences either. The movie is honest about the emotional costs for each of the characters, which end up being considerable. The happy ending feels completely earned. I thought Crowe's script for Jerry Maguire was one of the finest of the nineties and never received the credit it deserved. Untitled is even better, and he can rest easy knowing he has written something which can be spoken of in the same terms as the best of his idol, Billy Wilder.
Number 3
The film is just gorgeous to look at, a visual marvel that you can watch on silent and just drink in John Toll's marvellous cinematography and Betsy Heimann's fabulous costumes, both of whom should have at least been nominated for Oscars. Heimann should have won - think of how much of Penny Lane's impact is due to the look created for her by Heimann (that coat alone deserves its own special award). Untitled isn't overtly flashy but it is there are several sequences and moments, big and small which feel burned on to my memory (the final moments after William's first concert when it is just him and Penny outside the stadium for example) and I think is about as good an example of pure, classic, beautiful photography that I can think of.
Number 2
The vibe. Ultimately, everything I have spoken about are the elements of the film that I adore. But what makes the film special is the indefinable vibe that it generates. Moment to moment, scene to scene it gradually builds until it leaves me giddy and joyful and inspired at the final fade out. Not everybody will be as clued into the vibe as I am. As I mentioned above, the film speaks directly to me on so many levels, not least because it is basically my fantasy onscreen. If I could write something as generous and beautiful as this one day, I would consider my life well led. You can sense it amongst the cast. You can sense it between Crowe and his wonderful mum on the DVD commentary. Close your eyes and listen to the characters talk and you can feel that vibe singing right off the screen. If you haven't realised it yet - I adore it.
Number 1
This... proving that sometimes you can still capture magic on screen
Friday, 20 November 2009
Stalepopcornau had one of those insights that struck me as so perfect and true that I wondered how I didn't think of it before.Bring It On is one of the greatest sports movies ever made.
No, please, don't run away... I am completely serious.
Bring it On is a great little teen comedy about cheerleaders. But within that seemingly narrow range it examines and interrogates a huge variety of issues - about race and cultural appropriation, about competitiveness and judgement and finally about learning to live with second place. The film is joyous about celebrating how two talented teams can push each other to new heights, and though it acknowledges that one team has to win, it shows that success ultimately comes in many forms.
Like all the best teen movies, Bring It On is stylised - it doesn't take place in the 'real world' but being slightly removed from our reality allows the film to approach genuine social issues with wit and verve. I won't claim that it is necessarily the deepest movie ever made about any the topics it looks at, but by even daring to raise and examine them at all it creates a much smarter and more engaging film than it appears on the surface.
I really like how the build-up to the final showdown is portrayed - how the importance of who wins is shown to mean both everything and nothing to the teenagers as they realise what the real value of taking part is. This makes the last minutes sound cloying, but it is actually completely the opposite. There is a casual, almost tossed off quality to the final moments that works beautifully and the final sing along to Hey Mickey is a wonderfully exuberant way to end.
Added to this is some wonderful dialogue, one of the best and most accepting treatments of a gay character of any teen movie in the last decade and some marvellous performances which key right into the theatrical nature of the direction and you have a really underrated gem.
As a taster, here is the great cheerleader audition scene.
Wednesday, 18 November 2009
'Real' Fans
Via Alyssa
I first read The Adventures of Kavalier and Clay about four years ago and had the delicious sense as I sunk into the novel that I was reading something that would be with me for the rest of my life - I actually remember the moment exactly. It was the section dealing with the back story of Luna Moth and I am not quite sure why this was the part where it seemed to click with me. But as I read it, I felt something in me move with the words. I didn't feel like I was reading the book, so much as absorbing it, communing with it.
Funny thing is, I haven't read any of his other work, which feels like an oversight on my part. But what I like about Kavalier is that as successful and well known as the novel is, there is something personal about my relationship with it. Plus Chabon had a hand in what is still my favourite comic book film of all time -Spiderman 2 (its not in dispute by the way and don't even mention The Dark Knight...).
This is a slice of what Chabon is saying in a new interview in io9;
I probably should have just told you to go read the entire interview (which, of course, you should do right now). Chabon is saying something which is so on the money that it is startling that it is not a part of our shared, accepted knowledge of How Things Work. But somehow, the old mangled adage that "Those who do, do... Those who don't, critique" seems to have become the accepted wisdom. Fans are another step down the ladder of respect, too often tarred with the brush of mindless ditto-heads following their passions into maze-like minutiae.
I was a passionate fan of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. But that didn't preclude me from critiquing it or from being inspired to take the conventions of that show and twist them further to see what I could come up with myself. You can sometimes see it in long-running shows where fans finally start to become members of the writing staff - their writing often brings something fresh and true. I am thinking in Buffy's case of Drew Goddard in Season 7 (and particularly in the glorious episode Selfless) where he gave flagging old characters a fresh and inventive voice. He was a somebody who knew that a real fan would respect and engage with the piece of art that attracts them.
For another example, look at what Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh and Phillipa Boyens did when adapting Lord of the Rings. Clearly, they are fans of the book. But they recognised its limitations as well as its strengths and sought ways to honour the latter while improving the former. They made a love letter to a piece of art they clearly adored but without being servile to it. They took its core emotions, themes and actions and created something living and breathing in its own right. Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright with their deliriusly brilliant Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz are also fans who are free-styling on what turns them on and making something which is in turn invigorating and inspiring to others.
The great genre melds of the last two decades are the ones which have been made by these types of fans. You can't fuck with genres if you don't love them, if you don't get what makes them work in the first place deep in your soul. I have mixed feelings about Tarantino, but if you look at Jackie Brown you can see him approach true greatness because for once he isn't just a slavish devotee of his influences, but he is using them to get at deeper emotional truths in his own work. What dismayed me about Kill Bill and Death Proof was the sense of Tarantino retreating from his and into mindless slavish devotion. Ingloreous Basterds seem to herald a shift back to something purer.
I first read The Adventures of Kavalier and Clay about four years ago and had the delicious sense as I sunk into the novel that I was reading something that would be with me for the rest of my life - I actually remember the moment exactly. It was the section dealing with the back story of Luna Moth and I am not quite sure why this was the part where it seemed to click with me. But as I read it, I felt something in me move with the words. I didn't feel like I was reading the book, so much as absorbing it, communing with it.
Funny thing is, I haven't read any of his other work, which feels like an oversight on my part. But what I like about Kavalier is that as successful and well known as the novel is, there is something personal about my relationship with it. Plus Chabon had a hand in what is still my favourite comic book film of all time -Spiderman 2 (its not in dispute by the way and don't even mention The Dark Knight...).
This is a slice of what Chabon is saying in a new interview in io9;
"People often see fans as in opposition to 'true' creative people." Or rather,
you may be right, "people" do see it that way, but if so then these people are
deeply ignorant of the history of popular culture and its production...The word
"influence" is insufficient and too one-sided to describe a relationship that is much more accurately reflected by the system of tribute/ appropriation/critique that fandom employs. This kind of process, by which one generation of fan/critics (because anyone who doesn't understand that a fan is a critic doesn't know what a fan is, and there is nothing sadder to contemplate than the idea of a critic who is not also a fan) becomes the creators whose work inspires and obsesses and is critiqued by
the next generation of fans, who in turn become critic-creators, has occurred in
every popular art form across the board going back fifty or five thousand years"
I probably should have just told you to go read the entire interview (which, of course, you should do right now). Chabon is saying something which is so on the money that it is startling that it is not a part of our shared, accepted knowledge of How Things Work. But somehow, the old mangled adage that "Those who do, do... Those who don't, critique" seems to have become the accepted wisdom. Fans are another step down the ladder of respect, too often tarred with the brush of mindless ditto-heads following their passions into maze-like minutiae.
I was a passionate fan of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. But that didn't preclude me from critiquing it or from being inspired to take the conventions of that show and twist them further to see what I could come up with myself. You can sometimes see it in long-running shows where fans finally start to become members of the writing staff - their writing often brings something fresh and true. I am thinking in Buffy's case of Drew Goddard in Season 7 (and particularly in the glorious episode Selfless) where he gave flagging old characters a fresh and inventive voice. He was a somebody who knew that a real fan would respect and engage with the piece of art that attracts them.
For another example, look at what Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh and Phillipa Boyens did when adapting Lord of the Rings. Clearly, they are fans of the book. But they recognised its limitations as well as its strengths and sought ways to honour the latter while improving the former. They made a love letter to a piece of art they clearly adored but without being servile to it. They took its core emotions, themes and actions and created something living and breathing in its own right. Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright with their deliriusly brilliant Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz are also fans who are free-styling on what turns them on and making something which is in turn invigorating and inspiring to others.
The great genre melds of the last two decades are the ones which have been made by these types of fans. You can't fuck with genres if you don't love them, if you don't get what makes them work in the first place deep in your soul. I have mixed feelings about Tarantino, but if you look at Jackie Brown you can see him approach true greatness because for once he isn't just a slavish devotee of his influences, but he is using them to get at deeper emotional truths in his own work. What dismayed me about Kill Bill and Death Proof was the sense of Tarantino retreating from his and into mindless slavish devotion. Ingloreous Basterds seem to herald a shift back to something purer.
Happy Birthday to Me!
I am now 28 years old. I have truly passed the mid-twenties stage and am now entering the autumnal splendour of late twenties, with the cold hard winter of 30 looming ominously on the horizon.
Or at least I guess that's the way I should be feeling.
The thing is though, I like getting older. I was such a twit for much of my twenties, and I think I am a better, wiser and more generous person now then I ever was then. It's not as if I didn't enjoy the last six or seven years, but I felt under so much pressure to find my niche in life that I ended up drifting and fucking up for a lot of it. I would grow frustrated that my education seemed to count for nothing, that the world proved colder, and harsher then I hoped. It may sound stupid, but it took me a long time to get over my own arrogance and to realise that I would have to keep working. I sometimes think school and college came to easy for me and I was unprepared for life outside.
This might sound like a downer, but I see it as the opposite. I finally think I am starting to get a handle on life (and please, Oh Karmic Over-Lord, note the qualifiers in that statement!). I have accepted the fact that I am going to fuck up again in future but I have a better sense of what I can accomplish now.
Now Jules and I will just have to make our millions with our talent...
Friday, 6 November 2009
Last night I dreamed I went to Manchester again...
It doesn't quite have the same ring to it, does it? And yet I got inordinately excited this week because I not only got the chance to go to Manchester, but stay over, all on my lonesome.I guess feeling such relatively high levels of excitement about staying in a cold, Northern city in the depths of Winter should probably need explanation. The reason is simple - growing up, there weren't many dramas that had such a galvanising experience on me as Queer as Folk.
I am not talking about drama which moved me deeply, or that I became slightly obsessed with (though I consider it a fine piece of television, X-Files or Buffy it ain't). I am talking about one which has an appreciable effect on the course of my life.
I was about 17 when Queer as Folk was first broadcast in Ireland. I was fat, deeply closeted and in many ways, unhappy. I was lucky enough to have a TV in my room and I remember watching the first episode of this gay drama on Channel 4 that was causing such an uproar. I remember clearly lying in bed in the bungalow we lived in out in the country before moving to Douglas and being terrified that somebody would walk in and catch me watching it.
The screen was filled with happy gay men. Doing gay things. Rimming gay holes. You have to understand, I didn't know any gay men, apart from a few whispered about in my drama group who were looked on with a vague condescending pity by everybody else. I knew precisely who and what I was, but I hadn't figured out what being gay actually meant to me apart from what made my cock hard when I wanked. Being gay was a physical sensation at that point - Queer as Folk helped me feel it in my soul.
Despite being petrified that a family member would walk in and catch my watching it, yet my memory is not chiefly one of fear but one of longing and excitement. It was really the first glimpse I got of urban gay life (no matter how romanticised and dramatised it was for the screen). And it was sexy, and funny and sweet and a million different things that I wanted life to be. I I didn't want to be any one character, but a kind of glorious amalgamation of them all. I even wanted their problems, heartbreaks and disappointments. And I really REALLY wanted Stuart's flat.
It was the freedom that was expressed, the sheer celebratory queerness of the whole thing that caught me. At that point I promised myself that I would leave Ireland. It had always been a desire but I don't think I actually allowed myself to believe I would.
After I watched Queer as Folk, it no longer felt like a choice but a burning necessity.
I still think the show, especially the first proper season, is a warm, witty and exciting piece of television. Russel T Davies did something really smart in making the narrative ultimately about friendship and the types of families we (and especially gay people) create for ourselves when we escape to urban environments. By making it clear that Stuart and Vince would never shag but would live in constant tension, the show managed to mine a fresh vein of emotional territory that made it distinct from much of what was on TV. In this case, the sexuality of the characters did matter, but not the way that people commonly thought. The nearest straight antecedent that I can think of is probably Mulder and Scully but even then there is something uniquely gay about it.
Anyway, back to Manchester...
Like all things in life, Canal Street seemed smaller when I saw it in real life. I mean, really smaller. I tramped around in the dark, freezing rain of November, ducking into a few places and wandering about in a slightly happy state. I left the place early (I was up at the crack for work) but also content to have at least established its actual existence and eager to come back with friends and in the sun.
Canal Street as a geographical location is ultimately unimportant to me. Like Barbary Lane in San Francisco (I was also first exposed to Tales of the City through Channel 4), its importance lies far more in the hope it gave me growing up. It let me know there was another world out there. And while my life can be difficult and lonely, it is also richer and more beautiful for having taken the plunge and chasing that ideal.
Man of Extremes
The New Yorker had a great, meaty profile of James Cameron that I have been waiting for a week or two to dig into. Luckily the train journey to Manchester gave me the opportunity.I love Cameron's work. Along with Steven Spielberg and Peter Jackson, I consider him the best mainstream Hollywood director working. I would get excited if any of these guys filmed the phone book - and even their misfires have moments of genius in them (though I admit, with Hook, you may have to look hard for that).
Cameron makes action movies for 13 year old boys that manage to speak to a vastly bigger audience. No other action director, apart perhaps from Howard Hawks (and lumping them together as action directors would probably have cineastes burning me in effigy) has become so singularly identified with the vision of an active heroine. His women aren't all first act bluster only to fall by the way side narratively in the third act. If anything, he works in reverse, allowing his female heroes to grow in stature as the film progresses until they become truly awesome icons. Sarah Connor, Ellen Ripley and Rose DuWitt-Bukater (and yes I did know how to spell that without looking it up so STFU) are grand, romantic, maternal visions of power, so much more vital and interesting then the penises that surround them.
Of course he isn't perfect. He seemed to go through a period in the late eighties/early nineties where his own difficult personal life bled across into misogyny on the screen. But even his most problematic character (the squirm inducing first half humiliation of Jamie Lee Curtis' Helen Tasker in True Lies) is somewhat redeemed, both in the performance of Curtis who is sublimely funny and sexy, but also in the understanding that her husband is a prick who has neglected his wife's strength and is reaping the rewards.
I will even mount a spirited defense of Titanic if you get enough alcohol in me. And not just in the milquetoast way of "I like it when the boat starts sinking". As a Titanic buff growing up, the film had me at hello. I even enjoy all the shipboard romance stuff, as cornpoke as it is. I think the actors are all fine and the dialogue isn't half as bad as what is commonly believed. You could remove or re-write three or four scenes and most of the wost and least defensible stuff would be gone (that fucking painting scene... even I won''t defend "He'll never amount to a thing!"). But think of what Cameron gets right in that film which could have gone wrong - especially his treatment of Gloria Stuart as Old Rose and Kate Winslet as Young Rose.
I found the New Yorker profile to be brilliantly written and endlessly fascinating. I knew Cameron was a shit, famously arrogant and confrontational even for a Hollywood director, but who knew he was such a ginormously epic arrogant shit? I get the sense from Dana Goodyear that she doesn't think much of Cameron's films, but that's fine as I don't think she uses that as an excuse to turn in a hatchet job on the director. Better this harsher tone that gets at something fundamental and honest about the guy than the normal slavish tongue bath that something like Empire magazine would give him.
There is nothing anonymous about Cameron. He hasn't done many films, but each film feels distinct from the other, and they form a unique oeuvre in their own right. An obsession, near fetishisation of military hardware. Apocalyptic visions. Female empowerment. A sentimental streak a mile wide but also a love of vicarious destruction. I have watched all his films multiple times (and have become strangely entranced by The Abyss which ranks close to my favourite of his films - Aliens) and can almost forgive him his attitude to others because of the results
I said almost...
What the article makes clear, and which is already well known, is that working for Cameron is a hellish experience. It is such a commonly held notion that actors and technicians are probably given some form of hazard pay for signing on with him. As one of the designers says in the article, when the director knows how to do everything, you better not bullshit him or he'll go ape. I can't help feeling that success only made this worse. I mean when Titanic swept the world in 1998 (and swept it did - despite their hype and popularity, The Dark Knight and Return of the King made just over half of what Titanic did worldwide) after being written off pre-release as Cameron's grand folly, it was obviously going to reaffirm his own self-belief. Add that to a personality prone to high levels of arrogance and it was never going to be pretty.
I do find this annoying however. I don't actually think Cameron ultimately gets better work from people by screaming and acting like a big child. He may believe so, but you take a look at the hellish pressure of Peter Jackson's team across all 3 Lord of the Rings films and then King Kong and you get a sense of how an actual human being can manage relationships to still achieve astonishing results. It may be because Jackson has figured out a way to work with his wife, the amazing Fran Walsh which keeps him grounded and the two of them share the burden, both physically and artistically of putting a film together. Cameron, who has worked in various capacities with several wives, never had a strong enough counterpoint for more than a few years. At the end of the day, he doesn't have to act like a shit and I like the way that the profile doesn't shrug it off, as so many do, by explaining it as a quirk of the successful.
I think of the analogy to how chef's work. I have heard and read in several places that the best run kitchen's are not those with a titanically bad behaved muppet as its centre, screaming abuse at a cowed staff (a la Gordon Ramsey), but through quiet team work wedded to steel eyed vision. Cameron seems to have the vision but no idea how to actually engage with a team.
Having said all that, I can't wait or Avatar. I don;t care what the naysayers think, I thought the new trailer was stunning. I do have issues with the plot as outlined (a 'foreigner' teaches the natives how to win is really old hat at the moment) but I think you have to be pretty jaded not to be excited by the imagery and kineticism of the trailers so far.
Tuesday, 3 November 2009
Cartman Sucks...
...but South Park definitely doesn't.
I don't know why episodes of South Park can still shock me with their quality. The show has been running for over a decade now and practically every show that has run that length of time has become a shadow of itself. In fact, I am trying to come up with one right now which bucked that trend (answers on a postcard...)
Eexcept for South Park. The show that has never quite achieved the critical acclaim of The Simpsons but has, for years now, been churning out series after series of intelligent, brilliantly written satire that just happens to have some of the most inspired toilet humour of any show ever. I know it's this mixture, the extremeness of its comedic vision, which has stopped it from fully crossing over (apart from a brief period in the 90s where it threatened ubiquity) but it has also allowed the show to continue as the rougher, cruder little brother of the staider and dumber cartoon sitcoms.
I love it. It has reached the point where I would probably put it above The Simpsons as the greatest animated show ever, purely because it never suffered the extreme drop off in quality that The Simpsons suffered after about 8 years. It is still the angriest show on television, but tempers that anger at the stupidity of the world with some surprising sweetness and a willingness to go to absolutely any length to get a joke. This may make it sound like Family Guy, but unlike that series, South Park keeps its eye firmly on story and theme. It is a far more coherent show that genuinely wants to be about something.
I watched an episode from its 11th season tonight called Cartman Sucks. In it, Cartman attempts to take a picture of Butters sucking his dick (lllooooooonnnngggg story). Butters father walks in and sees them and immediately decides Butters must be bi-curious and sends him off to a camp where he can pray away with gay.
The episode is a vicious, brilliant destruction of the whole ex-gay myth. Each scene in the camp ends with one of the kids killing themselves from misery. The ex-gay brought on to show them how effective the treatment is, is shown to be a raging queen. The counsellors talk about God and forgiveness and compassion, while freaking out about pictures of an underwear model and calmly closing the door on kids who have hung themselves.
But it's funny. Really really funny. And part of the reason for that is because Butters is an absolutely genius character. I could write reams and reams about how brilliant he is, how he has become as integralo to the success of the show as any of the principle characters. His relationship with Cartman is one of those golden TV couplings which pays dividends year after year. He is the sweetest, most trusting and innocent child in South Park. That naivety allows the writers to use Butters as a way to cut through the bullshit of the adults around him. Just look at this little quote which rounds out the Cartman Sucks episode
Butters: My name is Butters, I'm 8 years old, I'm blood type O and I'm bi-curious! And even that's okay, because if I'm bi-curious and I'm somehow made from God, then I figure God might be a little bi-curious himself!
The thing is, South Park does this consistently, episode after episode, year after year and makes it seem effortless. There isn't a braver or funnier show on either side of the Atlantic.
I don't know why episodes of South Park can still shock me with their quality. The show has been running for over a decade now and practically every show that has run that length of time has become a shadow of itself. In fact, I am trying to come up with one right now which bucked that trend (answers on a postcard...)
Eexcept for South Park. The show that has never quite achieved the critical acclaim of The Simpsons but has, for years now, been churning out series after series of intelligent, brilliantly written satire that just happens to have some of the most inspired toilet humour of any show ever. I know it's this mixture, the extremeness of its comedic vision, which has stopped it from fully crossing over (apart from a brief period in the 90s where it threatened ubiquity) but it has also allowed the show to continue as the rougher, cruder little brother of the staider and dumber cartoon sitcoms.
I love it. It has reached the point where I would probably put it above The Simpsons as the greatest animated show ever, purely because it never suffered the extreme drop off in quality that The Simpsons suffered after about 8 years. It is still the angriest show on television, but tempers that anger at the stupidity of the world with some surprising sweetness and a willingness to go to absolutely any length to get a joke. This may make it sound like Family Guy, but unlike that series, South Park keeps its eye firmly on story and theme. It is a far more coherent show that genuinely wants to be about something.
I watched an episode from its 11th season tonight called Cartman Sucks. In it, Cartman attempts to take a picture of Butters sucking his dick (lllooooooonnnngggg story). Butters father walks in and sees them and immediately decides Butters must be bi-curious and sends him off to a camp where he can pray away with gay.
The episode is a vicious, brilliant destruction of the whole ex-gay myth. Each scene in the camp ends with one of the kids killing themselves from misery. The ex-gay brought on to show them how effective the treatment is, is shown to be a raging queen. The counsellors talk about God and forgiveness and compassion, while freaking out about pictures of an underwear model and calmly closing the door on kids who have hung themselves.
But it's funny. Really really funny. And part of the reason for that is because Butters is an absolutely genius character. I could write reams and reams about how brilliant he is, how he has become as integralo to the success of the show as any of the principle characters. His relationship with Cartman is one of those golden TV couplings which pays dividends year after year. He is the sweetest, most trusting and innocent child in South Park. That naivety allows the writers to use Butters as a way to cut through the bullshit of the adults around him. Just look at this little quote which rounds out the Cartman Sucks episode
Butters: My name is Butters, I'm 8 years old, I'm blood type O and I'm bi-curious! And even that's okay, because if I'm bi-curious and I'm somehow made from God, then I figure God might be a little bi-curious himself!
The thing is, South Park does this consistently, episode after episode, year after year and makes it seem effortless. There isn't a braver or funnier show on either side of the Atlantic.
Sunday, 1 November 2009
Great Moments...
The challenge of any adaptation of Romeo and Juliet is to make the central relationship passionate, crazed and hormonal enough to justify the events which come after. I have never seen a stage couple able to do this, and a part of me thinks it is asking too much of a theatrical performance (I am desperate to be proved wrong here). But Baz Luhrman's film gets it right. After a manic, and slightly exhausting opening 15 minutes, the film suddenly halts as the lovers eyes meet through a fish tank. Both Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes are fantastic in these first moments, their body language telling you everything you need to know. By the end of the scene, and their first kiss, you are completely sold on their dizzying, OTT attraction.
Luhrman's film has its faults, but it absolutely nails the most important elements. It makes Romeo and Juliet feel vital and real, giving them an earthy and graceful physicality that underpins everything that comes after. Luhrman has proven himself to be a fantastic creator of these types of moments - manic theatrical openings which suddenly give way to moments of intense, ardent romanticism (think of the moment when Ewen first belts out "My gift is my song..." in Moulin Rouge). After the misfire of Australia, I hope he finds his way back to something memorable.
Luhrman's film has its faults, but it absolutely nails the most important elements. It makes Romeo and Juliet feel vital and real, giving them an earthy and graceful physicality that underpins everything that comes after. Luhrman has proven himself to be a fantastic creator of these types of moments - manic theatrical openings which suddenly give way to moments of intense, ardent romanticism (think of the moment when Ewen first belts out "My gift is my song..." in Moulin Rouge). After the misfire of Australia, I hope he finds his way back to something memorable.
The Constant Gardener
Hollywood doesn't do marriage well. Most great movie romances are about the race to the aisle, and not what comes after. When we do get a glimpse of a married couple, the most memorable tend to be the ones who are disintegrating.
A couple of weeks ago I saw Julie and Julia and was charmed by its depiction of the marriage between Julia and Paul Child. Nora Ephron, Meryl Streep and Stanley Tucci created a charming, loving couple without ever seeming twee or sentimental. Equally memorable are the couple in what I am convinced is one of the great films of this decade - The Constant Gardener.
I saw The Constant Gardener on a wet Wednesday afternoon in a tiny cinema in Leicester Square. I think there were about half a dozen of us in the room. I probably would have passed on it but I heard that Rachel Weisz was in the running for an Oscar for her work and I was curious. I never thought of her as that good an actress. I remember leaving the film devastated. In a way, I am glad that I saw it on my own. I didn't want to talk about it after. My emotional experience of the film was so surprising and gut wrenching that I wanted some time to myself to think about it. That doesn't often happen - one of the reasons I don't like going to the cinema alone is because I love to talk about it after. But The Constant Gardener was a rare case where I felt too emotionally raw and wanted to be alone.
I re-watched it this weekend and I am more convinced then ever that this is one of the finest films of the new century - and in Tess and Justin it creates one of the most heart breaking, honest and powerful depictions of marriage that a Hollywood film has ever given us.
There is some wondrous alchemy that goes on between writing, direction, editing and performance to bring this relationship to the screen. The film, which mixes multiple genres with graceful ease, really hinges on Justin's journey to understand the scope of his wife's commitment, desire and love. The film's final moments, of Justin conjuring an image of Tess as he awaits his own death, hit so hard and so deep because the film has accomplished the wondrous task of creating a nuanced, intelligent and erotic interplay between the couple. Both Tess and Justin are flawed people who attain a a kind of mythic force as the film goes on.
I have always loved Ralph Fiennes. He has done superb work in The English Patient, Schindler's List and The End of the Affair. His performance as Justin is some of his most subtle, emotionally raw work. He has always been a wonderfully reactive actor, but he has never been as warm and open as he allows himself to be in this film. And Weisz is simply astonishing - Tess could be played as a superficial martyr, but Weisz keeps finding the humanity in the role. She seems more fully alive in this role then I have ever seen her and she makes sense of Tess' seemingly suicidal dedication to her work. I could not have imagined Fiennes and Weisz working as a screen couple but they have a rare, electric chemistry and it is thrilling to watch them each elevate the other's performance.
Central to the success of these performances is the structure of the film, which moves in and out of different time lines, beautifully putting us in the headspace of Justin as he thinks back over moments he shared with Tess. This isn't simply a stylistic device to dress up a formulaic thriller, but a technical choice which raises the emotional pitch of the story. We discover Tess with Justin - our own prejudices about her choices are overturned as his own are. There wasn't a moment when I wasn't emotionally engaged. The tragedy of the film is not just the death of Tess and Justin, but that Justin only realises the true depth of his love for Tess at the moment of his own murder.
The film would be memorable if this was its sole accomplishment. But The Constant Gardener is so much more. It is a great thriller, a film full of righteous anger and nakedly political in a way which is all too rare nowadays. It forces us to look at the ways in which Developed economies continue to exploit Africa and at the same time gives a sense of the tribal divisions and horrors which Africans wreak on each other. It offers no easy solutions and questions the ability of any single person to make much of a difference. And yet I believe its ultimate message is that it is cowardly to use those realities as a basis for refusing to do anything, or for engaging in the type of cynical realpolitik that the Governments and corporations are seen to do throughout the film.
Fernando Merielles, who made the electric City of God, goes deeper emotionally with this film, creating a story which rewards repeated viewing as the richness of the acting and the brilliance of its structure begins to sink in. He gives you a sense of the teeming chaos of life in Kenya, and the realities under which millions of people live but that we simply cannot conceive of. If I do have a criticism of the film it is that for a film about the affects of colonialism (both culturally and economically), it doesn't do enough to give voice to Africans themselves.
Ultimately, as entertaining as the political intrigue and conspiracy theory stuff is, for me it comes down to the final moments with Justin speaking to his wife's spirit as he awaits his own death. Its a moment which is profoundly cinematic - capturing a wealth of complicated emotions in just a few moments of screentime. It was a moment which I couldn't get out of my head for days. Four years since the film's release has not dulled its power.
Saturday, 31 October 2009
Vigilant
I went to the hate crimes vigil at Trafalgar Square last night. It was a wonderful evening - the night was mild, the crowd swelled to a couple of thousand and the atmosphere was friendly, open and generous. I wasn't sure what to expect - it was really my first event of this type, despite being involved in community work for over three years. The mood wasn't angry, it didn't feel like a community under threat. It felt like a community taking a stand and I was proud of that.
I often hear older gay people ask about my generation and younger 'where is the passion?'. Well it's difficult to get passionate without a focus. Anger is an emotion which needs a point, otherwise it becomes a shrill and frustrating emotion. You need something to harness the short burst of energy it gives before it snuffs out. It can be difficult for young gay people to find that channel when many of the major national, legislative fights have already been fought. At one point last night, one of the speakers talked about young gay people only caring about bars and clubs and I rolled my eyes so far that they almost disappeared round my skull. It is the oldest, most frustrating and silliest complaint that every older generation levels against the younger - that it is more frivolous, more flippant and more superficial and everything would have been so much better if they were back in charge.
The thing is, where does a young gay person, who is just coming out, who sees bars and clubs as their opportunity to meet other men and women like them, go to find out about their history? The generation of the 70s and 80s has failed to preserve their heritage. It is a trifle unfair to blame younger people for not knowing their history when it is not taught in school (gay rights are barely mentioned as a civil rights issue, especially in comparison to ethnic minorities and women's struggles). There is an amazing story about the development of the gay rights movement, its struggles for legalisation, acceptance and then the dark years of the AIDS crisis. But we don't have a gay museum or cultural centre where this can be taught. A Gay History project is only just getting going and they have a monstrous task playing catch-up and preserving stories before generations die out. A generation was already almost lost due to that shitty little virus.
I am no absolving my generation of guilt. We can be frivolous, silly and flippant and particularly cruel to older members of our community. We do need direction and we are not necessarily going to respond to people acting like we are lost causes to begin with.
The most sobering thing about the attacks which have taken place over the last few weeks is the role of teenagers in each of them. I believe that each successive generation is more accepting then the last. But it is all to easy to forget that most kids grow up in households where there is at least casual levels of homophobia and often that rises to a toxic stew of prejudice and hatred. This doesn't take into account the other elements of their lives which can lead to social dysfunction. It is a horrid mix and the best indication that the focus has to be put into schools. Unfortunately a generation of work was silenced by Section 28 and now we are playing catch-up.
I just finished re-reading Randy Shilts' wonderful biography of Harvey Milk. Milk often spoke of the importance of coming out - the best way to break down the barriers to acceptance and understanding is for a straight person to realise that a friend or loved one is gay. It is the entirely sensible belief behind the Same Sex Holding Hands day which took place today. I think a lot of straight people go through life believing that gay people are a rarity. But we are not. There are millions of us, from all walks of life. Only by overcoming our own fears and struggles can we force others to do the same.
I am ambivalent about hate crimes laws. I understand the reason for their existence, but I still there is something to be said for the law being blind to our differences. But in light of the protections offered to other minorities I think it only right that gay people are included. However, they punish an event that has already taken place, and the existence of those laws are unlikely to curb a violent attack motivated by a dizzying array of personality maladjustments. The work has to go in at the other end, to shaping hearts and minds and not changing them.
Rant Over
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
Parnassus
Terry Gilliam is one of those artists who people generally haven’t heard of, but who has had a profound impact on pop culture. From his work with Monty Python, through to the hugely influential Brazil, Time Bandits, The Fisher King and 12 Monkeys, he has been a real inspiration for a whole raft of other visual artists.But something seemed to go wrong with Gilliam in the last 10 to 15 years. His struggles to set projects up, their well-publicised problems and the failure of films such as The Brother’s Grimm and Tideland seemed to sap his creative juices. I was shocked at how ugly, shoddy and uninvolving The Brothers Grimm turned out to be – a film which I was sure should have been a home run for him.
On paper, The Imginarium of Dr Parnassus should be similarly ripe for Gilliam’s particular talents. An immortal man, who posses a mirror which leads people into their imaginations, makes a deal with the Devil to save his daughter from Hell. Heath Ledger plays the handsome, charming stranger who offers to help Parnassus, but who is hiding himself from his own past. The MacGuffin is a magic mirror where people enter visual representations of their imaginations and are given a choice between Parnassus and The Devil.
As a story, Imaginarium is simply terrible. Individual scenes work fine, but there is absolutely no sense of a wider narrative arc, which becomes increasingly apparent as the story lurches towards its chaotic, shambolic conclusion. The set-up seems simple – Parnassus and the Devil in a race to capture five souls, with the soul of Parnassus’ daughter as the ultimate prize. But Gilliam never gets a firm grip on the rules of what the mirror is, how it is used and what happens to those who enter. The rules which are set-up are flouted as the script requires and the character of the Devil (nicely played by Tom Waits) merely exists to extend the tired storyline past the point where this audience member cared.
I am a big believer in rules for fantasy films. If you are going to break with ‘reality’ on film (even if that reality itself is a construction) then I think you owe it to your audience to play fair with. This becomes particularly important in Imaginarium where so much of the plot hinges on those very rules as the basis of a bet between two characters. The script doesn’t seem to play fair and never establishes what precisely happens in the mirror. Establishing some mystery is vital to suspending disbelief (I don’t want to see the mechanics of how it actually works) but neither do I want a situation whereby the powers of the mirror are changed to suit the short-term goals of the plot. That is simply lazy writing.
As for the visuals… there is a clear disconnect here between the real world and the imaginary world of the mirror. The real world stuff, surprisingly, is the one that is the most consistently impressive. Gilliam seems inspired by the tactile nature of the London setting, of the grimy Victoriana of the sets and costumes and the contrasts between the DIY theatricality of Parnassus’ show and the modern, gleaming London that surrounds it. The problems start in the imaginary world of the mirror. A reviewer whose name I wish I could remember, said that the mirror scenes looked like screen savers from Windows and I can’t do better then that description. They are flat, cartoonish and, well… unimaginative.
Heath Ledger is the marquee reason for seeing Parnassus but I don’t believe it is a fitting final role for the actor. It’s clear that his character, Tony, is deceitful to come degree and that he has a massive secret. What never becomes clear is who exactly Tony is and what his culpability is in the situation he finds himself. Gilliam himself feels unsure and as the film careens towards its climax, this ambivalence destroys the story as it descends into a series of manic, shouty scenes, backed by unconvincing CGI. The conceit of three actors playing three different faces of Tony in the mirror works well, but it robs Heath of the ability to build a complete performance. I would be fascinated to see if the strength of his work could have overcome the flashy annoyances surrounding the finale.
I also think the film’s attempt to deal with Ledger’s death through the invocation of Princess Di and James Dean were a bit nauseating (as I have found much of Gilliam’s shilling for the movie). There is something a little creepy and fetishistic about the dialogue given to Johnny Depp where he talks about the death of celebrities making them forever young. The death of those people is first and foremost a personal tragedy to their families and I think it cold comfort to Ledger’s friends, family and fans to think that his face will adorn the walls of student’s bedsits for the next fifty years.
The best reason to see the film is to see the lovely work of Lily Cole (as Parnassus’ daughter) and Andrew Garfield (as her love-struck would-be suitor). Both navigate a believable emotional range and give the film whatever real spark of life it has. I know Garfield from his astonishing performance in the Channel 4 show Boy A, but Cole is a novice actress but makes a great debut.
Friday, 23 October 2009
A Strange Moment
It has been a strange couple of weeks in Gay World.
In America, you have had the President of the United States address a dinner of the largest gay rights group in the country on the eve of a march in support of Marriage Equality in Washington DC which drew about 100,000 people. The speech, wherein he reaffirmed his commitment to all of the main legislative priorities of gay organisations, was given during a period when Obama has been criticised heavily for making little or no head way on some of the promises he made during the election. Hate crimes laws finally passed both House and Senate this week which is fantastic, but the main hurdles (such as ending the federal marriage equality ban and allowing gays to openly serve in the military) are still to come.
At the same time, gays and their supporters are in vicious fights in both Maine and Washington state to ensure gay couples are given full partnership benefits. The Maine fight is particularly important because it is a case of a largely religious drive to deny full civil marriage rights which were given to gays by the elected state legislature. A big complaint about the California decision last year was that it was somehow 'forced' on the state by judges in the Supreme Court. This isn't the case here. It exposes the bigotry of those who seek to keep gay people as second class citizens for liars and religious nuts that they are. And yet Obama has said that he does not support full marriage equality and believes in the bullshit compromise of civil partnerships, a stance which has been repeatedly used against marriage equality forces in California and Maine. Gay people's frustrations with him are well founded but the vehemence of their reaction seems out of proportion.
Then on this side of the Atlantic, we have had the publication of that hateful Jan Moir article on Stephen Gately's death in the Daily Dickhead, followed by the release of a video showing a 60 year old gay man being kicked to death in Trafalgar Sq. The murderers are only being charged with second degree manslaughter. Yet the Moir article touched a spectacular nerve and led to 25,000 complaints to the Press Complaints Commission.
I am trying to think about what all these events mean. On the one hand, you have gay issues being addressed in public in a way which I think inevitably helps break down social homophobia. It is easy for people to make the connection between Moir's poisonous dog whistles about gay relationships and the tragedy of Ian Baynham's death. Stephen Gately's husband being given a central space at his funeral and the clear support given to him by Gately's friends and family probably did more to shift Irish people's attitudes then something like Brokeback Mountain did. The best way to change people's attitude's to homosexuality is for people to actually know somebody gay. People felt they knew Gately - as a member of a successful Irish boyband, its almost like Irish people had a share in his success. His death was tragic, but the backlash against those looking to dance on his grave has been hugely gratifying.
Something has also become really clear to me. Civil partnerships should go. Whatever the Labour calculation was when they were brought in a few years ago it is no longer acceptable to have an equal-but-separate law for gay relationships (yes I know straights can also get civil partnerships, but they have the option. Gay people don't). Our lives, our loves are just as fulfilling and worthy of respect in the eyes of the state as heterosexuals and the time really has come for the Government to recognise this.
With a Conservative government likely coming to power in the next 6 - 8 months, that next step is unlikely. But it is the right thing to do.
On a personal level, I feel that something imperceptible has shifted within my own family. I was touched by those who wanted to speak to me about Gately's death. They seemed to want to reassure me through speaking about Gately that they hoped I could both find a partner and that whoever he is, he would be welcome into the family fold.
For me, that was progress
In America, you have had the President of the United States address a dinner of the largest gay rights group in the country on the eve of a march in support of Marriage Equality in Washington DC which drew about 100,000 people. The speech, wherein he reaffirmed his commitment to all of the main legislative priorities of gay organisations, was given during a period when Obama has been criticised heavily for making little or no head way on some of the promises he made during the election. Hate crimes laws finally passed both House and Senate this week which is fantastic, but the main hurdles (such as ending the federal marriage equality ban and allowing gays to openly serve in the military) are still to come.
At the same time, gays and their supporters are in vicious fights in both Maine and Washington state to ensure gay couples are given full partnership benefits. The Maine fight is particularly important because it is a case of a largely religious drive to deny full civil marriage rights which were given to gays by the elected state legislature. A big complaint about the California decision last year was that it was somehow 'forced' on the state by judges in the Supreme Court. This isn't the case here. It exposes the bigotry of those who seek to keep gay people as second class citizens for liars and religious nuts that they are. And yet Obama has said that he does not support full marriage equality and believes in the bullshit compromise of civil partnerships, a stance which has been repeatedly used against marriage equality forces in California and Maine. Gay people's frustrations with him are well founded but the vehemence of their reaction seems out of proportion.
Then on this side of the Atlantic, we have had the publication of that hateful Jan Moir article on Stephen Gately's death in the Daily Dickhead, followed by the release of a video showing a 60 year old gay man being kicked to death in Trafalgar Sq. The murderers are only being charged with second degree manslaughter. Yet the Moir article touched a spectacular nerve and led to 25,000 complaints to the Press Complaints Commission.
I am trying to think about what all these events mean. On the one hand, you have gay issues being addressed in public in a way which I think inevitably helps break down social homophobia. It is easy for people to make the connection between Moir's poisonous dog whistles about gay relationships and the tragedy of Ian Baynham's death. Stephen Gately's husband being given a central space at his funeral and the clear support given to him by Gately's friends and family probably did more to shift Irish people's attitudes then something like Brokeback Mountain did. The best way to change people's attitude's to homosexuality is for people to actually know somebody gay. People felt they knew Gately - as a member of a successful Irish boyband, its almost like Irish people had a share in his success. His death was tragic, but the backlash against those looking to dance on his grave has been hugely gratifying.
Something has also become really clear to me. Civil partnerships should go. Whatever the Labour calculation was when they were brought in a few years ago it is no longer acceptable to have an equal-but-separate law for gay relationships (yes I know straights can also get civil partnerships, but they have the option. Gay people don't). Our lives, our loves are just as fulfilling and worthy of respect in the eyes of the state as heterosexuals and the time really has come for the Government to recognise this.
With a Conservative government likely coming to power in the next 6 - 8 months, that next step is unlikely. But it is the right thing to do.
On a personal level, I feel that something imperceptible has shifted within my own family. I was touched by those who wanted to speak to me about Gately's death. They seemed to want to reassure me through speaking about Gately that they hoped I could both find a partner and that whoever he is, he would be welcome into the family fold.
For me, that was progress
Pop Culture Nag
Have you ever felt nagged?
I mean we all get nagged by our friends, family and partners. Most of it is well meaning, and most of the time we all deal with it in good natured ways.
But last week I had the weird sensation of being nagged by a big, glossy Hollywood film. I went to see Julie and Julia at the cinema this week and had the slightly uncomfortable experience of being given a lecture on not doing enough with my life and simultaneously having my complete wish fulfilment fantasy played on screen.
It wasn't the Julia Child part of the movie that spoke to me. It was the far more conventional and ever so slightly boring section with Amy Adams as Julie, the low-achieving wannabe writer stuck in a largely unfulfilling office job who finally knuckles down and writes a bestseller. With a really hot husband.
Its silly I know, but I felt like this section of the movie was like a little a voice whispering softly into my ear "You see, you could do this too! You can write! You just need a GIMMICK!!!!".
I know in the rational part of my brain that Julie Powell's story had been fully Hollywood-ised. I mean, I could never be as adorable as Amy Adams - my emotional meltdowns aren't met with fun music montages and charming blog posts. They are met with drinking too much at weekends and weeping on friend's shoulders.
And yet... in the immortal words of Gypsy, if I could get a gimmick, I could be a star...
Knuckling down seems to be the theme which connects the stories of Powell and Child. Both of them were talented women (one more so than the other it must be said) who found themselves at a loose end and determined to try and make something of their lives. Though the film reaches for greater connection between the two, I actually think that is enough to justify the story structure. I liked that Nora Ephron had crafted a peon to hard work and sticktoitiveness that emphasised the work part of it.
The Julia Child section is everything you could want from the film. It is lively, funny, romantic and sexy. Only Meryl Streep could get away with a performance as theatrical as this one is and make it work on an emotional level. She and Stanley Tucci do a marvellous little duet together as a loving husand and wife. This is the second film I have seen recently that celebrates its central couple as a loving, nurturing partnership (after Away We Go) and i is wonderful to see. In most romantic comedies, you its difficult to believe why such dysfunctional people would ever agree to spend their lives together (Couples Retreat looks like a terrible version of this).
Amy Adams does her best with the Julie Powell section but it just doesn't come close to the joi de vivre of the Child sections.
This is definitely Ephron's best film since Sleepless in Seattle. It's sweet,m funny and romantic and only intermittently annoying. And it gave me a cheap wish fulfillment fantasy of a low-level bureaucrat making good.
What more could you ask for on a Wednesday night?
I mean we all get nagged by our friends, family and partners. Most of it is well meaning, and most of the time we all deal with it in good natured ways.
But last week I had the weird sensation of being nagged by a big, glossy Hollywood film. I went to see Julie and Julia at the cinema this week and had the slightly uncomfortable experience of being given a lecture on not doing enough with my life and simultaneously having my complete wish fulfilment fantasy played on screen.
It wasn't the Julia Child part of the movie that spoke to me. It was the far more conventional and ever so slightly boring section with Amy Adams as Julie, the low-achieving wannabe writer stuck in a largely unfulfilling office job who finally knuckles down and writes a bestseller. With a really hot husband.
Its silly I know, but I felt like this section of the movie was like a little a voice whispering softly into my ear "You see, you could do this too! You can write! You just need a GIMMICK!!!!".
I know in the rational part of my brain that Julie Powell's story had been fully Hollywood-ised. I mean, I could never be as adorable as Amy Adams - my emotional meltdowns aren't met with fun music montages and charming blog posts. They are met with drinking too much at weekends and weeping on friend's shoulders.
And yet... in the immortal words of Gypsy, if I could get a gimmick, I could be a star...
Knuckling down seems to be the theme which connects the stories of Powell and Child. Both of them were talented women (one more so than the other it must be said) who found themselves at a loose end and determined to try and make something of their lives. Though the film reaches for greater connection between the two, I actually think that is enough to justify the story structure. I liked that Nora Ephron had crafted a peon to hard work and sticktoitiveness that emphasised the work part of it.
The Julia Child section is everything you could want from the film. It is lively, funny, romantic and sexy. Only Meryl Streep could get away with a performance as theatrical as this one is and make it work on an emotional level. She and Stanley Tucci do a marvellous little duet together as a loving husand and wife. This is the second film I have seen recently that celebrates its central couple as a loving, nurturing partnership (after Away We Go) and i is wonderful to see. In most romantic comedies, you its difficult to believe why such dysfunctional people would ever agree to spend their lives together (Couples Retreat looks like a terrible version of this).
Amy Adams does her best with the Julie Powell section but it just doesn't come close to the joi de vivre of the Child sections.
This is definitely Ephron's best film since Sleepless in Seattle. It's sweet,m funny and romantic and only intermittently annoying. And it gave me a cheap wish fulfillment fantasy of a low-level bureaucrat making good.
What more could you ask for on a Wednesday night?
Monday, 28 September 2009
Fame Fail
I went to see Fame. Yes mock me all you want.
It sucked. I wish I had something more to say, but apart from the dancing (which is hugely impressive, especially a Fosse-like number done to Sam Sparro's Black and Gold) it was terrible.
I mean, how can you actually have a Fame movie and not actually have a big, electric film-halting set-piece to the main tune (the remake weirdly echoes many of the other scenes from the first film so it wasn't an attempt at originality)?
I think it also highlights just how good the original Fame movie was. It was gritty, raw and adult in ways that this film can't even begin to contemplate. It gave a sense of the real sacrifices of these kids. Yes it was soapy and melodramatic, but Alan Parker was a true film musical genius (Fame, The Commitments and Evita are tremendous pieces of entertainment) and he found a style that reinvigorated the hackneyed back-stage cliches of the script.
I love musicals. I can forgive a lot for watching the simply joy of people singing and dancing on screen. But Fame never justifies itself as a remake or a re-imagining of a film. The great thing about Fame is that the concept itself is clean and simple - follow a group of kids through their years at a performing arts highschool. There are all sorts of ways that you can have fun and develop it. Fame manages to fuck it up consistently.
What a shame
It sucked. I wish I had something more to say, but apart from the dancing (which is hugely impressive, especially a Fosse-like number done to Sam Sparro's Black and Gold) it was terrible.
I mean, how can you actually have a Fame movie and not actually have a big, electric film-halting set-piece to the main tune (the remake weirdly echoes many of the other scenes from the first film so it wasn't an attempt at originality)?
I think it also highlights just how good the original Fame movie was. It was gritty, raw and adult in ways that this film can't even begin to contemplate. It gave a sense of the real sacrifices of these kids. Yes it was soapy and melodramatic, but Alan Parker was a true film musical genius (Fame, The Commitments and Evita are tremendous pieces of entertainment) and he found a style that reinvigorated the hackneyed back-stage cliches of the script.
I love musicals. I can forgive a lot for watching the simply joy of people singing and dancing on screen. But Fame never justifies itself as a remake or a re-imagining of a film. The great thing about Fame is that the concept itself is clean and simple - follow a group of kids through their years at a performing arts highschool. There are all sorts of ways that you can have fun and develop it. Fame manages to fuck it up consistently.
What a shame
Wednesday, 23 September 2009
I'm starting to feel old...
I was going to write a post on the death of one of the greatest pop bands of the last 10 years.
But sometimes you just have to bow to somebody who did it better. Glenn from StalepopcornAU gets at why this is something of the end of an era for people who loved classy pop. Like Glenn, Sugababes were one of the first pop bands that I unabashedly and publicly loved. Though after 10 years they no longer seemed quite as fresh as they once did, at their best, they were the best.
And though it may be jumping the gun, PopJustice's nicely worded tirade about the pictures of the WannabeSugababe's video is also worth reading.
Sunday, 20 September 2009
Away We Go
I feel a little sorry for Sam Mendes. I mean, yes, he is a revered theatre director. He won an Oscar with his first film. And he is married to The Divine Kate Winslet (the bastard!).
But like his sadly missed compatriot Anthony Minghella, he seems to have slipped into the realm of Critical Derision. After praising him so lavishly for American Beauty, it now appears to be the fashion to throw feces at whatever he does. Revolutionary Road got some of pretty nasty, dismissive reviews, and you could feel some critics wanting to use the film to tear Mendes down rather then give an honest reaction (I thought the film was very very good but certainly had its faults).
Away We Go was released in the States at the beginning of the Summer and did nice business but was largely dismissed by reviewers. It won't change the world, but I thought this film had a great deal of charm, and showed Mendes working in a freer, more emotionally relaxed style that surprised and delighted me.
The film is quite novelistic in a way (which isn't surprising as it is written by novelists Vendela Vida and Dave Eggers) - rootless parents-to-be Maya Rudolph and John Krasinski go on a road trip and encounter a series of horrific or heartbreaking family types. As a piece of writing, nothing about this film will really surprise you, and some of the characters are grostesques that don't really work.
But what does undoubtedly work is the central couple. Burt and Verona are a happy couple. They don't have any hidden pain. They are open, honest and loving to one another. This is hugely refreshing - their scenes together are nicely understated and realistic, while their moments of clarity are at once simple and rendered with admirable emotional truth. This is where the skill of Vida and Eggers comes through clearest. Besides exploring the fear of starting a family, Away We Go is also a film about people who they have got to a certain age only to end up slightly lost. At one point, Verona asks Burt "Are we fuck ups?" and that line, and the world of emotion it expresses rang completely true to me.
Krasinski and Rudolph are ultimately the reason to see this. Krasinski is sweet and charming and his chemistry with Rudolph is completely believable. They share a moment in a train bunk bed which reminds me of a remarkable scene from Eternal Sunshine where each of the women discuss their fears about how they look. However, it is Rudolph who ultimately is the soul of the piece. She is virtually unknown over here but gives the piece its gravity and depth. Mendes once again proves that he is one of the best directors that an actor could wish for.
What is more surprising is how loose and enjoyable the film was. After the marital Armageddon of Revolutionary Road, Away We Go seems to vibrate with a desire for Mendes to show a partnership of emotional and intellectual equals. Verona and Burt aren't asked to overcome enormous and melodramatic personal demons. They merely recognise in each other the person they want to be with. Their modern, egalitarian take on relationships feels almost entirely different to anything else I have seen on screen for so long and lends Away We Go its power.
Friday, 18 September 2009
Gleeful
Sometimes there seems to be so many exciting TV shows coming out of the states that I am not sure quite where to start. I mean, I haven’t watched Mad Men, The Wire, or most of The Sopranos. I am only one season through 30 Rock and have yet to watch a single episode of Arrested Development. I am a confessed Joss Whedon fanatic and I still haven’t watched a blinkin’ episode of Dollhouse!!
Yet I can’t see that happening with the new show Glee, a taste of which I got over the summer with the first episode. Seriously, it’s almost like somebody sat down and designed the show to appeal to me. It’s set in a highschool. It can be wickedly cruel and satirical about the students, teachers and their relationships. It has singing and crazy dance routines that manage to convey the sheer joy of performing even if the material itself is a piss-take!!
And yet it also understands that as preposterous as it can appear, things such as a school show choir matter when you’re that age. Everything matters when you’re that age.
The drama group I was with for most of my childhood is having a 50th anniversary celebration back home in Cork this weekend. I can’t tell you the amount of hours that myself and my friends spent in classes, rehearsing and performing during my childhood and teenage years. The hours spent dissecting our work, criticising those who got the better roles and dreaming of blinded by a solo spotlight. Getting that amazing, tingly feeling when you realised that a performance wasn’t just going well, but was connecting with those on the other side. The sheer euphoria of doing something you loved and doing it well.
I miss that. The further away I have got from it, the more I realise how much fun it was and how much it changed me for the better. I knew it was geeky. I often died when somebody who didn’t get it mocked me for it in school. But in the end, I didn’t give a shit. Once I was on stage, I was untouchable.
That’s why I am looking forward to Glee. From what I have seen of it so far, the show manages to balance what could be a corrosively nasty wit with a genuine sense of bliss and a touching investment in the delirium of these kids. I hope they keep that balance going (Bring it On is an excellent example of a film which consistently rips the piss out of its characters but manages to do so in a completely loving way).
I mean, any show that teases with something as amazing as this has to be worth my time…
Yet I can’t see that happening with the new show Glee, a taste of which I got over the summer with the first episode. Seriously, it’s almost like somebody sat down and designed the show to appeal to me. It’s set in a highschool. It can be wickedly cruel and satirical about the students, teachers and their relationships. It has singing and crazy dance routines that manage to convey the sheer joy of performing even if the material itself is a piss-take!!
And yet it also understands that as preposterous as it can appear, things such as a school show choir matter when you’re that age. Everything matters when you’re that age.
The drama group I was with for most of my childhood is having a 50th anniversary celebration back home in Cork this weekend. I can’t tell you the amount of hours that myself and my friends spent in classes, rehearsing and performing during my childhood and teenage years. The hours spent dissecting our work, criticising those who got the better roles and dreaming of blinded by a solo spotlight. Getting that amazing, tingly feeling when you realised that a performance wasn’t just going well, but was connecting with those on the other side. The sheer euphoria of doing something you loved and doing it well.
I miss that. The further away I have got from it, the more I realise how much fun it was and how much it changed me for the better. I knew it was geeky. I often died when somebody who didn’t get it mocked me for it in school. But in the end, I didn’t give a shit. Once I was on stage, I was untouchable.
That’s why I am looking forward to Glee. From what I have seen of it so far, the show manages to balance what could be a corrosively nasty wit with a genuine sense of bliss and a touching investment in the delirium of these kids. I hope they keep that balance going (Bring it On is an excellent example of a film which consistently rips the piss out of its characters but manages to do so in a completely loving way).
I mean, any show that teases with something as amazing as this has to be worth my time…
Monday, 14 September 2009
Let the Right One In - The Novel
I will be forever grateful to my friend Therese for lots of things. Firstly, just for being such a good friend to me. Secondly, for actually challenging me about my rather too comfortable-and-pleased-with-myself-views about gender (even if we did ultimately disagree sometimes). And lastly (and more recently) for making me read the original novel on which Let the Right One In was based on.
You may remember that when I saw Let the Right One in a couple of months ago, I said how disappointed I was in the whole thing. That it not only failed to live up to the considerable but it seemed to be a slight badly string together collection of scenes, with a wildly and annoyingly varied tone. I thought the film would have benefited from less concentration on Oskar and more on the twisted relationship between Eli and her minder.
Well, Therese was right. The book certainly gives you more of that relationship, and in the process became on of the most disturbing and creepiest novels I have ever read.
The book works on a lot of levels. It does flesh out Oskar's story and make him a better realised character. But I still don't quite buy him, or the intensity of his relationship with Eli. His strand is still the one element of the story that I find the least interesting.
What you get in the novel, and what was hinted at only broadly in the film, is the effect that Eli's presence has on a depressed, isolated community. Eli's actions, and those of her helpers, act as a contagion on estate, spreading outwards and infecting the lives of dozens of people. This is the part of the novel that both surprised me and touched me. Lindvquist has genuine empathy for these characters and creates a believable rag-tag group of lost souls already crushed by the daily realities of their life. Their attempts to reach out to one another to find warmth and companionship are moving, and provide the real emotional depth to much of the novel.
What I wanted from the film was more of Eli's keeper. Hakan is a horrifying creation - repulsive, destructive sad and pathetic. That Lindqvist manages to take this horror of a human and give him dimension and plausibility without ever trying to excuse the horror of his actions is a brilliant high wire act and I respect and admire his commitment. The vast majority of Hakan's story is jettisoned in the movie and it provides and interesting lesson in adaptation.
For all the critic's crowing over the skill with which the film was made, I actually think it is a poor adaptation. The filmmakers (I include Lindqvist as screenwriter, as well as director Alfredson) chose the easiest storyline to tell. Oskar's story is essentially linear - he matures in a twisted kind of way, becomes a man by finding a woman to protect and to care for. Eli may be older, may be stronger. But she still needs to rely on a man to help her out. Oskar fulfills was is essentially a traditional male role model, however kinky and weird.
The Grand Guignol moments that I found funny in the film (and not in a good way) are in the book, but they have a force and a horror that the director fails utterly to capture.
The stories surrounding this are infinitely more interesting. Hakan's alone develops into a truly grisly and horrific end that had my skin crawling. Virginia and Lacke's story has some of the most poignant and horrific material but is treated with cursory attention. This is frustrating, but allowed me to discover the richness of Lindqvist's story for myself. I loved this book.
There were howls of outrage when Hollywood announced that it was going to remake Let the Right One In. I am slow to join in the chorus in the hopes that instead of remaking the film, they will go back to the source novel and re-focus it on some of the material I consider superior. Though that may be giving them all far too much credit.
You may remember that when I saw Let the Right One in a couple of months ago, I said how disappointed I was in the whole thing. That it not only failed to live up to the considerable but it seemed to be a slight badly string together collection of scenes, with a wildly and annoyingly varied tone. I thought the film would have benefited from less concentration on Oskar and more on the twisted relationship between Eli and her minder.
Well, Therese was right. The book certainly gives you more of that relationship, and in the process became on of the most disturbing and creepiest novels I have ever read.
The book works on a lot of levels. It does flesh out Oskar's story and make him a better realised character. But I still don't quite buy him, or the intensity of his relationship with Eli. His strand is still the one element of the story that I find the least interesting.
What you get in the novel, and what was hinted at only broadly in the film, is the effect that Eli's presence has on a depressed, isolated community. Eli's actions, and those of her helpers, act as a contagion on estate, spreading outwards and infecting the lives of dozens of people. This is the part of the novel that both surprised me and touched me. Lindvquist has genuine empathy for these characters and creates a believable rag-tag group of lost souls already crushed by the daily realities of their life. Their attempts to reach out to one another to find warmth and companionship are moving, and provide the real emotional depth to much of the novel.
What I wanted from the film was more of Eli's keeper. Hakan is a horrifying creation - repulsive, destructive sad and pathetic. That Lindqvist manages to take this horror of a human and give him dimension and plausibility without ever trying to excuse the horror of his actions is a brilliant high wire act and I respect and admire his commitment. The vast majority of Hakan's story is jettisoned in the movie and it provides and interesting lesson in adaptation.
For all the critic's crowing over the skill with which the film was made, I actually think it is a poor adaptation. The filmmakers (I include Lindqvist as screenwriter, as well as director Alfredson) chose the easiest storyline to tell. Oskar's story is essentially linear - he matures in a twisted kind of way, becomes a man by finding a woman to protect and to care for. Eli may be older, may be stronger. But she still needs to rely on a man to help her out. Oskar fulfills was is essentially a traditional male role model, however kinky and weird.
The Grand Guignol moments that I found funny in the film (and not in a good way) are in the book, but they have a force and a horror that the director fails utterly to capture.
The stories surrounding this are infinitely more interesting. Hakan's alone develops into a truly grisly and horrific end that had my skin crawling. Virginia and Lacke's story has some of the most poignant and horrific material but is treated with cursory attention. This is frustrating, but allowed me to discover the richness of Lindqvist's story for myself. I loved this book.
There were howls of outrage when Hollywood announced that it was going to remake Let the Right One In. I am slow to join in the chorus in the hopes that instead of remaking the film, they will go back to the source novel and re-focus it on some of the material I consider superior. Though that may be giving them all far too much credit.
Friday, 11 September 2009
Movies Catch-up
District 9
Not quite the masterpiece that many in the States have claimed, but this is a bracingly intelligent, exciting and emotional story that is told with real skill and intensity. Sharlto Coptly is incredible in the lead role - a complete unknown, he is in virtually every scene and manages to portray a weak, vacuously cruel man who finds something resembling a soul as his body crumbles with astonishing skill. The CGI work is impeccable and there is real thought gone in to this story. I think this is the most exciting first film I have seen in a long time and Neil Blomkamp is surely going to have as long and brilliant a career as the mercurial producer Peter Jackson (I really REALLY want to see The Lovely Bones now).
Inglorious Basterds
Thank Christ Taratino is back. This is his first film since Jackie Brown that I can wholeheartedly endorse. I love the style of Kill Bill 1 - it's hugely exhilarating, but essentially empty. Vol 2 is turgid, ruined by Taratino's fascination with Michael Madsen and David Carridine, both of whom give painful performances and a sense that Tarantino's dialogue was parodying itself. Death Proof is the same - great action but the script sounds like a bland imitation. Basterds announces itself with a humdinger of a first scene that balances tension, comedy and menace almost perfectly. It has four superb performances (and in Diane Kruger, a genuine revelation as I thought she was terrible in Troy). The film is basically a series of long dialogue scenes, but Tarantino seems to take joy in his language and that joy, rather than feeling like the dead end of his own obsessions, felt inclusive. The actors run with these scenes, delighting in the twists and turns, while Tarantino direct stylishly but always with an eye to serving the story and characters. It doesn't have the depth of feeling that Jackie Brown had, but it certainly feels that Tarantino may have found a way out of his rut.
Time Traveller's Wife
I am lucky in a way. My Straight Wife Rachel McAdams has yet to make a truly awful film so, while I can always watch her in quiet rapture, the films themselves are generally good (State of Play) and frequently brilliant (Mean Girls, Family Stone). The Time Traveller's Wife is probably the dodgiest of her outings so far, though that is not the fault of her or Eric Bana who do trojan work in helping the audience to invest in this improbable situation. People I know who are fans of the book seem to be slightly let down, and I have to admit that this is one of those films with such an irrisistable premise that this bland, inoffensive weepy is more of a disappointment then it might otherwise be. But McAdams and Bana was sweet, charismatic and work hard at giving subtlety and nuance to the whole thing.
Not quite the masterpiece that many in the States have claimed, but this is a bracingly intelligent, exciting and emotional story that is told with real skill and intensity. Sharlto Coptly is incredible in the lead role - a complete unknown, he is in virtually every scene and manages to portray a weak, vacuously cruel man who finds something resembling a soul as his body crumbles with astonishing skill. The CGI work is impeccable and there is real thought gone in to this story. I think this is the most exciting first film I have seen in a long time and Neil Blomkamp is surely going to have as long and brilliant a career as the mercurial producer Peter Jackson (I really REALLY want to see The Lovely Bones now).
Inglorious Basterds
Thank Christ Taratino is back. This is his first film since Jackie Brown that I can wholeheartedly endorse. I love the style of Kill Bill 1 - it's hugely exhilarating, but essentially empty. Vol 2 is turgid, ruined by Taratino's fascination with Michael Madsen and David Carridine, both of whom give painful performances and a sense that Tarantino's dialogue was parodying itself. Death Proof is the same - great action but the script sounds like a bland imitation. Basterds announces itself with a humdinger of a first scene that balances tension, comedy and menace almost perfectly. It has four superb performances (and in Diane Kruger, a genuine revelation as I thought she was terrible in Troy). The film is basically a series of long dialogue scenes, but Tarantino seems to take joy in his language and that joy, rather than feeling like the dead end of his own obsessions, felt inclusive. The actors run with these scenes, delighting in the twists and turns, while Tarantino direct stylishly but always with an eye to serving the story and characters. It doesn't have the depth of feeling that Jackie Brown had, but it certainly feels that Tarantino may have found a way out of his rut.
Time Traveller's Wife
I am lucky in a way. My Straight Wife Rachel McAdams has yet to make a truly awful film so, while I can always watch her in quiet rapture, the films themselves are generally good (State of Play) and frequently brilliant (Mean Girls, Family Stone). The Time Traveller's Wife is probably the dodgiest of her outings so far, though that is not the fault of her or Eric Bana who do trojan work in helping the audience to invest in this improbable situation. People I know who are fans of the book seem to be slightly let down, and I have to admit that this is one of those films with such an irrisistable premise that this bland, inoffensive weepy is more of a disappointment then it might otherwise be. But McAdams and Bana was sweet, charismatic and work hard at giving subtlety and nuance to the whole thing.
Tuesday, 28 April 2009
Let The Right One In
I was so very excited about seeing this film. I had read rave after rave from American critics at the end of last year. English critics similarly tripped over themselves to praise this Swedish vampire-cum-coming-of-age film. I will watch anything with vampires, and when I read genuine enthusiasm from jaded film writers, it can only make me more excited.
This is a beautiful, measured, thoughtful film, made with care and precision. And yet I was rarely engaged by anything that was happening on screen. In fact, I found the whole movie a frustrating experience. I could see precisely the things about the film that made some viewers so excited without ever being truly moved by the story or characters.
Let the Right One In is about a young, slightly disturbed and lonely boy (Oskar) who befriends a strange girl (Eli) who moves into the flat next to his. It turns out this girl is a vampire, who is kept fed by an elderly ‘minder’ who murders locals and drains them of blood for her. The story maps out their relationship when the vampire’s minder is killed.
It’s a beautifully economical plot which gives the writer and director a lot to play with. The cinematography in a blindingly white working class Swedish housing estate is gorgeous and gives the film a novel backdrop against which its vampire tale can unfold. Many of the fantastical elements of the film are handled in an off-hand, casual manner which initially increases the horror and suspense.. The first half of the film is genuinely chilling at times.
But for me, the film just never develops beyond its interesting premise. Part of this is the focus on Oskar, a character whose victimisation seemed to be the sum total of his actual personality. This may have had something to do with the young actor who played him, who I thought was bland and completely unable to handle any of the more difficult dramatic elements. I felt completely distanced from him throughout.
The film also has some awkward tone switches which ruined the mood of the film at several key moments. Two stand out in particular – an attack by crazed CGI cats and the final attack on the bullies from Eli. These sequences destroy the delicate, chilling timbre of the film is an attempt at some Grand Guignol horror. Unfortunately they are so poorly executed that they instead descend into campy horror and the film never really recovers from that.
The one unqualified success was the depiction of Eli, both in performance and writing. She is an intriguingly enigmatic mixture of pathetic, lonely girl and disturbing monster and I love how both the actress and the filmmakers root her in absolute reality. Lina Leadersson plays these contradictions beautifully, and really is on another level entirely from the rest of the cast.
Her character also seems to fire the imagination of the writer in a way that nobody else does. Perhaps the most frustrating thing about this film is that I don’t think the writer developed the most interesting threads from his plot. For me, Oskar’s story is the most boring and conventional – it is Eli, her relationship with her ‘minder’ and his history which fascinated most. That ultimately isn’t what this film is about and it’s a real shame.
I think this is also a case of having expectations which were just too high. If I had discovered this film at a festival as many critics did, or through word of mouth on DVD or late night channel surfing, then it is likely that it would have had a much higher impact. But by the time it reached these shores, Let the Right One In was proclaimed one of the great vampire tales, and one of the year’s best films. That’s a daunting prospect for any film to live up to and it simply wilted in the glare of that scrutiny.
This is a beautiful, measured, thoughtful film, made with care and precision. And yet I was rarely engaged by anything that was happening on screen. In fact, I found the whole movie a frustrating experience. I could see precisely the things about the film that made some viewers so excited without ever being truly moved by the story or characters.
Let the Right One In is about a young, slightly disturbed and lonely boy (Oskar) who befriends a strange girl (Eli) who moves into the flat next to his. It turns out this girl is a vampire, who is kept fed by an elderly ‘minder’ who murders locals and drains them of blood for her. The story maps out their relationship when the vampire’s minder is killed.
It’s a beautifully economical plot which gives the writer and director a lot to play with. The cinematography in a blindingly white working class Swedish housing estate is gorgeous and gives the film a novel backdrop against which its vampire tale can unfold. Many of the fantastical elements of the film are handled in an off-hand, casual manner which initially increases the horror and suspense.. The first half of the film is genuinely chilling at times.
But for me, the film just never develops beyond its interesting premise. Part of this is the focus on Oskar, a character whose victimisation seemed to be the sum total of his actual personality. This may have had something to do with the young actor who played him, who I thought was bland and completely unable to handle any of the more difficult dramatic elements. I felt completely distanced from him throughout.
The film also has some awkward tone switches which ruined the mood of the film at several key moments. Two stand out in particular – an attack by crazed CGI cats and the final attack on the bullies from Eli. These sequences destroy the delicate, chilling timbre of the film is an attempt at some Grand Guignol horror. Unfortunately they are so poorly executed that they instead descend into campy horror and the film never really recovers from that.
The one unqualified success was the depiction of Eli, both in performance and writing. She is an intriguingly enigmatic mixture of pathetic, lonely girl and disturbing monster and I love how both the actress and the filmmakers root her in absolute reality. Lina Leadersson plays these contradictions beautifully, and really is on another level entirely from the rest of the cast.
Her character also seems to fire the imagination of the writer in a way that nobody else does. Perhaps the most frustrating thing about this film is that I don’t think the writer developed the most interesting threads from his plot. For me, Oskar’s story is the most boring and conventional – it is Eli, her relationship with her ‘minder’ and his history which fascinated most. That ultimately isn’t what this film is about and it’s a real shame.
I think this is also a case of having expectations which were just too high. If I had discovered this film at a festival as many critics did, or through word of mouth on DVD or late night channel surfing, then it is likely that it would have had a much higher impact. But by the time it reached these shores, Let the Right One In was proclaimed one of the great vampire tales, and one of the year’s best films. That’s a daunting prospect for any film to live up to and it simply wilted in the glare of that scrutiny.
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