Daring Drama on Channel 4 part one: Utopia

For a film lover, I’ve spent a great deal more of my free time the last few months watching TV drama instead of films (not that I’ve gotten anywhere near to stopping with cinema!). The vast majority of TV I watch is American cable shows, lately consisting of Twin Peaks and Bojack Horseman, the latest original show from Netflix, a surreal and scathing animation about the emptiness of Hollywood culture, which after a few shaky episodes proved itself to be a surprisingly deep and mature character study, and well worth checking out.

But to go back on track, I’ve always wondered why so little British TV drama appealed to me as much. The big two I’ve watched the last few years have been Doctor Who and Downton Abbey. I’ve fallen behind with Doctor Who this series, but whilst Peter Capaldi is a pleasing screen presence, the latest episodes can’t help feeling disappointing, lacking charm and almost getting a bit too big for its boots. And Downton last year committed the crime of simply being quite boring. Plotlines about farmland usage are hardly compelling, coupled with yet more stories about characters struggling to keep up the ‘times’, it was generally quite dull. The first episode of the new series I found quite enjoyable in a playfully melodramatic way, but it’s still a long way off the former glories of series one.

Frankly, much of the drama on British TV seems quite similar. A lot of it seems to cover issues such as murder or betrayal, and be filmed in dulled hues and monochrome. I suppose it just seems to me that there’s a lack of variety for British drama, plus lower budgets compared to US equivalents mean that British shows often lack the funds to expand the reach and variety of their output. Also, these shows have less of a presence online, meaning they receive nowhere near the level of publicity American shows do.

This is where Utopia comes in. The second series of the graphic novel-themed conspiracy thriller started back in July (I remember it was the week I graduated! I’d been in London the weekend before and had seen ads for the new series on buses everywhere). But it’s only this week I got around to watching it. Starting with a daring first episode which ignores the main characters to go back in time to explore the backstories and motivations of the main antagonists of the series, the creators of the Network (including Rose Leslie, who I’m a big fan of after seeing her in Downton and Game of Thrones, playing the young Milner), Utopia proved to be just as bold, controversial and beautifully addictive as it was when it started in 2013.

When thinking about writing this ramble, I remembered a review I wrote of series one last year before it had ended; I sent it into the student newspaper The Boar to see if it could get published but I never got a response. I thought it was quite funny to see how my thoughts now compare:

I’m such a sucker for high concept TV- just stick anything with a big idea, some pretty visuals and a good cast and I’ll be there. For the last few years, the Americans have near enough had this corner of the market dominated with such varied shows as the barmy, tense and self-lovingly patriotic Homeland and the gleefully gory and gratuitous Game of Thrones. Frankly the best us Brits have been able to come up with lately have been Doctor Who and Downton Abbey. So thank god for Channel 4 for commissioning Utopia, a much needed burst of colour and action at a time when most shows are full of pitiful middle class woes in suburban streets stained with dulled and depressing palettes of grey and brown.

Taking much of its inspiration in look and content from graphic novels, Utopia is itself about a graphic novel called The Utopia Experiments, which is theorised to have predicted some of the disasters that have happened since the 1980s. We follow a group of geeks including Ian, an IT consultant who lives with his mum; Becky, a postgrad student and Wilson, a paranoid dropout and conspiracy theory-lover who, having met on an online forum, are drawn together with the promise of a second manuscript in the series. But they’re not the only ones seeking it- a mysterious organisation with possible links around the globe will do anything to get their hands on it, no matter who or what gets in their way. Soon the heroes are forced to go on the run from a deranged pair of killers in primary coloured clothing, endlessly searching for a woman known only as Jessica Hyde…

It all sounds insane and to be fair, it really is. With multiple plotlines, highly exaggerated setpieces and themes of complicated global intrigue, this threatens to challenge Lost for being the show that let its big ideas and extreme complex storytelling overwhelm it. Thankfully this gets away with it; Utopia is just so much fun that it doesn’t matter that there are gaping plot holes about how such events can even happen or how characters can even function and survive in such a world. This isn’t a highly strung-out political drama, it’s a deliciously dark and stylish conspiracy thriller that can shift from moments of sly humour to bursts of horrific violence within a single scene.

It’s this distinction that makes Utopia so bloody great, with wonderfully silly and unusual stories and an ominous tone which marks it out so much from the grainy low-budget gritty realism or period settings that TV drama is obsessed with right now. With only six episodes in the series, Utopia does try to pack a lot in to episodes, meaning that some subplots get a lot of screentime while others are left hanging. It is rushed, but this only adds to the fast pace that makes this show so watchable while the unanswered questions only adds to the mystery.

Plus it just looks great. Filmed in widescreen from often static cameras, the show looks like a graphic novel with artistically definite onscreen layouts and bold colours in landscapes, especially the repeated use of yellow- a running motif in the show.

Much has been said of the show’s violence online and in reviews. Utopia is pretty extreme and the gore and brutality may bit a bit much for some viewers. Notable examples include a controversial mass shooting in a school in episode three and a particularly gruesome torture scene in episode one. But like all good horror films, the majority of the most graphic content is offscreen, allowing us the viewers to fill in the rest with the worst we can imagine. Not that this doesn’t mean there isn’t plenty of blood and guts onscreen; a show this stylish wouldn’t miss the opportunity to show the resulting vivid red blood splatter from a bullet to the brain flowering across a pure white wall.

It’s dramas like this that Channel 4 was meant for, which has been lost slightly the last few years with endless repeats of Come Dine With Me and questionably exploitative ‘documentaries’. So I’m just thankful that they took a risk and created an original piece of drama like this. Personally I lap this sort of thing up but hopefully shows like this can be popular enough to allow channels to make more. Who knows, we may be part of a utopian new era of television.

It’s pretty hilarious to see I’m still watching the same shows (no matter how much I find fault with in Downton, I still can’t tear myself away from it!). It’s also fascinating to see how I was concerned with the overblown plotting and big concepts of series one, fears which I have never felt watching series two. I suppose it comes down to the story becoming more driven – now that we know who is behind the Network, and what their aims are, the show is less a meandering conspiracy mystery and more a paranoid thriller, with more direct questions and answers. Multiple plotlines and stories all cross, but the many characters are all given space to breathe and expand. Indeed, series two is more character driven, a human drama behind the conspiracy, with a greater focus on the disturbing fascination one feels for the Network agents, and the genuine reactions our protagonists feel under these extreme situations.

One of the things that makes this show so compelling is the almost sickening sense of ambiguity one feels about the aims of The Network, despite the complete moral vacuousness of their methods. It considers environmental and developmental issues and how human activity and growth is destroying the planet for future generations, and their solutions for these problems can’t help feeling genuinely convincing – their propaganda seems to really work. It explains why so many characters wrestle with these issues, including going so far as to frequently change sides and allegiances. The amount of double-crossing and erring by characters can be trying over the series, though it does go to display the complexity of the issues and the characters’ reactions.

As before, Utopia is incredibly beautiful to look at. The symmetrical framing, crisp lines and bold colours help make the show truly stand out and look fantastic, every frame is seriously worth pausing simply to admire in more detail, to spot the individual flairs of primary colour. Similarly, kudos must go to the set designers and location scouts; from the incredible abandoned mansions and vast primary coloured fields, to the demonic carvings of the secretary of health offices and the wooden sustainable house, it’s all chillingly unreal and a pleasure to explore.

Again, the pure nihilism and overbearing tone play host to some bloody violence, unlike what is seen on British TV. The comic book-style violence of beautiful blood spatter on walls blowing out of skulls is just as widespread, to the point where you become nearly desensitised to the prevalence to it. What keeps it so disturbing is that much of the violence, or threats of violence, involves children. Lingering shots and offscreen sound creates a sense of horror movie-style dread and anticipation. It’s quite blunt the extent to which the complete lack of compassion is shown, and it can be quite shocking at times. But that’s the intent behind this – it’s an extreme and adult show, one that doesn’t shy away from big issues and controversial themes, but done in a playful and entertaining way.

Frankly it’s simply refreshing to watch a show that is just so much fun, in a gleefully pulpy way. Whilst it covers serious topics like many other quality dramas, it avoids the outright downbeat and solemn tones of many of these shows. I really need an editor for this blog, this post ended up being an overindulgent and messy ramble. But I hope it does just a little bit to express how fantastic this show is, and how highly I recommend it. It’s surprised me how few people I know seemed to have watched it. News has emerged that David Fincher is planning to direct a remake of the show for HBO next year, and whilst the news is incredibly exciting, like all news of upcoming Fincher projects, I can’t help feeling it’s unnecessary. I wonder how much of the show’s distinct style and cinematography will carry across, as well as the distinctly wry British humour of Utopia. So I recommend making the most of Utopia as it exists now, and relish in some of the most unique and enjoyable drama on TV.

Holy Motors

2012
Director/Writer: Leos Carax

Compared to previous years, 2012 personally hasn’t been a standout year for new films for me. There have been some entertaining rides along the way: Moonrise Kingdom was a charming love letter to young romance, The Dark Knight Rises was a sprawling, busy, flawed but ultimately epic film about the breakdown of socio-ethical values and the superhero myth while Skyfall simply re-affirmed my love of James Bond films. But there wasn’t much that that truly inspired or enthralled me to any great extent. There was Amour, Michael Haneke’s soul-crushing study of an elderly man’s devotion to his wife whose mind is slowly dying but for me the real standout this year was Holy Motors.

Despite not winning any prizes at the Cannes Film Festival this year, Holy Motors was the film which seemed to generate the greatest amount of buzz and fervour out of anything playing on all of the websites, blogs and reviews I was finding. I didn’t know anything about the director Leos Carax (this is his first film for 13 years) or any of the major actors in it. All I knew were some bizarre details about the plot which didn’t seem to make much sense and some glowing reviews praising its originality; it was intriguing. The trailer didn’t offer much more- just a series of distinct and memorable clips and images but it was enough for me. I couldn’t wait to see it.

So what is it about then? We follow a day in the life of the mysterious figure Monsieur Oscar (Denis Lavant), during his bizarre odyssey across Paris in the back of a white stretched limo driven by his dutiful chauffer Céline (Édith Scob). His day involves him engaging in a series of ‘appointments’, for each of which he has to perform a new character in public complete with new costumes, make-up and personality. He starts the day as a middle aged banker leaving his art deco home replete with luxury cars and armed security. Throughout the film he plays an elderly crippled woman begging for change, an ordinary man picking up his daughter from a party, an assassin assigned to kill his doppelganger and an actor performing stunts for motion capture animation on a soundstage, amongst several other roles. The reason why he does this is never made entirely clear and the only thing linking them is Monsieur Oscar himself.

To put it bluntly, this film is insane. A very funny series of surrealist stories, Holy Motors is not constructed like or driven by any narrative conventions but instead takes the fundamentals of cinematic form and genre and subverts them, inviting the audience into this strange dreamscape not through narrative engagement but through bold imagery, warped humour and a strong awareness of itself. It’s a massively self-conscious film, filled with loving homages to previous French cinema and playfully running wild with ideas that don’t make much sense together and encourage the viewer to be aware that they are watching a film. Some might get frustrated by its clear lack of structure or purpose but for me the real joy of this film was never being able to guess what was about to happen next. Surrealism is so hard to do but this makes it look easy, making something that can at once be crudely funny, deliciously disturbing or knowingly tedious and existential.

Filled with unique and unforgettable setpieces, Holy Motors is frenetic, vivid and schizophrenic. It is a film about cinema- beginning with a prologue in which the director Carax himself wakes from a dream in a hotel room and breaks through a wall with a giant key embedded in his hand, he emerges at the back of a packed cinema filled with a sleeping crowd. He’s transfixed by this new world, one formed by the artistic visions of the subconscious where anything is possible. Throughout the film, it asserts itself as a cinematic vision. Everyone in it is aware that they are performing for someone watching- indeed it is their professions. Each character M. Oscar plays is within its own cinematic realm- one time it is a violent thriller, another a languid melodrama about death filled with highly emotional performances and overblown cliché dialogue; it even turns into a musical as bizarrely Kylie Minogue turns up and sings a song about loss, heartbreak and change. Clips from early cinema of dancers and male bodies on display are spliced throughout. There’s even an intermission. The best bit is M. Oscar’s third appointment, a masterful sequence; he plays a revolting sewer dweller that emerges in the Père Lachaise cemetery to the theme from Godzilla, where he discovers a photoshoot by a deranged photographer and an American model whom he kidnaps and takes to his underground lair. So ludicrously funny, it’s also a scathing satire of contemporary France (sewers filled with illegal immigrants, a woman being disguised in a burka) and of self-obsessed celebrity culture.

Holy Motors is not like anything else I’ve ever seen recently. It’s refreshing to see something which doesn’t try to force overwrought thematic subtext down your throat. Instead you’re invited to simply enjoy the ride and marvel in the spectacle of a film that doesn’t take itself at all seriously. Certainly some viewers might dislike its unconventionality and puzzling content which is full of questions and secrets, but it’s just so much fun that these don’t matter. They’re not what this is about anyway; this is a hallucinogenic experiment of the capabilities of cinema, so wonderfully formed and put together.

*Spoilers* But seriously, what is it about? It can definitely be seen as treatise on the art of acting and the nature of performance. In his TARDIS-like limo seemingly bigger on the inside and filled with boxes of props, costumes and make-up, we see the upmost care M. Oscar puts into each of his performances, the vast amount of time he spends carefully preparing for each role. The true centrepiece of the film is Lavant’s extraordinary performance, he truly throws himself fully into each character and it’s delightful to watch.

Holy Motors could also be about the performances we ourselves put on everyday- how we mark ourselves in the world through our behaviour, appearance and manner and how this is distinguished from our true selves seen only in private. We catch only brief glimpses of the real Oscar, when he is alone in the limo with Céline- he’s gradually downtrodden and tired as the day continues. One wonders if he’s grown increasingly weary of having to play so many such exacting roles while his real self grows older and is increasingly exerted. We catch a brief snippet of his strain as he takes a sneaky cigarette before entering the house of his final performance of the day, sighing, knowing he has to do it all over again tomorrow. The only glimpses of the real world he ever gets during the day is by watching the Parisian streets glide past on a television monitor in his limo. He spends his day interacting with families and strangers but everything that occurs, all the emotions he feels, are false; he’s definitely a lonely man consumed by a wider societal need to perform, to entertain and to distract. This is applicable to everyone in the film- Céline at the end of the day puts on a mask, this perhaps being the performance she puts on in her personal life (as well as being a reference to the wonderful French horror film Eyes Without a Face (1960) which Edith Scob also starred in). Eva Mendes’s kidnapped model retains her emotionless public persona required for her work, even during the chaos happening around her in the sewers away from the photoshoot.

One theory I want to propose is how Oscar could be developing melancholia over his growing old and his lack of genuine human relationships. Each of his roles could in some way reflect his own phobias and insecurities. He has no genuine family, yet the film is filled with daughters or daughter-figures (the little girl saying goodbye at the start, the self-hating daughter leaving the party, the devoted niece by her dying uncle’s bedside, the chimpanzees), perhaps stating his own desire for a child or something to give him purpose. The sewer monster’s final descent into almost childlike dependency yet one tinged with a creepy sexual undercurrent belays his desperate need for interaction. The assassin’s murder of himself (which is then repeated vice versa) could be a sense of self-loathing. The crippled woman, alone and begging, or at the other end of the scale, the banker attacked in the street, could be his future- isolated and misunderstood by the rest of the world that demands homogeneity.

It seems the world is changing around Oscar- he describes how he started this work and his love of it for “the beauty of the act”, yet he laments the loss of the beholder to appreciate this beauty. This could be a protest at the state of modern technology in the world- he decries how he unable to see the cameras anymore, perhaps because they are too small, and therefore he can no longer be aware of the audience watching him. Further, we can see the acts he performs on the soundstage with the contortionist for the motion capture- here the camera lingers on the fluidity and form of their bodies and ultimately juxtaposes this with the final product their movements are helping to create: a crude animation about copulating dragon monsters. It’s not worthy of their efforts and it masks the real artists at work- the dedicated actors. Finally there is the wickedly silly scene at the very end of the film, where fears of being replaced and made inadequate by new machines are discussed by the limos, complaints about how people no longer want to see anything beyond what they use and want.

One major question is who is Oscar really performing for? It seems he’s in the business of creating filmic fiction for someone- it’s implied he’s be doing this for some time and we meet several other actors also engaged in acting for unseen audiences. Are the crowds unseen, and if so how are they watching? Oscar says he cannot see the cameras anymore, so does that mean they are actually there? Is anyone actually watching, or is this business (that of cinema itself and the art of performance) slowly dying, to be replaced cheap imitations and lazy commercialism? Or is the camera simply Carax’s, and the audience we ourselves watching right now? Few films have taken such measures as to make the viewer alert to the fact that we are watching something artificial and staged, created for artistic and entertainment purposes. Do we simply take for granted the efforts that go into creating cinematic art, and are we ignoring the truly deserving artworks in favour of those that pride novelty, technological gimmickry and convention over creative innovation? Oscar’s performance in the mo-cap studio is restricted and dictated by a demanding unseen voice, telling him exactly what to do; this then compared to his gloriously unhinged performance as the sewer monster.

Frankly, I could be way off the mark with all of these interpretations- Holy Motors is so dense in content which is so hypnagogic that it is open to any number of readings. People could easily hate this film, simply sit back and enjoy what’s happening or try hard to engage with its deranged content, but either way they can never say that they’ve ever seen anything like this before. Its refusal to follow the rules or frankly even simply make perfect sense is inspiring to watch and consider and that’s why for me Holy Motors is the best film of 2012.

Originally posted on my previous blog on 29th December 2012.

The Modern Handbook for Girls

This blog really is ending up being a part-time side project for me, and I’ll try not to neglect it so much in the future. I’m just feeling a bit more inspired right now with my realisation that one aspect I’ve pretty much ignored this whole time is television. I don’t know why; I watch a lot of TV, and much of it is just as good if not better than a lot of film I’ve watched.

Okay so most of my viewing consists of American shows, and primarily HBO shows for that matter, which I’m a complete sucker for. Studying television at uni this year has awakened me to the fact that I’m essentially the perfect ‘quality’ TV viewer: white, from a middle-class background and educated- with a greater awareness of wider cultural practices. I’m a slave to HBO’s reputation and marketing strategies to the point now that I’ll watch near enough anything that’s made by the network, regardless of content. And to be honest I don’t really care that this happens- so many HBO shows I’ve seen have just been so bloody good and totally worth the necessary added engagement and concentration these shows require and which I actually relish.

My latest foray into the HBO canon has been Girls, Lena Dunham’s trendy and critically-divisive personal project about four twentysomething women living in New York and their various friendships, love lives and work struggles. The world they live in is undeniably privileged, despite their long-running monetary woes, but general lives are far more relatable and truthful than that of obvious comparison piece Sex and the City.

This is what attracts me to this show the most: it’s honesty and realism. It’s refreshing to see something where the characters are openly depicted as flawed and at times even blatantly unlikable- from Hannah’s (Lena Dunham) constant erring between self-depreciation and obnoxious self-satisfaction, Marnie’s (Allison Williams) boredom with loving boyfriend Charlie, Jessa’s (Jemima Kirke) recklessness and promiscuity and Shoshanna’s (Zosia Mamet) crippling naïveté. It was this quality which maintained my love of perhaps my all-time favourite show Six Feet Under, which had some of the most layered and well-drawn characters I’ve seen in anything. Their relationships are anything but rosy, with Hannah’s on-off boyfriend Adam (Adam Driver) proving a complex and debatable figure in terms of the extent to which their relationship is indeed loving or exploitative on either of their parts. Friendships too are facile, open to falling apart over the most mundane and petty of things.

This honesty extends too to facets of their everyday lives: the small niggles of first-world problems and the woes of being young, from having parents refuse to pay for your maintenance, to having an overbearing pervy boss, to accidentally smoking crack. On top of that is the unflinching depiction of the girls’ sexuality and I guess ‘female’ problems(?) which at first was almost a source of exoticism for me as a male viewer but then became a frank depiction of human existence which I value in anything I watch. The sex scenes are refreshingly imperfect, from the awkward experiments with anal sex, messy fumblings with condoms and possible STDs. We see their everyday lives, from them simply getting dressed in their bedrooms to having serious discussions in the bathroom.

Some of the criticism levelled at the show is that it depicts a closeted world with only white middle-class characters. I hardly think this was a deliberate intention on Dunham’s part; instead, this being a reflection of her own life, it presents a fairly accurate picture of New York which unfortunately like most of America and the rest of the world, remains segregated, exclusive to only some. It’s unsurprising that young women in their twenties would want to hang out with other young women in their twenties.  Girls is a highly subjective view of New York and the people in it (note the near absence of skyline views of the city)- instead this could prompt questions about the position of modern women. I’m not an expert, but the show could be seen to align with postfeminist notions of individual agency and a detatched awareness of self-identity, especially with Hannah. Here women can be accepting of consumer culture and single lifestyles. However, Girls is questionably a product of pre-second wave feminist notions, such as their continuous desires for heterosexual romance and frequent reference to how their appearance is perceived to others.

So if Girls does have a target audience, does it necessarily have to be female? Hardly, at least I prove it doesn’t have to be- I really enjoyed it, devouring the first series in two days. Producer Judd Apatow said the show was intended to allow men an insight into the world of realistic women. Perhaps I’m more accustomed to the show due to my being in my (very) early twenties, making the features of the characters more relatable for me than a middle-aged viewer. The show comes across as pretty hipsterish with its distinctive apartments and costumes, as well as an indie soundtrack which actually happens to feature a lot of bands I listen to. Honestly, I’m still not totally sure what a hipster is, I don’t know whether I’d be seen as a hipster. To me ‘hipster’ seems to have become a term for any sort of postmodern counter-culture typically associated with young people, a term now linked disdainfully with smugness and irony. Perhaps this association has been the cause of some the criticism levelled at Girls?

Either way, I’m putting off watching the second series until my exams are done and I can’t wait to watch series two. The show makes a satisfying change to my usual programmes, one which is insightful, well-written and surprisingly funny. You don’t have to be a girl to watch Girls, in much the same way you don’t have to be a CIA agent to watch Homeland. Relatable and engaging characters are what make a good show, and this has plenty. The title ‘Girls’, rather than, say, ‘Women’ implies the leads are still in a state of development. Indeed they all still have a lot of growing up to do, and I’m looking forward to seeing how that goes ahead for them.

This was originally posted on my previous blog on 20th May 2013, and refers only to the first season of Girls.

Dirty Harry

1971
Director: Don Siegel
Writers: Harry Julian Fink, R.M. Fink, Dean Reisner

With far too much time on my hands during holidays, they’re always a good time to catch up with films I haven’t seen for a long time. After a year supposedly studying film academically, I suppose I wanted to see whether my opinions on any of my favourite films would be any different. To be honest, I doubt they ever would, not unless I could now see some glaring flaw in any of them I wasn’t aware of before, but I have no idea what they could possibly be. I still don’t watch them in the same way as the films we study at uni- I’m not going out of my way to note the mise-en-scene or studying the editing techniques; to me they’re still simply films I love to watch. Although I’ve found that on some base level, I do keep an eye open for these things when I watch films for fun (especially if they’re particularly distinct), just not in as much detail as during lectures.

It’s from this slightly confused standpoint that I decided to watch a film I’ve always had a lot of love for: Dirty Harry. Along with the likes of A Clockwork Orange, Pulp Fiction, Being John Malkovich and several others, this is one of the few films that are actually quite personal to me in that they were amongst the ones I watched when I was around 13/14 and being more adventurous in my viewing. These were some of the films that showed me how diverse and captivating cinema could be and ignited my passion for film which remains today. Dirty Harry also has the honour of being my first introduction to the living legend that is Clint Eastwood, a man whose sheer screen presence and effortless cool is still a pleasure to watch. Dirty Harry is still my favourite Clint film and his most memorable role, revisited across four sequels of unfortunately widely varying quality.

It had been a few years since I last watched this and so I wanted to see whether my high regard of it was still deserved or whether I was simply looking at it through rose tinted glasses. It is very different to a lot of my other top films in terms of factors like its content, scale, the period it was made in and its visuals. Of course I’d be worried if all my favourite films were especially similar but I did wonder what it was about this film that kept leading me to look on it so positively.

The time: 1971. The place: San Francisco. The city is being held hostage by a sadistic serial sniper known only as Scorpio. He has already murdered a young woman by shooting her from a rooftop and now demands $100, 000 or else he will kill another person each day. With the police on high alert, Inspector Harry Callaghan is assigned to the case. His no-nonsense style, lack of respect for his superiors and unorthodox methods have helped form the basis of many onscreen maverick cop imitations ever since. They’ve also developed his infamous reputation in the police department- many different theories are suggested as to why he’s called ‘Dirty’ Harry, from the fact that he’s the one most willing to do all the dirty jobs to the point that he is simply a bit of a perv (as evidenced several times during the film). What starts as a routine investigation soon escalates into an intense battle between Callaghan and Scorpio, with the two men resorting to increasingly offhand tricks to win their own personal wars.

I think that’s where this film’s greatest strength lies: in its simplicity. It’s less a police thriller and more a study into two dark and violent men. Rewatching it this time made me realise how similar they both are; it just happens one is on the side of the law and one isn’t. Both are driven solely by single forces- Scorpio with his sadistic love of killing and Callaghan with his need to enforce the law, although as the film progresses his methods become increasingly unethical as his desire to overpower Scorpio overtakes. Very little is revealed about the lives of either man other than the events onscreen. Scorpio’s name or history is never discovered, his life seems to consist of nothing more than his insatiable urge to cause pain. A scene of him robing a liquor store shows he has no interest in money or gaining possessions; he’s simply there to retrieve a new weapon to restart his campaign, although he does slip a bottle of whisky on the way out. He’s always presented in a dehumanised manner- our first glimpse of him at the very start is simply that of the barrel of his rifle. We don’t see his face until about 10 minutes later and don’t hear his flat voice later still; even then it’s only on the other end of a telephone line where we can’t see him. The music distorts and becomes far more sinister in his presence.

Similarly, Callaghan is shown as being motivated almost entirely by his work. There is frequent reference to the fact that he doesn’t have a wife and the only time we do see him off-work, he’s using his time to follow Scorpio. We learn little more about him, other than brief glimpses into his voyeuristic tendencies and his general dislike for other people, especially those in power he sees as ineffective (although he does show increasing respect for his new partner Chico Gonzalez after he shows his capabilities in the field). Many critics and reviewers have pointed out the conservative right-wing tendencies of the character and the film and its series in general. This sort of view never really occurred to me the first times I watched this, as I tend to prefer to remain generally apolitical when I watch films, although now Callaghan’s desire to preserve justice over an need to follow rules or preserve human rights  is quite obvious. The controversy surrounding this film in the early 1970s doesn’t seem at all shocking now, although I can understand why it caused such concern over issues like police brutality and fascist ideals, with scenes such as Callaghan torturing information out of an unhelpful Scorpio or shooting a gang of African-American bank robbers being the most obvious. At times it does seem like a critique of the legal system, one which is slow, ineffectual and which preserves the rights of the criminal over those of the victim, a criticism which still rings around today. The film does definitely seem to side with Callaghan on this issue, most notably when Scorpio, having been captured, is released because the evidence is inadmissible due to it being collected without a warrant. However, Callaghan’s methods are so unusual and so extreme than they can hardly be called realistic; it seems this film is intended more as a study of Callaghan himself and how his determination to stop this criminal drives him to extreme lengths, with any sort of social commentary coming second in priority.

Dirty Harry is definitely intended to be an entertaining piece of action cinema and it’s in that sense that it works so well. The pacing is very brisk and precise; no time is wasted on showing anything which isn’t entirely relevant. Instead we get a series of strong and memorable set-pieces, the telephone chase around town and the school bus hijacking especially. Don Siegel directs this very well with a strong steady eye for detail- the violence in this film is convincingly messy and unchoreographed-looking yet retains a sense of style and clarity that makes it incredibly watchable and tense. There’s also an intelligent use of time and place; San Francisco is treated almost like a character in itself with numerous long shots of skylines tied with intimate filming right on the streets and alleys to give it a distinct feel. Several landmarks are used inventively in the action sequences; what stood out for me was the ironic use of religious imagery such as the cross in Mount Davidson Park and the neon ‘Jesus Saves’ sign outside the church, these two locations being home to some of the bloodiest violence in the film. These signs reflect the burgeoning tolerance and general peace of the city being put under threat by this maniac. The city is also distinguished here because of its association with the Zodiac killings that took place here in the late 1960s and that would have been still fresh in the memory of those who watched this when it was released. Those real life crimes were obviously an inspiration for the writers as similarities are drawn such as the sending of threatening letters and the threat of kidnapping a schoolbus full of children. This is referenced directly in David Fincher’s rich drama Zodiac (2007), based on the investigation of the murders, where investigators watching Dirty Harry at the cinema are shown to be visibly uncomfortable with how much overlap there actually is between reality and fiction.

My brother complains that Clint Eastwood always plays the same role no matter what film he’s in. I suppose there is an element of truth in that (definitely in his earlier films) although his demeanour is most definitely his own and for me that’s what makes him so watchable. Here he is cocksure and confident; you can’t imagine him taking any shit off anyone. Harry Callaghan is just such a distinct character, with a swagger and a smart-talking economy with words all to himself. His ironic tone with his superiors and the mayor are a lot of fun- I loved spotting the homage to this in The Naked Gun with Leslie Nielsen’s Frank Drebin repeating Callaghan’s ‘I shoot the bastard’ speech. And of course you can’t forget Andy Robinson’s chilling turn as Scorpio, who on first appearances seems so unlikely- director Don Siegel describes how he has “the face of a choirboy”. But often it’s simply the cold smirk on his face that makes him so horrendously unpleasant, this marring of supposed innocence with such evil. His disintegration from the calm controlled sniper to the maniacally driven monster is creepy; he is definitely one of the most horrible movie villains I can think of.

What’s stood out for me on this repeat viewing is just how unbelievably dark and grim this film is. Although age adds to this, it is definitely a grimy looking film as we’re introduced to some of the most inhospitable parts of San Francisco hidden in the shadows. Lalo Schifrin’s jazzy score does add a touch of class but ultimately this is a supremely gritty film. It’s so cheesy of me to say this but Dirty Harry is very much a dirty film, not necessarily because it is explicit but because it doesn’t hesitate from showing the dark underbelly of urban space, the impersonal machine-like working process of law enforcement and the blackest reaches of human depravity- there are no limits to which either Scorpio or Callaghan will go to which will stop them from overcoming the other. I’m surprised how much of this I missed when I watched it at around age 14. Then it was just a highly watchable thriller, one that has aged surprisingly well. It’s strange how much more disturbed I was by it this time, although I’m glad I was because seeing this in a new way was refreshing and it reaffirmed my respect for this film. I know this has ended up turning more into an essay than a review but I guess I just have a lot to think about with this- I’m glad I still like this film so much, it certainly makes my favourites list much more intriguing.

Originally posted on my previous blog on 28th August 2012 (back when I was in first year!).

 

Brideshead Revisited

2008
Director: Julian Jarrold
Writers: Jeremy Brock, Andrew Davies

I try really hard to make sure that when I watch a film remake or even adaptation I don’t let my views of the original impact how I see the film. Yet I inevitably find that’s pretty much impossible to do- there’s very rarely been a film I’ve considered better than the book it’s based upon. And this problem has been exemplified for me by finally watching the 2008 big-screen version of Brideshead Revisited. Comparisons with the seminal 1981 TV serial are inescapable in pretty much all reviews I’ve read about it. Having both read the Evelyn Waugh novel and watched the serial, really liking it to the point that I chose to write an essay about it for my TV module, using these as comparison points was going to be inevitable.

Unfortunately, this meant that the 2008 version did not fare as well in my eyes. The serial is just so iconic and beautifully put together that any picture I conjure in my mind of Brideshead is of that show. Watching this film then just felt a bit… off. For me, Jeremy Irons is Charles Ryder and Anthony Andrews is Sebastian Flyte. Matthew Goode and Ben Whishaw both do perfectly great jobs in their respective roles; in fact all the performances are excellent. It’s just they couldn’t compete with the original conceptions for me. Even the teddy bear they got for Aloysius felt wrong! It’s sad that so many people’s perception of this film are so much under the influence of the TV serial, but that was just so with-it, perfectly capturing the very mood and feel of the novel.

This tries hard to recreate the sense of melancholy and nostalgia for youthful joys but just can’t match what has been done before. But even without that mighty expectation of matching the serial, this film just can’t truly convey the essence in the same way. Everything is seemingly held at arm’s length and in the end it just ends up at times becoming just a little bit, well, dull. There was no great change in me when seeing the transition from the playful days of Charles and Sebastian’s time together to Charles’s eventual marriage and later life, the mood just didn’t shift like it should. The framing device of Charles’s wartime visit to Brideshead is relatively absent from the film, making the rush of emotions he feels about the place feel less marked and definite. This makes me realise just how much insight Charles’s near omnipresent voiceover in the serial actually granted into the characters and the overall feelings of the time.

Of course the film has slightly different intentions and interests to the serial. Whilst that was more focused on Charles’s nostalgia for the past and about the decline of the aristocracy, the film prefers to explore the more modern sensibilities of the complexities of relationships, religion and sexuality. A lot of time is spent on the subtleties of Charles and Sebastian’s relationship; Sebastian is more definitely presented as homosexual in this but Charles instead is shown less questionably as heterosexual. The film skirts around the nature of their relationship which is implied in the novel as being romantic and possibly sexual; instead it is shown more as a close friendship, with Sebastian presented as infatuated with Charles but he instead seemingly interested in sister Julia (Hayley Atwell) from the start, glossing over the idea the novel proposes that Charles’s attraction to her might be mostly dictated by her similarity to Sebastian and her links with Brideshead, both of which mean so much to him.

This is a shame, for whilst this change does give a nice explanation for the sudden worsening of Sebastian’s alcoholism part-way through, it leaves him as being a more one-dimensional character, defined only by his alcohol addiction and his infatuation for Charles. Charles’s feelings for Sebastian are a lot less ambiguous; however there is refreshingly greater focus on his flaws, namely what he calls his “hunger” for affection and the sense of home and family that Brideshed offers, and the damage that he causes and it causes for him. The sexual tension between him and Julia is nicely foregrounded, and the tension this causes for her with her Catholic upbringing is one of the things this film handles best. Emma Thompson is excellent as usual as the icy matriarch Lady Marchmain, giving us a interesting look into how her religious domineering affects her children. We really see just how dysfunctional this family actually is, I felt more so than the serial.

But comparisons with the serial aside, Brideshead as a film just doesn’t work so well. The serial took 13 hours to adapt the book, examining in really close detail and taking a near-glacial pace which actually helps express the tone. This has only 2 hours, meaning sometimes it feels rushed. Yet despite this at other times it felt quite slow, as in not much was actually happening. It all looks beautiful, the production design is excellent; but that’s just what it comes down to: surface.

Sure, the interest on setting and costume is a feature of most period dramas, but here the characters and emotions never seem to break through enough to have much of an impact. We don’t get an entire sense of just how special Brideshead is to Charles, this being a motivation for much of the plot. The painting he does in the estate, his literal imprint in Brideshead, is never shown. The film by the end feels more like a conventional period romance, characterised by its love triangle, and not an especially exemplary one at that. The novel’s “gluttony, for food and wine, for the splendours of the recent past”, the very features that have defined it, are lost in this.

Originally posted on my previous blog on 25th May 2013