A Sense8-tional review (if I do say so myself)

The world generally hasn’t been so kind to the Wachowskis as of late. 2012’s Cloud Atlas received some bitterly polarised reviews, with some general praise but plenty of harsh vitriol. This year’s Jupiter Ascending fared even worse, being near enough tore apart from by most critics. I haven’t seen Jupiter Ascending yet, but seeing the trailer and reading reviews, it seems a complete mess with some laughably bizarre and incomprehensible scenarios and a hilariously campy-looking performance by Eddie Redmayne – I’m actually quite looking forward to seeing it!

Cloud Atlas has gone on to become on the films from the last few years which I’ve become quite fond of. Upon first viewing, I’d enjoyed it and kept up with the sprawling plotlines, but felt a little underwhelmed with the sum of the all the parts, each separate story feeling a little lacking and building to no greater individual or overall meaning other than the idea that humanity and human life is interconnected. However, in the days after, I found I couldn’t stop thinking about it and could recall many scenes which had thrilled me or moved me. Watching it again a few months later, it was a much better film. A complex and challenging piece of epic spectacle which works hard to bear forth its very warm and human heart, it’s also a film which neatly merges indie and blockbuster sensibilities in a mixture of genuine ambition and originality with the budget and scale of something far more mainstream. The issues of pacing and underdevelopment still stand, but the film is never boring, seriously engaging, and should stand as an example of the ambitious blockbusters studios could and really should be making.

This rather wordy introduction brings us on to Sense8, the Wachowskis’ first foray into television, and a show that shares a lot of thematic ideas and concepts with Cloud Atlas. First off, I have to point out about it being on Netflix, which has already rapidly changed the way we define TV, not just simply because I haven’t watched any of their shows on an actual TV set. Netflix follows the model of greater creative freedom offered by advertising-free cable subscription services, but goes even further in offering programme-makers additional space for seasons of varied lengths, episodes of different lengths for the needs of different storylines and simple faith in allowing them to make near-enough whatever they want. All the shows I’ve seen so far (House of Cards, Daredevil, BoJack Horseman, Orange is the New Black) have benefited from this model and have created genuine cultural impacts beyond what most TV shows can muster. From what I’ve seen online, Sense8 hasn’t achieved anywhere near the heights of popularity as most of these shows, but it’s a show that has clearly taken advantage of Netflix’s freedoms to produce something which is, in a televisual sense, unlike anything that’s ever been made before.

Sense8 follows eight separate characters who are all suddenly mentally and emotionally linked. Will (Brian J. Smith), a Chicago cop struggling with father issues and haunted by an unsolved past case; Sun (Doona Bae), a Korean businesswoman supressed in her family’s male-dominated company who moonlights as an underground kickboxing star; Capheus (Aml Ameen), a Kenyan bus driver with an obsession for Jean Claude Van Damme movies who is working hard to look after his AIDS-afflicted mother; Riley (Tuppence Middleton), an Icelandic DJ living in London who gets caught up with dangerous people; Wolfgang (Max Riemelt), a German criminal plagued by the legacy of his late father; Nomi (Jamie Clayton), a trans woman and hacker living in San Francisco with her girlfriend; Lito (Miguel Angel Silvestre), a Mexican action movie star who is closeted and living secretly with his boyfriend and Kala (Tina Desai), a Mumbai-based pharmacist and devout Hindu engaged to a man she doesn’t love.

Viewers of Game of Thrones will be aware that television offers bountiful potential for shows stuffed with multiple plotlines, and it’s understandable why the programme-makers favoured this greater space for the density that is Sense8. The problem with this model, and the sheer freedom that has been offered to them, is that it takes a great deal of worldbuilding before it can really kick into gear. It’s not to say that the first few parts were ever boring, more that each took its sweet time introducing us necessarily to each character, alongside charming and quirky little details to try to situate each of them uniquely, like Capheus’s rivalry with another movie-themed bus service. Bear with it – it pays off to be patient with this show. Some plotlines pick up quicker than others, while some throw some bursts of action to keep things interesting. Similarly to Game of Thrones though, some character arcs can’t help but feel more unsubstantial and unengaging than others, especially when what is at stake for each of them can be drastically different. Wolfgang’s attempts to break into a safe, or Will’s adventures in a fairly generic police procedural setting dealing with gang warfare just stand out beyond Kala’s emotional meandering or Lito’s fears of being outed and his worry he won’t be considered for the action movie roles he likes. Sure, Rupert Everett says he had a harder time coming out, but come on! If Sense8 is to be believed, Lito has an uncanny ability to make women fawn over him helplessly, which is regularly declared as the sign of a good actor.

The biggest threat facing our heroes, the sensates, is a shady organisation hunting down others of their kind, led by a suave individual nicknamed Whispers (Terrence Mann). Why they’re so set on trapping these people, especially considering Whispers is another sensate, is… well, it’s never really explained; I suppose that’s something being left for season 2 (co-creator J. Michael Straczynski said there are hopes for up to five seasons). It’s Nomi who first encounters the organisation and as such, it instantly makes her storyline grip and standout, especially in the earlier episodes before things really pick up for the others.

Reading this back, this all comes across a lot more negative than I’m intending it to. Sure Sense8 has its flaws, but they don’t detract from many of the aspects that this show succeeds in, a lot of which to me seem pretty unique for television. First of all, its scale is genuinely impressive, with a team of directors including regular collaborators Tom Tykwer (Run Lola Run, Perfume) James McTeigue (V for Vendetta) and Dan Glass splitting directing duties across countries. None of them have lost their keen eye for constructing great action scenes, of which there are plenty in a range of cool contexts and unlike any really ever seen on TV before.

The programme-makers have to be commended for their choice to use this platform as a means to explore a range of personal themes which are often sidelined in more mainstream fare, including attitudes to fluidity in gender and sexuality, religious fundamentalism and differing politics of identity around the world. I’ve seen complaints online that the show is nothing more than homosexual propaganda, that it is an attempt to shove gender politics down collective throats. Whilst some aspects are highlighted more than the plot needs them to be, I still find it pretty remarkable that a now-major network is happy to give space to a show which preaches tolerance and respect of difference, and one which doesn’t shy away from issues such as character reactions to Nomi’s gender, or undercurrents of misogyny in business, here in Korea.

The interactions between the sensates provide some of the most affecting moments of this show, and the show uses some pretty novel approaches to visualise their linkages, such as shared conversations split between two locations neatly edited together (although this does lead on to one pet-peeve I have with films which this show commits which bothered me a bit, namely I hate it when foreign characters in films speak English rather than their own languages. Okay, English was needed here logically for the interactions to make sense across borders, but when whole scenes in Germany are done with characters speaking English, that does irritate me a bit. Alright, rant over now).

I felt characters were nicely developed, with some going on story arcs and having touching moments which I remember well, such as Kala’s childhood memory of seeing a vast religious procession through the eyes of a giant Ganesh float as her realisation of the importance of religion and of the beauty in the world. Later scenes where the sensates finally get to come together and help each other out in a big way also stick out – a chase scene where Nomi escapes from the police being a standout and being the closest the show gets to the setpiece standouts of the Wachowskis’ films. That said, at times in these bits, it can’t help feeling like characters often get reduced to their most prominent skills, only turning up at integral moments when needed, such as Sun providing all her kickboxing training for every fight scene, or Capheus’s experience driving.

But again, these are minor quibbles in a show which I enjoyed greatly, and which probably shouldn’t be questioned too pedantically. Kudos again to the programme-makers for being willing to take risks and go ahead with a show which they are obviously deeply passionate about. With just so many shows being made these days, I personally find it exciting to watch something which is obviously trying to take new approaches and cover new ground, and I imagine Sense8 will be a show which will only get bolder now it has taken its first steps.

Daring Drama on Channel 4 part two: Glue

Well, E4 to be precise, but there’s no point being so pedantic! Not that the fact that it’s on E4 is a problem, when you remember plenty of great shows had their starts on the channel, from Skins to The Inbetweeners, Misfits and My Mad Fat Diary. Glue is also focused around the lives of a group of teenagers, but is far more grounded and serious than these other shows. Early ads for the show seemed to promote it as a kind of rural version of Skins, with clips of forest parties and good-looking teens making out, intercut with shots of rolling landscapes. One commenter on the Youtube video of the trailer called it “a mixture of Skins and Broadchurch“, and from first impressions that seemed fairly accurate.

Now I’m five episodes in, I can say it’s definitely much more than that. Glue was written by Jack Thorne, who won BAFTAs for his work on The Fades on BBC3 and This Is England ’88, as well as writing a few episodes of Skins, and the quality of this new show continues the success of his previous work. It follows the lives of a group of teens living in the country; their work, relationships, secrets and ambitions. The opening scene shows them taking drugs and jumping into a grain silo to experience the feeling of the fall, and texture of the grain as they sink. The bliss of that night is broken when one of them is found dead in a field the next day, murdered.

The murder mystery element is definitely what sets this teen drama apart from other shows, and the gradual plotting and reveals of the characters’ secrets and issues make this an excellent example of good mystery writing. All the features are here: the enclosed setting; the multiple characters, all with potentially harmful secrets all revealed over time and through investigation which could make anyone a suspect; multiple plotlines and dead ends to complicate the investigation; hints to clues which may prove key. Like all good mysteries, these are all rational and complicit allusions to the crime which can’t help making you feel like you can solve the crime yourself, making you want to desperately know who did it (because frankly I genuinely have no idea who the murderer is right now, and that’s a great thing!).

Unlike an episode of something like Miss Marple, this rural mystery also has proved itself to be an entirely realistic depiction of life for young people in the country. The characters are richly drawn and beautifully performed, and the time taken to reveal new layers and secrets makes your suspicions change regularly. There’s James (Billy Howle), the farmer’s son torn as to whether to stay home and continue working on the farm; Tina (Charlotte Spencer), the trainee jockey still dabbling with drugs; Rob (Jordan Stevens, one half of Rizzle Kicks!), a slacker feeling entitled to take no responsibility for anything; plus Ruth (Yasmin Paige), escaping from a troubled background with Romany travellers by joining the police. The murder proves a perfect catalyst for Glue to test their relationships – friendships, love affairs, conflicts – meaning the show never loses sight of its teen drama roots.

Glue is also a fascinating exploration of rural politics. From the plights of struggling farm communities and lack of funds and business, to controversial relations with Romany travellers, and the severe lack of opportunity for young people. It all provides rich background for the setting, as well as ample motivation for much of the story, and shows Glue to be an unusually detailed and well-researched drama. Beneath the beautiful English landscapes (which are beautifully and crisply shot; I really do wish I could watch this in HD), there’s revealed to be a black heart, from the isolation and tribulations of a small rural community in the 21st century.

Glue‘s also refreshingly frank in the way the best teen dramas are. Taboo subject matter is rightly confronted, from extreme forms of drug taking, to a mature attitude to nudity and sex (including a unusually high amount of male nudity), as well as considering daily life in the country in a unblinking manner, such as the slaughter of animals on the farm, to the politics of horse racing.

Much of the show’s success does come down to the performances, which are unifomally excellent from the young cast. Full of faces which make you think “I’ve seen him before! Isn’t he… what’s-his-face from… that show I saw”, these are a bunch of seriously talented young actors and definitely one of the main reasons why you should be watching this show. Plus the careful plotting and detailed characterisation make Glue seriously addictive viewing. The Mentos ads which play before and after the show declare this “fresh telly”, and I’ve got to agree. As Glue progresses, it keeps getting better, and the end of the episode five was gripping enough to make me wish I could binge on the rest of the eight episode series. All the episodes so far are on 4oD, and you should definitely check them out; Glue deserves to be seen by more viewers.

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.

“It’s a strange world” – Delving into the dreams of David Lynch

Finally, my first original blog post! In a long time, admittedly. And I’m not making things easy for myself by deciding to attempt to decypher the films of David Lynch. This has all come about because part of my summer viewing, trying to fill the post-uni void, has been the two series of Twin Peaks (1990-1991). I’ve been wanting to watch it for a while but simply kept forgetting about it, especially when I have so many other shows on the go. But I’ve finally started, and am currently making my way through season two, and I’m so glad. It’s really something special!

For a show that’s over 20 years old, it still feels remarkably fresh. Daring even, with many of the show’s plot twists, stylistic flourishes, strong directing, bold (and quite large) cast of characters, and surrealist elements coming across as pretty radical even now. Which makes it all the more remarkable considering this preceded the rise of the supposed third golden age of quality television, usually signalled as beginning with The Sopranos (1999-2007). Twin Peaks has a distinctly cinematic feel to it which I can’t help feeling has been a huge influence on later shows (someone please tell me if there are other more important examples!), such as its careful and expressive use of lighting and framing, and the importance of visions and dream sequences.

The show is centred around the investigation into the murder of Laura Palmer, a popular schoolgirl and homecoming queen from the small rural town of Twin Peaks in Washington state, near the Canadian border. Special Agent Dale Cooper (Kyle MacLachlan) of the FBI is brought in to investiagate. However, the murder mystery actually only makes up a small part of the show, which is more concerned with the lives and stories of the eccentric townspeople including Laura’s boyfriend Bobby (Dana Ashbrook), her secret lover James (James Marshall), her best friend Donna (Lara Flynn Boyle), her grieving parents (Ray Wise and Grace Zabriskie) as well as the insidious goings-on of wealthy businessman Ben Horne (Richard Beymer) and his sultry daughter Audrey (Sherilyn Fenn). For me, Agent Cooper is fast becoming one of my favourite characters ever – both immensely practical and infectiously positive, he’s a joy to watch.

What I admire most about this show, and indeed all of Lynch’s work, is its sense of tone. The show has the cold seriousness of a mystery investigation, but also contains many melodramatic elements of a soap opera when focused on the other characters. Many scenes even have a weird sense of humour to them which can be genuinely and unexpectedly funny. The first season even parodies its soapy roots, by having many plot elements run parallel to those of an in-show daytime soap called ‘Invitation to Love’. Finally, there is a supernatural undercurrent which blurs and layers the show, giving it added depth and making it more mystifying and unique. What I really respect is how even within scenes, this tone can veer from deeply creepy and unnerving, to sublimely ridiculous without it feeling forced or off. This is partly helped by Angelo Badalamenti’s near-omnipresent soundtrack, which can be both jazzy and atmospheric. A lot of it comes down to the consistency of the show’s writing and directing though.

This all got me thinking about David Lynch, and how, from the few films I’ve seen so far, his work seems so distinctly… well, Lynchian. He has the most impressive control of atmosphere, and puts a real importance on sound design and iconography. So I decided to go on a bit of a mini-Lynch marathon and see how some of his films compare to Twin Peaks, which I’ve found so inspiring.

Wild at Heart (1990)

“You got me hotter than Georgia asphalt”

I think this was quite a weird film to start with, because Wild at Heart seems fairly different to the films I’d seen before. Much of the darkness and disturbing dream logic isn’t present. Instead this is a pulpy thriller, one with a broad and pretty crass sense of humour which you aren’t supposed to take too seriously. I really wanted to like this film, and the first half hour or so seemed promising. A young lovers on the run tale, it follows the road trip of Sailor (Nicolas Cage) and Lula (Laura Dern). Sailor had been imprisoned and separated from Lula for killing a man who had attacked him with a knife, but he’s done his time and now they escape together, much to the chagrin of Lula’s deranged mother Marietta (Diane Ladd). Maddened by jealousy and the thought of her daughter with a criminal, she sends both a private detective and a hitman after them.

I’m not sure whether this differing tone is perhaps due to this being the only one of Lynch’s films I’ve seen which is an adaptation, being based on a pulp novel by Barry Gifford (I haven’t seen Dune (1984) yet). The problems I found with this film is firstly that I began to find it boring towards the middle, as the story became more self-indulgent and plodding. A lot of the plot involves various flashbacks as characters describe events or reminisce, which I found messy storytelling. Indeed, I couldn’t help feeling Lynch in this case was far too interested in iconography and deranged excess, that it comes at the expense of proper context and characters.

I do really like Nicolas Cage and Laura Dern in this; they give it their all despite the limited development of their characters, like his Elvis-style drawl and awesome snakeskin jacket (“a symbol of my individuality, and my belief in personal freedom”), to her high-school wild charm. An early scene where Sailor wins a fight in a club, then leads the band in a rendition of an Elvis Presley track is pretty cool. A lot of the dialogue is snappy and quotable. But many of the characters are pushed to the point of cartoonishness, from Marietta’s screaming and smearing lipstick all over her face, to Willem Dafoe’s slimy bad-toothed gangster. A scene where he sexually threatens Lula leaves a nasty taste in the mouth, coming across like the film is almost sneering at Lula’s abuse. Yet even the two leads are barely drawn more than pop culture cliches. It all begins to undermine the seriousness of the storyline. On top of that, the film’s frequent references to The Wizard of Oz as an attempt to comment on the plot begin to feel heavy-handed after a few mentions. Some of Lynch’s surreal twists are here, but they feel out of place with the rest of the film which ends up a mess for me.

Blue Velvet (1986)

“I don’t know if you’re a detective or a pervert…”

It was a few years since I’d seen this, and what surprised me on both viewings is how straightforward I found Blue Velvet. Not to say that it’s simple, it’s still a weird and psychologically complex film about destructive sexuality and voyeurism. But more that the storyline is surprisingly grounded and driven – it has a definitive beginning, middle and end. College student Jeffrey Beaumont (Kyle Maclachlan) returns home to the quaint suburbs of Lumberton to visit his father who has been hospitalised. One day when walking through a field, Jeffrey finds a severed ear, which he takes to the police. Through this, he begins a friendship with a detective’s daughter Sandy (Laura Dern), and through her learns how the ear may be linked to investigations into a nightclub singer called Dorothy Vallens (Isabella Rossellini). His curiosity piqued, Jeffrey begins investigating Dorothy himself, which takes him into a seedy world of crime.

What’s so great about Blue Velvet, similar to Twin Peaks, is its hybridity of tone and genre. Blue Velvet plays out like a neo-noir detective story, but also contains elements of horror, erotic thrillers and teen films. It’s this combination of teen drama, and the innate curiosity and innocence of its protagonists, as contrasted to the darker elements of the story, which I find so interesting. As many have pointed out, this film is about the sinister underbelly of everyday America, the disturbing events hidden beneath the ordinary surface, often symbolised through images of insects such as in the iconic opening scene. This is a major theme in Twin Peaks too, and watching this back, I can see how this theme had such a big influence on later films like Donnie Darko (2001) and Brick (2005). For me, this film also has some of Lynch’s most well-developed and interesting characters. From Jeffrey and Sandy’s natural awkward teen dialogue and 1950s throwback style, but especially with Dorothy’s vulnerable and tortured sexuality and Dennis Hopper’s foul-mouthed character Frank Booth, with his iconic gas mask and disturbing recession into violent sexuality which is almost childlike.

I can’t recommend Blue Velvet highly enough, it really is terrific. Dealing with fairly disturbing subject matters, it nonetheless still has a human soul beneath all the extreme events, and this comes down to the strength of the script and characters. It’s easy to see how this is Lynch’s most personal film, from the small-town American setting to the deliberate evocation of 1950s pop culture and music. And that really shows through with the overall essence of the film.

Lost Highway (1997)

“Dick Laurent is dead”

These are the words that start the bizarre and hyperstylised madness of Lost Highway. I’m not going to admit to fully understanding this film, not all of it made sense to me. I doubt it’s even meant to make sense or have broader meaning, or it simply probably does only in Lynch’s head. Fred Madison (Bill Paxton), a nightclub saxophonist, lives with his wife Renee (Patricia Arquette) in their angular minimalist house in Los Angeles. They begin to receive packages containing videotapes of their home being filmed. These tapes become increasingly intrusive, going on to filming the inside and even the couple as they sleep. The police can’t help. Fred later meets a mysterious man at a party, who informs him that they’ve met before. And after this, well, it’s hard to explain. Not without giving away too much. However, my overall reading of the film seems to be that Fred, through a combination of jealousy and grief, tries to transform himself, to mask the terrible things he’s done even from himself.

Lost Highway saw the revisiting of some of Lynch’s most prominent themes. The darker, seedier side of American life is here foregrounded however by the LA underbelly setting. It’s still undeniably creepy, from the home invasion-horror vibes at the start, to Robert Blake’s chilling pale faced man. The hybridity of genres continues, borrowing from film noir to psychological horror. But I feel it lacks some of the subtlety of Lynch’s best work. Full of brash visuals, an overabundance of sex (Patricia Arquette seems to spend a great deal of the film naked and/or screwing), bursts of pounding Rammstein songs – this attempt to depict a decent into madness tends to work best in the quieter moments, those that build a sense of dread. Overall though much onscreen seems designed primarily to shock.

Looking back now, it can be seen that a lot of Lost Highway seems to build towards the completeness of Mulholland Drive. Both films share similar themes: storylines in roughly two parts, characters/actors playing dual roles, violently jealous lovers, LA settings, mystery men secretly pulling the strings.  As a result, this can’t help Lost Highway seeming like the lesser film. There’s much to admire, especially in the more enigmatic and atmospheric moments. But the patient pacing, sudden shifts in content and focus on such unlikeable and often impenetrable characters made this hard for me to like.

Mulholland Drive (2001)

“Hey pretty girl, time to wake up.”

Mulholland Drive has certainly developed a formidable reputation for itself. One of the most critically adored films of the 21st century, but also one of the more divisive and challenging films. Watching this again now, I certainly agree. This film is so incredibly rich – in ideas, in depth, and in quality of production.

Like Lost Highway, I’m not going to admit to fully understanding this film. Many questions are left ambiguously answered, and lot of theories abound online attempting to answer them: what is it about? which parts, if any, are dreams? who is dreaming? (This theory I stumbled on is one of my favourites, and definitely one of the more entertaining ones). I’m not going to attempt to explain what I think it’s about, I don’t think that’s the point of this film. And frankly that sort of writing and analysis deserves a post to itself. Hopefully I can attempt one in the future, definitely after another viewing.

Featuring a collection of seemingly disparate vignettes, the story focuses on Betty (Naomi Watts), a naive and eager small-town girl who arrives in Los Angeles in the hope of having a career as an actress. As she moves into her aunt’s apartment, she finds a woman (Laura Harring) hiding there, scared and lost after losing her memory in a car accident. The woman takes on the name Rita after seeing a poster for Gilda starring Rita Hayworth. Whilst preparing for Betty’s first audition, the two women investigate Rita’s past. Meanwhile, a Hollywood director (Justin Theroux) finds his latest project being sabotaged by gangsters, demanding he give his lead role to an unknown actress called Diane Selywn.

Watching this again, I enjoyed and appreciated it a lot more. I think the first time I was so caught up in trying to understand it all that I got lost. This time, like with Lynch’s other films, I got caught up in the atmosphere, the mood of it. Many parts of this film are disturbing in ways I can’t really put my finger on. Shamelessly calling back to my degree, this brings to mind Susan Sontag’s belief that the overinterpretation of artworks reduces the affective power of the work by attempting to shoebox it in to pre-existing interpetative ideas and theories. She calls for an increased focus on form over content, to regard more how a film affects us on an emotional and sensorial level, rather than attempting to force supposedly hidden meanings upon it. Lynch’s films I feel are appreciated best when viewed in this way. They are studies in mood, time and place. Whilst the complex story is certainly impressive, I personally didn’t feel the need to fully break it apart. The way Mulholland Drive made me feel told me everything I needed to know about what it wanted to convey.

The quality of this film really comes to the strength of the directing, which expertly conveys the feelings of the characters at different points of the film, which are often radically contrasting. The very careful focus on often small details – the distorted features of a gangster behind a glass screen, the relay of phone calls between criminals, the appearances of lamps and keys at vital scenes – all creates a sense of both dread and curious anticipation. Similarly, by having the main characters both naive and, in Rita’s case characterless, they become blank slates for the audience. They discover clues as we do, and we can see their development as the malevolent forces within the diegesis begin to affect them. The very self-conscious referencing of film noir cliches, but tinged with an almost supernatural twist, turns this into a scathing critique of the Hollywood system, one where creative freedom is restricted and skewed.

Finally, I have to mention Angelo Badalamenti’s score, which is simultaneously both his darkest but also his most romantic. It gives real presence and depth, and displays the contrasting feelings within the film, as well as genuine affections between characters.

I decided to focus on the films which I felt were more obviously within the same vain as each other. I’ve seen Eraserhead, but don’t really fancy watching that again! I’ll hopefully watch The Elephant Man, The Straight Story and Inland Empire soon when I find the time.

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.