Music I would say that a good percentage of the music I listen to is from film soundtracks -- usually the quasi-music inspired by and from items which turn up with anything. It's unusual how few really good examples there are around. The worst are just a collection of songs without any seeming coherance to the choices, all different and clinging together hoping the listener won't assign them to obvlivion with the use of the skip button.
I've found that the really good soundtracks are those which both evoke the film they're based on but at the same time are as unique and enjoyable away from the movie. This can definately be seen in 6Music's list of top five songs as voted for by listeners. In all of the cases listed the album itself is an excellent introduction to a particular style of music -- as though a genre has made a mix-tape to promote itself including both popular hits and forgotten classics. Yes even Dirty Dancing. As is customery in these situations I offer my top five.
Grosse Pointe Blank
Groundhog Day
Almost Famous
Stealing Beauty
Martha, Meet Frank Daniel and Lawrence
Although that's far from complete but I really couldn't live without any of them so it will do for now.
I've found that the really good soundtracks are those which both evoke the film they're based on but at the same time are as unique and enjoyable away from the movie. This can definately be seen in 6Music's list of top five songs as voted for by listeners. In all of the cases listed the album itself is an excellent introduction to a particular style of music -- as though a genre has made a mix-tape to promote itself including both popular hits and forgotten classics. Yes even Dirty Dancing. As is customery in these situations I offer my top five.
Grosse Pointe Blank
Groundhog Day
Almost Famous
Stealing Beauty
Martha, Meet Frank Daniel and Lawrence
Although that's far from complete but I really couldn't live without any of them so it will do for now.
Sculpture About two years ago I wrote: "I love art. I was almost part of the art world. But I can count the number of art objects that have given me a gut wrenching emotional response on one hand." That was when I was trying to describe the profound effect Georgina Starr Crying had on me. I've never actually elaborated on what the other four fingers represent. Today I had the chance to revisit the forefinger.
I first and last saw Anthony Gormley's Field at Tate Liverpool in the Summer 1993. It was just before I went to University, a brief break during the months when I was pointlessly reading through a series of core course books instead of being out enjoying my final month of being a school leaver. I think I went with my Mum (she'd dragged me away from the books which I thought were so important) and to be honest I don't remember all that much about that visit.
But I do remember going back alone and standing there again, looking over the sea of simple orange faces stretching on across the gallery space and wondering how something so profound could come from the mind of a human being. I felt very small -- smaller even that the little clay figures because I didn't feel like I had the capacity for that kind of inspiration, or to be able to say the things they seemed to want me to say to them. That Field was made with people from St Helens and Ibstock, a local brick making company. Which was the other process which threw me -- that something so universal could be created by local people. Made it even more personal somehow.
So here I was today, eleven years later in Tate Liverpool looking over those little black eyes. This time it was about familiarity and nostalgia. Things had been so much easier then -- I'd been looking up across my twenties as a time for potential for all the possibilities. A decade later the philosophy has drifted away and I looked at Field for what it is, thirty-five thousand clay models arranged in such away we perceive a hoard of beings looking up expectantly.
This time I had something to tell them, and was ready, but when I looked down, they seemed to know it already. They were eyeing me in such a way that wanted to explain it all to me instead but couldn't because their makers hadn't decided to give them mouths as though to keep their secrets from the world. This Field was manufactured in 1990 by the Texca family of brick-makers in Mexico, sixty men, women and children aged from six to over sixty; if you agree with the idea that when someone moulds clay the put something of themselves into it, this Field was older and had a greater degree of experience and was from a place I might never see in my lifetime.
Eavesdropping on the conversations of other visitors I discovered that Field is going into storage after its visit to Liverpool. It feels like it should be displayed permanently somewhere, in a massive room; perhaps all of the different Fields from around the world could be brought together, accessible enough that anyone can make the pilgrimage just to stand in front of them and ponder. A fellow visitor had another idea. She wished she could have a couple under a tree in her garden so that she could see them every morning before work. Which on reflection sounds like an astounding merchandising idea.
I first and last saw Anthony Gormley's Field at Tate Liverpool in the Summer 1993. It was just before I went to University, a brief break during the months when I was pointlessly reading through a series of core course books instead of being out enjoying my final month of being a school leaver. I think I went with my Mum (she'd dragged me away from the books which I thought were so important) and to be honest I don't remember all that much about that visit.
But I do remember going back alone and standing there again, looking over the sea of simple orange faces stretching on across the gallery space and wondering how something so profound could come from the mind of a human being. I felt very small -- smaller even that the little clay figures because I didn't feel like I had the capacity for that kind of inspiration, or to be able to say the things they seemed to want me to say to them. That Field was made with people from St Helens and Ibstock, a local brick making company. Which was the other process which threw me -- that something so universal could be created by local people. Made it even more personal somehow.
So here I was today, eleven years later in Tate Liverpool looking over those little black eyes. This time it was about familiarity and nostalgia. Things had been so much easier then -- I'd been looking up across my twenties as a time for potential for all the possibilities. A decade later the philosophy has drifted away and I looked at Field for what it is, thirty-five thousand clay models arranged in such away we perceive a hoard of beings looking up expectantly.
This time I had something to tell them, and was ready, but when I looked down, they seemed to know it already. They were eyeing me in such a way that wanted to explain it all to me instead but couldn't because their makers hadn't decided to give them mouths as though to keep their secrets from the world. This Field was manufactured in 1990 by the Texca family of brick-makers in Mexico, sixty men, women and children aged from six to over sixty; if you agree with the idea that when someone moulds clay the put something of themselves into it, this Field was older and had a greater degree of experience and was from a place I might never see in my lifetime.
Eavesdropping on the conversations of other visitors I discovered that Field is going into storage after its visit to Liverpool. It feels like it should be displayed permanently somewhere, in a massive room; perhaps all of the different Fields from around the world could be brought together, accessible enough that anyone can make the pilgrimage just to stand in front of them and ponder. A fellow visitor had another idea. She wished she could have a couple under a tree in her garden so that she could see them every morning before work. Which on reflection sounds like an astounding merchandising idea.
Blog! Exhibit A in my case for continuing to use The Rules on this weblog (even though of late its meant that things have been a bit dull and brief -- things will pick up soon, I promise). But mistakes happen and hopefully Michael can dust himself off and start again.
Film You will have noticed that the Saturday Scene Unseen has taken a break, although something new will be along soon. In the meantime fans should take a look at this post at the remarkable Review: A Day which covers many of the things I would have gotten around to eventually and plenty of things I hadn't thought of.
TV Although I've only minimally been following it the last couple of months, I wanted Shell to win Big Brother. I did as soon as I saw her get out of the car on the first night. She was the most normal one there (although Dan runs a close second on that) which obviously hasn't made her too popular. Frankly if I have to choose from the final two, Nadia to win, if only to make a point about how progressive we've become of late.
Film (what again?) Useful piece from Suw which equates the formats of scripts and weblogs, what constitutes each and whether pinning down those definitions is all that important anyway.
Film A remarkably honest interview with Joe Dante about his career before and after the just about Ok Looney Toons: Back In Action:
"If you're going to make a movie like this starring characters that you've owned for years you wouldn't take all the cartoons off the air for five years before this feature, but that's what they [WB] did! When they got back all their old cartoons, which used to be owned by various different companies, they took them off the networks and they put them on a cable channel that they own - intermittently. So they weren't as fresh in the public mind as they thought they were. So when the picture came out the kids were not that familiar or even interested in those characters as they were in the Powerpuff girls or Japanese anime and some other stuff. And so it was very disappointing attendance."The main problem with that film is that it can't decide which audience it's trying to service. There are all these funny animals walking around, but there are also a hundred film references which fly over the top of their heads. Clearly as Dante says the kids have moved on from these characters so it would have been more interesting to cater for an older demographic with something nostalgic -- go even further in that direction. But -- oh yes -- they've already done that -- it's called Who Framed Roger Rabbit ...
Film I never hear anything good said about David Spade, and so toxic have the opinions I've seen that I in fact haven't seen any of his films. So I'm puzzled when I see the kind of self-depricating humour on display in the audio commentary for Dickie Roberts: Former Child Star as highlighted by The Onion AV Club: "After Wolf feigns snoring during a tender scene with Spade and McCormack, Spade says sarcastically, "People are bawling right now... They're bawling because they're going, 'Why isn't it Jim Carrey?'"
Film Fametracker fame audits my second favourite actor Liev Schreiber:
"Last weekend, we discovered that when Schreiber's got a big old face-on-the-poster lead in a huge summer blockbuster, we would have still liked even more; while Jonathan Demme's current remake of The Manchurian Candidate belongs to Schreiber and Meryl Streep (who plays his character's mother), and while it moves along at a brisk pace and never gets boring, the scenes that don't contain Schreiber's Raymond Shaw are a little less unboring than the ones that do.Any chance we could get him to appear in the new series of Doctor Who?
Who A rumour was printed in SFX magazine (published today) saying that negotiations were still ongoing regarding the inclusion of The Daleks in the new series of Doctor Who. Ho - hum I thought -- wishful thinking. Then I check the BBC website tonight and ... It's official! The Daleks are coming back after all. This alternate reality I'm living in is really turning out to be a grand place...
Comics Over the past couple of years, tv shows which would in the past, not necessarily by considered for licensing into a spin-off comic book series have appeared on the shelves. While it's not too much of a stretch to imagine Buffy: The Vampire Slayer in strip form, who would have thought cop shows such as CSI or The Shield would work in that format? Now the one programme which would seem to be impossible to transfer because its structure should only work within the demands of episodic television is published in graphic form.
In 24: One Shot, a prequel to the first season, we find Jack Bauer on his first day at CTU, meeting the team for the first time (some making more of an impression than others as you might expect). This being 24 within pages, Jack finds himself in an usual position of being the one man defending a young woman, the all important information source, against a terrorist threat.
As expected, in comparison with the elaborate storylines which appeared in three seasons of the television series it feels like quite a slight tale closer to the single story per hour format. In the book, which follows the series by taking place over a whole day, every two pages constitutes an hour with a clock at the top of each left hand page keeping the reader in touch with the time. Also, through clever use of crosscutting frames and dialogue and by following the mood of the series of separating the main characters as much as possible it just about gets away with feeling like its source.
Unsurprisingly, its Jack's story and on the nose writing from J. C. Vaughn and Mark L. Haynes keeps him perfectly in character, with dialogue which could be spoken by Keifer Sutherland. His likeness, and in fact the likenesses of all the character are perfectly in tune with reality. With Renado Guedes art it looks like an episode of 24, closely realizing the lighting and staging of the scenes as filmed - and those knowing looks are also there in force.
It's a surprising and interesting experiment, although its difficult to see how it might sustain itself as an ongoing series of books. It's impossible to see how that might work - an hour per issue and you risk the audience loosing interest as the day takes two years to be completed. A day an issue and repetition is sure to set in. And anyway, how many days can we spend with Jack before we risk overrunning the work of the tv series?
In 24: One Shot, a prequel to the first season, we find Jack Bauer on his first day at CTU, meeting the team for the first time (some making more of an impression than others as you might expect). This being 24 within pages, Jack finds himself in an usual position of being the one man defending a young woman, the all important information source, against a terrorist threat.
As expected, in comparison with the elaborate storylines which appeared in three seasons of the television series it feels like quite a slight tale closer to the single story per hour format. In the book, which follows the series by taking place over a whole day, every two pages constitutes an hour with a clock at the top of each left hand page keeping the reader in touch with the time. Also, through clever use of crosscutting frames and dialogue and by following the mood of the series of separating the main characters as much as possible it just about gets away with feeling like its source.
Unsurprisingly, its Jack's story and on the nose writing from J. C. Vaughn and Mark L. Haynes keeps him perfectly in character, with dialogue which could be spoken by Keifer Sutherland. His likeness, and in fact the likenesses of all the character are perfectly in tune with reality. With Renado Guedes art it looks like an episode of 24, closely realizing the lighting and staging of the scenes as filmed - and those knowing looks are also there in force.
It's a surprising and interesting experiment, although its difficult to see how it might sustain itself as an ongoing series of books. It's impossible to see how that might work - an hour per issue and you risk the audience loosing interest as the day takes two years to be completed. A day an issue and repetition is sure to set in. And anyway, how many days can we spend with Jack before we risk overrunning the work of the tv series?
Life Tonight was my first reading night. As I was clearing and tidying my room on Sunday, I found countless newspapers and magazines that I'd bought and subsequently not had time or inclination to read. Not wanting to throw any of them away ignored I gathered them in the box which had previously housed my new shoes and I sat this evening and worked my way through. In the end I only had about a week's worth -- so the most of the news was fairly current. At times it did feel like I was abroad somewhere remote getting the news from home days late. But most of the writing was in features format and most of that doesn't age. A pattern I did find was that most of the really affecting pieces were written by women; while the male writers banged on about politics here or abroad, female writers talked in the main about the nuts and bolts of life and in a funny way I found myself identifying more with their words.
In an almost related topic, my new brown laced shoes are only just beginning to break in. By last Thursday I could hardly walk and ended up going back to older pairs to let my feet settle back down. I put the new ones on again this morning and they weren't too horrendous -- I think I might be winning this battle. I tend to hoard old shoes -- for the afformentioned reason but also for sentimental reasons -- because I wore them on such and such a trip. But should I want to give them a new home, it's good to know that there are possibilities.
In an almost related topic, my new brown laced shoes are only just beginning to break in. By last Thursday I could hardly walk and ended up going back to older pairs to let my feet settle back down. I put the new ones on again this morning and they weren't too horrendous -- I think I might be winning this battle. I tend to hoard old shoes -- for the afformentioned reason but also for sentimental reasons -- because I wore them on such and such a trip. But should I want to give them a new home, it's good to know that there are possibilities.
Film Great little interview with Cameron Crowe about shooting his new film ElizabethTown in Kentucky:
"Well, it's beautiful and it looks like no other place in the world as far as I'm concerned and as far as our cinematographer is concerned, too, and he's a real master of photography and I love working with him. His name is John Toll, and he actually was the guy who filmed "Simpatico" (a 1999 movie featuring horse racing), so this is his second time around in Kentucky."Meanwhile, Cameron's official website went live recently and it's all happening...
Film I've just arrived back from seeing Natalie.... Mark Kermode sums up this horrible little film for me. "By the end, I wanted everyone to do what they had been promising for two hours and go screw themselves." Just awful. Apart from the photography. And Michael Nyman's music. And the acting. The script stank and so did the editing (it could have lost a good forty minutes without any discernable loss of clarity). The only redeeming feature of the trip was seeing a poster for Before Sunset on a wall and realising I can see it again locally soon. Speaking of which -- about that Nina Simone song -- AskMe may have the answer ...
Life I've been shaking the cobwebs out of my hard drive again. I have files on here which have been knock around since I was at University and often have desperately obscure file names like 'Ugh' and 'Dissme' (wierdly not my dissertation which I don't seem to have on file anywhere....) Anyway, some years ago I followed a night school course in Science Fiction writing which taught me that I didn't know how to write in that genre. But during the lessons we would have to do some short writing exercises. Which is were the following comes from. I haven't the faintest idea what it was in aid of or for that matter why I'm showing it here, except to say that even through the dialogue is extraordinarily clunky in places I like the mystery. Just what are they arguing about?
Darkness.
Lights up.
An office in a governmental building. Most of the furnishings are imagined, except for two large desks at opposite ends of the stage. Upon the left hand desk sits a personal computer and modem. On a swivel chair before this sits Dr. Amy Wood. She is in her early twenties, and wears a white lab coat. She is concentrating intensely upon the screen, her eyes in a state of sheer wonder. Upon her face are projected the green hexadecimal characters of the computer screen.
From off stage, a tapping is heard.
Amy:
Come in.
Her father enters. He is in his late thirties, and wears an old fashion tweed suit, and carries a battered leather suitcase. He projects a feeling of nerves and grief. He approaches his daughter tentatively.
Father:
Amy ...
Amy swivels around on the chair.
Amy (excitedly):
I've just been looking over the theory again. It's so amazing, how simple the whole thing is.
Father (dejectedly):
I ...
Amy:
So when can the trials begin?
Father:
I'm sorry.
Amy stands up and approaches him tenderly.
Amy:
Father ... (urgently) what's wrong.
Father:
We lost the vote.
Amy:
Sorry?
Father:
There won't be any trials. Funding is being withdrawn. The team will be re-assigned.
Amy turns her back to him. She is filled with horror. She recoils, and slaps him hard across the face.
Amy (screaming):
You bastard! How could you?
Father (rubbing his face):
There was no other way. No other choice to be made.
Amy:
You had the carrying vote - we both knew that. I thought I'd made you see how important this is.
Father:
I did it for all of us. For the future.
Amy:
What future? You'll be dead in a couple of years.
Father:
Please. Just calm down. Try to understand.
Amy (urgently):
Understand what? We have, sitting on that hard disk, the ability to double, perhaps triple our lifespan. The chance to do something with our lives ...
Father:
Sit down
Amy:
Spend more of your life doing some good other than being educated ...
Father (with force):
Sit down!
Pause.
Amy:
I won't do anything until you understand how important this is ...
Father (Fuming):
You may be a prize-winning scientist, but you are still my daughter. Now, sit down!
Amy gingerly sits on the chair. Her father breathes deeply to calm himself down.
Father (thoughtfully):
I don't want to lecture you like a child. We went through the projected statistics together. If we were to use your treatment, if we were to ... slow down the work of the aging gene, and everyone does live decades longer, within a few years, we would be in a state of over-population. Our planet would never recover.
Amy (also somewhat calmer):
What about the controls. Choosing who receives the treatment and who does not.
Father:
Who would make that decision? Who is to decide whether you or I - as was muted - should live longer than someone who works in construction or a similar profession? What makes our lives more important than theirs? These are simply the careers we chose.
Amy stands up and begins to pace around him.
Amy:
Can't you be selfish for a moment. You saw how Mother died. Wasting away ..
Father:
Her death hurt me more than you will ever know.
Amy (flippantly)
Not that you were there. She just slipped away, and you couldn't even be there.
Father:
I was busy. Despite the vote, this is an important discovery. You were there for her ...
Amy stops in front of him.
Amy:
I would just hate to see you go through the same thing, now. That was why I worked so hard. Now we have, and you are ignoring it!
Father:
So in your little scenario. Everyone is living longer. Has a whole life ahead of them. What I can't seem to make you see. In a few years, that's it. Not enough food. Fuel. What is there? Anarchy!
Amy (reflectively):
Maybe if I talk to the council again.
Father:
It won't help. The decision has been made.
Amy:
I can't accept it.
Father:
You must. For now. And perhaps, in the future, someone will find a way to spread our resources better. There will be an abundance. At that time the contents of that disk will bring what you hoped. But not in our lifetime.
Amy:
There is nothing that can be done?
Father:
Nothing. Let's not spend the time I have left fighting.
Pause.
Amy:
We won't. But it will take some time.
Darkness.
Darkness.
Lights up.
An office in a governmental building. Most of the furnishings are imagined, except for two large desks at opposite ends of the stage. Upon the left hand desk sits a personal computer and modem. On a swivel chair before this sits Dr. Amy Wood. She is in her early twenties, and wears a white lab coat. She is concentrating intensely upon the screen, her eyes in a state of sheer wonder. Upon her face are projected the green hexadecimal characters of the computer screen.
From off stage, a tapping is heard.
Amy:
Come in.
Her father enters. He is in his late thirties, and wears an old fashion tweed suit, and carries a battered leather suitcase. He projects a feeling of nerves and grief. He approaches his daughter tentatively.
Father:
Amy ...
Amy swivels around on the chair.
Amy (excitedly):
I've just been looking over the theory again. It's so amazing, how simple the whole thing is.
Father (dejectedly):
I ...
Amy:
So when can the trials begin?
Father:
I'm sorry.
Amy stands up and approaches him tenderly.
Amy:
Father ... (urgently) what's wrong.
Father:
We lost the vote.
Amy:
Sorry?
Father:
There won't be any trials. Funding is being withdrawn. The team will be re-assigned.
Amy turns her back to him. She is filled with horror. She recoils, and slaps him hard across the face.
Amy (screaming):
You bastard! How could you?
Father (rubbing his face):
There was no other way. No other choice to be made.
Amy:
You had the carrying vote - we both knew that. I thought I'd made you see how important this is.
Father:
I did it for all of us. For the future.
Amy:
What future? You'll be dead in a couple of years.
Father:
Please. Just calm down. Try to understand.
Amy (urgently):
Understand what? We have, sitting on that hard disk, the ability to double, perhaps triple our lifespan. The chance to do something with our lives ...
Father:
Sit down
Amy:
Spend more of your life doing some good other than being educated ...
Father (with force):
Sit down!
Pause.
Amy:
I won't do anything until you understand how important this is ...
Father (Fuming):
You may be a prize-winning scientist, but you are still my daughter. Now, sit down!
Amy gingerly sits on the chair. Her father breathes deeply to calm himself down.
Father (thoughtfully):
I don't want to lecture you like a child. We went through the projected statistics together. If we were to use your treatment, if we were to ... slow down the work of the aging gene, and everyone does live decades longer, within a few years, we would be in a state of over-population. Our planet would never recover.
Amy (also somewhat calmer):
What about the controls. Choosing who receives the treatment and who does not.
Father:
Who would make that decision? Who is to decide whether you or I - as was muted - should live longer than someone who works in construction or a similar profession? What makes our lives more important than theirs? These are simply the careers we chose.
Amy stands up and begins to pace around him.
Amy:
Can't you be selfish for a moment. You saw how Mother died. Wasting away ..
Father:
Her death hurt me more than you will ever know.
Amy (flippantly)
Not that you were there. She just slipped away, and you couldn't even be there.
Father:
I was busy. Despite the vote, this is an important discovery. You were there for her ...
Amy stops in front of him.
Amy:
I would just hate to see you go through the same thing, now. That was why I worked so hard. Now we have, and you are ignoring it!
Father:
So in your little scenario. Everyone is living longer. Has a whole life ahead of them. What I can't seem to make you see. In a few years, that's it. Not enough food. Fuel. What is there? Anarchy!
Amy (reflectively):
Maybe if I talk to the council again.
Father:
It won't help. The decision has been made.
Amy:
I can't accept it.
Father:
You must. For now. And perhaps, in the future, someone will find a way to spread our resources better. There will be an abundance. At that time the contents of that disk will bring what you hoped. But not in our lifetime.
Amy:
There is nothing that can be done?
Father:
Nothing. Let's not spend the time I have left fighting.
Pause.
Amy:
We won't. But it will take some time.
Darkness.
Wars The new ending of Return of the Jedi? Waxy seems to think so, and I'm in the mood to believe him. If I was the original actor I would be a bit cheesed off...
Blog! There is something about Jeff Maurone's story about having dinner with Bill Gates which is too close to the not so recent film Antitrust:
"We all met at various locations on the Redmond campus and boarded coach buses after being identified against our badges. The buses then proceeded through Seattle's eastside to an undisclosed location in close proximity to Bill's home. We then left the buses and were subject to airport-level security. This included shoe-removal, metal detectors, random screenings, etc. After being subject to this, we all transferred to smaller shuttles and proceeded into the unknown."The only difference is that in the film only Ryan Phillipe arrived at Tim Robbins house. Here, many minions were gathered together to hear their master's voice.
Film Blogging late tonight after spending three or so hours watching D W Griffith's Intolerance, his 1916 film which switches between four time frames to tell the story of man's inhumanity to himself. At a distance of eighty years, its surprising how much of the film holds up. For the uninitiated, the action tells the story of the crucifixion, the massacre of St Bartholomew's Eve, the fall of Babylon and a contemporary story in depression hit America.
It's the latter two which have the most impact. This was the most expensive film of the time because in order to tell the story Griffith actually built Babylon on the backlot to scale and filled it with extras - imagine if Peter Jackson had actually built the whole of helms deep without any CGI material then hired all of those people instead of computer generating most of them and your there. It's famous because despite the larger cameras of the time he uses sweeping crane shots to demonstrate the epic sweep of the action.
The contemporary story, a sort of early century version of Ken Loach's Cathy Come Home works because the performances, despite the lack of sound have a naturalistic feel - although some of actors display over the top hand gestures (a real danger in the silent era), the leads all have a quiet dignity and by the end, a race to save a condemned man I found myself getting rather excited - again for the time the editing is surprisingly swift and contemporary.
This stuff isn't for everyone and it eventually took me four and a half hours to see the whole piece after pauses and intermissions. I would also recommend finding a copy with a decent soundtrack. The version I rented had a nasty Hammond organ plinky plonky noise in the background which distracted rather than enhanced the action; I ended up turning it off and putting on some world music compilation cds which worked surprisingly well, especially when the music co-incidentally fitted the action onscreen. Not that I would say this is the best way to enjoy the films. Georgio Morodor still has a lot to answer for because of what he did to Metropolis.
It's the latter two which have the most impact. This was the most expensive film of the time because in order to tell the story Griffith actually built Babylon on the backlot to scale and filled it with extras - imagine if Peter Jackson had actually built the whole of helms deep without any CGI material then hired all of those people instead of computer generating most of them and your there. It's famous because despite the larger cameras of the time he uses sweeping crane shots to demonstrate the epic sweep of the action.
The contemporary story, a sort of early century version of Ken Loach's Cathy Come Home works because the performances, despite the lack of sound have a naturalistic feel - although some of actors display over the top hand gestures (a real danger in the silent era), the leads all have a quiet dignity and by the end, a race to save a condemned man I found myself getting rather excited - again for the time the editing is surprisingly swift and contemporary.
This stuff isn't for everyone and it eventually took me four and a half hours to see the whole piece after pauses and intermissions. I would also recommend finding a copy with a decent soundtrack. The version I rented had a nasty Hammond organ plinky plonky noise in the background which distracted rather than enhanced the action; I ended up turning it off and putting on some world music compilation cds which worked surprisingly well, especially when the music co-incidentally fitted the action onscreen. Not that I would say this is the best way to enjoy the films. Georgio Morodor still has a lot to answer for because of what he did to Metropolis.
TV Off The Telly is five years old already. I can't admit to being with them all that time, but I'm pleased that I discovered them some time in 2001. Unlike certain other sites which throw pages and pages of content on-line with questionable results in terms of quality, OTT has happily published its three articles a month and sporadic reviews and it's a strategy which consistently works and in some cases leaves other print publications standing. For example this month they're carrying an interview with Patrick Dowling and Ian Oliver the creators of The Adventure Game, a retrospective look at an older piece which speculated as to what the schedules of the five main channels might look like by now, and another installment of their long term discovery of what makes Saturday night's tick. Each of them provide the same scholarly yet informative style which we've come to expect and hope will continue for another five years.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)