My recently published essay on gender performativity in Allen Ginsberg's 'Howl' and Angela Carter's The Magic Toyshop can be found on page 57 of this journal:
Tuesday 2 December 2014
Saturday 18 October 2014
The Problem with The Riot Club
When the Labour party next receives a five-minute slot on prime time television, they could do worse than to show a selection of clips from The Riot Club, Lone Scherfig's thriller about the darker side of the ten-bird roasts and Latin drinking games enjoyed by the Oxford elite which will surely have ex-Bullingdon club members squirming in their hunting boots. Pedigree progeny Max Irons and Freddie Fox join Douglas Booth and Sam Claflin to polish their cheekbones and sneer at the poor in a series of excellent performances. Most of the cast is comprised of privately educated up-and-comers, but this entirely fits the characters and the message of the film.
Interestingly, the film deals with an aspect of gang culture which is often overlooked; that is, pressures to fit in among the upper classes rather than in areas of poverty. This time, however, the threatening hijinks which ensue among the club members have the added menace of the fact that, should any real trouble arise, daddy and the old boys network will surely bail one out. It's an intoxicating mix.
Yet with a script that lacks any really vicious political satire, what is left is that these young men wind up playing the worst stereotypes of themselves. And all are capable of far better performances. From Booth's understated roles in the BBC adaptations Christopher and His Kind and Great Expectations to Irons' blustering Edward IV and Fox's playful, doomed Edwin Drood, the cast have asserted their acting credentials long before this film. However, despite this comes the reviews containing the ever-present whine which accompanies the success of actor from a higher class; that acting is becoming a career only for the rich, that aspiring thespians from a more modest background are put off by the high financial risk of the industry. This is a problem, but not one which should be addressed whilst discussing a film adapted from a play named Posh.
Interestingly, the film deals with an aspect of gang culture which is often overlooked; that is, pressures to fit in among the upper classes rather than in areas of poverty. This time, however, the threatening hijinks which ensue among the club members have the added menace of the fact that, should any real trouble arise, daddy and the old boys network will surely bail one out. It's an intoxicating mix.
Yet with a script that lacks any really vicious political satire, what is left is that these young men wind up playing the worst stereotypes of themselves. And all are capable of far better performances. From Booth's understated roles in the BBC adaptations Christopher and His Kind and Great Expectations to Irons' blustering Edward IV and Fox's playful, doomed Edwin Drood, the cast have asserted their acting credentials long before this film. However, despite this comes the reviews containing the ever-present whine which accompanies the success of actor from a higher class; that acting is becoming a career only for the rich, that aspiring thespians from a more modest background are put off by the high financial risk of the industry. This is a problem, but not one which should be addressed whilst discussing a film adapted from a play named Posh.
Wednesday 20 August 2014
A Millennial's Perspective on Boyhood
Every so often a film will arrive which is so strong in its epitomization of a genre or theme that it succeeds in killing it off entirely. The Godfather sounded a warning knell for the mobster film, as did Shane for the Western. Others become so iconic that they subsequently inspire an entire generation to expand and explore the genre’s possibilities. Danny Boyle’s 28 Days Later provided such a boon to the flagging British horror industry, and innumerable science-fiction films owe some aspect of their inception to Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey. It is difficult to anticipate which of these effects we will have Richard Linklater’s Boyhood to thank for, a film so epic and stirring that it cannot fail to have some seismic consequence.
The contemporary filmic bildungsroman is one I usually dislike, a restrictive genre which produces films all too often overly quirky and self-aware in an attempt to pander to their target audience. They too frequently lean towards nostalgia, either formally or within the setting, directors preferring to connect with the childhoods of older audience members and avoiding the generation growing up now, a confusing and complicated one so different from anything that has gone before. Not only does Linklater capture the maturation of a young boy so perfectly, he does it with a lyrical simplicity that allows the film’s 164 minutes of running time to slip by naturally, unaided by gimmicks such as voiceover (used to death in order to indicate every teen’s disconnected feeling) or subtitles of the date, providing a quiet and unbroken story as the years move on.
Being Mason’s exact age, watching a childhood so close to my own, with a perfect score on metacritic, resplendent on the silver screen was incredibly moving. A film that directly connects with an individual is an unforgettable one, but this is difficult for the filmmaker to orchestrate. In making such an extensive film, Richard Linklater creates a series of moments which will undoubtedly resonate with millennials and their parents alike. Watching a real twelve years of actor Ellar Coltrane’s life, one would receive a similar effect marathoning the Harry Potter series, but never has such a vast expanse of real time been condensed so perfectly. Cultural indicators, from Gameboys to Obama’s election to Lady Gaga, instead of dating the film, allow the story and the family to feel increasingly familiar to us. By the end the viewer is left shaking their head and, like any parent, wondering 'how did he grow up so fast?’
The contemporary filmic bildungsroman is one I usually dislike, a restrictive genre which produces films all too often overly quirky and self-aware in an attempt to pander to their target audience. They too frequently lean towards nostalgia, either formally or within the setting, directors preferring to connect with the childhoods of older audience members and avoiding the generation growing up now, a confusing and complicated one so different from anything that has gone before. Not only does Linklater capture the maturation of a young boy so perfectly, he does it with a lyrical simplicity that allows the film’s 164 minutes of running time to slip by naturally, unaided by gimmicks such as voiceover (used to death in order to indicate every teen’s disconnected feeling) or subtitles of the date, providing a quiet and unbroken story as the years move on.
Being Mason’s exact age, watching a childhood so close to my own, with a perfect score on metacritic, resplendent on the silver screen was incredibly moving. A film that directly connects with an individual is an unforgettable one, but this is difficult for the filmmaker to orchestrate. In making such an extensive film, Richard Linklater creates a series of moments which will undoubtedly resonate with millennials and their parents alike. Watching a real twelve years of actor Ellar Coltrane’s life, one would receive a similar effect marathoning the Harry Potter series, but never has such a vast expanse of real time been condensed so perfectly. Cultural indicators, from Gameboys to Obama’s election to Lady Gaga, instead of dating the film, allow the story and the family to feel increasingly familiar to us. By the end the viewer is left shaking their head and, like any parent, wondering 'how did he grow up so fast?’
Sunday 1 June 2014
Revolution, On-screen and Off... Film Review: Battleship Potemkin
Sergei Eisenstein is often considered to be one of the most complex film directors of his time. Simultaneously artist and engineer, Jewish and bisexual, his cinematic creativity and innovation were often overshadowed by his strong political agenda, and his films collectively mark him as one of the most significant filmmakers of the communist regime. His second full-length feature, Battleship Potemkin (1925), aroused such shock in its audience that it was banned in multiple countries, primarily because of its portrayal of violence. Eisenstein’s primary aim was to create a propaganda film showing the horror and oppression of the Tsarist regime, in particular by portraying a massacre of innocent civilians by Nicholas II’s troops in the famous Odessa Steps sequence. It is said that he was eating a cherry and threw away the stone, and the idea for the falling pram came as it bounced down steps. Seeing that steps are like the world tilted forwards to form a stage, he decided that murder should be filmed on such a stage. Eisenstein developed his ground-breaking editing techniques and “ploughed the mind of the audience,”1 and the film took the world by storm. It was admired by Charlie Chaplin, Walt Disney and Joseph Goebbels. Many critics claim that Battleship Potemkin merely justifies violence. However, the humanism in the film is hard to miss, and it could also be argued that it instructs the audience in making a revolution, but also highlights the desire for peace that comes from conflict.
Battleship Potemkin can be viewed simultaneously as a work of art, showcasing ingenious new creative techniques, and as a government propaganda film, designed not only to inform and entertain but to influence the viewer. The primary aim of the director if we reflect upon the film in relation to its intended audience is control, through fear and anger. Eisenstein makes full use of a viewer’s natural fear of change and the unknown in order to make the film more memorable. An example of this can be seen at the opening of Act Five, ‘Meeting the Squadron.’ As the Potemkin turns its guns upon the town of Odessa, three brief, consecutive shots of stone lions combine in quick succession to generate the impression that the lion is alive, and jumping to its feet. The resulting image is disconcerting; not only has the attack produced “an upheaval that shakes even statues to life,”2 but the violence and conflict occurring around has caused even a lion, the traditional symbol of bravery, to start in fear. It is likely that Eisenstein was aiming to unnerve the audience with this. The alteration of the reality of Tsarist Russia into the new world of the revolution is reflected by the bending of reality with the moving lion, and is likely to yield a primitive reaction in the audience; the revulsion and fear of things that cannot be. The lion is one of the only things that comes to life in Battleship Potemkin. The themes of death, and more importantly the threat of death are paramount when dictating audience response.
Ultimately, Eisenstein’s aims in creating Battleship Potemkin are twofold. As a dedicated advocate of and propaganda creator for the Soviet government, his primary concern was to make a film heralding the acts of bravery which led to the overturn of the Tsarist regime. Numerous narrative and cinematographic techniques conspire to present a powerful, if one-sided view of the 1905 revolution. Villains are entirely evil and heroes faultless in this simple plot which, as the director intended, has the power to raise strong political convictions out of the audience. This is achieved not only through the film’s portrayal of violent oppression of innocent civilians by armed forces, but also by appealing to our sympathetic human nature. By using images and situations which dictate the audience’s emotional reactions, such as the image of the crushed boy, the pram in peril or the martyred sailor, Eisenstein is able to forge a deeper connection with the audience based on empathy, rather than one merely made through shock and anger. Thus, as well as his strong socialist principles, Eisenstein’s humanism also shines through, showing his sympathy and identification with the oppressed common workers. However, despite this, Eisenstein’s political convictions never manage to overshadow his passion and flair as an artist and filmmaker. His development and use of cinematography and editing, in particular his employment of Soviet montage, continue to make the film as technically relevant today as it was upon release, and many of his ideas and techniques continue to be employed by and inspire directors today.
Battleship Potemkin can be viewed simultaneously as a work of art, showcasing ingenious new creative techniques, and as a government propaganda film, designed not only to inform and entertain but to influence the viewer. The primary aim of the director if we reflect upon the film in relation to its intended audience is control, through fear and anger. Eisenstein makes full use of a viewer’s natural fear of change and the unknown in order to make the film more memorable. An example of this can be seen at the opening of Act Five, ‘Meeting the Squadron.’ As the Potemkin turns its guns upon the town of Odessa, three brief, consecutive shots of stone lions combine in quick succession to generate the impression that the lion is alive, and jumping to its feet. The resulting image is disconcerting; not only has the attack produced “an upheaval that shakes even statues to life,”2 but the violence and conflict occurring around has caused even a lion, the traditional symbol of bravery, to start in fear. It is likely that Eisenstein was aiming to unnerve the audience with this. The alteration of the reality of Tsarist Russia into the new world of the revolution is reflected by the bending of reality with the moving lion, and is likely to yield a primitive reaction in the audience; the revulsion and fear of things that cannot be. The lion is one of the only things that comes to life in Battleship Potemkin. The themes of death, and more importantly the threat of death are paramount when dictating audience response.
Ultimately, Eisenstein’s aims in creating Battleship Potemkin are twofold. As a dedicated advocate of and propaganda creator for the Soviet government, his primary concern was to make a film heralding the acts of bravery which led to the overturn of the Tsarist regime. Numerous narrative and cinematographic techniques conspire to present a powerful, if one-sided view of the 1905 revolution. Villains are entirely evil and heroes faultless in this simple plot which, as the director intended, has the power to raise strong political convictions out of the audience. This is achieved not only through the film’s portrayal of violent oppression of innocent civilians by armed forces, but also by appealing to our sympathetic human nature. By using images and situations which dictate the audience’s emotional reactions, such as the image of the crushed boy, the pram in peril or the martyred sailor, Eisenstein is able to forge a deeper connection with the audience based on empathy, rather than one merely made through shock and anger. Thus, as well as his strong socialist principles, Eisenstein’s humanism also shines through, showing his sympathy and identification with the oppressed common workers. However, despite this, Eisenstein’s political convictions never manage to overshadow his passion and flair as an artist and filmmaker. His development and use of cinematography and editing, in particular his employment of Soviet montage, continue to make the film as technically relevant today as it was upon release, and many of his ideas and techniques continue to be employed by and inspire directors today.
Wednesday 9 April 2014
Welcome to Icarus Two... Film Review: Sunshine
Iconic and brilliant British director Danny Boyle conquers yet another genre with his masterful sci-fi epic Sunshine. From the grimy, drug-addled underbelly of Edinburgh discovered in Trainspotting to the sinister idyll of The Beach, Sunshine is one of Boyle's more profound, meditative works, and, in my opinion, his best. Its parents? The pedigree lineage of Tarkovsky’s Solaris and Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey. Its children? Moon, starring a lonely Sam Rockwell and, most recently, Alfonso Cuarón’s nail-biting Gravity.
The film adeptly employs some of the classic science-fiction tropes of old, such as oxygen privation, mysterious signals, and unexplained, violent occurrences, yet it still manages to be entirely, terrifyingly innovative. With the fate of the world at stake, an international cast from as far afield as Japan and Malaysia is ingenious, and one example of Sunshine's superiority over its larger-budget US counterparts. The thinly-sketched crew roles are one of the film’s weaknesses, but everything, from the effects to the script and the pacing, is done with such skill that we find ourselves rooting for them anyway.
Sunshine may not have the gleeful evil of Shallow Grave, or the crowd-pleasing tricks of the Slumdog Millionaire giant which eclipsed it a year later. Neither too does Cillian Murphy nor Chris Evans have the star power to solely carry it on their tinfoil-clad shoulders. What Sunshine does instead is leave a deep, lasting impact on you. This is partly because of the score; John Murphy’s stunning Adagio in D Minor, which makes the pivotal sequences all the more gut-wrenching, sticks in the mind far longer than any high-budget special effects. Sunshine’s deeper metaphysical questions, less ‘are we alone in the universe’ than ‘what are we to the universe?’ prove that the film has brains to match its high-concept, even as the third act descends a little too far into horror territory, with Murphy being pursued by a manic ex-crewmember (Mark Strong). His character's punishment perhaps, for daring to think that we are anything more than the third rock from the sun.
The film adeptly employs some of the classic science-fiction tropes of old, such as oxygen privation, mysterious signals, and unexplained, violent occurrences, yet it still manages to be entirely, terrifyingly innovative. With the fate of the world at stake, an international cast from as far afield as Japan and Malaysia is ingenious, and one example of Sunshine's superiority over its larger-budget US counterparts. The thinly-sketched crew roles are one of the film’s weaknesses, but everything, from the effects to the script and the pacing, is done with such skill that we find ourselves rooting for them anyway.
Sunshine may not have the gleeful evil of Shallow Grave, or the crowd-pleasing tricks of the Slumdog Millionaire giant which eclipsed it a year later. Neither too does Cillian Murphy nor Chris Evans have the star power to solely carry it on their tinfoil-clad shoulders. What Sunshine does instead is leave a deep, lasting impact on you. This is partly because of the score; John Murphy’s stunning Adagio in D Minor, which makes the pivotal sequences all the more gut-wrenching, sticks in the mind far longer than any high-budget special effects. Sunshine’s deeper metaphysical questions, less ‘are we alone in the universe’ than ‘what are we to the universe?’ prove that the film has brains to match its high-concept, even as the third act descends a little too far into horror territory, with Murphy being pursued by a manic ex-crewmember (Mark Strong). His character's punishment perhaps, for daring to think that we are anything more than the third rock from the sun.
Tuesday 18 March 2014
Make it from the Movies - Another Earth
Having seen Mike Cahill's sad, touching sci-fi drama Another Earth, who could forget the multitude of resonating images presented to us on the screen? Whether it's the huge, beautiful Earth 2 ever present in the sky of each scene, or the shocking final shot, what could be better than having your own little piece of Another Earth to keep at home with you? Just to remind you that, perhaps, we're not alone in the universe...
http://www.chicaandjo.com/2008/05/08/magic-folding-wooden-photo-cubes/
This website has the best instructions for making your own version of Rhoda's cool folding puzzle cube. Use big square pictures of planets for an accurate representation of the original, or catch the pictures of the promotional one below. Get making!
Sunday 16 March 2014
Have Yourself a Merry Little War... Film Review: Meet Me in St Louis
When discussing his new film, producer Arthur Freed declared that he would make it “into the most delightful piece of Americana ever.” With the nation in the grip of the Second World War, the Hollywood studios, while hoping to simultaneously inflame public hatred of the Nazis and quieten any fears of defeat, stampeded to produce films which accordingly celebrated patriotism and encouraged escapism. This began in 1939 with the release of blissful, romantic epics such as Gone with the Wind and The Wizard of Oz, and resulted in the production of many films throughout the 1940s which showcased plucky heroes and family values, from Disney’s Pinocchio to John Ford’s The Grapes of Wrath (both 1940). Perhaps one of the most memorable and beloved of these, however, is Meet Me in St Louis (Minnelli, 1944). The film’s eternal appeal is not difficult to pinpoint; the casting of well-known favourites such as Judy Garland, Mary Astor and Margaret O’Brien combine with a repertoire of relentlessly memorable songs, from the catchy and cheerful “The Trolley Song” to the wistful “Boy Next Door,” to perfectly capture and deliver the public need for hope over anxiety. What struck me most about Meet Me in St Louis, however, was the filmmakers’ willingness to address the American fear of displacement at this time, and turn this into an unforgettable yet meaningful film.
A lengthy and expensive scriptwriting process was just the beginning of the uncertainty and trouble that shadowed the production of Meet Me in St. Louis. The Sally Benson stories on which it was based were digressive and anecdotal, and so had to be vastly cut down, eliminating scenes in several new locations as well as a whole other family of characters. The result lends a very insular, almost stifling feel to the film, with the family as a community coming first, and very few scenes taking place outside of the home set. Even as the world comes to St Louis, in the form of the 1904 Purchase Exposition, the film is still entirely concerned with the fate of the Smiths and their little household, whose entire story hinges on their unwillingness to leave town and live somewhere new. Minnelli celebrates this fact even with Esther’s closing line, “Right here where we live. Right here in St. Louis.”
In making one of the most charged and unusual musicals of Hollywood’s prime era, Vincente Minnelli manages to perfectly blend his genius in both the genres of musical, such as the opening scene in which the title song is seamlessly picked up by different members of the Smith family, and melodrama, for example within the dark, long takes of the Halloween sequence. In my opinion, it is in its treatment of its themes that Meet Me in St Louis most excels. The fears of change, movement and unfamiliarity which were driving America at the time are addressed and reassured within the film, from the showpiece trolley sequence, the family values and the near worship of the titular hometown. Minnelli manages to inject pathos and joy at precise moments, allowing the film’s influences on the audience to be fine-tuned so as to provide maximum effect.
A lengthy and expensive scriptwriting process was just the beginning of the uncertainty and trouble that shadowed the production of Meet Me in St. Louis. The Sally Benson stories on which it was based were digressive and anecdotal, and so had to be vastly cut down, eliminating scenes in several new locations as well as a whole other family of characters. The result lends a very insular, almost stifling feel to the film, with the family as a community coming first, and very few scenes taking place outside of the home set. Even as the world comes to St Louis, in the form of the 1904 Purchase Exposition, the film is still entirely concerned with the fate of the Smiths and their little household, whose entire story hinges on their unwillingness to leave town and live somewhere new. Minnelli celebrates this fact even with Esther’s closing line, “Right here where we live. Right here in St. Louis.”
In making one of the most charged and unusual musicals of Hollywood’s prime era, Vincente Minnelli manages to perfectly blend his genius in both the genres of musical, such as the opening scene in which the title song is seamlessly picked up by different members of the Smith family, and melodrama, for example within the dark, long takes of the Halloween sequence. In my opinion, it is in its treatment of its themes that Meet Me in St Louis most excels. The fears of change, movement and unfamiliarity which were driving America at the time are addressed and reassured within the film, from the showpiece trolley sequence, the family values and the near worship of the titular hometown. Minnelli manages to inject pathos and joy at precise moments, allowing the film’s influences on the audience to be fine-tuned so as to provide maximum effect.
Tuesday 11 March 2014
Fashion Inspiration - Russia on Film
Some looks inspired by my favourite Russian-set films and TV shows! Time to get dressed up!
Ride out the revolution in style with these cosy babushka essentials.
Feel like lost royalty? With an outfit like this you'll be discovered in no time!
Feeling ill? Blow them all away with a sharp, professional look courtesy of Daniel Radcliffe.
Float through the grand halls of the Winter Palace with these pretty ideas.
Seduce the count - or anyone for that matter - and be the belle of the ball in splendid opulence.
Ride out the revolution in style with these cosy babushka essentials.
Feel like lost royalty? With an outfit like this you'll be discovered in no time!
Feeling ill? Blow them all away with a sharp, professional look courtesy of Daniel Radcliffe.
Float through the grand halls of the Winter Palace with these pretty ideas.
Seduce the count - or anyone for that matter - and be the belle of the ball in splendid opulence.
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