A Host of Disney Sequels

With the release of Kenneth Branagh's much-hyped Cinderella, an analysis of the sudden influx of live-action Disney remakes reveals the film industry's struggle between its desire for progressiveness and obsession with the safety of the past.

Last year, Robert Stromberg's Maleficent provided a strongly feminist, post-modern interpretation of one of Disney's most enduring classics. Barely passing a reverse Bechdel Test, the film reimagined Maleficent from a two-dimensional traditional villain to a complex character with a rich and affecting back story. With many praising Angelina Jolie's performance as outshining even the film's vast special effects, it became clear that Disney fairytales, despite their timeless quality and enduring appeal, could benefit from some tasteful updating.

However, it is becoming clear that not all will be able to pull it off. After the phenomenal box office success of 2010's Alice in Wonderland, it should come as no surprise that Tim Burton has once again been appointed to helm the bringing to life of another Disney classic. His interpretation of the Lewis Carroll novel turned innocent Alice into a sword-wielding action heroine among a world of eye-popping special effects, and was extremely popular among audiences. But a live-action version of Dumbo, with it's trippy dream sequences, racist caricatures and the unpopular, animal cruelty-ridden setting of the circus may not ingratiate itself so well to modern audiences. Already the thought of a CGI, anthropomorphic baby elephant soaring through the air under the volition of his own ears is causing toes to curl among film critics.

Much more hopeful, however, appears to be the fate of next year's Tarzan movie, tentatively titled Tarzan Untamed. Wisely avoiding too much vine-swinging loincloth action, Harry Potter director David Yates will reportedly have Swedish actor Alexander Skarsgård, in his first role as a Hollywood leading man, embroiled in a dangerous political conspiracy upon his return to the Congo several years after the events of the Disney classic. An extremely strong supporting cast which includes Samuel L Jackson, Christoph Waltz and John Hurt means that this Pirates of the Caribbean-style adventure will hopefully avoid the ludicrousness which other adaptations of Edgar Rice Burroughs' character have fallen victim to.

Many other Disney adaptations also lurk on the horizon in an era which, from Jurassic World to the nth Star Wars, is already saturated with sequels and remakes. Emma Watson has been confirmed to star as Belle of Beauty and the Beast, another premise which must undergo a careful reinterpretation if it is to hold up to the standards of today. Glenn Close is hoping to reproduce the success of Maleficent with the similar Cruella. Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson will bring a subtle touch of the USA to a new version of The Jungle Book. With all this only one thing is certain: that Hollywood's drive to make money with safe, bankable products is crippling the production of anything remotely risky, innovative or original.

The Doctor's Vase

For Throwback Thursday this month I have decided to publish one of my very first short stories from a few years ago - a Doctor Who fan fiction which turned out surprisingly emotional and won the competition it was entered in. The Doctor's Vase:

Juliet -

I hummed to myself as I threw a new lump of clay onto the wheel. This would be my third attempt of the day. I knew how to make the vase, just not to decorate it with. I had tried leaves, horses and stars, but nothing fit. As the vase blossomed into shape before me, a strange kind of humming filled the air. Stopping the wheel, I stared in amazement as a blue police box materialised before me.
It pulsed, becoming more solid by the second. At last it stopped, and the door opened. A man looked out. The strangest man. He was dressed in an old fashioned suit, braces, and a bow tie. He smiled when he saw me.
"Hello!" He greeted me. "Sorry, but would you mind telling me where and when I am?" He frowned when I told him. "That's not good, not good. I shouldn't be here, something brought me here..." He started when I spoke to him.
"Would you mind telling me how you and your box got into my house?" I exclaimed.
"Sorry! How very rude of me. I'm the Doctor, this is the TARDIS and you're in terrible danger." He ran into the shed where I kept my pottery. I was shocked at this outburst, scared by the last part and angry at how he had wormed his way out of my question.
"What danger? There's nothing in there, only pots." He was examining each pot with an oddment; I suppose it was a screwdriver, which was making a high-pitched whirring noise and flashing green.
"If you only make pots, then what is that box doing there?" He pointed to a newer addition, a clay box with the inscription of a dragon on the lid.
"I didn't make that, I found it." I answered, going to pick it up.
"Don't!" He flung his arm out, forcing me to stop. "Don't touch it, don't even look at it for too long, because you didn't find it; it found you." I stared.
"But it's a box." I couldn't comprehend what he meant. The Doctor pulled me back a step.
"Maybe, but have you looked inside it?" His knowing eyes probed me.
"No I...I couldn't open it." I said.
"What's your name?" He asked.
"Juliet. Juliet Murphy" I answered.
"Juliet, lovely name. Well you may want to step back a bit Juliet, because whatever is inside that box is going to kill you, and for that reason it has to die." I retreated to the door and folded my trembling arms.
"Fine, but it better not mess up my potting shed" I threatened. His eyes crinkled in amusement as he opened the window and threw the box.
It shattered on the hard-baked earth, and a black substance poured out. Like a living shadow it rose to head height and became rounded. A freezing Arctic wind blasted from its core. I shivered, not only from the sudden cold, but from the realisation that I had been sleeping with that thing just a few inches from my face in the next room. I suddenly noticed that the Doctor had drawn a small, glowing sphere from his pocket. At the sight of it, the shadow reared back, but that wasn't enough for the Doctor. He threw it, and with remarkable accuracy it hit the shadow, exploding it in a shower of sparks and dust. He smiled at me, obviously pleased with himself. I was too shaken to smile back, and just stared at the space in the air where the monster had been.
"T-that thing...has, has it gone forever now?"
"Yes." His face was serious now. "And it won't come back, I promise." With that he turned to go.
"Hey, wait! You can't just go running off!" I ran after him. He left the door to his blue box, the TARDIS, open. I followed him inside. And stared.
The TARDIS was bigger on the inside. And I mean bigger. At the centre of the circular room was a giant, pulsing pillar. Around it was numerous lit up buttons and dials. I ran straight back out again and circled the box, just to make sure. Then I went back inside, lost for words. The Doctor looked up from the console.
"Oh, sorry I forgot, it's bigger on the inside."
"I'll say. What is this machine, what does it do?"
"It's a time machine. It takes you to any time, anywhere."
"Any time...anywhere?"
"Yes. You know, I could use some company on my travels, maybe you could come with me?" He asked, his face hopeful.
"Travel in time? With you?"
He nodded. "Come with me, Juliet Murphy. Come with me and see all of time and space, everything that ever happened or ever will, every planet and every person that that ever made history or future." I could only nod. The Doctor grinned. "Great! I'll give you a few minutes to pack, and then I'll be back." With that I left the TARDIS, and it disappeared in the same strange way it had arrived. Excitement overtook me, and I bolted for my bedroom. Throwing some clothes and shoes into my battered old suitcase, I went back to the wheel room, sat upon it and waited.

***

The Doctor -

I was happy as I set the dials on the TARDIS for five minutes later than the time I had left. I hated travelling alone, although it was best that way, so I was pleased to have a companion. As soon as the TARDIS landed I opened the door, expecting to see Juliet waiting for me. Instead I was greeted by a pile of rubble, where her house should have been. Oh no. Not again. I had made this mistake before; I should never have left her. With a sick feeling in my stomach I confronted an old man shuffling past.
"Hey!" He started, looking at me warily. "What happened to the house that was here?"
He looked at me like I was mad.
"The house that was here was empty for ages. Then it was hit by a bomb in the War." A cold hand crept its way round my hearts. The old man continued, oblivious. "The only thing they found was an old vase. It's in the museum down the road." Before he had finished speaking I was off, sprinting towards the TARDIS, desperate to find out what had happened to her.
I reached the museum and ran inside without paying, heading for the pottery section. When I got there, I headed for the largest vase in the largest cabinet where I knew, somehow, it would be. The intricate design brought a lump to my throat. The label read:

The vase above was found in an empty house near this museum. The unusual design is one of the finest works of English pottery to date. It is named "The Doctor and his TARDIS." It's maker is unknown.

My Ten Favourite Films of 2014

1. Boyhood (Richard Linklater, USA)

I could go on and on about this wonderful film, but for the full review see my post from last year.

2. I Origins (Mike Cahill, USA)

By far the saddest and most underrated film of the year, I Origins is Mike Cahill's second gift to us after his brilliant debut Another Earth.

3. Snowpiercer (Bong Joon-ho, South Korea)

Unfortunately, unless you attended the Edinburgh Film Festival, it is unlikely that this science-fiction masterpiece graced your cinema screen. Due to editing conflicts, Snowpiercer has struggled to be released in many countries, but if you take the time to find it you will be well rewarded.

4. Interstellar (Christopher Nolan, UK/USA)

It is unlikely that this film has escaped your notice, and for good reason. Christopher Nolan's space odyssey is Americana-oriented but a tour-de-force of special effects and scientific thinking.

5. Force Majeur (Ruben Östlund, Sweden)

Sweden produces many incredible films each year, and Force Majeur is one of the best; a tense family drama of epic proportions.

6. Only Lovers Left Alive (Jim Jarmusch, UK/Germany)

Jim Jarmusch's understated hipster bloodsuckers are the best vampires of the year, a difficult task within a genre which can be so easily ridiculed.

7. Birdman (Alejandro González Iñárritu, USA)

From one of Mexico's most skilled directors comes a darkly comic look at the fading of Hollywood stars and the power of the mind.

8. Gone Girl (David Fincher, USA)

Another dark and menacing novel adaptation from the master of unsaturated lighting and characters with psychopathic tendencies, David Fincher. Rosamund Pike is more evil than she looks.

9. The Giver (Phillip Noyce, USA)

A young-adult novel from before they were cool, Lois Lowry's The Giver translates excellently to the big screen, even after Jeff Bridges waited twenty years to produce it.

10. 300: Rise of an Empire (Noam Murro, USA)

Though not quite as thrilling as it's predecessor, 300: Rise of an Empire is a fitting exhibition of Zack Snyder's trademark style and the best sword-and-sandals epic of the year.

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:

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.

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?’

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.