Film: Goldstone (Australia, 2016) - one of the best of Australian films

One of the best Australian films I have seen, if not the best, Goldstone is passing through our cinemas and will quickly vanish.  It is ostensibly about a detective seeking a missing person in an outback mining community, but this is one of those rare films where an engaging plot turns out to be secondary to the overall filmic experience.

After an unusually deceptive beginning, it is quickly clear that this film has power, strength and unity.  Strength in the dialogue - in particular the silences that respond to the dialogue.  Unity in the sparseness of the landscape which matches that of the dialogue - and the movement.  Power in the bursts of action that punctuate the apparently slow pace - but again, the periods of stillness are an inherent part of the action, a character and a characteristic of the film.

No, the pace is not a weight to be borne, a forced meditation.  The plot stands on its own feet - and in fact the trailer gives the impression it is a full-on action film, but the silences in between have more lasting impact.  It is the visual spectacle, the acting and above all the masterful filmmaking that eventually wins over the audience.

For what I know, depiction of the various communities and locations have a documentary authenticity.  The locale describes a wide, barren landscape, but gives clear hints that it is only a small part of a far larger, empty country that simply dwarfs its inhabitants.  One of the techniques to achieve this remains a mystery to me: the occasional aerial shot that is impossibly high and still.  Never seen anything like it.

There are outcomes rather than resolutions.  Many things in life don't have satisfying conclusions, but the film respects its audience enough to neatly tie up some of the loose ends.

The indigenous lead is Aaron Pedersen, who I recognised from a support role in Jack Irish, a competent set of detective telemovies located in urban Melbourne; here, he has the opportunity to shine, in an understated manner.  He has an impressive portfolio of work in tv and film.

Supporting roles include an oddly young-looking Jacki Weaver, an unexpectedly aged David Wenham, and David Gulpilil.

I later found that the director was indigenous filmmaker Ivan Sen; and that this had been his second feature to lead off the Sydney Film Festival; although it is characterise as a sequel, it is not strictly so, and is standalone.  Despite the accolades, I expect Goldstone to sink with little trace, simply because people are more acclimatised to Hollywood and its industrial-strength capital.  There is no solution, save to seek out this film while you have the opportunity.

Film: The Clock (UK, 2010)

At the Museum of Contemporary Art one rainy afternoon, I encountered one of the more unusual films I've ever seen.

Made by British-based video artist Christian Marclay,  the premise of The Clock is very simple: it's a montage of a large number of segments from various films (mainly Hollywood) where someone looks at a clock (or watch).  Moreover, it's been edited to show the time in real time - and it covers a full 24 hours.  Yes, that's how long it is, and you will normally find it scheduled to show the time in real time.  Which means over time, you'll carry an awareness of the current time.  This is a unique  breach of the fourth wall - that is, the film is constantly reminding you you're in real life.

The concept iself is quite neat.  But in fact, it's more than that, because the editing is good, and there is a certain coherency to it.  In some ways, it's the coherency of an mp3 player on shuffle, where the music gradually assumes a kind of sameness, a melding.  Yet in other ways, there is a feeling of something happening - or, often enough, something on the verge of happening.

And then the action moves on.  Another act in the "narrative" takes over.

As such, it maintains a rhythm: a steady rhythm, a post-modern one, which can perhaps get somewhat monotonous over time.  If you watch it long enough.  Or does it become meditative?  After a while, would you settle into the rhythm, find the constant time-check irritating, or be frustrasted by the "almost" nature of the action, or the lack of real continuity?  As it stands, I had to go after 35 minutes, but that wasn't quite enough to lose faith, and I was left wanting more.

Unsurprisingly, it looks like the most popular venue for this film is art galleries.  An experience more than entertainment, still escapism - but only to a point.  Because there's the steady tick ticking of the clock...

Contraband (US, 2012) - confounding the critics

I have to admit, I tend to agree with film critics in their judgements on films.  Broadly.  I often differ by degrees, but concur in the overview.

Contraband is one film that gives the lie to that.

I read some lukewarm to bad things about this film before I saw it.  So I was expecting a bit of incoherence and Hollywood shallowness - and I was quite pleasantly surprised.  You can read quite a few of those negative comments on Wikipedia - the sort of works that encourage you think it's not really worth bothering.  But I can only disagree with them.  There is really no doubt: Contraband is a definitely a good film.

The core plot involves an ex-smuggler whose family obligations compell him to do one more round, on a cargo ship picking up goods from Panama City.  In the process, he has to navigate a number of competing forces, none of whom are entirely ethical.

What did I like about Contraband?  Its complex plot, its gritty but telegenic cinematography, its taut direction, its view of a few worlds that I had not seen before (namely, freight shipping and Panama City), and some realistic characterisations - to name a few.

I like a complex plot, but a film that has plot holes is simply irritating.  Contrary to one review, I found it scored well on both counts.

In particular, there was a dizzying array of competing sides - numerous individuals and groups that had their own agendas: by turns collaborative then at odds with other parties.  Such a swirling script is epitomised by Guy Ritchie's Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, which takes several viewings to sort out all the nuances.  I believe I was on top of the shifting sands of this film, but it wouldn't do any harm to review the convolutions a second time around.

And that's a good recommendation: that it bears watching again.  I can't understand why those reviewers seemed to be watching a totally different film.

Best of 2010: Film, concert, album

My best-of for last year is based on when I absorbed it, rather than when it was released.  Films:



1.  Inception (US, 2010)
Complex enough to keep me engaged - twice.

2.  Up In The Air (US, 2009)
It's George Clooney, and it's funny.  That's more than enough to help the journey through some of the bitter undertones.

3. Avatar (US, 2009)
Spectacular.

4. The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo (Sweden, 2009)
Harrowing in places, but a very intricate plot.

5. Red (US, 2010)
Exemplary of what Hollywood's capable in an action thriller.  Very enjoyable for what it is.

These films struck me with enough impact last year, ahead of the rest of the pack.  Hovering below are films like Shutter Island and The Girl Who Played With Fire.

Best re-watch of the year
Beat The Devil (US, 1953) - yet again.  You have to know how to watch it to appreciate it.  It's really just a string of vignettes, written on the fly by Truman Capote, and carelessly tacked together by John Huston.  It's apparent that their enthusiasm waned, and the later scenes are somewhat shabby.  But the early scenes should be taken for what they are separately; and they are often masterful; often very funny.  Coincidentally, it's on ABC this Sunday night for those in Australia who want to record it.  It's public domain now.

Best concert of the year
Dave Graney and the Lurid Mist at Coogee Randwick RSL.  My hero, the King of cool.

Best CD of the year
Admittedly I've had my head in the ground, so there's been little for me to choose from.  But I do respect Corinne Bailey Rae's The Sea.

Book of the year
My reading has been mainly The Herald, New Scientist, and Wikipedia.  Even though I've not finished it, I will nominate Carl Djerassi's 1989 novel Cantor's Dilemma (thanks, Ray).  A fascinating overview of the politics of scientific and university research, and creditably written by a senior academic chemist.

Film: The Swimmer (USA, 1968)

This is a most unusual Hollywood film.  Not for its mise-en-scene and locational filming, the stomping ground of the rich East Coast upper middle class.  But for the way it blended realism and allegory in a fashion hardly ever seen in Hollywood.


It is based on a short story by John Cheever which was apparently substantially similar to the film.  However, the level of detail of the film is such that credit must clearly be given also to the scriptwriter, Eleanor Perry (wife of, and sometime collaborator with, the director Frank Perry).

Spoilers below.

The plot:
Burt Lancaster is Ned, a wealthy advertising executive, who conceives of a plan to "swim his way home" by doing a circuit of the swimming pools of all the people he knows in his leafy, well-heeled neighbourhood.  The film is effectively a group of set pieces at each of the pools he visits.

At first, he is greeted with heartiness as warm and eager as he himself exudes.  But gradually through the film, the apparent balmy day turns sharply autumnal, as do the people he meets.  A troubled recent past slowly emerges, which he doesn't seem to remember.
The receptions accorded to him slowly turn frostier, bitter even, when he meets some who he still thought of as close friends.

Gradually, as the circle closes, Ned arrives back at his own house, which is deserted and boarded up, his family long gone.  The rain pelts down on him, mirroring the futile blows he makes on the front door as he collapses and sobs.



I first saw this film as a teenager; it left an indelible mark on my memory.  But I don't fully trust my young impressions of adult films, so I grabbed the chance to see this a second time recently.  It didn't disappoint.

Certainly, it is dated.  It is very much a reflection of its 1960s wealthy, somewhat conservative milieu.  Yet the nature of the storytelling is quite disarming: its beginnings are steeped in super-realism, which is where the cinematography remains.  But allegory inexorably takes over the narrative.  You know the real story is below the surface; hints are given, but it's never firmly spelt out.  You start to wonder about his fall from grace, and the genre seems to have slipped into mystery: a puzzle to be revealed.  But it turns out that the story is the journey itself; the denouement is the very fact of his fall.

I am not familiar with the other works of the writer and the director, so this film must stand alone, albeit bearing the mark of the original writer, Cheever.

Made in 1966, but not released until 1968: the original director, Perry, left this project uncompleted: the cited "creative differences" probably saw him at odds with the film's producers.  For what it's worth, Sydney Pollack finished it.

On a final note, those who came in late may remember Burt Lancaster as a somewhat cheesy Hollywood actor with little that is memorable to his credit.  So it is salient to point out his presence in two films of moment: this, and an even more memorable work, 1957's hard-hitting film noir, Sweet Smell Of Success.  Seek it out.

Fight Club (1999):Clever film, appalling marketing

When I saw the trailer for Fight Club, it turned me right off.  Funny, because the trailer was apparently a specific attempt to market the film differently, because the studio had lost faith in the outcome.  I, for one, would have watched it first time around if I had understood what it was really about.

And their perverse marketing effort failed, and the film was unsuccessful on first release.  (See the details of this on Wikipedia.)

It's a lot of different types of film: noir, humour, thriller, romantic (not romance per se), but above all, well-written and clever.


Warning, there are some serious spoilers ahead.

It's a slow film to take off, in a lot of ways.  Early on, the humour carries it to a fair extent.  My personal feeling is that it flags through the middle.  But the final act is the reward, which combines smart writing with taut plotting, and some really engaging revelations.


The central issue, of course, is that Tyler Durden is the alter ego of the protagonist.  But the exploration of the themes clearly set the film (and original source novel) as strongly multidimensional.

There is a strong coherency to this film.  For example, in how  the protagonist beats himself up.

There is a humour, for instance with Bob.

There is a truckload of cleverness that, like a rapid-fire comedy, it's easy to miss if you're not concentrating.  For instance in how the protagonist "obtains" the gun from Tyler.

The final act is particularly satisfying, in its coherency and cleverness.  For example, in the number of people that have been planted to achieve Tyler's goal - building management and police in particular.

The film's direction is very effective in the hands of one David Fincher, whose other films have included Seven (1995) and The Game (1997).

Also see the Wikipedia article for discussions of copycat behaviour and parallels with clockwork orange.

Wikipedia contains some particularly interesting insights into the production of the film - how the source novel did and didn't provoke interest and faith in the project, and how the leads were assembled.  It's interesting to mull over the leads mooted, and how different the film might have been.

Especially interesting is discussion in the Wikipedia entry of the source novel, which suggests that it inspired some people to antisocial behaviour, yet inspired other people positively.  Whole dissertations to be had there.  That reference also includes a quote from the source novelist, Chuck Palahniuk: on a broader level "all my books are about a lonely person looking for some way to connect with other people."

Themes of dislocation, advertising, corporate lack of ethics, and diseempowerment, are much more real than a crummy advertising campaign about organised violence.

It is worth noting that plot's depiction of successes of anarchist/revolutionary aims is rather at variance with reality: very few coherent anarchistic or revolutionary actions have ever been achieved in wealthy nations.

Inglourious Basterds and the director's form

Following film via director's pedigree can be fraught - but ultimately very rewarding.  Few people can be pitch perfect all the time, and those who succeed well can also fail big.

Take Terry Gilliam.  Aside from the Monty Python films (which are largely turkey shoots), his first major critical success was the acclaimed Brazil.  His imagination shines glorious, in both the writing and direction.  Yet he perennially suffers from an ambition far greater than a capacity to realise, so he has crashed spectacularly.  Persistence was rewarded with the wonderful 12 Monkeys, but his record remains understandably patchy... but he's still worth watching for the times he pulls it off.

Jim Jarmusch, similarly uneven.  Early winner with Stranger Than Paradise, persistence richly rewarded with Dead Man. (But how could he come up with Ghost Dog?)

Christopher Nolan.  More consistent, in that his failures are only relative to his stunning successes.  See Memento and be a fan for life; The Prestige is another payoff.  Dark Knight, for all its violence, is obviously the product of a very skilled filmmaker.

Tarentino.  Pulp Fiction: top notch writing, top notch directing.  Some of his later films such as Kill Bill were little more than stylised ultra-violence.  But Inglourious Basterds (US, 2009) is Tarantino at top of form.  Again with more violence than necessary, but so well crafted, so well written.

You can come to a film by accident, or you can follow form assiduously.  Don't expect a payout every time, but it's worth the wait for the jackpot.

State of Play (US, 2009): an engaging thriller

Now here's an intelligent film, I thought when I watched this.

No, I don't mean Russell Crowe. I watch films despite him, not because of him.

But this one has quite an intricate, taut plot, one that keeps you working all the way through. Uncommon for a Hollywood film - then I found it was based on a British miniseries of the same name. That makes a lot more sense. This film probably draws a large amount of its credit from the original source - which was compared very favourably to the earlier Edge Of Darkness, another British political thriller - which I have seen, and which was particularly good, even second time around.

In fact, the original State Of Play was so complex the writer didn't want to sell the film rights because he thought it would be unworkable to condense it. Not to worry, he was eventually persuaded by enough money.

The film revolves around politics and journalism - set in Washington, rather than the original London. A minor theme is the tension between the new and the old of online versus traditional journalism. Somewhat overplayed at times, but it eventually resolved an acceptance of the validity of both paradigms.

On reflection, I believe Russell Crowe wasn't a great fit for his role. He was competent, but I expect others could have been more fitting. Apparently, Brad Pitt was originally up for the journalist role played by Crowe. I'm not a huge fan of his, either, although he gave a very creditable performance in Terry Gilliam's excellent 12 Monkeys. A good film can be ruined by miscasting; a great one can be dulled. Crowe didn't cripple this film, but he didn't enhance it.

In that sense, State Of Play could have been better. But regardless, it was a captivating watch; if only Hollywood were more often this engaging. Four stars.

Public Enemy (US, 2009): a must-miss film

Urk! I just found out the director of this film is the same Michael Mann who did Collateral, a 2004 film with Tom Cruise as an assassin.

What links those two films, apart from my desire to walk out on both?

Well, they're both full of gratuitous violence, both have dual protagonists who elicit no sympathy in the viewer... and both were shot in HD format rather than true film stock - yuck!

All factors add up to an appalling film. While my regard for Cruise is not high, I do have respect for Johnny Depp, particularly through his work on Jim Jarmusch's Dead Man. But he contributes little of interest to this film.

Plot? Not much. Dillinger robs banks and eventually dies. You already know the ending: he gets shot down by feds outside a cinema. So most of the film is spent waiting for him to make his appointment for that destiny. And it takes far too long.

Why I do like Harry Potter

Harry Potter grew up over the course of Joanne Rowling's seven books.

At first it was addressed at ten-year-olds, but as it became a stellar publishing phenomenon, the Harry Potter world became more serious. That is, the writing focused more on plot and less on the twee hokum that was meant to draw in the ten-year-olds, and which strongly characterised the first book.

It wasn't as if Rowling did a complete volte face to address a different and larger - adult - audience. A little of the hokum remained. But by the end of the last book, it is obvious the whole series was mapped out in advance to a stunning level of detail. But Rowling's content changed to accentuate what was compelling in the books - the intricacy of the plotting, the fervid imagination, the consistency of detail, the complexity of characters, and above all, a nuanced but strong ethical framework. The level at which these are achieved are not the hallmark of a merely competent writer caught up in a maelstrom of unexpected success (such as Dan Brown).

Once the final book is read, pick up a book at random from the middle of the series. You will find many details that are offloaded in passing, which don't seem to have specific plot relevance. Those same details then come with a much more meaningful context. ('"No - [spying on the deatheaters is] your job, isn't it"..."Yes, Potter" [Snape] said, his eyes glinting"' ). Of course, there are a lot of red herrings, but in a different light it's plain to see how some ideas have deeper meaning, while others simply mirror the myriad other possibilities that don't bear out.


There was an article doing the international rounds, a column from a British journalist: "Why I hate Harry Potter". But the writer was simply reacting to the Phenomenon - obviously hadn't read enough of the books to realise what a treat she was in for, if she'd had more wit and patience. That journalist shall be nameless, not like Rowling.

These books will have lasting significance, long after the films are relegated to archival status.

Star Trek 11

The concept was clearly an inspired one.

The cachet behind the Star Trek narrative may seem to be standard science fiction fare writ large and well-known; but it's more than that, and more than space opera (that is, simple action/adventure in a space context). But looming above all that is a character-driven and symbolistic language that at its worst can be wooden and self-derivative, but at its best can have an archetypic significance.

To explore the original nexus of the ensemble of archetypes can be as lucrative as it can be banal, which is why the idea was sensible. But, in fact, the writing of this film of the origins of the Star Trek crew is good (if not stellar), and the direction has a consistency and some high points that make this film one of the best in the series.

It is dynamic; it is not wooden; and if it is at times prone to cliche (as they all are), the highlights and the overall narrative make this film a very satisfying experience.

Upcoming films

Saw trailers for a few upcoming action films...

The trailer for the new Terminator film (Salvation) made it look like something of a cross between Mad Max and PK Dick's story Second Variety (although I rather doubt that is so).

The new Star Trek film had a surprisingly fresh feel. A series reboot (at film number eleven), it came across as more dynamic and less space-oriented than the earlier films. Promising.

And despite what I said yesterday, I could be sucked into seeing Angels And Demons. It's probably not a lot more preposterous than a lot of Hollywood boys films.

Why bother? Probably something to do with some of what I got out of the main feature, the new X Men film, X-Men Origins: Wolverine. Not a great film in the pantheon (of Hollywood films, even). Yet it was entertaining, the narrative was competent enough, but more important, it's pure escapism. Nothing else but a film at a cinema can so completely transport the spectator for a couple of hours. Sometimes that in itself can sometimes be worth the price of admission.

Angels and Demons... of film and book

Recently I saw a trailer for a film called Angels And Demons.

It is based on a book by Dan Brown. The film's a sequel to The Da Vinci Code - but the book was actually written and set prior to the Da Vinci narrative.

On the face of it, the trailer might suggest Angels And Demons is a happening sort of action film.

But I know better.

You might have thought Da Vinci Code was a preposterous load of tosh - some did. But at least it had an engaging puzzle for a narrative thread. At least Brown had learnt something by then - by comparison, Angels And Demons gives Da Vinci Code a shakespearean wit and moral fibre.

Yes, Angels And Demons is real load of tripe. Unbelieveable, in both the plot arc and the individual scenes. It's also what got the Catholic church up in arms over Da Vinci. Angels And Demons is far more scurrilous than Da Vinvi - downright inflammatory, to go with its incredulous storyline.

But I suspect Brown's profile was substantially lower at the time Angels And Demons was published. So the Catholic hierarchy probably let it slip by. Much to their later chagrin, no doubt.

The book Angels And Demons was likely constructed with Hollywood in mind. It's effectively one long car chase through Rome, punctuated with episodes of extreme violence. Oh and there's the conspiracy behind the events - perpetrated by the pope, naturally. And for good measure, there's that absurd fall from the helicopter - undoubtedly included in the film too. And the villain, that evil pope, gets his in the end.

One wonders what Brown has against institutional catholicism. Plausibly, nothing in particular - he just happened to pick a target. Or did he want to provoke controversy, to sell? I'll never know, because it's not worth bothering to find out.

(I'd also note that in the book, Brown tries to set up a 'science vs religion' argument - but again, the execution is so clumsy that it's not worthy of debate.)

Film: Shyamalan's The Happening

I have watched most of M Night Shyamalan's films, and on the whole I have found them quite imaginative, with some thoughtful writing.

I watched his latest film, The Happening on DVD, apparently having missed any theatrical release.

And I have to say, this film is surprisingly woeful. He writes in a similar milieu to his other works, but for some reason imbues this one with a paucity of meaning and quite an off-putting context - that in which people are en masse imbued with fully-realised suicidal impulses.

The point was weak, the story development was correspondingly so - in all its few tangents - and the characters unsympathetic. Casting was quite shoddy, and the actors neither developed or were encouraged to develop any depth of experience. This was more akin to a cheap slasher film than an intricately woven supernatural thriller.

I'm quite surprised to see such a mainline release that is so poorly planned and executed. Not recommended.


8 Feb Note: although the derisive casting (and acting) are not emphasised enough, a review in Time magazine bears an eerie similarity to the set of feelings I have for this film. (I hardly ever see a review that so closely echo my own sentiments.)

Top films of 2008 (#8 of 2008)

Personal picks, of those I have seen. I certainly can't claim to have seen the best: these days, I tend to make it only as far as the mainstream cinema up the road. Because of this, I saw plenty of very unedifying, average films. Roger Ebert offers a list of films I have largely missed, partly because of the above and partly because Australian release is behind the US, and some of his are still in the up-and-coming here. Ebert also favours Canadian director Guy Maddin - and I simply cannot stand his maddening work (the last I saw of his was largely incoherent, and I have no intention of testing the waters again).

I wanted to see Rock n Rolla, but it escaped me. I hope to see The Day The Earth Stood Still, despite quite poor reviews.

Those I can recall:

1. Michael Clayton. Marvellous thriller. And George Clooney.

2. Burn After Reading. Marvellous, George Clooney, and funny.

3. Indiana Jones And The Kingdom Of The Crystal Skull. Ham-fisted attempt to a) incorporate science fiction, and b) hand over to a new generation. But it is Indiana Jones.

4. Quantum Of Solace. The reboot works, despite remaining over the top.

5. The Dark Knight. Surprisingly good acting from Heath Ledger. (some media stupidly characterises him as an Oscar "hopeful".)

6. The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button. Wide in scope and technically impressive, however its philosophising is at best minor, and at worst pseudo-.

7. Prince Caspian. Very pleasant to see these books brought to life with competence. Dawn Treader is next, and despite it being one of my least favourites in the series, it should be a spectacle.

8. Australia. The flaws are minor quibbles (mine, unlike others, pertains to the artifice that remains characteristic of Luhrmann), but this is a very enjoyable epic.

9. The X-Files: I Want To Believe. Good to see them again.

10. I Am Legend. Will Smith is a credit.


Special mention to U2 3D (on a large screen) - I'm not sure I'd call a concert pic a film. Best of the older films seen for the first time: No Direction Home, Scorsese's Dylan biopic.

The second X Files film

The new film, X-Files: I Want To Believe, arrived with little fanfare, and I only just noticed it at the local cinema (the Ritz). I was happier to have a look in than go for the latest in the Batman franchise, which no doubt is more cartoonish than X-Files.

Given the first X-Files film, I was surprised by what I saw this time around - as will be a lot of people. But it makes sense in context.

The tv series had always been dichotomous in several ways. One aspect was the storyline. I was drawn into on the recommendation of friends who were avid fansWhen I first watched it, the episodes were fairly self-contained, focused on paranormal stories that could have been drawn from the outlandish end of the Weekly World News spectrum. Except that the writing added a plausibility to the tabloid stories.

There's only so much of that stuff you can run, and a story arc that at first seemed peripheral built up to take over from the 'spooky' episodes. That arc revolved around alien conspiracies, but subject matter aside it was more engaging than the single-episode tales.
Even so, that arc got rather convoluted. If you want to avoid wading through it all, the episode 'The Truth' summarises it well and succinctly.

Thus, whereas the first X-Files movie built on the alien conspiracy arc, this second one was a more hermetic story at the 'spooky' end. The first was loaded with science fiction and special effects; this second was more down-to-earth, gritty realism.

Another set of dichotomies lay in the plot mechanics. At one end, plots could be fairly straightforwardly working towards resolution of a mystery. At the other end was the relationship-driven, humanistic (not in the sense of humanism per se) writing. This latter film contained elements of both, but weighed far more heavily on characters and relationships than the first. There was a lot of talkiness around belief (hence the film's subtitle) - which borders on the religious at times. 'Never give up' was watchword, but the writing's focus on relatively blind belief bordered on the clunky at times. Without a specific ethical framework to work off, the concept was adrift and shallow more times than it needed to be. This was, ultimately, an abiding weakness of the tv series.

In mitigation, the dirty, unkempt groundedness of this film was a pleasant contrast to the usual hollywood fare. The actors are fifteen years older than when they started out, which the director took full advantage of: the characters are shown as aged, and so more haggard, worn - and human.

That in itself is something fans can appreciate. Characters that move on, not necessarily bigger and better. Wiser? Perhaps a little, but in keeping with the original characterisations they're still grappling with similar issues, in a different context. As happens in life.

Culture: Speed Racer, what next - Gigantor?

The earliest cartoons I remember are from the sixties: Kimba was my favourite, but before that was Speed Racer and my earliest favourite, Gigantor.


Interestingly, I don't have clear early memories of the American ones, such as Hanna-Barbera and Warners. The former had a string of cartoons, the earliest of which I saw would have been Huckleberry Hound. Warners didn't really figure until the later Roadrunner, with a smattering of Bugs and Daffy before.

The production dates of these cartoons may not have been relevant: in New Zealand, I have a feeling they were rather like a bad day at a train station (running late, and out of timetable order). All seen in black and white only.


Those I particularly liked or remembered - mentioned up top - were all Japanese (although I didn't have a clue at the time). Maybe the American ones were too homogeneous: mostly anthropomorphic animals. Those Japanese cartoons were somewhat crude, but stylistically distinctive. But I'm not sure what appealed to my young mind. Plot? Characters? Unusual situations?

So Speed Racer has been revived for the big screen (following Kimba's conversion to the Lion King). Nothing like the original, of course, which makes me wonder what was there of intrinsic merit that compelled the plundering. Maybe no specific spark is needed, bar the producers' childhoods. Hanna-Barbera's been up too, via Jetsons and Flintstones.


Nothing so far has impelled me to see the big screen versions. Gigantor was my earliest favourite... let's see.

Æon Flux - an improvement?

Æon Flux was a series of short animations that had a memorable style, but made hardly any sense.


Little did I know the creator, Peter Chung, had made some deliberate moves to subvert the concept of narrative. There was little to no continuity between the episodes I saw. The two central characters had a relationship, but that relationship seemed to be completely different from one episode to another, veering between lovers and enemies at the slightest whim, sometimes within a single episode.

This creative sensibility was taken to Hollywood where, lo and behold, they made something of it.

True, it doesn't retain all the stylistic elements of the original series, but I'm finding it's captured what I liked about the series - the minimalist dialogue, the tone, the acrobatics - while adding structure.

And while that structure brought sufficient intrigue, not only did it have a sorely-needed coherency, but it provided a vehicle to make sense of the contradictory scenarios of the original animations.

At that same time it took away some of the more angular aspects - both in narrative and visual style - which to my mind weren't much more than a hindrance.

To read an altogether more scholarly take on the animation series, it's worth reading this overview and recap by an aficionado, in a blog called the Concept Den. It also contains some of the original animations for comparison. The writer may argue me wrong, but I'm happy enjoying the Hollywood version.

arrivederci Antonioni

Two down, 49,998 to go. Filmmakers beware!

First it was Bergman, now it's Michelangelo Antonioni. They were roughly contemporaries, although Bergman's influence on English language cinema was more indirect, whereas Antonioni made films in both England and the USA.

Blowup was filmed in England, with David Hemmings wandering listlessly through late 1960s London, observing without ultimately seeming to have much effect on anything. Fashion, murder, Yardbirds, Vanessa Redgrave undressed, and an invisible tennis game, and he's back where he started, perhaps wondering what he has achieved, apparently musing on what is real, what is not, and what can't be proved.

Zabriskie Point, set in the USA, was either too long ago or not sufficiently memorable for me, although I do recall a young couple wandering aimlessly around, then rolling in the sand. Then a house blew up. I might not be doing this film justice, but it's certainly not as high in the pantheon as Blowup, or a later film, The Passenger.

In that film, Jack Nicholson... wandered aimlessly throughout Spain. Languid, but harried.

Of the Antonioni films I've seen, the silent, lingering shot figured frequently. Unsurprisingly, one of his frequent themes is said to be a general purposelessness in the protagonist. Their ultimate effect is more of a mood than a plot, and they do that pretty well.

Blowup (titled from Hemmings' photographer who does greatly enlarge his pictures at one point, seeking answers that are ultimately withdrawn) was remade in the US as Blowout, a Hollywoodish admixture of Blowup and Chappaquiddick, focused on a tyre's blowout. The plot was given greater definition at the expense of mood and contemplation.

Which, to turn that last sentence around, is perhaps a reasonable approach to Antonioni's work.

Bye bye Bergman

Ingmar Bergman died today.

I've only seen a handful of this highly-influential director's films, but they are memorable, and densely-packed with imagery and allegory.

He himself was very interesting to listen to. At a film festival a few years ago, I saw a documentary interview with him (possibly Intermezzo), which was riveting, despite - or because of - the minimalist cinematic style, which consisted of little more than his talking head.

Of course, the films of his that I found most rewarding - and layered - were those around the late 50s to early 60s. Most notable, of course, was The Seventh Seal, in which a knight traversed a countryside at a time of severe plague. The scene in which the knight played a game of chess with death personified is one of the most memorable in the lexicon of cinema, oft-quoted - and -parodied.

Given my low tolerance for existentialism, that film is surprisingly captivating for me. One of the few that I could watch several times, to continue to extract nuance.

"I wonder if I'll end up like Bernie in his dream
A displaced person in some foreign border town
Waiting for a train part hope part myth
While the station changes hands
Or just sitting at home growing tenser with the times
Or like that guy in "The Seventh Seal"
Watching the newly dead dance across the hills..."

Bruce Cockburn, How I spent My Fall Vacation