Barry Lyndon

The period drama has become a stagnant and tired genre. It’s become a boil-in-the-bag, easy-to-use concept which has sadly become a staple of the melodrama and romance genres. Barry Lyndon is the ultimate exception to this. In a sense it is the period drama film. The film, like all of the other Stanley Kubrick films, carries itself with such a huge amount of grace that it almost becomes the pinnacle of that genre.

Barry Lyndon is the epic tale of Redmond Barry who lies, cheats and steals his way to becoming a part of the upper-class aristocracy. The three hour story is unlike others of the same vein as the way in which Kubrick moves the camera round the images and characters is an absolute turning point in cinematic history.

I’ve always thought of Kubrick as being the one director who actually knows how to move a camera and actually understands the importance of the camera. He never seems to move the people around the camera, which is often a fundamental mistake most directors make, but rather he manipulates the camera around the people. This is not to be seen as a bad thing, but rather a genuine stroke of genius; a way of drawing the camera and subject together.

The film uses a huge amount of natural light, which although may seem a pretty obvious choice, it seems to leave such a lasting impression on you once the film is over. It is not the daylight shooting that makes the film’s authenticity seem to bloom; it is the interior night shooting that is the film’s strong point. The use of candle lighting is something that is challenging as it produces such a warm and rounded image which is absolutely mesmerising. It also adds to the romance and flamboyancy of the costumes and sets that the characters are in. It also seems to draw focus to the characters and to the settings, as it only illuminates the area very close to the light source itself so essentially there are large sections of the frame that are encased in darkness and it is this contrast of light and dark within the frame that arguably makes the way the film has been made so utterly appealing.

The use of the camera itself is always the defining point in a Stanley Kubrick film and in Barry Lyndon he uses a lot telephoto shots which give the film a very flat and drained look and at times it also seems fuzzy. It this that gives the film a total sense of authenticity and it actually feels like the grand paintings that you often see in large stately homes. There is also a large amount of steadicam and tracking shots, which is always something that I’ve admired about Kubrick because it seems to leave the people the focus of the film, rather than detracting from them. These two techniques also make it seem that Kubrick is moving the camera around the people and the settings, allowing them to move as they normally would. It also makes it seem that he is documenting the actions rather than directing the actions for the sake of the camera.

I’ve always felt that Stanley Kubrick’s films look and seem timeless, they never seem to age or look dated, which also makes it interesting to work out when the events are supposed to have taken place. Even The Shining looks like it could be in a form of futuristic dystopia. Barry Lyndon however is the total opposite to this rule: it took us way into the past and showed us what it would be like to live in a historic dystopia where nothing is easy and we must try and keep trying to get what we want. The film is totally ambitious, daring and ruthless and it exploits this to largest degree and it does it very, very well.

The Wrestler

The Wrestler is the tragic story of Randy ‘The Ram’ Robinson who after suffering with health problems is forced to retire but decides to return to the ring for one last fight. Although on the surface it sounds like a boil-in-the-bag sports tragedy, the film is heart-wrenching, obsessive and genuinely compelling. In essence, it’s all you can expect from a Darren Aronofsky film and more.

There’s no easy way to start to criticise what I loved most about the film because all the elements seemed to fit together perfectly. However, if I had to pick one it would be the casting of Mickey Rourke. Rourke himself, who has battled for a long time to reinvent himself and return to the big screen, couldn’t have been more perfect for this film. At times he plays it more like a documentary about himself than a fictional film about a wrestler and his final monologue is clearly not just about Randy’s torment, but Rourke’s. Even from the opening credits which show flyers from Randy’s wrestling career, it cannot help but be felt that it is not Randy’s face in those images, it is Rourke’s and if he doesn’t make his comeback from this and win and Oscar for it then it will be a sad day.

The way the film has been shot is also documentary-esque: the use of hand-held camera work may have seemed an obvious choice, but when coupled with the 16mm film stock that it was shot on, it somehow feels refreshing and appropriate for the subject matter. The use of 16mm also leaves a seemingly improvised feel to the film which works perfectly with the improvised feeling of the dialogue. This is not to say that these are weaknesses to the film, on the contrary they enhance the experience and draw you into the actions on the screen, leaving it with a phenomenal sensory experience that enhances the realism of the film to levels that are unimaginable.

The use of the sound in the film is also quite special as it is such a mixed use of natural sound which has been manipulated and produced in a way which is utterly swarming with realism. The natural sound when Randy is outside of the ring used the theatre space to give a close and tight experience that is quite claustrophobic, something that is reflected perfectly in the way in which it has been shot, not only in the film stock and hand-held, but in terms of shot choice and composition: the majority of shots were in extreme close-up to medium shot, which left it very flat and hued. However, the wrestling scenes used a similar type of sound which was very natural; however, the volume of overwhelming level of crowd noise was clearly manipulated. This mustn’t be considered a flaw or poor filmmaking, but rather a perfect replica of the sensory experience of being in a wrestling match. The actual volume and impact of the soundtrack can only be compared to David Lynch’s Wild at Heart – at times deafeningly loud but the way in carried itself was mind-blowing as it worked on every level and was so engulfing it filled the entire space of the theatre, leaving you feeling quite dizzy but the time the end credits roll.

In a recent Sight and Sound article, Aronofsky said that The Wrestler is a departure from the way in which he has made films before, instead adopting for a new crew and new approach to his filmmaking style. However, I don’t see this to be particularly true, as the themes of obsession and desire are still present as are the way in which he shows an uncomfortable level of violence and also how he has this gripping sense of realism which is at times shocking. In a sense, The Wrestler is more like his earlier work; PI and Requiem for a Dream rather than his last film The Fountain. As a curious little side note to the film and its relationship to The Fountain, it seemed quite fitting that Aronofsky produced The Wrestler after the infamous troubled production of The Fountain. Perhaps he has now learnt to take a greater control of his films and if this is so then it’s all the better for him as The Wrestler is potentially the finest of his work – it had all the potential to be a phenomenal film and it used all its potential with stunning results.

Gonzo: The Life and Work of Dr Hunter S. Thompson

Gonzo: The Life and Work of Dr Hunter S. Thompson tells the life and death of the infamous pop-culture icon and ‘Gonzo’ journalist Hunter S. Thompson. The documentary is at times very traditional in the way in which this life is told yet it at times often seems to veer away from the subject and within a few reels it seems to avoid very important elements of his psyche and subsequent death.

The film begins with noting his youth as the underdog; the middle-to-lower-class kid who hung around with the spoilt rich kids and never had a penny to his name. Although this section is interesting and clearly has salient information – we learn how he became interested in writing and the subject matters that he wrote about, it seems to be a little too obvious and at times rather bland. The admirable elements of this section though are the way in which the narration is not so much telling you what his life was like, which would have made the film so utterly unpalatable it would have been worth walking out over, but rather opting for excerpts from his books and writings. Although this too could be argued as being obvious and mainstream, I would rather hear narration about a writer through his writings rather than a hack script which tells us about what a terrible life he had and how we should all admire him because he went against the grain. The overall affect of the narration is that it doesn’t patronise us and leaves to make our own minds up about whether he is a certified genius or a rambling buffoon.

The middle section of the film is very hit and miss – the sections which discuss how he once tried to run for sheriff of Aspen are intriguing and ultimately display how someone who does go against the grain can bring voters out and can cause people to stop and think for themselves– something that seems all the more relevant within American society throughout the last six months. The lagging part of the film comes next, whereby it moves into a wandering section about how he befriended ex-presidents George McGovern and Jimmy Carter. Although it did hold my attention and it was interesting as these are the parts of his life that clearly shaped the way he wrote about politics and his ethos as a whole, it did seem to stray into a mumbling section whereby Hunter Thompson wasn’t mentioned but the inner workings of the two presidents’ campaigns were shown.

The real disappointment for the film came at the end, whereby his depressive psyche and subsequent death were traded for the above mentioned section. It seemed to tip-toe into why he had died, but just as it was starting to wade in, it quickly ran away. This fear was quite irritating, as it could have been such a darker and much more developed part of the film; shedding new light on the previous sections and showing how the American Dream that he had long come to admire and respect had come crumbling down beneath him. I would have had such respect for the film to have simply had the guts to have said that he despised the Bush Administration and everything about it and it can be said that this is the reason why he may have killed himself.

The impressive thing about the film is the amount of photographs, videos, tapes and other media that is present about him. He was obviously a man who taped and documented everything that he could and although he may never admit it, he enjoyed being in the spotlight as much as any other cultural figure.

Despite the fact that it somehow trades off the daring material for downright soft-option, Gonzo: The Life and Work of Dr Hunter S. Thompson does show an interesting portrayal of its subject matter. However the problem becomes that although there is an entire ocean of Hunter S. Thompson material out there, he is such an enigma that any portrayal of him becomes valid and everyone will go and see it. That is the real disappointment.

Che: Parts One and Two

Steven Soderbergh’s latest instalments come in the four and a half hour epic that is Che, the now legendary story of Argentine doctor Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara and his two campaigns in Cuba and Bolivia.

Obviously the film’s defining characteristic is its narrative. Which may seem indigestive and, to some, unapproachable at the length it is. Although, the brilliant thing about it is that it is so unbelievably well paced: it never seems to drag and there never seems to be a lagging or unnecessary moment where each step along the incredible story seems absolutely screen-worthy. As mentioned above, the two films show two campaigns – the revolution in Cuba and the failed campaign in Bolivia; which led to his assassination. Although the two may at first glance seem very similar, they actually have totally different tones and themes throughout each narrative, resulting in rather mirroring texts.

Che: Part One is a quite straight-forward film in terms of how it portrays the revolution and Cuba’s rise to power over Fulgencio Batista’s dictatorship. However it is coupled with black and white excerpts from his address to the United Nations and various other events that occurred after the initial revolution and Che’s very brief stay in New York. Although the black and white scenes bracket the colour scenes and give a form of closure to them, allowing for necessary developments for part two, they seem at times quite inane. It leaves one wondering what it would have been like if the interview sections had been left out and what kind of development the film could have had.

Part Two, on the other hand, is somewhat slower burning and at times feels rather existential and sympathetic to Che. It shows how he can no longer function in “regular” society with his new wife and family; how he has been into hiding and has to deal with an ostensible celebrity status, and as the film progresses it seems that there are feelings of doubt and regret to their actions.

In terms of filmmaking and cinematic quality, the film is breathtaking. The way Soderbergh moves the camera around the landscapes is beautiful and as the film progresses; so does the quality, whilst at times it leaves quite a haunting feeling and by the closing half an hour it draining and bleak. The use of sound is also mind-blowing, with all channels of the soundtrack being used to genuinely encapsulate a feeling of at times freedom and space but by the end it feels drowning and engulfing, leaving the film’s themes and political notions to really shine through.

Benicio Del Toro’s acting in the film is also flawless, the quality of his portrayal is amazing and at times it feels like you’re actually watching Che speak. A similar kind of encapsulation can only be compared to Bruno Ganz’s depiction of Adolf Hitler in Der Untergang (Downfall). Each second that Che is on screen seems to have been carefully calculated and thought-out so that the utmost accuracy can be shown. This can also be said for the filmmaking too: as the film progresses it becomes richer and fuller and by the time the film has ended the text has now become so vast that ending and Che’s execution comes a shock and genuinely heart-breaking moment.

At first I thought the films would work better as one long epic, but on reflection perhaps they do work better as two films. The two narratives do oppose each other and do show very different times of Che’s life and if done as one, it could have been that the sudden change in the middle would have become too negative. For the being though, relish in the fact that the two separate films are glorious and provide everything you could need in an epic.