Children of Men

Realism is an overly-used concept of British cinema. We praise films for being a ‘classic slice of realism’, or ‘gritty’, but what is more important is not its effectiveness, but its imagination. Children of Men is littered with realistic imagination. Its dystopian vision of infertility is one which, as far as I can recall, is unique, but its true strengths lie within the constructed political and social contexts in which it is grounded in. Such wonderful touches such as the advertisements reminding the Londoners that missing infertility tests is illegal, the faded and worn London 2012 jumper that the central character, Theo, wears, or the Tate gallery which is now inaccessible to the public, really seem to anchor the film’s broader bleak perspective of the London we all know now, the London of bright lights, of entertainment and of times-gone-by.

However, the film’s greatest (and bleakest) perspective is its treatment of immigrants, the abhorrent way in which they are openly treated as second-class, and the fact that the Britons clearly turn the other cheek to this blatant miscarriage of justice. It makes clear that London is a wonderful, vibrant city for people to flourish and start again, but it then destroys this myth in the blink of an eye. When viewing the film for the first time, one is shocked and perturbed by the clear breach of Human Rights that would inevitably be present if the film were set in contemporary London, but what makes this political and social stance even more troubling, is how it hardly feels far-fetched. It’s not a great leap of imagination to think that if the events were ever to become true, that British governments would detain and imprison immigrants in oppressive conditions, in order to selfishly protect their own population. And it is this bleak prescience which makes the film feel even more shocking and, ultimately, more realistic.

Green Street

Green Street is another in a series of British football hooligan films that are effective for all the obvious banal reasons but, despite their pluses, are ultimately flawed.

The film begins with somewhat ham-handed way of introducing the central character: Matt, played by Elijah Wood, is a Harvard journalism student; he is the top of his class, of course, and his he is naïve beyond description. Being the nice guy he is, he takes the fall for his cocaine-addicted room-mate and is expelled for it. Without telling his neglectful father, he travels to London to live with his sister who is married to an ex-football hooligan and whose brother is now the leader of his old firm. After several of England's finest alcoholic beverages he is taken to the football by his idiot cousin, Pete. After the match Pete and the Firm go to fight a rival firm and Matt goes back to his sister's house. Along the way, the rival Firm start a fight with Matt and just in the nick of time, Pete's firm turn up. Needless to say there is a fight between the two firms and Matt quickly joins in and enjoys what he becomes a part of. The film progresses along steadily and Matt becomes somewhat of a notorious figure within the Firm. After some profound life lessons and his brother-in-law is killed, Matt decides to return to America and seeks revenge on his former rich-kid college room-mate. The ending scene is so awkward and laughable that I won't go into detail of describing it, in fact this is the highlight of the film, simply because it is so painful to watch.

Apart from it's at times laughable plot, Green Street also has some rather weak dialogue and almost cartoonish characters in it. Unsurprisingly, the film has several instances of Cockney rhyming slang in it, which is inevitably are followed by an agonising conversation between characters on what they mean. As an Englishman I often find scenes like this embarrassing, simply because they're not even carried with a sense of irony. They're so void of humour and self-reflexivity that it wears itself down to simply being painful to watch. Aside from the rhyming slang, I often find with contemporary British films such as these, that the dialogue feels very under-developed and first drafted, and the more “emotional” scenes such as those between Matt and his father or Pete and his brother seem so unrehearsed and insincere that it's difficult to tell if they've actually been scripted or not.

The major flaw with Green Street is that the casting is so unusual that it's difficult to actually accept the film as a serious reflection of British Hooliganism. Apart from the older hooligans of the rival Millwall Firm, the other actors are too fresh-faced and essentially don't look weathered enough to be taken seriously as football hooligans. After having watched the film in its entirety, I still can't understand why Elijah Wood was cast in that role, his actual physique and his facial features don't carry him well enough for such a “tough guy” role. If you compare him to other actors in the film, he is noticeably shorter and less built, facially he is also a lot thinner and his eyes are much larger and doughy than everyone else's. There's nothing more painful to watch than a bumbling Englishman and the same can be said for watching the bumbling American. On the other hand though, Elijah Wood can be argued that he is perfect for that naïve, young and inexperienced type of character, which is true. However, this is only true in some of his earlier work. For example, in Lord of the Rings, Everything is Illuminated and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, he works perfectly, not that these films can be compared on any other level than this, of course. In Green Street however, he stands out too much and it seems too unconvincing.

However, for all its flaws, Green Street does have one or two passably admirable qualities. Firstly it touches upon issues that to a non-British audience, are unknown. Alcoholism being one of the more notable issues, violence of course being the more blatant one. My only problem with films this bland discussing serious issues as alcoholism is that I feel they are actually unaware of the issues they're discussing until after the end credits have finished. I further argue it would never have noticed them at all, unless critics and writers explain this to them.

The other admirable quality of the film is that it at the end, nothing has been resolved and none of the characters have learnt anything. There is no remorse or regret, simply destructive ignorance. However, again such nihilistic characters and sociopathic behaviour is something that weak writers are unaware of until they are being critiqued.

Unlike other 'hooligan' films such as Nick Love's bumbling, The Football Factory and Alan Clarke's actually impressive and disturbing, The Firm, Green Street has too many flaws and problems and not enough actual dare to be taken seriously. Ultimately it becomes something that fails to show sociological problems such as violence in a unique and alarming way. British realism films are a major part of British cinema and cinema as a whole and Green Street is one that can easily be left out as an example of this.

Right at Your Door

9/11 changed the world in an unimaginable way – economically, socially and politically. Perhaps one of the most interesting changes, however has been the way in which cinema has changed. Cinema has always been affected by social, economic and political changes or movements and when the 9/11 disaster happened it gave Hollywood an excuse to exploit a new sense of realism that has never been seen before. This is not to say that they made entertainment out of the events that occurred that day, but rather that they had a new way to develop what they already had. This lead to the birth of a new type of film: the contemporary terrorist film.

The way in which Hollywood used this tool was through a strange sense of scaremongering; similar to that seen in other forms of media such as newspapers and televised news. The presence of 9/11 permeates into unsuspected films such as Borat and Man on Wire (the latter example of course is a paradoxical combination of redundancy and obviousness) but the way in which films that deal with terrorism such as Right at Your Door, World Trade Centre, Battle for Haditha and countless other examples are meant to make us reflect on the events that occurred that day and make us seem more socially aware of the surroundings in which we inhabit. Hollywood knows this and tackles it not with subtly and dignity (two things in which Hollywood has never been particularly famous for) but rather blatancy and spoon-feeding.

The notion of cinematic realism is fairly straight-forward: it seeks to make create a sense of familiarity through a sense of constructed elements which are entirely dependent on the spectator. Essentially it is a highly personal affair and is created through what you perceive to be real. For example, Full Metal Jacket is a war film set in Vietnam and most of the film takes place in what seems to be a bombed town in Vietnam. In actuality the scenes were shot in London Docklands and Stanley Kubrick had the town built to appear as if it was in Vietnam. Albeit a very obvious example it is the familiarisation we have with the landscape of the set that make us believe the film is set somewhere it isn’t. The contemporary terrorist film uses a very similar way of providing realism to lure an audience in: it uses well established and familiar settings and scenarios to provide an insight into a very big ‘What If’.

Right at Your Door is an interesting example of this. It uses established realism staples such as hand-held cinematography and unknown performers to eradicate all senses of glorification and replaces them instead with a ham-handed sense of familiarity. What is bold about the film however, is that it never explains who has actually dropped the ‘dirty bombs’ or the reasons to why they have done so. That is something that is not present in many other films of this type, which often opt for weak and half-baked excuses which are presented via stereotypical extremist groups. The rejections of this is what make Right at Your Door all the more interesting. Conversely though, it is something that could be argued about as being utterly irritating because it pushes the focus of the film into the direction of the characters that are ultimately quite dim and not particularly well-rounded. However, for all its efforts and weaknesses the film has a very clever and unique ending which actually seems very plausible. It also has a very bleak feeling to it, much like the other films of this genre, but in all honesty it is something that is admirable about Hollywood for a change.

Il Divo

There’s something about the atmosphere of a cinema that makes seeing a film in it much more enjoyable. The simple elements of total darkness except for the light from the screen; wall-to-wall screen and painfully loud surround sound, that when combined, push the cinematic experience over the cliff and straight into the abyss of pure enjoyment. Certain films just beg to be seen in a cinema and Il Divo is one of the finest cinematic experiences I’ve ever encountered. It’s undoubtedly at the top of the list along with Inland Empire, Mulholland Drive and Blade Runner. In terms of style, the film is excellent and manages to utilise all the cinematic constructive elements while still retaining perfect acting and a flawless script.

Il Divo follows certain parts of Giulio Andreotti’s political career, including his controversial ties with the Italian mafia. It also exposes a certain dream-like nature to Andreotti’s persona, making him far from likeable but, ironically, not entirely unlikeable. This is not to say that he is perceived as a fair-handed individual, but rather that he becomes more of an entertaining figure. Whether this was Paolo Sorrentino and Toni Servillo’s intentions is unclear, but it did certainly provide an interesting reflection of a dark, murky and mysterious past.

Sight and Sound recently said that Il Divo was one of the best shot films of the last few years and in all honesty, that is a very fair statement indeed. Like previous Paolo Sorrentino’s films that I’ve seen, Il Divo has a certain flowing and wispy nature to its cinematography. Each film seems to have been shot in such an objective way that it seems to stand back and let you take the film at whatever perception you seem to interpret it, whilst at times feeling somewhat surreal and intriguing. In my mind there are two scenes that immediately spring to mind to highlight this – the first being the large party scene at the start, in which we see the camera seemingly fly around the house; moving from room to room and halting on Andreotti. The second is the scene where Andreotti is simply sat in a chair and he is justifying to the camera, why he is the way he is. Although, strictly speaking, this scene doesn’t retain particularly outstanding cinematography, the sheer plainness and simplicity of it make it all the more engrossing. This monologue also carries itself with such poise and tenacity that it becomes so powerful that it throws you back into your seat, it becomes almost like watching 3 blockbusters simultaneously.

Something that I’ve always admired about Sorrentino is the way in which he uses the sound track. By this I do not mean soundtrack – music, ambience and dialogue – as separate entities, but sound track as a possessive nature; all three together. Sorrentino has always had a definite flair and finesse for making them all seem just as important as the last. Often at times, he seems to make it one of the most defining features of a scene, which is not only awe-inspiring, but it makes the visual and aural elements of the film at a perfect harmony, something which is often over-looked or neglected. Certainly one of the only other directors I know to achieve this kind of harmonisation on any comparable level is Stanley Kubrick.

Although some may say that Paolo Sorrentino is a style-over-substance director, but I would find this to be a mildly ignorant viewpoint, as not only are his scripts perfect and the performances he brings out of his actors sublime, but so is the way in which he controls his films. The fact that he brings out the highest quality in all of the elements of this films is a true testament to a director’s abilities. The way in which he makes his films is a type of filmmaking that seems almost lost in contemporary cinema and the way in which he presents them in the cinematic space of a theatre is one of the most powerful pieces of cinema that I can think of in recent years.

Blue Velvet

This week I went to see a late night screening of Blue Velvet. Although I adore this film and find it one of the most curious films of David Lynch's career, it is of course one of his most linear films and I would say that it probably his most accessible film and if you need a place to start with David Lynch, then start with Blue Velvet.

I still struggle to find it difficult to watch any of his films with other people. I think I can pin-point this down to the way in which Lynch's films are so personal; they seem to remind you that you're human. I always have to remember when I walk away from anything he's done, that what I find terrifying is different to what you might find terrifying and my sense of humour is different to yours. The problem with seeing it in the cinema is of course, you're seeing it in a room with people you've never met before and you don't know how they're going to react, but when it's 10:30pm and you've looked forward to this film for two weeks and as the audience file in acting like they've seemingly had four or five beers before they've even sat down, you start to lose faith in them. Especially when they feel compelled to laugh at even the most minor of comical events. I couldn't help but feel I was back at university, when the simple nudge of anything funny would erupt into a vast wave of belly laughs.

The film itself is, of course, amazing. It never ceases to amaze me how ambitious Lynch is and the way in which he can make something so strange and surreal seem so undoubtedly beautiful. Frederick Elmes' cinematography in this film is possibly my favourite out all the other Lynch films he's worked on. The simplicity of it may seem average on the surface, but consider the full use of the frame coupled with the striking juxtaposition of bright colour and dark, shadowing spaces. The effect of this leaves you in a dream-like sense by the time the ending credits roll.

In terms of seeing the film in the cinema itself, it was almost perfect. The print was a pretty decent quality and the sound was pretty crisp and loud (as a Lynch film should be). The only thing that could have made it better would have been to see it on a slightly bigger screen. Don't get me wrong, there was nothing wrong with the one that it was on, but I just didn't feel entirely absorbed into the space.

The sheer brilliance of Lynch cannot be put into words. He is a true individual and his films never seem to have been comprimised. What I admire most about him is the way in which he will talk about a film if he feels like it, if he sees the need for it. You have to admire someone who makes films and lets them speak for themselves.