The way you play cards !

This is a review of Dallas Buyers' Club (2013)

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11 February

This is a review of Dallas Buyers' Club (2013)

* Contains spoilers * : Best seen cold – you might even avoid the poster, which seems to suggest that it is about a car auction – so quit reading now

A harsh generalization, but a film that needs you to know what it is about beforehand is a failure – this one starts off where it ends, but rodeo is not what it is about, but a man who keeps losing consciousness and ends up in hospital with news that he is quick to reject as a mistake. He is quick to reject it, but not slow to find out all about it – we had taken him for some sort of a hick, with his trailer, so it is a surprise to find him, when his eyes will co-operate, deep in research down at the library.

Ron Woodroff may not have been quite like this, but Matthew McConaughey creates a compelling figure (and, as a fleeting headline suggests, he may have had access to Woodroff’s diary), even to the extent of being stick-insect thin at the start of the film. Yes, he is HIV+, and he is even told that he has full-blown AIDS and just thirty days to live, but that is where Woodroff’s considerable will to win, which had him excitedly take bets and then scarper when he lost the bet, begins to kick in.

Dallas Buyers Club : A definite and strong whole, but with elements reminiscent of Kiss of the Spiderwoman, Philadelphia, Lorenzo's Oil...
— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) February 10, 2014

The hospital will be one of our ports of call, and the four most important people are there together right at the start : Woodroff, Dr Sevard (Denis O’Hare), his junior doctor Eve (Jennifer Garner – IMDb can be a bit short on recording names, which one has heard in films, but does not recall), and Rayon (Jared Leto)*. (Everyone else, relatively speaking, is on the periphery of the narration, including Dr Vass, Richard Barkley, and Woodroff’s mate on the police force (ditto IMDb).)

The question that the film poses is this one : does one see more of Woodroff’s character, and beyond the man who calls Rayon (and others) a faggot when trying to be friendly at the hospital, because we spend more time with him, or because he is fighting the rules and the warped system to save his own life (and that of anyone else who can afford to pay to keep him afloat), and that brings out the best in him ?

When we first see him, he is using the charged and close atmosphere of a pen at the rodeo to have sex with two girls, which – as we are judging creatures – gives a negative indication of his attitudes, not least when he runs off with the stake-money (in a very quick-thinking way). And then he keeps collapsing, ends up in Dallas Mercy (ironic, as it turns out), and is confronted with the level of his T-cells and other test-results.

The incidental meeting - because of being in neighbouring beds - with drag-queen Rayon (for which Leto deserves an Academy Award for best supporting actor), whom he does not understand or want to be touched by, but plays cards with (pitiably badly, according to Rayon), is his prompt to realize that they have common needs, and to learn about the trials of the drug AZT. The dynamic of the film is not so much to make us approve of Woodroff in himself, but as battling the unfair and self-interested regulation of the FDA (Federal Drug Administration) on behalf the members of the buyers club that Rayon and he set up :

We admire him because he takes the risk of seeking to do all that he can for them, because it also helps save his life, but it is individually how he softens towards Rayon, and how Eve finds herself more and more out of step with her superior (and valuing what Woodroff is doing), that the film has its emotional core. Seeing him, with much neck and no small amount of humour, pretending to Barkley to be a priest, and spinning a yarn about how much medication he needs to take, is priceless, and the film is unobtrusively laced through with all sorts of comic touches.

A very different film, although it has the same transformational account of Joe Miller coming to change his view of Andrew Beckett, is Philadelphia (1993), because of how the film ‘feels’. Despite having HIV and AIDS in common, the parallel feels even less close than with Kiss of the Spiderwoman (1985), based on Manuel Puig’s novel, because, as already suggested, Leto’s portrayal gives a potentially weighed-down film the right amount of buoyancy. Yet in no flimsy or tokenistic way, and with the crushing poignancy of the scene when he goes to see his father at the bank and moves him to pity, not least by how he refers to Woodroff, an origin that he casually passes off, in handing over cash to Woodroff, as having cashed in a policy.

A really affecting moment in Dallas Buyers Club when Ron Woodroof (Matthew McConaughey) and Rayon (Jared Leto) shake hands, then embrace.
— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) February 9, 2014

Where, despite opportunistic Woodroff showing that he will happily have sex with one of the members of the club because he knows that he cannot infect her, we might feel that we are heading for an anodyne romance is with Dr Eve, but the film seems aware of that being too pat, and the closest that we really get to corny smooth-talking is when he buys her dinner - and that is fun, since it is so knowing. Medically, she sees that what he is doing is better than the AZT regime, and is won over by it, even if the FDA, changing the rules, stymie things. The politics of that, if not the subject of a film or two already, soon will be…

This is not a feel-good film, although accepting Rayon and obliging a former drinking buddy to shakes his hand is one of those moments where one embraces the feeling behind what Woodroff has done, and cringes at the means - just as much as his stealing Dr Eve’s pad of prescriptions, and how he responds on being challenged by Barkley that the names on the prescriptions are all members of the Dallas Cowboys. Yet, far more profoundly than a film like Gravity (2013)**, it is about adversity, the human spirit, and the capacity to reach out to others.


End-notes

* Plus it was really interesting to spot the name Griffin Dunne (as Dr Vass) in the credits…

** #GravityIsGravy on Twitter (the film lacks ‘it’).


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Unless stated otherwise, all films reviewed were screened at Festival Central (Arts Picturehouse, Cambridge)

Delivered of a burden

This is a review of The Patience Stone (2012) (seen at Saffron Screen)

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10 February

This is a review of The Patience Stone (2012)

Viewed at Saffron Screen (@Saffronscreen), in Saffron Walden (and on a recommendation from @amandarandall5)


Am I so much as... being seen ?

Play, Samuel Beckettt

The Patience Stone (2012) is a film that could be set anywhere, in any time, in case one wants to read in condemnations of where it appears to be set and its rules and religion, but the simple fact is that it acts as an inverted One Thousand and One Nights, where the nameless man and we are both an audience to his nameless wife’s confessions : only the film has to interest just us, to stop us cutting off its head by walking out, although we suspect that the husband, willy-nilly, can hear every word…

With all the adeptness and beauty that Zrinka Cvitesic brought in the role of Danica in My Beautiful Country (2012) to a bedbound Ramiz (Misel Maticevic), a film released in the same year, Golshifteh Farahani tends to her husband, who appears to be in a coma : at the start of the film, she is doubting what she has been told, because the mullah said that her husband would be well in two weeks, and it is the sixteenth day, with him not better, and her running out of money for serum.

It was a beautiful (not just literal) play of light and dark, @Saffronscreen @amandarandall5 - review under way in The King's Arms, SW...
— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) February 10, 2014

Birds*  that emerge from darkness on the curtains to a point of maximum light and then back toward shade open the film : they tell us at all sorts of levels that there will, although this is essentially a chamber work (set primarily in the woman’s house and grounds, but also her aunt’s former and present flat, and the street), be a journey, and the film will waver between light and dark.

(Sadly, there are two places where the quality of digital image-capture, as against so beautifully done on film in Fiennes’ The Invisible Woman (2013), lets the aesthetics of the film down, and it verges on pixellation - briefly, both times, in the scene in the basement, and when Farahani is first lit by the light of the hurricane-lamp. That said, the criticism draws attention to how very good the image was the rest of the time that these stood out as momentary exceptions.)

Necessarily, with a man in a coma and despite conflict going on, one is tied, but the inventiveness of blocking the scenes in the principal room is anything but limited, and makes not just for variety, but also for some very striking and even beautiful angles. The man (Hamid Djavadan) and Farahani are in this with such conviction, that, apart from visits from the mullah and a soldier, and time with her children, and her aunt and her family, we barely realize that we are thrown back on their resources.

As a sort of Scheherezade, the woman has a voice, but not for telling stories, such as one that might narrate what happened to the stone of the title that her aunt is reminded of : the account of how she became pregnant might even be from the Nights, with its questionable, but inventive, solution to a practical problem.

It is the final part of what she has been telling her husband throughout the film, and not without reason – so much that she has already related, both of the present and of her past, sometimes speaking aloud, sometimes as if to him within her head, has built up to this revelation. Spurred on by what her aunt has said about the stone, she has continued her confession, even down to having let a visiting cat eat one of her father’s fighting quails and getting a scar by her right eye about which her husband, who maybe has never properly seen her, has never asked.

The very shocking end of the film is ambiguous, and could represent two or three possibilities, on different literal or figurative levels. Twice, once when we think that she might really go away for good because of the impossible conditions in which she is having to leave (and for which she blames her husband), she tells him to ‘Go to hell’, and there is much frank language about sex, including the insult that got her husband into the fight with which he lies wounded. She has had, often enough with her aunt’s advice, had to make her way in this difficult culture, and the film celebrates female ingenuity in getting around male oppression whilst still pretending to be subservient.

The film is thoughtful, throwing one back on one’s preconceptions, and (not knowing much of the woman’s reliance on her aunt) we do not understand at the time why she tells the captain ‘I sell my body’, because his reaction is the last thing that we imagine she wanted : it goes back to the woman’s place, as the aunt expounds the male psychology.

All that the woman has been bottling up, keeping inside – that is why Beckettt is quoted at the head of this review, because, not least in the trilogy of plays* that The Royal Court (@royalcourt) is reviving, he writes (Not I) a part for Mouth, who cannot seem to stop talking, but who is, as the characters in Play are (a man, his wife, and his lover), looking for a response to this flood of words. Hence the quotation, where the Man momentarily interjects the possibility that there is not even an observer to what he is going through by telling his story : as with our lead, he has no name.

Here, that confession is to a man who may not have the conscious faculty to hear it, but for whom the truth is being laid out with candour (as that trilogy of novels taught Beckettt to do). It may not sound much of a basis for a film, but with excellent realizations of Max Richter’s music (which was such a strength of the rather disregarded Sarah’s Key (2010)), carefully wrought cinematography from Thierry Arbogast, and, as well as from those mentioned, lovely performances from Massi Mrowat (the soldier) and Hassina Burgan (the aunt), it is electric.


End-notes

* A twitcher would know what they are, but maybe ducks – thoughts were of M. C. Escher’s panoramic mirror-image.

** Though not written as a trilogy, unlike Molloy, Malone Dies and The Unnamable, and maybe not even for performance together.


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Unless stated otherwise, all films reviewed were screened at Festival Central (Arts Picturehouse, Cambridge)

My 200-word story

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9 February


My 200-word story

For Mark Brown


I needed to tell a story in exactly 200 words.

I looked in my wallet and my purse, but I only had 63. I rang up my brother – probably it was too early, as he gave me just 2 words, and I knew that my girlfriend would be the same.

I sat down by the cat, who trilled to see me, so I lay down next to her and stroked her as she walked all around me. That was another dozen, but 133 to go…

Outside, I saw one of my neighbours go past, so I dashed out and talked to him about the weather until I was up to 98 – halfwayish.

Meanwhile, the free paper had arrived, and, as I picked it up, a word fell out. I shook it thoroughly, and was then short by 45 – careless, these journalists !

I called my girlfriend after all, and, although she sometimes doesn’t have a good word for me, I was left 16 short.

Checking pockets and drawers took the total to one hundred and eighty-nine, requiring 11…

Sad at being so close, I went to the park. Wait, though - all those numbered yellow football shirts had words…


Done it !



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Scorsese’s hesitation about Kazantzakis

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8 February


This posting relates to a special screening at Wells Cathedral on 25 January


The last temptation is for Christ to get down off the cross and live the rest of His life as a normal human being

(Scorsese on Scorsese*, p. 124)

In his chapter in about The Last Temptation of Christ (1988) in this book, Scorsese talks about his collaboration with Paul Schrader, and how the latter produced a ninety-page script in four months (p. 117). Having been introduced to the original novel by Kazantzakis by Barbara Hershey and David Carradine in 1972 (p. 116), Scorsese says that this is what interested him about making a film of it :

I found the representation of Christ, stressing the human side of His nature without denying that He is God, the most accessible to me. His divine side doesn’t fully comprehend what the human side has to do; how He has to transform Himself and eventually become the sacrifice on the cross – Christ the man only learns about this a little at a time. In the whole first section of the book, He is acting purely on human emotions and human psychology, so He becomes confused and troubled. […]

(p. 116)

Talking about his own belief in relation to portraying Jesus in the film, Scorsese writes :

I believe that Jesus is fully divine, but the teaching at Catholic schools [Scorsese says that he has drifted away from the Church over the years, and is no longer a practising Catholic] placed such an emphasis on the divine side that if Jesus walked into a room, you’d know he was God because He glowed in the dark, instead of just being another person. But if He was like that, we always thought, then when the temptations came to Him, surely it was easy to resist them because He was God. He could reject the temptation of power in the desert; He could reject especially the temptation of sex; and He could undergo the suffering on the cross, because He knew what was going to happen, what death is all about.

(p. 124)

About involving Schrader by asking him to write a script, he comments :

Knowing that Paul Schrader and I have close affinities, I thought it would be interesting to see what a Calvinist approach to the book would be. It’s a very long book and I wanted a normal-length film, not a six-hour mini-series, so I thought Paul would be able to strip away all the unnecessary elements. The whole relationship between Mary Magdalene and the Apostles and how they were fighting with each other, all that was fascinating, but couldn’t be put in the film. […]

(p. 117)

Schrader and he discussed the treatment of the miracles (and the importance of the supernatural existing alongside the natural), and depicting Jesus terrified by them, not smiling (p. 118), as he gradually realizes that they lead to the cross (p. 120). For Scorsese, the key scene, when Jesus knows that He is God, is the raising of Lazarus, where Jesus is momentarily pulled into the tomb (the symbolism is clear), before leading Lazarus out (p. 143).

Scorsese acknowledges that some people have said that the book is more Kazantzakis than Jesus (p. 143), but he did go to the trouble of meeting the writer’s widow, and of exploring his life from staying in a monastery on Mount Athos to the books that he wrote in the last ten years of his life (p. 145).

Those who want to say that the film is blasphemous (see below), because it shows Jesus having sex with Mary Magdalene, seem not to bear in mind that neither Kazantzakis, nor Scorsese, is subscribing to the theory that Jesus actually did have a family with her – this is the content of the temptation, the ‘last’ of the title, that both book and film are about, but it is not saying that it happened, but what if Jesus were tempted on the cross to believe that he did not have to die there to fulfil his purpose ?

These are very different ascriptions to Kazantzakis and Scorsese, but those levelling the criticism seem slow to understand the difference. Regarding the relationship that the book puts at the centre of that last temptation, Scorsese has written :

One problem I have with the book is the relationship between Jesus and Mary Magdalene. If there had to be sexual temptation, it could be another woman; for it to be Mary seemed kind of obvious. And the fact that she became a whore specifically because he rejected her is almost as bad as the Hitchcock movie I Confess, where Montgomery Clift becomes a priest basically because he was jilted by Anne Baxter. As the young priest whom I adored when I was young said, that doesn’t happen, because you have to have a vocation otherwise you’d only last a week in the seminary ! I Confess is an interesting movie nevertheless, but I found a similar difficulty with Kazantzakis.

(p. 143)

Yet Scorsese seems not to have been put off, and writes about what he hoped for from the film :

[...] I found this an interesting idea, that the human nature of Jesus was fighting Him being God. I thought this would be great drama and force people to take Jesus seriously – at least to re-evaluate His teachings. […] So through the Kazantzakis novel I wanted to make the life of Jesus immediate and accessible to people who haven’t really thought about God in a long time. I certainly didn’t think the film would destroy the faith of those who believe strongly [Editor’s emphasis].

(p. 124)

The cynical may doubt Scorsese’s sincerity in the passages quoted above : of course, his motives and beliefs may be questioned, if one thinks that making the film is itself blasphemy. Here are two letter-writers points of comparson (they are said to have appeared in the Wells Journal on 23 January 2013 [sic]) :

One does not have to consider a crucifix immersed in a jar of urine as worthy of contemplation, despite any dubious claims to artistic merit either.

Paul Arblaster

The film’s photography and musical score are of good quality. The 1936 Olympic games stadium in Berlin was of good quality too. This is hardly the point.

Fr Ewan, Po Wo and Donna-Marie MacPherson

So Nazis, and a deliberate act of provocation, are the chosen points of reference ?


End-notes

* Faber & Faber, London, 1996, p. 124.


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Unless stated otherwise, all films reviewed were screened at Festival Central (Arts Picturehouse, Cambridge)

Lit by Saul Leiter

This report is from a special preview screening of The Invisible Woman (2013)

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6 February

* Contains spoilers *

This report is from a special preview screening of The Invisible Woman (2013) at The Arts Picturehouse (@CamPicturehouse) on 1 February, followed by a Q&A with director and lead actor, Ralph Fiennes

At @CamPicturehouse, both the lovely visuals and acting of The Invisible Woman (2013), and @jackabuss hosted a fine Q&A with Ralph Fiennes !
— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) February 2, 2014

The time of the film is clearly the nineteenth century, but labels are largely given to places, not to dates. Charles Dickens died in June 1870, and an important scene has him showing Nelly (Felicity Jones) the galley-proofs of what would have been chapter 59 of Great Expectations, which was being published in instalments between 1 December 1860 and 3 August 1861.

The title-character really has to be Nelly, but, when Catherine Dickens (Joanna Scanlan) visits her with a gift that the jeweller wrongly had delivered to Catherine, she says what the following question, asked of Fiennes (during the Q&A in Screen 1 at The Arts Picturehouse), summarizes :

Mrs Dickens, probably out of envy, warns that her husband is drawn to his audience as well as to her. Is the challenge that Nelly faces to know Dickens not as a writer, but as a man*?

Catherine does not appear to have wanted herself the acclaim that Charles receives, from other things, at public readings, so she presumably allowed herself to be relatively in his shadow : after such a reading, Nelly’s mother, Frances Ternan (Kristin Scott Thomas), expresses regret that Catherine could not have been there (and Charles gives some reason why she is not there), which means that she is unlike a royal consort, and is free not to do what he chooses to do.

(If she is envious (see more here), maybe it is of Nelly that she can see Charles as a writer, for a comment early in the film (when The Ternans, mother and daughters, have travelled to Manchester to the production of Wilkie Collins The Frozen Deep (published in 1856), which Dickens is mounting with Collins) suggests that she does not personally view the novels as more than entertainment (‘Tis a fiction, designed to entertain), at which Nelly, expressing her surprise, says what she sees in them. So, in Manchester, Catherine was with Wilkie and Charles, but she later appears to withdraw from that role.)

In Collins, we have the example of a man co-habiting since 1858 (with Caroline Graves (Michelle Fairley) and her daughter Harriet (known as ‘The Butler’)), but perhaps at the expense of the greater reception of his writing** ? If so, he compromised greater success and not living with Graves (they were only apart for two years, when she married another man), and with spending part of his time with her and with Martha Rudd, a woman whom he met as a nineteen-year-old when researching Armadale. The family arrangements that we know so well from The Pre-Raphaelite Brethren (founded in 1848, and initially secretively operating under the initials PRB) and from Dickens in this film (based on Claire Tomalin’s book of the same name) were actually closer with those of Collins than we might have imagined.

The journey of a biography to film - interesting piece by Claire Tomalin on The Invisible Woman http://t.co/lbibG5znV7
— Isobel Dixon (@isobeldixon) February 1, 2014

It is for those such as Tomalin to explain and speculate why Dickens felt himself different from his friend Collins, in not being able to copy an arrangement that was less complicated than his own would have been. It was not until a century later that our present divorce laws were enacted, but it appears that an informal separation, such as Dickens is quoted as announcing to his family in The Times, might have been an acceptable position, whereas an affair with Nelly being known of during it clearly would not. Only such reading can shed light on this question…

Back at reviewing the film, Abi Morgan had written a script that sounded as though it might have been spoken 150 years ago, but without drawing attention to its age :

Despite UK / US differences, Abi Morgan's dialogue - The Invisible Woman - sounds like speech, John Ridley's - 12 Years A Slave - does not.
— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) February 1, 2014

The emphasis is on the spoken words resembling speech. Amanda Randall (@amandarandall5) reports that the dialogue in Slave sounds as it does, because it is taken directly from Solomon Northup’s book, which can easily be believed : it satisfies her that it should be, but, to some, that might seem a cop-out… (After all, Northup wrote his memoir, with the help of a writer, during the course of three months, and he is in, in this way, writing dialogue that could have occurred ten years earlier, so it can scarcely be verbatim.)

This is not one of Andrew Davies’ celebrated adaptations of Dickens or of other classic novelists, but giving a plausible voice to Dickens the man. It is a voice that is strengthened by the judicious use of very effective music by Ilan Eshkeri (who scored Fiennes debut as director, Coriolanus (2011)) – more detail will have to wait until another time, when (furniture-shifting for) the Q&A (and the consequent lack of detail about musicians on IMDb) does not obtrude reading the credits…

None of that would be worth a candle without Fiennes, who brought to the figure, familiar through Simon Callow (and even Doctor Who), a conviction and a humanity – it was not for nothing that Dickens was amongst those who campaigned for sanitary conditions for all, and we see him here at a benefit for The Hospital for Sick Children, and also hear him privately speak poignantly of his father’s and his family’s plight in poverty***.

A character very different either from Fiennes’ last Dickensian film role, as Magwitch, or his self-directed part as Caius Martius Coriolanus (let alone in Potter), and there we find his compelling versatility. To Dickens, a man shown to be not without tetchiness or anger, Fiennes seemed to bring some of the qualities that his character Stephen Tulloch had in his sister Martha Fiennes’ writer / director feature Chromophobia (2005) : despite that film’s fate in history, nothing is wasted.

Yes, stand-out performances, Felicity Jones luminous + Fiennes a fine Dickens - & director. @THEAGENTAPSLEY @TheVelvetNap #theinvisiblewoman
— Isobel Dixon (@isobeldixon) February 3, 2014

Opening with a gorgeous expanse of the coast at what we are told is Margate, and, with Nelly’s introduction, anxious, quick cutting, and one wants to know what drives her there, what her anguish is. We know of a connection with Dickens, but has she just come from him**** ? Nelly is a true Wilkie-Collins-type heroine, in her black against the washed-out sand (in more senses than one), and this could be The Shifting Sands, and some source of mystery.

Both within the dynamic of a scene, and from one to the next, the film is paced beautifully : once we have seen a later Felicity Jones in a Dickens-laden situation where she is unable to say what she knows, it unfolds with her in an almost Becketttean way, seeming to revolve it all, and without a friend to turn to*****. Nelly has been out too long, yet she knows what she must do, and straightaway does it, throwing herself into the rehearsal of Collins and Dickens’ No Thoroughfare.

Perhaps they are her memories, or maybe it is purely by the medium of cinema, but the play connects with the event of arriving in Manchester on a foul day, and first meeting our two writers in another collaboration. Nothing is over-explained, with ambiguity to keep us involved (Is the young man called Charley with the umbrella somehow the young Dickens … ?).

It is a fairly dark rehearsal space, and the polarity between so many interiors to come and the luminescence of views such as that beach at Margate is one of the themes of the film : the interiors are shot, by Rob Hardy, in a way that Fiennes told us came out of finding that Hardy and he had a common interest in the photography of Saul Leiter, and with Hardy’s eye for composition, but using Leiter’s effects and aesthetic. The effect, and the result of shooting on film, is gorgeous and inviting.

We guess at what has happened between Nelly and Charles, but it is only when Wilkie and he take her to the former’s home that it becomes clear that the state of affairs is more fragile, this coming hard on the heels of Catherine’s visit that day. In fact, it is apparent that Charles does not seem to know what he seeks, although he enjoys Nelly’s company, his writing, and appearing in public, but that more has been claimed in the press.

In all of this, Kristin Scott Thomas, as Nelly’s mother Frances, has been more apt than any to see what is happening early on, and to raise her concerns about Nelly with Charles – hers is a modest part, but, along with that of Wilkie (Tom Hollander), central to what unfolds, and both convincingly portray a circle of those close to Nelly, which later she seems to lack. A reflective and poignant film, which will repay watching again.


End-notes

* Fiennes, although questioning Catherine's envy, did indicate that Jones had followed such a path in preparing her role with him. The way in which what Catherine says to Nelly about Charles' public is structured does, however, suggest not only that she is sharing her experience of Charles to benefit Nelly, but also that she may hope to put her off by it.

** Having said that, Collins wrote four novels in ten years, which allowed him to give others financial support : The Woman in White, No Name, Armadale and The Moonstone.

*** Rev. Charles Lutwidge Dogson (1832 – 1898), i.e. Lewis Carroll courted social danger in this same century not only by going to the theatre, whether to see, say, the celebrated Ellen Terry perform, or his child-actor friends, but also by his association with Terry, such as seeing her backstage, or keeping up a correspondence. (In Carroll’s case, that might partly have been because the theatre was not thought a fit place at which a member of the clergy should be seen.)

As the opening scene of the film wisely avoids making clear (because having due regard to class and social distinctions would have complicated the story : Rev. Benham’s (John Kavanagh’s) admiration for Dickens’ works and seeming interest in theatrical matters), the theatre was frowned upon often enough, and there would have been an attitude towards Mrs Ternan and her daughters for the way that they supported themselves, and the film does not disguise their lack of means at home, and so why they act.

**** We are told that it is 1883, but the year might not register (not least because of the stunning view of the shore), unless one knows Dickens’ era well.

***** We do not know what has befallen her mother and sisters, but she is the youngest.


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I like beating people !

This is a review of The Armstrong Lie (2013)

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1 February

This is a review of The Armstrong Lie (2013)

* Contains spoilers *

One cannot help wondering whether writs (US) or claim forms (England & Wales)* will be flying over Alex Gibney’s film The Armstrong Lie (2013) (which takes its title from the headline of an article in L’Equipe [in English, The Team], ‘Le Mensonge Armstrong’).

The reason is given both by Armstrong’s litigious history, and the fact that, for example, accusations are made (even if made elsewhere before) about the connivance of the governing body’s officials with Armstrong about test-results that should have concerned them (more), the suggestion being that they gave those such as Armstrong a generous chance to come up with an explanation for positive findings : the film not only shows Armstrong presenting the cover-story that he had been prescribed a cream for saddle-sores whose use had caused him to register for steroids, but also how it is claimed, by those working with him, that, after hearing of the problem, they had trawled for a plausible excuse and found one in the cream (after which, presumably, a prescription being made out, as if on the relevant date, was the least of anyone’s worries).

Is though, in fact, the title The Armstrong Lie a partial misnomer, for, at least in part, the film revolves around (but never, maybe, centres on ?) all Armstrong’s denial that he doped, and on how he presented matters in a way favourable to him, as well maintaining the status quo, by such means as suing into submission those who spoke out ? Maybe reprehensible for a sportsman, who seems to have sacrificed friends Frankie and Betsy Andreu to defending his position, but all perfectly normal PR work of seeking to limit damage, one might cynically say, even if it does concern the emotive world of sport and the legendary feat of endurance that is Le Tour.

In fact, one could wager that the handling of what we might cause ‘the issue’ of illegal performance-enhancing drugs and even mid-race blood transfusions is probably textbook for the world of PR, and to place all the blame / responsibility on Armstrong, when, clearly, he had legal and medical advisers and so was not going to be short of the means and nous to employ advisers who could manipulate the media – the truth even – is short sighted. (In fact, as advisers, they would probably have urged on him such likely consequences, if he did not (and did not pay them for helping), as bans and litigation to recover payments that had been made, which the close of the film neutrally uses words on the screen (not, say, Gibney’s voice) to convey to us.

Imagine that this film were on an adjoining screen (as it probably was) to that showing the morally somewhat ambiguous portrayal of the world of the real Jordan Belfort in The Wolf of Wall Street (2013) (or, for that matter, the fraudulent activity of American Hustle (2013), another film recently in this very Screen 3, and which more definitely makes entertainment out of a true story). About Wolf, a presumably responsible critic of the calibre of Peter Bradshaw (writing in The Guardian) wants to say :

The Wolf of Wall Street does not quite have the subtlety and richness of Scorsese's very best work, but what an incredibly exhilarating film: a deafening and sustained howl of depravity.


What is the moral relativism operative here ? The narrative of the exploits of a man (Belfort) who happily sold people with nothing to speak of (other than their savings – and some greed) stock of whose worth he had no concerns to claw his way back after the 1987 crash is being lauded for depravity**. Whereas Armstrong is castigated for what seems like having gone in too deep and with no way back (except that no one seems to have made him go in for the Tour de France again in 2009, when Gibney was making a film about him, a film that, despite / because of Armstrong’s coming third (and what then unfolded), had to be put on hold for four years).

Of course, Lance Armstrong is no Macbeth, but the words of Act 3, Scene 4 of Shakespeare’s play have a certain resonance [Macbeth has just had his friend Banquo killed by men to whom he lied about who had kept them in lowly positions (he claims that it had been Banquo) – what about Armstrong, as we were told, only agreeing to interviews with Frankie Andreu, of all people (see below, following the quoted Tweet), during the 2009 Tour and then making him wait every time as another chilling way of abusing a (former) friendship and rubbing it in Andreu’s face ?) :

[…] I am in blood
Stepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o'er.

In The Armstrong Lie (2013), Alex Gibney himself doesn't know what kind of film he is making, so what chance do we have ? Confusing / long.
— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) February 1, 2014

Never mind Andreu, though. Gibney makes it quite clear in his commentary that he was personally affronted at how he felt treated that Armstrong denied doping to him – as if Armstrong were honestly going to do anything else, when he had weathered such storms as The Andreus’ depositions (in front of whom they said that he told the truth about his treatments to the doctor with care of him), and then employed people who did not care what means they used to destroy their credibility (they did not know whether the doctor in the room at the time was male or female, what the room was like, etc.).

On the view that Armstrong was in so deep that he felt / was told that he had to continue denial, damaging testimony is heard in court, and a legal mind for hire will be used to defeat it, so Gibney was not going to be let into the truth. Equally clearly, from what he said, he felt that he should have known, so out of what motive has he made his film ?

As to the quality of the film itself, the best documentaries do not tell a story for effect in a distorted way, even if one acknowledges that they typically have scores of hours of footage to distil into 90 to 120 minutes – ‘a good bit’ simply has to be left out if it does not tell the story, not inserted with a shoe-horn, and it does not help to have too many strands to it. Here, Gibney seems to have been desperate not to lose too many of ‘the good bits’ from what he shot in 2009, before the film was interrupted, and so he has combined them with what came from 2013, but not necessarily to good effect.

Not necessarily, because one often enough cannot tell whether it is from the earlier or the later period that he is showing footage. When it comes to narrating / telling the route to the come-back Tour of 2009, it seems clear enough that Armstrong has had cancer at some point between 2005 (around the time of his seventh win) and the decision to race again. (This seemed to have been the testicular cancer that Armstrong describes ?) But Gibney does not trouble himself, in the structure and content of his film, to distinguish this period of having cancer from an earlier one, which, when one learns of it, makes one doubt whether one might have misunderstood why Armstrong had been out of competition from 2005 to 2009. Wrong-footing the viewer in that way achieves little.

A simple telling of the key facts and dates in Armstrong’s life would certainly have helped. Perhaps not everyone knew very much about Armstrong, so it might have included where and when he was born, because we only went to the footage of Armstrong as a sixteen-year-old in Texas quite a bit later on (when, in the words that head this review, he boasted his competitive and athletic nature)…

Of course, no film need be linear, but there is not a lot of point, for example, in editing one’s film in such a way that the concept of ‘the yellow jersey’ (le maillot jaune) is explained when it has already been introduced once or twice (and, at the time, with the seeming assumption that viewers knew what it meant) : as with editing text, defining something when it is first mentioned is the rule of thumb (unless, of course, one wishes to keep one’s audience waiting for a purpose). As to the substance EPO, perhaps we did not need a structure diagram on the screen or to have spelt out what it stands for (which Michele Ferrari could surely have done), but it was as nebulous as the jersey : eventually, the film told us that Armstrong and others, under Ferrari’s direction, were having injections, but Gibney was not that careful, again, to tell us enough about it before he came to the involvement of Ferrari, when it may have been too late.

How feature films are put together will be quite different, but there will be the same journey, in editing, of finding that a scene ‘does not work’ or has to be put later / earlier than envisaged, and, unless someone is to remain ambiguous as to identity, introduced in such a way that the viewer will remember who he or she is / what his or her name is. Makers of documentaries tend to imagine that, despite what else is going on in the soundtrack or on the screen, it suffices to say in a caption who someone is the first time that we see him or her. However, if I do not know that Bicycling is a magazine, defining the person on the screen in relation to it by its title does not tell me that he or she is a journalist in the field of cycling.

Along with the fact that the caption will only, at most, be visible for the length of the clip, this may not be enough for the audience not to be in doubt that they have seen this person before, but not to recall his or her significance in the story. The point is of general application to documentaries, but also relevant here : a happy medium between giving the person a caption every time (which is overkill), and also bearing in mind how and how frequently voice-over is to be used.

At root, one wonders a little why Gibney came back to this project. Even saying that, three hours after Armstrong’s appearance in interview with Oprah Winfrey, he was in front of Gibney’s equipment (according to a caption). Did he expect something from Gibney, and what did Gibney hope for ? As one could only tell from whether the content had to be pre- or post-Oprah, it was hard to place when Gibney had filmed him, and this constituted another part of the cloudiness of the story-telling – nothing against a story that throws out clues that cohere to explain something at 40 minutes in that was unclear after only 10, but this did not have the air of being that sort of film-making : it just was unclear what Armstrong said to Gibney, or did not say, three hours after appearing on t.v.

The film did have (thanks to Ben Bloodwell’s work) astonishingly beautiful ways of photographing cycling, whether a group of riders, at a distance, ascending an incline before a wondrous ridge, or some really inventive shots from closer to the action, and, for those not familiar with the madcap world of Le Tour and its carnival, it had these people unbelievably posting themselves in the cyclists’ way to get a picture (and no one stopping them doing it) ! What it did not have, despite these strong points, was an idea of where it was going and how the viewer would be taken along :

The film does not know whether it is a film about a man who doped, a man and his colleagues who decided to dope when everyone else was doping, a man who let a film-maker down, a man who betrayed friends and kept up his denial as long as possible, or even about cycling. If Gibney ever asked Armstrong why he risked exploding everything by going back in 2009, he shows no answer in the film, but (even in hindsight) it seems the key question to have put forward.

The only explanation that we have why, in the face of the allegations of the kind made L’Equipe (which even seemed to have changed its tune about Armstrong come 2009) and The Andreus, no one told the truth for so long is in simple, mantra-like repetition of the word omertà, which is not properly translated or put in context by Gibney’s film. On a literal understanding of that word of defiance, federal agents or police officers should not have broken ‘the code of silence’, whereas, in this film, of course they trumped it.

In conclusion, perhaps there, too, Gibney took for granted that his film and what he showed in it made sense and fitted together as a whole. It does not, and, along with the desire of the score to extract anxiety from moments too often and for too long, misjudges its effect just as directly as when a writer tries to proof his own work and is too easily satisfied that what he or she intended to write is what is actually being read, overlooking the typos, the missing or repeated words, or an edit of a sentence that leaves it incoherent.


End-notes

* The writ (or its County Court equivalent, the summons) has not existed for two decades, although the media still like to use the word : they misguidedly think that it sounds more stylish to say Z has issued a writ against B.

** Surely, part of the effect that Scorsese was seeking – after all, there was no way that, although he also makes documentaries, he was going to throw away the doubtful / would-be glamour and glitz that only treatment in a feature could give to the story.


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How lost is this Academy-Award-winning film ?

This is a review of The Lost Weekend (1945)

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27 January (watched on DVD)

This is a review of The Lost Weekend (1945)

Probably, more of us will be familiar with the humane portrait of drinking, gluttonous and bawdy Sir John Falstaff than with the soberly (pun intended) unremitting world of Don Birnam in Billy Wilder's The Lost Weekend (1945). Yet it won Academy Awards for Ray Milland (as Birnam, who is almost never off the screen), Wilder as director and co-writer (with Charles Brackett), and as best picture (as well as nominations for Miklós Rózsa's towering score (Rózsa only lost the award because of winning it himself for that of Spellbound (1945)), and for editing and cinematography).

To-night, the dark experience of Billy Wilder's The Lost Weekend (1945) - Miklós Rózsa's score with saw-like theremin, and Ray Milland drunk
— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) January 26, 2014

The theremin cut through like a saw in Miklós Rózsa's wonderful soundtrack to The Lost Weekend (1945) - deserving of its own Academy Award.
— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) January 26, 2014

Sir John is a comic character (although Orson Welles introduces or emphasizes light and shade in his Chimes at Midnight (1965)), Birnam is more complex, and we see his complexity in detail first when the duet with chorus Libiamo ne' lieti calici in a performance of La Traviata starts to get to him, but he is driven to the humorous situation of having to wait for the owner of a leopard-skin coat (Jane Wyman as Helen St. James), because their cloakroom tickets have become confused. As Sir John might, to get some sack from Mistress Quickly, he knows how to turn on the charm, having gracelessly thrown her umbrella at her feet when asked for it, but is torn between the bottle of rye whiskey in his pocket and her kind invitation to a cocktail party, until the former gets smashed (and it remains unclear whether she buys his alibi of having wanted to take it to a sick friend).

Helen's faith in Don, and why it lasts as long as it does (as does that of his curiously named brother Wick), almost certainly has to be a given, for it is not fleshed out, nor is some of the recent past. For some, there may be clues as to whether the New York setting is contemporary, but, if it is, one wonders how Wick and Don avoided the draft. In all honesty, though, Wick's job, how he manages to support Don and him, and where they are supposed to be headed for a long weekend are peripheral (as long as one realizes that 'the cider' talked of there is just apple juice, because US usage calls our cider 'hard cider'). The title, too, can remain ambiguous, whether meaning the weekend that Don does not participate in, his being lost, or how he 'loses' it - perhaps, even, that it is lost as seen from the future that the ending promises.

Don has tried to outsmart Wick at the outset, and, at the end, he tries to conceal his intentions from Helen, but both times his desire is thwarted by chance, that of, respectively, where Wick's tossed cigarette ends up, and the view afforded Helen in the mirror. In the middle part of the film (when he is on his own, with only Nat's professional company (brought to us by Howard Da Silva) to serve him), a reciprocal arrangement between pawnbrokers to close for Yom Kippur has him walking exhaustedly for blocks, checked off by the lamp-post road-markers, before finding out that there is a pattern.

In a way, It's a Wonderful Life (1946) is a mini re-run of the sort of degradation, despair and delinquency that Don is led into at the bottom until he meets a man calling himself Bim (Frank Faylen), and hears a few truths that, whatever has happened to Don before, he has been hiding from himself : Bim has seen it all before, is matter of fact, and dismisses Don's future, and that strikes home as clearly as if he had suddenly pictured himself in the downward path of Hogarth's 'Gin Lane'.

According to Wikipedia, Wilder had worked with Raymond Chandler on Double Indemnity (1944), which had sent Chandler back to drink, and Wilder had chosen to make the film to hold the mirror up to Chandler. In the film, at any rate, Bim holds a mirror up to Don, a message that eventually leads him to the film's two possible endings.

Wilder and Milland pull no punches in showing a man who will beg, demand and even steal for drink, with only the touches of charm to lighten him that seem to have kept his brother and girlfriend loyal to him. But the magic that they work, ably assisted by Rózsa's soundtrack, is to keep us loyal to him, because we have heard about how early success with writing, then over-confidence, then setbacks and the lure of a drink to steady the nerves have reeled him in : he knows all this, because he tells it to Nat as a story in the bar, but that does not help him know it in a way that offers a way out of it.

Then, and since, countless experts and other writers have given accounts of how to beat an addiction such as to alcohol (or gambling or smoking), and maybe they would have different views about what would work for Don to do it, but there is no denying that the image that we have of a man in thrall to whiskey is compelling, frightening and vividly alive, and the film merits its place in the US National Film Registry as an uncompromising look at the devastating effects of alcoholism, and to be described by The Library of Congress as culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant.

Shortly after, and in the film adaptation with Albert Finney in 1984, we have Malcolm Lowry's uncompromising story of a man with a deeper debt to alcohol than Don, but, for this film, it ends as it does, with a share of ambivalence (seemingly more evident in Charles R. Jackson's original novel), and much relief. It must be open to put other meanings on the cravings that drive Don, and where they have come from, but one can also just take the film as it comes.


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Time-travel and temptation

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25 January (Burns' Night)

* Contains spoilers *

Following on from Stale old arguments about Scorsese, here is the main act...

Epic an extraordinary experience watching #LastTemptationOfChrist in Wells Cathedral, well done @BathFilm! pic.twitter.com/XqqcZvuDDK
— Film Hub SWWM (@FilmHubSWWM) January 25, 2014

The Dean and Chapter of Wells Cathedral may have had screenings in the nave before, but, if so, never like that of The Last Temptation of Christ (1988). For one, one's admission is not usually greeted by someone, without explanation offered, handing out what appeared to be a blank slip of paper (usually, the giving or showing is the other way around). It was later found to be a piece of folded A5, but, when asked, the giver said that it was 'an alternative view' (and appeared to be a reprint of a 2* review for the film, as if its existence proved something). For another, the quality of the projection, brought from Festival Central :

Lovely crisp image from @camfilmfest crew for @BathFilm with The Last Temptation of Christ at @WellsCathedral1 ! Thanks for showing it.
— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) January 25, 2014

There were three introductions to the film, by The Dean, by Scorsese's editor Thelma Schoonmaker (who is also Michael Powell's widow), and (on film) from Scorsese himself for this 25th-anniversary screening, from which we gathered that he had started training for the priesthood, but had not got the necessary grades (and dyslexia was mentioned). The impact of Nikos Kazantzakis' novel on Scorsese became clear, and also the fact that the novel, and the film based on it, is not meant to be a direct Gospel-based account of Jesus' life, but a work of fiction that asks questions. We, too, were invited to ask questions.

The concern about showing a Scorsese film here might have been justified, if it had been Taxi Driver (1976), or even the very immediate Life of Belfont in The Wolf of Wall Street (2013) - that would have been inappropriate (sacrilege ?), but there is no way on Earth that this film is blasphemous. It simply asks the question, based on Jesus being fully Man and fully God, what if temptation did not end with the forty days in the wilderness, but extended to the cross :

In essence, what if this Jesus of the film were tempted to believe that there is a parallel with Abraham not being required, having shown himself willing, to sacrifice Isaac, and that he, having abandoned wanting the comforts of a life with wife and children and been crucified, has done all that is needed of him, need not actually undergo death this way after all to save Man ? Scorsese imagines this temptation, which has been mentioned earlier, and shows us Satan peddle Jesus his lies that he is like Isaac, and another way has been found.

The Last Temptation of Christ (1988) gradually builds until, before you know it, the tension of The Agony in the Garden is nigh unbearable.
— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) January 26, 2014

Theologically, we are thrown back on that moment on the Mount of Olives when Jesus asks Peter, James and John to mount watch and pray whilst he goes off a little way to pray alone (which happens twice in gospel accounts, but once here) : he prays that the cup that he is offered may be taken from him, if it is possible, i.e. that he need not undergo crucifixion. (He has already broken bread and shared a cup of wine with his disciples, saying that they are his body and his blood). The film shows Peter, although Peter is asleep with the other two, present the cup to Jesus for him to drink from (echoing the earlier scene, and invoking transubstantiation), which Jesus takes as his answer that there is no other way.

In the Miltonic vision of the early Books of Paradise Lost, between the Fall of Lucifer / Satan and the Fall of Man, a council in heaven has Jesus volunteer to redeem mankind from the consequences of his as-yet unperformed disobedience - being omniscient, God knows beforehand what will happen, whereas, in John's Gospel, we have 'The Word' being God and with God before the creation of the world (1 : 1), and God sending his only son to give eternal life to believers (3 : 16). Scorsese / Kazantzakis gives us a picture of a Jesus whose certainty as to his mission and messiahship is not constant, who has had Judas close to him before and in his ministry (suggesting that Judas (Harvey Keitel, with orange hair), not John, is 'the disciple whom Jesus loved' ?) and hired by the zealots to kill him, and who has asked Judas to betray him to the officers of the High Priest, which turns out to be just after that moment of prayer*.

The Jesus of this film already knows Mary Magdalene and has called his disciples before he goes into the wilderness, and, as carpenter, has provided the Romans with crosses for crucifixions - all of these things stress that this is not the exact Jesus of the Gospels, as well as the fact that Peter seems to have no very special role (unlike that of Judas), and that we are shown Mary both as an active prostitute, and as 'the woman caught in adultery', with no invitation 'to cast the first stone', because stones have already been cast. All of this alienates us from mistaking Willem Dafoe for the Biblical Jesus, as does our familiarity with the actor - he is not another Robert Powell, this is not Pasolini.

It is a subtle effect, for we have the necessary distance on Jesus come the purging of The Temple, the triumphant entry into Jerusalem, and the further defiance to how The Temple is being run with the claim to rebuild 'this temple' (traditionally, following Paul ?, taken to mean Jesus' own body) in three days. We have seen the raising of Lazarus as a real and frightening struggle with the forces of death, not a casual opening of the tomb (despite the warnings that a body has been in there three days, which becomes a stark reality in this film) and calling to Lazarus to come out.

On the Mount of Olives, then brought before Pilate (David Bowie, before whose scene there is none with Caiaphas or the like), this is a Jesus who has not found it easy to discern his mission, and whom Bowie dismisses as just another to add to the 3,000 skulls on Golgotha. There, Jesus who provided the means to crucify others (and with distorted motives), is nailed up in just the same way, but beforehand, with the way of the cross, Peter Gabriel's soundtrack breaks through into its own, evoking the hubbub, mockery and jeers that we see on the screen - it is almost deafening, and there is a long moment when time stands still and Jesus is forever carrying the cross, being jolted and mocked, and it almost does not let up until Jesus is presented with the title's last temptation.

Those affected by Peter Gabriel's score to The Last Temptation of Christ at @WellsCathedral1 can find the soundtrack on his Real World label
— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) January 26, 2014

When this Jesus believes that there is another way, filmically and theologically, several things happen at once : we know that the Gospel accounts and the Christian churches say that Jesus died on the cross, we know that this sweet girl who claims to be his guardian angel must be lying (and that this is the temptation), and we will Jesus to wake up from the deception, which means that we are asking him to die for us, to be The Crucified Saviour, we ask him to give up for us the things in life that are shown desirable to him.

How curious is that, that we should want him to defeat this temptation and die ! A Jesus who even confronts Paul (whom we saw earlier as Saul (Harry Dean Stanton), and whose account of the blinding on the road to Damascus we hear), telling him that he did not die and that Paul's and the other apostles' testimony is false - neither believes the other. If the comparison is not trite, we have a celestial Doctor Who story, certainly a dream sequence, where the deceived Doctor / dreamer cannot spot the clues that he has been tricked, that he did have to die on the cross, that he cannot have what this temptation offered him.

Inevitably, we are thrown back to the temptations manifested as cobra, lion and fire that Jesus experienced in his Richard-Long-like dust-circle in the wilderness, to the doubts and hesitations to which we elsewhere see Jesus subject. Through Scorsese's film, Kazantzakis poses to us the possibility that Jesus could have been tempted on the cross, and the moment is placed when Jesus cries out (in English) words from The Book of Isaiah, Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?. Some theologies want to say that, at this moment, Jesus is cut off from contact with God, and that it is in this aweful separation that the act of saviourhood consists. This film places the moment when Jesus is most human, when he most wants and is offered what everyone else expects in life, at this time.

As a theological argument about what that postulated separation means, if one accords meaning to Jesus as fully God and Man, this would not make a film**. However, led into the place of temptation by Gabriel's sweetest music, and in purely cinematic terms, seeing Jesus live our life, meet and reject Paul, and be tempted as we are is compelling film-making. This is not blasphemy or a source of challenge to Christian believers, but a heartfelt and carefully thought-through meditation, as a film, on what can otherwise seem the sometimes tired and unconsidered question of what it cost Jesus to go to his death. At the very end, as we looked up above the screen, a faint light was on The Crucifixion, Jesus on the cross and those at the foot.


All at the Cathedral and Bath Film Festival are to be commended for their determination to show this film, despite objection


More here on what Scorsese has written about the film (in Scorsese on Scorsese)...


End-notes

* The accounts about Judas throwing the thirty coins of silver back at the officers of the High Priest, The Potter's Field being bought, or of Judas hanging himself have no place here.

** Surely, at its heart is Paul's Letter to the Hebrews (4 : 15), which says For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. The protesters (Wells Journal, 23 January) assert - baselessly, as far as I can see - that the film propounds that Jesus did marry Mary Magadelene (by citing The Christ Files), and seek to disprove the claim.


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Miming in the choir*

This is a review of The Railway Man (2013)

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22 January

This is a review of The Railway Man (2013)

* Contains spoilers *

I’m still at war, Eric Lomax comes to realize when he has gone to confront his persecutor, but, before he does so, there is the bulk of one tautly reined and powerful film, amongst whose many strengths are the conviction of the cast, the inventiveness and crispness of its cinematography, and how the highly effective score (by David Hirschfelder) employs instruments as varied as cello, oboe, gamelan and Japanese flute** in an integrated whole, which works with the film despite our consciousness of it.

As a young Lomax, Jeremy Irvine*** more than fulfils the potential that he showed in Now is Good (2012), even catching the rhythms and mannerisms of Colin Firth, his older self, and forming a tight triangle with Patricia Wallace (Nicole Kidman), the woman whom he loves (known as Patti). Only it will not work as a triangle****, and, despite fellow survivor Finlay’s (Stellan Skarsgård’s) initial dismissals of Wallace as a Florence Nightingale who wants to work on Lomax and who is underestimating what Lomax and he and others went through in captivity under the Japanese army, he agrees to help, acknowledging the happiness that she has brought Lomax.

Lomax’s other love is trains, and we all know the type, which gives a matter of factness that is part of Lomax’s charm and attractiveness. Kidman and Firth handle the scene wonderfully, with the clincher being what the accompanying sailors had been shouting when her older relatives watched Brief Encounter (1945), another triangle, and a promise from Kidman to behave better. Already, in the things that Lomax asks her, we know that he is revealing things about himself, and his view of life, with his suggestions for where she might travel on the Scottish West Coast. He only, though, confirms his feelings to himself by telling another, Finlay, of what happened.

It is a form of validation, and no wonder when we learn of what happened to him in the Second World War (with the worst revealed till last). Finlay only hints at what Lomax’s life was like before he met Wallace, and she only realizes what Lomax’s experiences are like when they have married, but is fiercely loyal to him : she says that she had twenty years in nursing, and she may well have known others who had been hurt by what happened to them.

The scene where we realize what dogs Lomax, with the world of the Burma railway stealing into his mind and obliging him to go back there, against his will and with physical force, is highly imaginative, mixing not so much memory and desire (T. S. Eliot’s verse from the opening of (‘The Waste Land’) as memory and despair. We do not need to be shown again what his inner life is at these times, but we see him struggle to resist change in his life with Wallace, and how the remnants of the past that she finds chill her, but embolden her wish to help her husband.

Nothing in this film feels gratuitous (and it is very graphic in places, which strike home), and things are not shown in the interests of reviving hatred for the perpetrators of these acts on prisoners of war. As the film develops, Lomax knows no more than we what we might do, and the exactness about him that we see in Irvine, when is trying to explain that he really likes trains, is there when he challenges the words that are being used to describe his friends’ and his treatment.

Be reminded that this is a film, and not Lomax’s book – until we get to the end of the film, it opens incomprehensibly, because that is the typical artifice of films, to sow a seed – and the reconciliation and friendship with Nagase (Hiroyuki Sanada) actually happened quite differently from how portrayed, but would not have made such a good film.

In his acting, Irvine has just the right qualities to be bright eyed, knowledgeable but not brash, in pain, selfless, proud : he is our guide to the older Lomax, and Firth and he mirror each other. To its credit, the film did have the services of a psychiatrist available to it, and it also does not seem improbable that a man who had experienced what Lomax did would have ended up as he does later on in life, though what the onset of that behaviour is unclear.

It seems that Firth and Kidman met Patti and Eric Lomax, and that, although he died before it could be seen, she has supported the film***** and said that Firth caught her late husband on camera. Factually, it telescopes and inverts the order of many things, but this does not seem to have bothered the Lomaxes, who, if so, must have appreciated that telling a story in a film is different from doing so in Lomax’s own writing.

If it encourages people to read The Railway Man (with Lomax's delirious poem), then all to the good, but it does stand complete in itself, and whilst more could be made of the input that Patti Lomax had to her husband’s regaining his equilibrium, doing so was not necessary, because, from the lead performers’ portrayals, we never doubt their love for each other, and that is the strength from which they built.


This film does what it needs to, by evoking bravery, self-sacrifice, and the very depths of love and friendship.



End-notes

* This is how Finlay, in his role of Uncle to his fellow prisoners when in captivity, describes to Patti his feelings of inadequacy to be a continuing support to them.

** That description may fit a typical East / West musical pastiche, but this is so much better, quite possibly one of the top scores for the last twelve months.

*** Whom it seems Colin Firth suggested for the part.

**** Because Lomax of 1980 is dragged back by the one of 1942 and his experiences from fully being with her. Somehow, the physical hurts then have to be healed in his mental life now, and Lomax is almost certainly subject to, at the very least, post-traumatic stress disorder. Significantly, unlike the Marnie (1964) type of film, she is not the one who (directly) finds him the healing.

***** According to IMDb, The real-life Patti Lomax attended the film's world premiere at the Toronto Film Festival in 2013. She received a standing ovation upon the screening of the film.


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Unless stated otherwise, all films reviewed were screened at Festival Central (Arts Picturehouse, Cambridge)

What does Rotten Tomatoes tell us about Wolf ?

More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2013
(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)


23 January


www.rottentomatoes.com is notorious for summarizing a critical review as 'fresh' tomatoes, a so-called glowing one as 'rotten' - one doubts that there is much human intervention in scanning the review, or at all beyond the star-rating and the closing words, and some would invoke what they have learnt to call an algorithm (even though all of computers and the Internet are algorithms at work).

That said, one can pretty quickly pick out some choice pieces of slating a film such as The Wolf of Wall Street (2013), or some pieces of enthusiastic endorsement that might be unsaid, if people had not embarrassingly already read them, and here are some quotations from the former category about this film :

By the way, the collector’s version of The Wolf of Wall Street, and if Scorsese gets wise the Director’s Version, will consist of just one scene. It is by far the best: it comes at the beginning and says everything crisply that doesn’t need to be shoutily repeated over and over. Matthew McConaughey, never better, has a shark-featured cameo as young Belfort’s first-day mentor. He is totally hilarious, a lean, airy-gestured, epigrammatic, mad-as-a-fox cynic and crypto-sociopath: just the man to ensure good order in Moneyville as the young striped shirts learn to get in formation with the striped coke lines.

Nigel Andrews, Financial Times

One can’t help but think the film’s early enemies were asking the wrong question. Scorsese and DiCaprio have argued that no approval of Belfort’s activities is implied. This is true enough. But both men are certainly experienced enough to understand cinema’s ability to allow decent people a little recreational paddling in vicarious immorality. Scorsese’s Goodfellas – whose grammar and rhythms Wolf apes – would not be nearly so entertaining if it concerned dishonest ice cream salesmen.

and

At times, the film seems almost Hobbitian in its inability to finish a scene that is already well past its natural lifespan. It’s not often one encounters a film that could, quite comfortably, lose an entire hour. But, clocking in at 180 minutes, Wolf is just that picture. It hardly needs to be said that it’s brilliantly edited and superbly acted – Jonah Hill is hilarious as Belfort’s slippery lieutenant – but the endless repetition would wear down even the most fervent Philip Glass fan.

Donald Clarke, The Irish Times ('fresh' for giving it three stars ?)

The Wolf of Wall Street, adapted from the autobiography by the disgraced stockbroker Jordan Belfort, looks back adoringly at the sort of cavalier corruption that precipitated the recent economic crisis. There is something intriguingly contrary, even foolhardy, about asking audiences to marvel at the high jinks and profligacy that have reshaped their world for the worse.

and

Scorsese frames Belfort like a rock god, placing the camera behind him as he delivers sermons to the whooping stooges who fill an office floor that stretches towards infinity. If the film aspires ultimately to be an indictment, then it is one with tiny love hearts doodled in the margins, which is no kind of indictment at all.

and

Any oxygen in the film comes from the softly electrifying Kyle Chandler as Patrick Denham, the FBI agent trying to bring Belfort to book.

Ryan Gilbey, New Statesman

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Unless stated otherwise, all films reviewed were screened at Festival Central (Arts Picturehouse, Cambridge)