Review: Under the Skin -- Green Men are From Mars, Redheads are From Venus
When did Scarlett Johansson become so sexy? Her voice is enough to make Joaquin Phoenix fall in love with an operating system in Her. She is the cat suited kick ass assassin Black Widow in Marvel's Avengers franchise. In Under the Skin she crawls the streets of Glasgow seducing young men whom she literally drives to abstraction.
I'll tell you when. It was in Match Point. Yes, the dreadful crime without punishment thriller in which Woody Allen totally misreads the British class system as a stand in for his usually privileged New Yorkers (jarring example: they faun over a tennis player because he's read Dostoyevsky -- the exact opposite of the practically cliché pre-Thatcher product of great British education proudly well read working class Trotskyite). Jonathan Rhys Meyers believably puts his social climbing at risk for a tortured affair with Scarlett who, for the first time for me, was fully glamorous. Up 'til then she'd been cute, kinda pretty, kinda gawky, usually deadpan funny. Match Point shifted her gears up to full va va va voom. This discovery was the one intriguing element to that film. Unfortunately, my new found appreciation of Scarlett's charms was shared by a grubby old man a few rows in front of me, who grunted lustfully every time the camera cut to her (on each and every cut, like a perverted Thelma Schoonmaker).
Under the Skin is.... hold on... I'd like to say having seen the film, I'd been told things about it I wish I hadn't... things the film itself resolutely never explains. So... dear reader... if you fancy a film that mixes themes of death, sex and alienation, lightly plotted, opaque, but filled with a series of arresting images, and with ostensible smatterings of weird/horror/science fiction genres... or, if you just need an opportunity to grunt at Scarlett looking tantalizing in a faux rabbit fur coat and tight jeans... then read no further and go see it with my recommendation but for the caveat that it is Arty with a capital A. You have been warned.
The Things which didn't spoil, but I'd have soon not known going in: Under the Skin is based on the Michel Faber novel in which an alien, in a Scarlett Johansson skinsuit prowls in a van using her wily femininity to lure young men back to a stylized demise featuring nudity and black goo. Also, some scenes were filmed with "non-actors" by hidden cameras (I didn't waste time trying to spot which ones, and difference in the end is purely academic).
The film begins with a Kubrickian sequence of lights and shapes, the 2001 monolith/stargate/light tunnel given a utilitarian re-design by Steve Jobs (and indeed it is shortly followed by a transformation sequence so filled with white light and silhouettes I thought we were briefly in an early Ipod ad). This wink to the audience (complete with the full 2001 eye close-up) is the only indication of interstellar travel. Mica Levi's nervy box of violins being rattled soundtrack stands in superbly for Ligetti (at time of publication this link will let you stream it http://pitchfork.com/advance/384-under-the-skin/
The fate or purpose of her victims is never revealed, although some appear to be "harvested" by the sexual encounter. So, more Liquid Sky meets Eyes Wide Shut than The Man Who Fell to Earth meets Species. Although, to be perfectly fair, it is thoroughly infused with that sense of "other" that liberally peppers the works of Nic Roeg. Scarlett for her part puts this across as beautifully as Bowie did, her detachment complete as expression falls from her face each time she stops interacting with humans.
The otherness is intentionally exacerbated by the thick Gorbals accent of most of her men (amongst other Glaswegian Scots thoroughly English obscuring accents available). She doesn't try to blend in, and sports an accent between "posh-bird" and BBC Received Pronunciation. Apart from one conversation, hinting at a difficult to process sympathy, the sparse dialogue may as well be in an alien language. This is a film about images and sensations, not a pithy script. It's edifying if you let it wash over you without looking for much in the way of engagement or story.
Regardless of what you may think of director Jonathan Glazer's previous output, Sexy Beast (what's not to love? Gandhi made terrifying gangster!) and Birth (boring, preposterous, ponderous, some points for atmosphere), he does have strong visions and for better or worse carries them to fruition. This is better.
Under the Skin may leave you perplexed, intrigued, unsatisfied, suspended in black goo, or some combination of the above, but at the very least, it will leave you wanting more Scarlett Johansson, and more Jonathan Glazer. That's not so bad, is it?
Sidebar: In my particular screening a woman sitting two rows behind me, perhaps believing herself to be an alien, or a spiritual cousin to the dirty old man of Match Point, made inappropriate noises throughout. Giggles and gasps, but most strikingly, a cry of pain at the moment when a fork penetrated a slice of cake.
EXTRA CREDIT [look back at this next sentence AFTER seeing the film] : Is the hilarity of the "she doesn't always walk on water" and "so that's what that hole is for" moments intentional?
RIP Peter O'Toole -- Dean Spanley
With the passing of the wonderful actor and iconic film star Peter O'Toole, rather than adding to the plethora of appreciations of his career, I'd like to draw attention to one of his best but largely unseen performances in the light period comedy Dean Spanley.
One of O'Toole's final major roles, and the last for which he garnered professional recognition (Best Supporting Actor, a win from New Zealand Film and TV Awards, and nominations from Irish Film and Television Awards and the London Critics Circle Film Awards). He is joined in a pitch perfect ensemble by Jeremy Northam, Sam Elliot, Bryan Brown and Judy Parfitt.
Northam plays a dutiful son to O'Toole's crabbed father still in unrelenting mourning for his other son fallen in the Boer Wars. Eliot plays the titular vicar with whom Northam, abetted by convivial fixer Brown, engages in increasingly bizarre conversations.
I want to recommend this highly and could wax lyrical at length, however, there's a conundrum, I want to tell you as little about the film as possible. Its underlying fantastic conceit is so slight and delicate that it might be shattered by description. As a piece of Edwardiana, it borders dangerously on twee. The result however is a gentle comedy which speaks to the relationship between man and dog, and father and son.
Whilst the acting is brilliant all around, O'Toole's performance seals the deal, and the scene in which a dawning realization transforms his character also transforms this curate's egg of a comedy into a genuinely moving statement. Not a bad note in this one of O'Toole's swan songs.
Back-B-Log: Catch-Up: New Forest Film Festival 2011 Wrap Up
I've gotten around to finishing all articles relating to the 2011 New Forest Film Festival, a series of events at which I both volunteered and puntered and more. I love the idea of having this Film Festival on my doorstep in the forest, and want to help it succeed. After an excellent taster evening in 2010, the 2011 Festival was the first with a full program, and it is an encouraging building block for the future.
It was immediately before my three week trip to the States, and much of the time since has been devoted to preparing then caring for the litter of puppies who are now four months old and, except for the lovely Anya, have gone to wonderful and loving homes (Anya has stayed in our wonderful and loving home) -- which is why this job lot are so late for completion, the puppies ate my homework.
If you've ended up here because you Googled the Festival, be warned, I do go on a bit. Of course, whether you care for my self referential musings is your problem. Feel free to dip in and out of them as you wish.
I also was short listed (1 of 2) for this years New Forest Film Festival Critic of the Year (over 18). Here's my review as entered for The Brothers Bloom, as well as two other essays I considered submitting, a clip of the awards presentation, and my Critic's Cut of my review (including the bits that were over the submission's 500 word limit).
Here's a couple of tangentially related pieces, the strangely negative effect of Richard O'Brien on my existence, and why you shouldn't disabuse people of their love for a film that you patently know is wrong (which casually mentions my role in the winning team at the NFFF Film Quiz)
As I perversely prefer them to be posted to the dates when either I started writing them, or more relevantly chose to post them, this means they don't show up as the latest thing in the arbitrarily chronological feed of this blog, hence this catch up round up. If any of you gluttons for punishment particularly enjoy the above, you may be interested in my former festival experience, when, as a young IT consultant, I crashed the Cannes Film Festival, starting with Back-B-log
1990: Cannes - Dread And Victory (I.a.To Cannes (and hell)).
Labels: Back-B-Log, New Forest Film Festival
Moviola Diary: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy
I recently got a part time gig as a projectionist for Moviola
, a company which runs rural cinemas in village halls throughout Hampshire, Dorset, Devon, Wiltshire and Somerset. There's a nice community atmosphere at the screening as groups of friends, and old dears who'd rather not brave the throngs of sullen teenagers in town multiplexes, watch relaxed with a cuppa tea, an ice cream or a glass of wine. Most of the shows are second run, either just before or after the DVD release, but the audiences would still rather make an event of going out to see a flick rather than stay in and rent.
The last of my training sessions, then the subsequent screenings as a paid "pro" are with the 2011 adaptation of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, meticulously directed by Tomas Alfredson and boasting a best of British ensemble cast headed by Gary Oldman alongside both stalwarts including John Hurt, Colin Firth, Mark Strong, Toby Jones, Ciaran Hinds, Kathy Burke, and Roger Lloyd-Pack, and up and comers like Tom Hardy, Benedict Cumberbatch and Stephen Graham. Where Alfredson's previous effort Let The Right One In was about teenagers learning to trust (despite, you know, that usual teenage foible of vampirism), this is about middle aged men in distrust. You could title it "Weed The Right One Out".
As a film buff I've been used to seeing my favorites over again, although as middle age and life has crowded in, these are rarely in the theatrical run, and are mostly lazily achieved when something happens to be on telly. When I was at Annenberg as a student in Amos Vogel'
s superb film analysis courses, we'd watch films on an analytical projector which allowed film to be shown at slower speeds without melting the print, we'd watch two ten minute reels, then take notes at 1/4 or 1/2 speed, then re watch at normal, making our way through a film over the course of weeks, with full length showings either side; this purely academic discipline never really caught on with me.
I thought I'd make a diary of these multiple viewings, to see what if anything is gained on these repeats within such a short space of time. The observations below are both chock full of spoilers, and most likely incomprehensible if you haven't seen it. So if you haven't, piss off now and don't come back 'til you do. Even if you don't come back, if you see it, my work is done.
Harbour Lights Cinema in Southampton 15 October 2011
My first viewing, with my wife Finuala. We enjoy it immensely. I remember enough of the Alec Guiness version to be able to follow the plot.
Ringwood 08 February 2012
My second viewing four months later, mostly just reabsorbing, but I do take note of the throwaway yet significant shot at the the end of the opening credits, Smiley sat in his home staring at the small square green painting on his wall.
I begin to savour some of the more actorly moments. Simon McBurney's borderline Yes Minister civil servant, Oliver Lacon, casually punctilious scraping butter across his toast as he discusses funding the safe house for Witchcraft with Percy Alleline and Roy Bland, the inevitable bite provides the crunch that punctuates and cuts the scene. The seemingly hard to rattle hardman Ricki Tarr, Tom Hardy jumps at the sound of the meat cleaver in the Turkish kitchen. The way Colin Firth needles Smiley on his return home with his story of Ann and the painting whilst farcically slipping his shoes on, and Smiley's polite discomfort concealing the enraged cuckold.
Then, of course, there are the gems within Gary Oldman's performance. The two moments when Smiley realises that his friend Control distrusted him as well. When Oliver Lacon asks if Control had shared his mole theory, and Smiley must aver that he hadn't, and when in Control's apartment looking over the faces on the chess pieces, the flashback to the discussion of Witchcraft in the War Room, Control's pronouncement, ringing in his ears "nothing's genuine anymore," Smiley turns the last black piece around to see his own face amongst the suspected. At "that" Christmas Party, the gasp Smiley emits when he sees Ann cavorting passionately with her unseen lover. During Bill Haden's final debrief Smiley loudly upbraids him as Karla's office boy, "what are you then, Bill?" then bitterly but quietly echoes Haden's assertion that the smokescreen of the affair with Ann only worked "up to a point."
These stand out not because Oldman is underplaying the rest of the time, but precisely because he is playing the cerebral quiet of Smiley throughout, and these moments are when Smiley almost slips his façade. It's easy to focus on the know your enemy Karla monologue, he shines most obviously here, his timbre perilously close to that which Sir Alec found for the same role, but it's a mistake to think that Oldman's mastery isn't constant in Smiley's shoes. It is hugely annoying and unjust that Gary missed out on both the BAFTA and Oscar to that sincere but mugging frenchman. I hope everyone will reteam for Smiley's People, if only to give Gary another go.
I come up with two tangential thoughts. After the unfortunate owl related incident at the end of the first schoolroom scene with Jim Prideaux (Mark Strong) the voice over in my head said ".... Hogwarts was very different that year...". During the coda montage under an upbeat swinging version of La Mer (ostensibly played out in the past at "that" Christmas party) as Smiley triumphantly strides back into The Circus, when he passes a grinning Peter Guillam (Benedict Cumberbatch) I just want them to high-five each other. Maybe they will in the American language remake.
Brockenhurst 10 February 2012
Shamefully it has taken until this viewing to realize that the insect stuck in the car is one of Mendel's bees from the previous scene. It's a beautiful subtle character moment, Guillam swats pointlessly angrily at it, then Smiley simply rolls down his window and lets it fly out.
And though I'd fully noticed it before, I take stock of the fact that there are two moments when Smiley is a bit of a shit. First more obviously is when he sends Peter Guillam into The Circus to retrieve the logs without telling him about Ricki Tarr. Worse, the second is when Tarr asks him to get Irina out as the price for his risk in smoking out the mole, Smiley says he'll "do his utmost" knowing full well from Jim Prideaux's statement that she is already dead.
I have time to reflect again on the extreme economy of the script, when asked to introduce the film I point out that it took the BBC six hours in 1979 to cover the same ground when this clocks in at just over two. Whole relationships are left to be telegraphed by glances between the incredible cast, as the main plot churns through the hunt for the mole. There are many blink and you'll miss it moments. Control dies in the opening credits with a brief shot of him torso akimbo in a hospital bed. The fall from grace of Percy Alleline is only seen through Toby Jones haggard and defeated face as he trudges past George at The Nursery. Although a key relationship Jim Prideaux and Bill Haden aren't seen together apart from a photograph, them nodding to each other at THAT party and an assassin's distance apart when Prideaux executes Haden.
There are only three moments that seem unnecessary, two are the shots during the La Mer montage of Ricki Tarr standing in the rain and Connie Sachs smoking looking out her window, sandwiched between Jim Prideaux shedding a tear to match the bullet hole blood on Bill Haden's cheek and the god shot of Haden dead in the leaves. We don't learn the fates of many of the other characters, so, apart from filler in the montage, I'm not sure why they specifically are included. The third slightly extraneous sequence is when Peter Guillam "tidies" his personal life by breaking up with his boyfriend.
Frogham 17 February 2012
It has bothered me slightly on previous viewings, but the clunkiness of the shot of THE cigarette lighter, within the flashback from Smiley finally debriefing Jim Prideaux, just after Prideaux describes his final interrogator and THE lighter he kept "flashing about", zoom in onto THE lighter sitting on the table in the Hungarian cafe when Jim Prideaux was snatched up, ostensibly with Karla sat there. This little bit seems a little hamfisted. Why would Karla be at the meet? If he was there, how could such "Hungarian amateurs" as the "waiter" be allowed to botch the operation so badly and shoot Prideaux. Is he there in the BBC version, or the book? The other thing that has always bothered me about the whole Karla story told by Smiley is how could he possibly know that the guy he lost THE lighter to, the guy they sent back to the USSR to die, ended up becoming Karla? Smiley doesn't remember what he looked like, nor does he know what he looks like now, apart from what Prideaux can now tell him. He might have been able to deduce the guy was Karla after the conversation with Prideaux, but he knows this well before when he trots out the oft preview clipped direct to camera Karla speech to Guillam.
(I'll have to read the book now).
Bringing THE lighter up and giving us a visual reveal of what is likely an outsized prop, does make sense to the degree that it connects the whole trail of betrayal back to the relationship between George and Ann. Ann is tantalizingly conspicuous by her absence, we barely see her but for glimpses at THAT party and seated in the kitchen, her face obscured by the doorframe, returned home to George during the closing montage. THE lighter and THAT painting get more screen time than she does, we see more of the paisley party dress than we do of her face.
Stockbridge 22 February 2012
At the Christmas party, we see Ann Smiley her back is to us, she is sat across from George, she is recognizable from her purple paisley dress, she has some artificial thing like a cloth flower in her hair, one hand waves a cigarette aloft as she sings along with Sammy Davis, Jr. - The Second Best Secret Agent In The Whole Wide World
I suspect that the carriage clock in The Circus "war room" may have disappeared during Percy Alleline's reign and has reappeared with Smiley's return, and the return of order.
When I introduce the film, with the proviso that the projection should not be blamed for the dull and muted colours as the film takes places in the "drab 1970's", a woman in the audience becomes agitated and slightly argumentative. She recalls the '70's as a vibrant, colourful time. Thinking quickly I back pedal "the 1970's as depicted by the film makers..." to get myself off the hook.
Bishopstone 24 February 2012
A slightly earlier shot of Ann Smiley at the Christmas party, a few preceding the one noted above. George is giving her a polite kiss and we nearly see her in profile, but all we get is a hint of the crescent of her cheek.
I realise that I have forgotten to confirm my theory about the carriage clock. Ahh well, I may have to see the film again.
And that's not a bad thing.
Labels: Moviola, My Life in the Movies, Reviews, Spoiler-vision
My Annual Bafta Annoyance 2012: Potter Laughs
Another week has past, it's two days before the 2012 BAFTA Film Awards, and so I making one last email attempt to get my arbitrary and pedantic grievance with BAFTA (outlined further below) some airtime on the BBC's Kermode and Mayo's Film Review
radio show and podcast.
Sent: 10 February 2012 10:53
Subject: Kermode and Mayo's
Film Review: BAFTA, the last bash!
Dear Academy and Cinemascope,
Your show has had comparatively little discussion of the BAFTA's. As this year's award ceremony is in a couple of days now, I thought I'd have one last bash at airing my pedantic concerns about the awards. (for more than you'd care to know see my blog http://vaguestideas.blogspot.com/search/label/BAFTA). I wrote previously to request you to ask Mark, and any other BAFTA members on hand, how they justify the backdoor proviso in the eligibility rules that lets in films released in the UK in the current year up to two days before the ceremony, as opposed to the previous year primarily under consideration.
A while ago the BAFTA ceremony was moved from April to February, to sit in the calendar betwixt the Golden Globes and the OSCAR's, at the same time eligibility rules were changed to allow films released in the UK outside the previous calendar year to be nominated. This only served to allow the nomination list to include OSCAR eligible films that had stateside but not UK releases, the upshots being that the BAFTA's could act like a "me, too" predictor to the OSCARs after the mess of the Globes, and that distributors could plan January and February releases for award fodder and abuse the system for free advertising.
Why I have a problem with this: the BAFTAs should serve both their members and the UK audience who should all have had a chance to see the films by the time they're nominated, let alone awarded. The BAFTA members may nominate films that they have been given screenings, either in cinema or on disc, by distributors, if the UK release date is up to 2 days before the awards ceremony.
On Mark's blog about his top 11 for 2011, some respondents thought he should excise The Artist as it wasn't put on wide release until January (its official UK release was 30 Dec 2011, so it squeaks by my BAFTA concerns). If the UK audience can be put out by something as arbitrary as one man's choice of top films of the year, how well does it sit when the list is the consensus of the British film industry.
The eligibility rules should not be seen to pander to either the distributors, or the notion that the UK market, and its release dates are irrelevant. At some point in the future when releases are global and across all formats, this will become moot. Until then let's have a level playing field for both the British industry and its audience.
Brian Tarnoff (who is foolish enough to waste what little cache that exists in being named by Mark and his 4 New Forest Festival cohorts as the second best senior amateur Film Critic in the New Forest -- 2011, on this arbitrary trifle)
PS. Tonight I will be joining the ranks of professional projectionists, albeit in a mobile cinema stylee, down in the New Forest, with a screening of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. Mark's welcome to drop by to inform the audience of the inconsequence of the spying.
So I sent this one off in a timely fashion. However, it snowed last night, which has stranded the kit I need for tonight's Brockenhurst Moviola screening, down a steep track in the middle of the forest. After pumping up a flat tire I set off just as the radio programme begins, but on arrival at a cottage amidst pony paddocks the radio is silenced as I'm brought up to speed, and receive a carload of digital gubbins and medium sized big screen fixings, by the time I'm back on the road the programme is nearly finished. I'll catch-up with the show when the podcast is released in a couple of hours.
Two weeks ago my attempt at drumming up on air support with another mail to the same show met with the coincidental cold comfort of my comment about Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris being read out behind a run down of the Oscar nominations for best picture. I do a certain amount of time wasting posting on threads on both the Facebook page of the podcast, and Mark Kermode's BBC vlog. Earlier this week I posted these questions on a thread on the Facebook page requesting ideas for their interview today with Daniel Radcliffe:
Harry and Hermione's dance to Nick Cave was one of the emotional highlights of the series what scene was he most touched by?
Also, is he the "new" Elijah Wood?
Have you yet been denied a role because of Potter? For instance, you couldn't be cast in Shakespeare's Roman plays because if you exclaim any latinate names the audience will expect you to produce a wand or have sparks fly from your fingertips, just try shouting "Coriolanus!" you'll see what I mean.
Guess which one they used (or listen, Kermode: Daniel Radcliffe, 10 Feb 12
, you'll find it at about 39:20). "That's very very funny." Daniel responded to the clever but ultimately, from his point of view, unanswerable question, as no one is likely to tell him when he hasn't been considered for a role. Now I'm not so paranoid as to think that they used my question as a sop for not bringing up my BAFTA worrying campaign, the universe is rarely that intentional in its snubs. I really doubt that the programme makers have any specific awareness of me as an individual, they might have avoided quoting me twice within a fortnight if they had, to give their many other listeners a look in.
So I'm pleased that I got a laugh out of Harry Potter.
And I'll have to see what I can do about BAFTA next year.
Labels: BAFTA, Life Irritates Art