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
My Annual Bafta Annoyance 2012: Strike Two
Having cocked up the timing in my first attempt to get my campaign (to get BAFTA to drop their rule that lets them nominate movies unreleased in the UK during the year under consideration) some air time on the Kermode and Mayo's Film Review
radio show and podcast, I thought I'd have a second crack of the whip with this more brief note to the show:
Sent: 03 February 2012 13:39
Subject: Kermode and Mayo's Film Review: Am I being greedy?
Dear VHS and Beta,
It was sod's law when I sent in an email to your show last week (see below), about my pedantic issue with the arbitrary BAFTA rules, not five minutes later an unrelated posting by myself was read out on your show. It was just my two penneth about Woody Allen's latest which I'd left on your Facebook page on a thread calling for views on the top 10. Unexpectedly my sister in law then phoned my wife to ask if I hadn't anything better to do than to pester radio shows with my opinions.
Now, I appreciate I should have sent that email in a more timely fashion. Given that this paltry issue regarding the BAFTA's is still dear to my heart, I'd still like you to consider it. I appreciate that you've a large audience and giving me another airing, albeit on another subject, and not that anyone, save my sister in law might notice, may be asking too much, but I leave it up to your judgement, and how much space you've available in your all too brief show.
Brian Tarnoff (still the second best middle aged amateur Film Critic in the New Forest -- 2011)
I left the previous email attached at the bottom, assuming they wouldn't remember/keep it from last week. Well, this got me all of nowhere. I know it's purely a crap shoot as to whether I can tweak the interest of the producers, staff or presenters of the show. It's nine days to the BAFTA's, so I only have one more go for this year.
Labels: BAFTA, Life Irritates Art
Back-B-Log: Another Summer in Hell (1988)
[Author's Note: This brief memoir from 1988 is posted here as it is related to my story of my ongoing unintentional persecution by Richard O'Brien, which includes part of my summer of 1983 spent in the GCC Walnut Mall 1 2 3]
SUMMER IN HELL – A User’s Guide
a lifetime in Philadelphia, one summer...."
-- W.C. Fields
How do I cope with Summer? How do I survive? I don't know... it seems that every summer calamities swarm
around me like flies on shit in the sun.
My last decent summer was after I graduated from high-school. Since then
the wisest thing to do is to pack off to hermitage at the first signs spring
boiling over: late suns, final exams, and sticky tanning oil.
Let's do a quick chronology:
1983 -- ended freshman year with 3
incompletes nervous collapse due to my
freshman obsession rejecting me, my psychotic girlfriend accepting me, and my
father's most severe nosedive into Parkinsonism to date; lived in same house
with woman who rejected me, destroying the remains of our friendship; worked
slave wages/hours in movie theater with broken air conditioning; somehow
finished incompletes and took Spanish credits to return to Penn in Fall
1984 -- tried living briefly with
psychotic girlfiend who forbade me to contact my friends; worked 10 days as an
encyclopedia salesman, then sold leather goods from a stand in a mall
1985 -- spend most of the summer trying
to break up with psycho-bitch-monster instead of laboring on incompletes (5), after
attempting to push me off a roof she breaks into my room and steals all my
work, a restraining order is nearly issued, but her crank phone calls keep the
receiver from its cradle every night
1986 -- after not graduating with eight
incompletes under my belt, I am depressed by the seeming lack of prospects and
all around hope for my future, but at least I stay employed, I begin living
like a monk, seeing human beings only at work and other formal occasions
1987 -- the woman I've been obsessed
with for ten years falls in love with one of my best friends, after I introduce
them, he reciprocates, and my plans to move in with his brother and another
friend remain unchanged (big mistake) this was a Summer that kept going until
November. Along the way I manage to alienate or lose about half my friends,
half my sleep and most of my sanity, but at least it's the first summer that I
have an air-conditioner.
O.K., granted I made some mistakes, all
of these Summers were spent in Philadelphia which was probably once one of
God's early drafts for hell, abandoned because even the damned don't deserve
this. The smell of rotting garbage
which spreads thickly evenly throughout the humid atmosphere; in Summer, air in
Philadelphia isn't smooth, it's chunky.
Almost the only reason to get an underpaying job is to avoid being baked
all day in the heat, but with an air-conditioned job your body will be
assaulted by alternating freezing-burning temperatures which will probably
have you enjoying the flu. Philadelphia
in Summer is the explanation for why you will find people wading through
medical waste at the Jersey shore -- it's an improvement.
This summer has been par for the
course. I've been ill for months: weak,
constant low grade fever, coughs, pains.
On top of which I over-extended myself, working forty-hours, twelve
hours of class a week (not counting outside studying and work), and moving my
parents on weekends. This is not the
way to do it. Here are some rules that everyone should follow during Summer
(and I hope to -- next year – follow)
1. After May 1st, do not trust anyone:
Case in point -- I took in a friend of
a friend to sublet one of my housemate's rooms. I didn't need to, would have been no financial or spiritual onus
to me if I hadn't, but I felt sorry for them (beware this is never a good
motivation, whatever the time of year). Step by step, what seemed to be a quiet
suburban Catholic girl has turned into a drugged out kleptomaniac who expects
me to clean up after her orgies (I stopped counting how many condom wrappers
I've picked up off the couch). I'm
eating the rent and the utilities she hasn't paid (over $500).
Do not visit your parents without mood altering drugs.
My parents are in a highly agitated
state this Summer, they just moved from their house of forty years into a tiny
apartment. They are losing their minds,
and when you stay with them, they share the experience. I've just spent a year
hunting down and caging the demons I released last summer: "I don't need
no more neuroses!" If the drugs
don't help you cope with your Parents (valium, psilocybin and lithium are
recommended), you can always give them to your parents to allow them to cope
If you have any possessions, sell them, nail them down, or put them in
storage -- they are not safe.
Yes, everything you may cherish, and
even what you merely own and paid dearly for, will be threatened from all
sides, by disturbed roommates, their spot-welding boyfriends, and even
relatives (my sister stole a puppet from me).
Spy on your realtor, they will attempt to evict you while you are out of
town (mine tried to rent my house without telling me). People who you haven't seen for years will
attempt to set fire to your home.
Which brings us to last but not least:
Hide, or at least keep moving.
Sharks have survived and prospered
during many a summer using this tactic.
You need not be ruthless like the shark, just lay low, real low. If you
go abroad, go to
a country where they haven't even heard of Americans yet so they haven't
started hating us. Don't go to the shore, you'll drown. If you stay inland, don't travel on
freeways, you'll be slain in multiple car pile ups. Don't ride the backroads, you'll be butchered by rednecks. Don't go into the air, you'll be a
statistic. Stay out of the cities,
you'll be killed by hordes of nomadic plague ridden yuppies: stay out of the
country, animals wild from toxic wastes and PCP will eat you alive -- Face it, just stay away from SUMMER. It's cursed, that's all there is to it.
Advanced Expository Writing, Professor Cavallo, August 1, 1988, Assignment #6)
[Author's Note: To those of you disparaged directly or indirectly above, apologies. I appreciate we've all grown up now, and, at least those of you whom I'm still in touch with, we turned out O.K. Keep in mind this is the raw perspective of an undercooked youth.
Diana Cavallo's writing course was possibly the best I've taken, and I
wish I'd taken her other writing courses as well. Anything wrong with
my writing sure ain't her fault.
It should be noted that the following Summer I did not take my own advice completely, I travelled to Britain to interview for the job that changed my life, and haven't stopped moving since.]
Labels: Back-B-Log, Life Irritates Art, My Life in the Movies