Oedipus the King (1986 TV Film)

 "Judge no man's life until he's dead!"

This is the first of three TV films made for the BBC, in 1986, of Sophocles' "Theban Plays", all both translated and directed by Don Taylor, known to this blog for being recently noted as a director in Dead of Night. The Theban plays are an odd beast, really. They were never intended as a sequence, all are quite unconnected, so this isn't like Aeschylus' Oresteia, a slightly earlier BBC version of which I blogged a while ago.

Anyway, there's a certain inherent awkwardness about this particular play, isn't there? More than any other Ancient Greek play, we all know the plot; we come pre-spoiled. And, well, it's icky. About as icky as plots come.

So the first half of the play consists of the slow unravelling of a mystery which, for us viewers, is already known. The total lack of dramatic irony is less of a problem than might be expected, though. The process of unravelling what happened- relying rather more on hearsay and soothsayers than anything we moderns may regard as proper policing- is entertaining. And we get to know Michael Pennington's assured and kingly Oedipus, confident in his own wisdom and cursing the criminal, with no idea of the sheer horror that is to befall him. Claire Bloom is superb as Jocasta, at first sceptical and then consumed with horror and denial of a truth too awful to contemplate. The great John Gielgud gets a nice little cameo.

But it's the last few scenes where things get unexpectedly intense. Because the words hammer home that Oedipus was always doomed, he never did have any agency. None of this is his fault: he did all he could to avoid the terrible prophecy. Yet fulfil it he did, and he must suffer. As the chorus says 'Ignorance made you happy; the truth has made you blind'. She here he is, a blind beggar, doomed to exile and misery, all waiting for him from the moment he was born. And it gets even worse, with Oedipus really doubling down on his own degradation, wishing he could lose his hearing as well as his sight and, perhaps worst of all, making it clear that he expects to remain blind in the underworld.

And the way this production, purposely stagy though it is, reveals Oedipus' blindness is... effective to say the least.

Yeah... that's dark. Is Sophocles always this dark? The next two plays will be interesting...

The Robots of Dawn by Isaac Asimov

 

Yes, I know, I'm chain reading Isaac Asimov. I'll blog another novel first before I go on to Robots and Empire, honest. To be fair, though, these novels are a Class A substance.

... Which rather spoils from the outset that I very much enjoyed this much-delayed conclusion to the Elijah Baley trilogy. Ah well. And, incidentally, it still doesn't seem to me that Asimov's '80s novels are in any way inferior to his early work. Like Foundation's Edge, this compares very well to its predecessors.

Once again we have a rather agreeableb mix of genuinely clever whodunit, philosophical variations on the Three Laws of Robotics, and pondering on the spacefaring future of mankind. There's also, in the ultimately moribund decadence of the Spacers with their robots, a warning to us all: technology making our lives easier is a double edged sword. We may not, in 2024, have many anthropoid, two-legged robots. But we have Alexa, we have Siri, we have smart speakers: we have robots, just not on two legs. 

Auroran society, while less extreme than that of Solaria, is no less fascinating, although one can't help seeing its casual, easy attitude to sex without thinking of the post-#MeToo reputstion of its author. The troubling consequences of extreme longevity are handled well, as well as a reluctance to engage in political conflict. Baley himself, perhaps, was never the most engaging character, and the love triangle between him, his fawaway wife and Gladia has its awkward side. But no one reads Asimov for characterisation. This is an extraordinary novel of ideas which I thoroughly enjoyed to the point it's genuinely difficult not to just read Asimov after Asimov. But yes, something else first, and something rather different...

BMX Bandits (1983)

 "Your little walkie talkies... have gone walkies."

I had my opening line all planned out. You know, Mad Max II, Picnic at Hanging Rock etc always get cited as Australia's greatest cinematic achievement, yet this- a childhood favourite of mine, hired often from a local video shop- never gets a mention.

Well, having seen it again for the first time since the '80s I must admit it's not quite in such exalted company: this is a fairly formulaic action film for kids, notable, to those without my nostalgia, only for the early appearance of Nicole Kidman. But, while a formulaic film can't truly be compared to the greats of the cinematic arts, there's absolutely wrong with using a formula if it's executed well, as this film is. It may not be one of those films helmed by Brian Trenchard-Smith that makes one Mr Tarantino rate him so highly, but it's bloody good fun to watch and a perfect example of this kind of film.

We have charismatic young leads, a quietly witty script, loads of kid-friendly action sequences, and baddies who never actually kill anyone while striking the right balance between comedic and threatening. Best of all, we have loads and loads of extremely cool BMX stunts. This film is every bit as good as my fond memories were hoping for.

Even better, it wears its 80sness loud and proud. One of the baddies wears a Minder T-Shirt with Arthur Daley's face plastered all over it. And Sydney has never looked better than when BMX bikes are being chased by cars. This is a very, very fun way to spend ninety minutes,

Possibly in Michigan (1983)

 "The three of them have two things in common- violence and perfume."

We live in a surreal world. One where male violence against women is, to a degree, normalised, and we almost accept it as natural that women should not have the freedom to walk alone in the dark that those of us with a y chromosome take for granted. This is surreal, so why not use surrealism to tackle it?

This short bit of surreal cinema is absolutely superb, subverting the male gaze in every way. The acting style is deliberately removed from realism. Musicals are surreal by nature, and this leans into that. The most obvious phallic symbol is a pathetic little worm. The scene of sexual violence is particularly surreal in its presentation, removing any possibility of fetishising it.

The music, font, clothes, everything, are of course gloriously '80s, but the message resonates just as strongly forty years on, sadly.

The Oresteia: The Eumenides (Peter Hall , 1983)

 "They're learning to bless, groping for goodness."

The final instalment of The Oresteia is, of course, what gives it its thematic power: the cycle of endless power can only be broken by justice, by the rational weighing of evidence rather than hot-headed revenge, an eye for an eye until everyone is blind. There's a lot of weight to a literary work so old as this which seems to articulate, and with such exquisite prose, such a fundamental tenet of civilisation- although, perhaps, we should try not to dwell too hard on the misogyny on display here, especially the belief that patricide trumps matricide because he father is "the only true parent"and mothers do not pass on anything, only acting as the vessel. This may have been widely believed, or so we're told, but presumably by those who happen never to have noticed the extremely common phenomenon of children who resemble their mother.

Still, this is a superlative translation, a superlative score, and a superlative production, for all the reasons previously mentioned. This time we get to dwell on Tony Harrison's depiction and descriptions of the main Greek gods, and it's amazing.

It's hard to see how any other production of this trilogy can match this one. The authentic style and Harrison's gloriously earthy translation combine to make something intoxicating.

The Oresteia: The Libation Bearers (Peter Hall, 1983)

 "Bloodshed for bloodshed, keeping the blades red..."

And so Peter Hall's version of Tony Harrison's translation of the Oresteia trilogy continues, in similar vein, with masked actors who would have been bloody terrifying to any children watching. It is, of course, no less sublime than the first part.

The Libation Bearers is quite simple plot-wise: Orestes returns to plot with Electra, and gets into the palace by deceit where he promptly offs Aegisthus and then his mother, and the Furies are a bit miffed. That's it. It's basically Hamlet with added matricide and much less faffing about although, of course, in the case of Hamlet the whole point is the faffing about.Yet as ever it's not so much the plot as the philosophical and imagery-strewn verse that is the point, again translated by Harrison in a way that evokes, to me, nothing so much as Seamus Heaney's translation of Beowulf.

Once again the use of masks anonymises the actors, erasing their role and drawing our attention to the verse alone. Birtwistle's score, too, underlines the rhythm of much of the metre, to magnificent effect but utterly unlike any theatre I've ever experienced before. It's a profounly rich experience in so many ways.

I'm excited for the last play but I'll return to The Mandalorian tomorrow.

The Oresteia: Agamemnon (Peter Hall, 1983)

 "I'm no more a breaker of bed-bond than, as a woman, I wield a man's weapon..."

I did The Oresteia at University... some twenty years ago. Watching this first instalment of the trilogy- Peter Hall, for the National Theatre, in 1983, now happily available with subtitles on YouTube- I'm reminded how little I remember of the details, alhough this is a very different translation from what we used in the module I studied, covering ancient Greek drama in translations for we English students as offered by the Classics Department.

This production is the first in a trilogy that I will be alternating with The Mandalorian before returning to Sapphire & Steel. It's an extraordinary production. For a start, it's made by a supergroup of culture as it existed in 1983. Aeschylus' words are translated by the superlative poet Tony Harrison, a working class lad from Leeds who managed to get the Classical education he needed to insulge his natural poetic talent as possibly the finest poet this country produced in the last quarter of the twentieth century. It's directed by Peter Hall. And the soundscape is by Harrison Birtwistle, the greatest British composer of the twentieth century and a man whose delightfully atonal compositions never trouble the Daily Mail reading acolytes of Classical FM.

The result of this is a fusion of the very ancient and very modern which fuses magnificently. On the one hand it's a brutally authentic production of Aescyhlus' play, from the very alien culture that is the Athens of the 4th century BC. The all-male actors- John Normington excels as Cassandra- and the masks worn by all players transport us back to Athens in its Golden Age and how theatre was done in those distant and murky days, by people we cannot understand. The masks, in particular, make me glad for the subtitles.

Yet the words are poetry you can get drunk on. I know little of poetic style in ancient Greece, but Tony Harrison's translation, with its kennings and alliteration, calls to mind the warlike muscularity of Old English poetry, and mixes cultural allusions with the demotic and, indeed, the earthy.

The masks, and the rigidity of the metre, are perfectly ec hoed by Birtwistle's unremittingly atonal score which, alongside Harrison's words, fuse ancient and modern with profound effect.

It's striking, perhaps, how much of this play is taken up with philosophical and actually quite rich philosophical discourse about Troy and about the costs, and pointlessness, of war, before stuff actually happens and Clytemnestra- offstage- does the bloody deed and avenges poor Iphygenia. As a father of a perfect daughter, I side with her.

This is exquisite. And more is to come...

 

The Dead Zone (1983)

"The missiles are flying!"

Two David Cronenberg films in one year? This film is probably a little less well known than Videodrome, which I liked a lot. But it's probably the better film.

I suppose it must be admitted that the film relies heavily on Stephen King's original novel, of which it's an adaptation and which I haven't seen. But the film is superbly shot and paced, Christopher Walken is superb as a decidedly non-heroic lead, and the cruelty of the various tragedies are all the more effective for their unsentimental depiction. Spielberg this ain't.

This is an unnerving depiction of a normal, decent but fallible person who develops psychic powers after an accident, but at the huge cost of losing five years of his life and, worse, the love of his life. His bitterness is very human, and I like how it takes him time to reluctantly use his "powers" to help people- although his conscience tends to prevail.

This is not a film about a superhero, but a realistic depiction of how frightening it must be to have "powers" which one can neither control or understand, which are unnerving and uncomfortable, and which bring pain, possible eventual death, unwanted fame and, ultimately, impossible moral dilemmas.

This is at once a tragic love story, a story about ethics and one of the most intelligent and thought provoking examination of the implications of psychic powers. Not a great film, perhaps, but a highly impressive one.

Videodrome (1983)

“Television is reality. And reality... is less than television."

This is my first really early film by David Cronenberg, I've actually seen four of his films before, but this is the first of the early ones that made his reputation. And... wow.

This is a layered, fascinating film with a subtext which is, yes, about what we in the UK called video nasties (aren't moral panics delightful?), with Max's hallucinations an obvious metaphor for the allegedly dehumanising effect of screen sex and violence. But there's no didacticism, no moralising, and plenty of playfulness.

James Woods, he of Family Guy and Trump-loving fame, is excellent of the amoral Max who is always looking for more and more extreme sexual and violent content for his television station. He meets the very kinky Nicky, who loves whips, chains and more, and at first there's a heavy whiff of transgressive eroticism that reminds me of Cronenberg's later Crash. But no; that's just the starter, superbly and alluringly sexual though Debbie Harry is. I wish she'd done some more acting; she's good at it.

But the fourth wall here is never very solid, and the torture and death footage of "Videodrome" induces hallucination and, in the end, disturbing body horror of the type Cronenberg is almost synonymous for. It all makes strong sense in terms of theme, narrative and story beats but, of course, doesn't do anything so pedestrian as to make sense in terms of plot. It's an extraordinary film that not only looks early '80s but explores the anxieties of the age- many of which are still with us, such as the effect of porn on sex. It may not literally be cyberspace but seems to come very much from the same zeitgeist as William Gibson's Neuromancer the following year, a novel I really do need to read again.

An extraordinary, important film which has so much more to say than I will have noticed on just this viewing. Cronenberg is one of the select few filmmakers among the very greatest.

Deathstalker (1983)

“Heroes and fools are the same thing...”

This is one of many sword and sorcery films that sprang up in the wake of Conan the Barbarian. A fair few of them were quite good. This one isn’t, but it’s one of the better known ones which are utter pants.

There are no real stars in it. It’s cheap as chips. But it seems to have amassed enough of a cult following that we’re here talking about it 36 years later. I’m not entirely sure why. It’s a fairly perfunctory plot about a cynical anti-hero whom we first meet saving a damsel in distress from some lecherous men who are disfigures and therefore bad, and then proceeding to, er, undress and grope her, giving us the first of many glimpses of boobies. Well then. No feminism here, clearly.

Deathstalker (what sort of a name is that?) then proceeds to deny he’s a hero and that he just steals and kills to stay alive. It may be sword and sorcery, but this is definitely the ‘80s. And not just because of the bean bags that are visible in several scenes...

It soon morphs into a plot which makes no sense but isn’t hard to follow, involving a witch, a few perfunctory MacGuffins and a kind of gladiatorial contest which an evil wizard is setting up for reasons which are not quite clear. But there’s a nasty pig man, lots of naked woman who, er, seem to exist for the pleasure of all those charming men, and a lot of fighting. And, er, that’s it. It’s a short, simple film which, to be fair, shows a quite well-designed lived-in, dirty, sword and sorcery world. But, really, there are plenty of other sword and sorcery films from this sort of era.

Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life (1983)

“Let the heathens spill theirs
 On the dusty ground
 God shall make them pay for
 Each sperm that can’t be found.”

There’s a sketch on That Mitchell and Webb Look which shows our two eponymous writer-performers sorting out the order of sketches for their comedy sketch series, which is of course very much in the lineage of Monty Python. The joke is, of course, that they try to arrange the hits and the misses in the correct sequence so there are equal amounts of each, as every sketch show has to be hit and miss; it’s a fully fledged cliche. And one often made of this film.

Thing is, though, this criticism is somewhat dodgy. Of course the Monty Python telly series could be hit and miss; they had to fill thirteen episodes a series at the pace of telly, where union rules meant the studio lights went off at 10pm no matter what. But it’s commonly a criticism not made of The Holy Grail or The Life of Brian, both more narrative and less explicitly a series of sketches. Yet The Meaning of Life gets these criticisms full force.

But this is absolute pants. Yes, this film isn’t quite as good as the other two; I accept that. But how many individual telly episodes have this kind of hit rate? I mean, Every Sperm Is Sacred, sex education, a run of excellent war sketches, the Galaxy Song- this would have been a critical hit if it were the only Python film.

It’s also a lot more explicitly political, a sort of last hurrah for the Beyond the Fringe generation, as it gleefully skewers the church, public school, the armed forces and all sorts of upper middle class pretensions. Even Terry Gilliam’s glorious opening feature with its accountants raiding international finance on the high seas, a live action version of one of his own animations, is aimed squarely at Thatcherism. But more than that, it’s hilarious. And so is the film as a whole. So forget all this hit and miss stuff; this is classic, superb Python for the very last time.

Yellowbeard (1983)

"Three farthings for a lump of shit please..."

This film is, well, not all that good which, considering that two of its three writers were Peter Cook and Graham Chapman, is rather bewildering. But it just isn't much good. And it killed Marty Feldman.

That isn't to say that there are no laughs at all, of course, nor that it isn't a pleasure to see the talents of those in them tags down there, plus Spike Milligan, Nigel Planer and even an eyebrow-raising from a very Let's Dance era David Bowie. But the whole thing never really takes off, perhaps partly because the script isn't great but in large part, I suspect, to a rather flat directorial style with no comedic timing or flourishes. Also, I have to say, the constant rape jokes don't exactly make for comfortable viewing.

Still, Graham Chapman is good, as is Marty Feldman in his last film, although Peter Cook is somewhat wasted in a straight man role. And the character of El Nebuloso is superb, with the scenes of Cheech and Chong, the acid pool and the torture device being the closest the film gets to being Pythonesque. But the film as a whole is a bit of a damp squib and worth seeing only for Monty Python or Peter Cook completists.

Superman III (1983)

"I just don't believe a man can fly..."

Well, this is a very odd way to do a Superman film. We've had two films based very much on the existing mythology but here we have a perfectly entertaining film in which Richard Pryor is superb, but there's very little about the Superman mythos here, even with the same director helming the film. Even the Kryptonite used to turn Superman nasty isn't red. And Robert Vaughn, while excellent, seems to be playing an ersatz Lex Luthor. Lois Lane conveniently sods off at the start so Clark Kent can get all romantic with Lana Lang. And the film starts with an extended sequence of physical comedy. It's a very odd instalment in the series. Thing is, though, when looked at simply as a film, this is actually rather good.

Gus Gorman is unemployed, lazy, but likeable, and when he turns out to be an unlikely computer genius (of a very early '80s type) and much chaos ensues, although the film is always careful to keep him likeable and make it clear that he isn't a bad sort. We also have a rare film appearance from Pamela Stephenson as a bimbo who enjoys reading Kant.

The scenes where Superman deals with the fire at the chemical plant are awesome, and there's some good character stuff in Smallville with Clark and Lana. But possibly the best bit is Superman straightening the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

We end with a very '80s huge computer that Superman has to fight to avoid being turned into a cyborg, after a rather cliched fight in a junkyard between evil Superman and Clark Kent. It's a very weird approach to a Superman film, and I'm bemused as to how this script ever got to be the way it is. But, bizarrely, the film works.

Never Say Never Again (1983)

"Now you're on this, I hope we're going to have some gratuitous sex and violence."

And so we come to the second Bond film of 1983, and a very unofficial one. It has a sparkling Sean Connery who, though 53, is still younger than Roger Moore, and it also has the sole rights to Ernst Stavro Blofeld. Unfortunately it lacks the rights to an awful lot of things, including the rights to do anything other than a remake of Thunderball, the only Bond film up to this point that ice actively not enjoyed. So is it any good?

Well, actually, yes. It's certainly more humorous than any other Bond film but not, I think, to an excessive degree; it's a proper Bond film, not a spoof. Connery is on particularly fine form and the script has a lot of witty fun with what turns out to be a very loose remake.

The film takes advantage of having to recast roles, with Edward Fox giving us a grumpy new M while the new Q, "Algy", is a chirpy cockney whose department is much reduced. No fancy gadgets here. Kim Basinger makes a splendid Bond girl and it would have been quite, quite wrong if Max Von Sydow had never got to play Blofeld.

It's a very different Bond film and yes, the computer game sequence is dated and weird, but this is a perfectly fine Bond film.

Octopussy (1983)

"You must be joking! 007 on an island populated exclusively by women? We won't see him till dawn...!"

Now that's more like it. Exotic locations, high stakes, great set pieces... the Bond franchise has got its mojo back. Well, unless you happen to be a coulrophobe, that is. Then you'd have problems.

It's the early '80s, the Raj is all the rage and Bond hasn't done India yet, so Octopussy gets a fantastic setting with Delhi, the Taj Mahal, and even a massive hunt riding elephants during which Bond meets a tiger. For a baddie we have Kamal Khan, an exiled Afghan prince who, for some reason, is working with the Soviets, his natural enemies or so one would have thought, but it makes for a good film. The real baddie has a Cold War flavour for once in the shape of Steven Berkoff's nuke-happy Russian general, Orlov, although our old friend Gogol is around to stop things going too far. 1983 is a somewhat appropriate year to raise the spectre of nuclear annihilation, of course...

Roger Moore is 55 and looks it, but he just about gets away with it: his charisma and acting chops are as impressive as ever. Maud Adams is an ok Bond hgirl too, although for once the set pieces tend to outshine both the sex and the baddies.

This film is absolutely the least like the source material of any so far (the Fleming short story is actually about an octopus), but how can you dislike a film where Q turns up in a hot air balloon? After two duds, Bond is back on track.

Prisoners of the Lost Universe (1983)

"Please take your hand off my butt!"

Now this is what I call a proper B movie.

My good friend and host Nick pointed out, while we were watching this film, that B movies today- Sharknado and the like- are done with tongue in cheek, intended to be silly and camp. That isn't the case with Prisoners of the Lost Universe: this was honestly intended as a good film and was made by the same director as Hawk the Slayer, a film that people have actually heard of.

So what makes this a B movie? Is it the generally dodgy acting? Is it the cheap and eyebrow-raising costumes? Possibly. But more than anything it's the sound effects. Good sound effects shouldn't be noticed; this is s film where the sound effects alone made me laugh out loud on several occasions, with various silly "boings" and so forth. Then there's the fact that this other dimension looks suspiciously like Southern California, and Richard Hatch's worrying habit of copping a feel with every woman he interacts with for more than five seconds. Still, John Sacon chews the scenery splendidly as out bearded baddie. 

It's cheap, it's cheerful, it's an incredible coincidence that everyone in this other dimension seems to speak English, it's unmistakeably a B movie. They just don't make this kind of film any more.

Christine (1983)

“No shitter ever came between me and Christine.”

The first thing I have to say is that this is a mind-blowingly sweary movie. Of all the hundred plus films I’ve reviewed, this one drops the most ‘c’ bombs by far. That sets a benchmark. Oddly enough, this feels appropriate for the first John Carpenter film to appear in this blog. Any other films helmed by him which fail to reach acceptable levels of swearyness will not impress me. That’s just the way it is.

This is a delightfully mischievous film about an evil car, origin unknown (the unknown is much scarier), which ensnares the initially geeky Arnie Cunningham like a femme fatale on wheels and turns him into a right bastard. Lots of people die on the way and there is lots of fun with the concept. Sometimes the best way to have fun with a silly concept is to play it straight.

The special effects (let’s remember this is 1983) are simply unbelievable. The camera lingers on the many scenes of Christine spontaneously repairing herself in an almost sexual manner, but why not? The largely unknown cast, HarryDean Stanton aside, carry the film well while not distracting to much from the film’s true star.

This film was perhaps rather more effective for me than it would have been for most people, delightfully silly film that it is. As a young child, I suffered recurring nightmares of a red motor-cycle with no rider that was always chasing me for some reason! Best not to analyse the plots of childhood nightmares too much, methinks.

I think the scenes of Christine relentlessly pursuing people to their deaths are chilling, though. The massive set piece at the petrol (gas, for any passing Americans) station is incredible.

The deaths are the most delightfully entertaining bits of the film, with the tragedy deliberately downplayed. After all, we wouldn’t want things to get too heavy. The film ends with Christine just refusing to bloody die. Let’s face it; we’re all on her side.

I loved this film. It is at the same time wonderfully silly and extremely well directed. I must watch more films by the esteemed Mr Carpenter, perhaps even ones you may have heard of. If you haven’t seen this film, seek it out.

Krull (1983)

"Death and power are close cousins."

"I don't think I like your relatives, old man."

I know I'm not coming up with a startlingly new insight here, but Star Wars was a rather influential film. Yes, it gave space opera a bit of a shot in the arm, but all the science fiction surface stuff took place within a framework based on quest narrative and myth. It had good wizards, bad wizards and magic in the form of the Force, fantasy element dressed up in sci-fi clothes, and skimpy ones at that. Star Wars may not be the only reason there was such an explosion of fantasy movies in the early '80s, but it's an important one.

Krull is more blatant an example than most, though, and not just because it has a princess in it and a rather Luke Skywalker-ish hero. Ynyr (interesting name from Norse mythology there) is a sort of cross between Obi-Wan and Yoda. Torquil is a slightly dodgy Han Solo figure. Ergo is C-3PO. It's using the same structure as Star Wars, but not bothering to disguise the mythical origins. This isn't sci-fi, give or take the odd ray gun and talk of the protagonists' son ruling "the Galaxy", it's outright fantasy.

Not that I'm accusing the film of being a simple rip-off, mind.  There's something honest about how it acknowledges its mythical sources. The film is a quest based around a series of more-or-less contained set pieces, and feels very similar to The Odyssey. Rell the Cyclops seems to be in the film partly to acknowledge this, but with a new and tragic addition: Cyclops are doomed with the melancholy knowledge of the time of their own deaths. This isn't just ripping off old myths, it's treating them creatively. Similarly, the large party of adventurers traversing huge distances and different environments evokes The Lord of the Rings and, again, the film acknowledges this debt with the character of the Widow, a sort of less nasty Shelob. The scene between her and Ynyr owes just as much to Merlin's demise in the Arthurian myths, though.

That's an awful lot of mythological allusions, but that's one of the reasons why this film is so much fun. It's creative. Even the characters aren't the usual fantasy archetypes that would fit neatly into D&D character classes. Instead we get a diminutive comedy wizard and a wise old man who is refreshingly un-wizardy.

There are a couple of eyebrow-raising things around the plot, certainly. Lyssa and Colwyn have barely met and hardly know each other, yet they seem to be head over heels in love. Theirs is a political marriage, so the script has to carefully emphasise that the bride is very willing. But we can overlook this sort of thing; it's what happens in myth. These characters are larger than life, and we shouldn't expect too much in the way of character motivation. Similarly, a glaive is actually a polearm with a sharp pointy blade (yes, I've played D&D), but I reckon we can overlook that too.

This is a fantastically entertaining film, with some brilliant and gloriously imaginative set pieces, and some pleasingly unexpected actors in minor roles. No less a figure than Todd Carty is in it, and there are early roles for the likes of Liam Neeson and Robbie Coltrane. It's not quite up there with the best, but this is a solid piece of fantasy cinema.

Return of the Jedi (1983)

“He’s more machine now than man- twisted and evil.”

I saw this at the pictures when it was originally on, you know. I was six. I went for a pee during the scenes in Jabba’s palace. Anyway…

A new, bigger Death Star is… les than entirely original. But at least it provides us with a suitable sense of threat. And the first few minutes gives as a real sense of the pomp and might of the Empire. We’re also made to anticipate meeting the mysterious Emperor himself.

Anyway… it’s nostalgic, but at the same time worrying, to see C-3PO and R2 D2 once again traipsing the hills of Tunisia… er, Tattoooine. Still, it’s not long before we get to the glorious monster mash that is Jabba’s palace. And Threepio’s reactions are perfect in honing our reactions to it. It’s clear that so much more effort has been put into this than the comparable scenes at Mos Eisley. The proof is in the vastly greater number of Kenner action figures that arose from this.

The tension is increased by the revelation that both Lando and Chewbacca have not been heard of since they disappeared within the environs of Jabba’s palace, although of course the impact of this is bathetically diminished by the fact that it comes from the highly-strung Threepio. Anthony Daniels’ performance at the point where the door opens is fantastic. In fact, I have to take this opportunity to praise his wonderfully camp yet perfectly pitched performance throughout the three films.

Incidentally, Bib Fortuna was the first action figure I owned. In 1983, he cost me £1.50. I never owned the Gammorean Guards, alas.

Threepio delivers a message from Luke Skywalker,  which is conciliatory while at the same time exuding a sense of threat which foreshadows the magnificent action sequences which await us. And yet… continuing my theme of droids=slavery, isn’t the sight of Luke (And yes, I’m aware it’s all part of the plan, but…) offering to swell these two droids, in whose personalities we, the audience, have invested so much, well, incredibly disturbing? I mean, there are pretty graphic scenes of droids being tortured here which would never be accepted if they were done to flesh-and-blood beings. I’m sot sure what sort of ‘ism that is, but it leaves a nasty taste in the mouth. The hero of the trilogy, more than anywhere else, is complicit in the worst excesses of slavery.

Anyway… a plucky bounty hunter, who delivers Jabba’s respect by delivering Chewbacca and earning his, er, respect, turns out to be Leia, and sneaks into Han Solo’s room to rescue him. This is rather tear-inducing, as she tells the blind and vulnerable Han that she loves him. I would do anything for a woman like that. There would be tongues.

There’s also a trap door, beneath which is a monster, the Rancor. So far, so Bond villain, although Jabba seems to be this galaxy’s Dinsdale Piranha.  Leia rescues Han, introducing herself as “someone who loves you”. Oh, if I was Han, my tongue would slowly flick for hours…

Luke’s attempted bargain, through his message from R2, is respectful yet essentially threatening. Actually, shall we just skip to the sail barge stuff? Except, we should point out that there’s implied sexual abuse of Leia (Threepio “can’t bear to watch”), by Jabba, who is of course a slug, both slimy and an absurdly massive phallic symbol. I suspect we can assume the worst here, and it’s clearly implied. Rather strong for a family film. I’m glad she strangles the bastard to death.

Anyway… Leia, appropriately, strangles Jabba .Luke survives the Rancor (which looks fantastic). He, Han, Leia and Chewbacca are sentenced to an agonising death by Sarlacc. Lots of Jabba’s pawns, and Boba Fett, suffer this horrible fate. All our heroes survive, under less-than-plausible circumstances- how, for instance, did Luke know that R2 , randomly appointed a waiter, would be in position to throw him his lightsabre? Signs of George Lucas scripting again …

Anyway, they all get away, and Luke makes a side trip to Dagobah. Yoda is dying, but Luke conveniently arrives just in time for Yoda to make an inspiring deathbed speech. It must be the Force. In spite of what we’ve been told, Luke will be a fully-fledged Jedi Knight as soon as he faces Vader. Hmm.

We have an interesting contrast, in alternated scenes, between the dying Yoda and the vigorous and powerful Emperor, played magnificently by Ian McDiarmid, who is clearly strong in the Dark Side of magic- er, the Force. Luke must face Vader, apparently, even though it was such a no-no last time and bugger all has happened since.

The rebels make some rather dull speeches. Apparently, Han hasn’t finalised his command crew for Endor (a “forest” moon, and again a world characterised by just one kind of terrain), purely for dramatic effect, again instructing us that George Lucas (oh dear) is co-scripting this. Oh dear. It’s all rather forced. Luke arrives at the most convenient moment possible. Plus, Luke and Vader sense each other on the hijacked shuttle’s approach. Yes, it’s a trap, of course, but these scenes have a very uncomfortable sense of character being sublimated to plot convenience.

Isn’t it odd that there are also many kinds of Imperial stormtroopers, for example forest scouts? It’s almost… heaven forbid… merchandise orientated. Still, it’s visually stimulating set piece, and oddly foreshadows a million computer games.

There’s an interesting cameo from Alec Guinness as Obi-Wan, trying to circumlocute himself around certain claims he made in Star Wars. But it’s now explicit that, not only is Vader Luke’s dad, but Leia is his sister. This means she’s fostered. Presumably, then, she’s not actually a princess.

The fast, exciting speeder bike stuff looks great: very well shot, and very movie serial. In fact, it foreshadows a million computer games. But… this is the point where we meet Wicket, our first Ewoks. They’re cute teddy bears, with even cuter babies. And yet, right, excuse me, for being pretentious and interpolating a postcolonial reading, but aren’t the Ewoks, Stone Age civilisation that they are, ripe for exploitation by the Rebel Alliance?

I think the plot wants us to forget this sort of stuff, though; Threepio is a god, they’re impressed by magic, and therefore they wish to help their new mates-cum-eventual-conquerors with a bit of asymmetrical warfare. Er, ok.

Oh, and aren’t these speeder bikes a bit blatantly dangerous for a place with lots of trees? Health and safety, that’s all I’m saying.

Anyway, it’s all a trap by the Emperor. A rather reckless one as he’s buggered in the end but, still, there is much tension between him and the Emperor.

C-3PO may be a god, but he has a “really bad feeling about this.” I think this is the point where the phrase becomes a dully-fledged Star Wars cliché. Still, his stories are well amusing.

The main focus is on the Death Star, where Luke has surrendered to confront his father. These scenes do rather drag somewhat; after McDiarmid and Jones, Hamill is the third best actor here, and actually, he’s not bad. His disfigurement really has buggered his career. Don’t drink and drive, kids.

So, Luke gets tempted, but ultimately convinces Darth to throw the Emperor down a conveniently placed shaft. Honestly, health and safety in the Empire is absolutely dreadful. We see Darth’s face as he dies,. It’s nice, but is one of those inevitable anti-climaxes.

We get a happy ending. The Emperor is dead. Er, what happens now? Are remnants of the  Empire still around? Even if that’s not so, who will fill the power vacuum, as the galaxy is no longer under a single, authoritarian, ruler? Luke? Might there be a bloody civil war, or several? It could get rather complicated, and I bet the Ewoks get colonially exploited whatewver happens. Nice to see the the ghosts, though…