Get Out (2017)

“With my genetic material, shit gonna go down.”

 This is an extraordinary film, still very recent and an instant horror classic. Like the best horror films it holds back its scares and relies on suspense rather than gore, and works superbly on that score. Better than that, it's actually about something.

I'm British, and aware that it is doubly true that some of the commentary about race relations here are specific to America, where the legacy of slavery is something that actually happened in America rather than being too hurriedly dismissed as something that happened in distant colonies, and also that a great deal of it is universal commentary on race relations that very much applies here too.

The film is seen from the perspective of Chris, a nice, likeable, ordinary black man who is nervous about meeting his white girlfriend's very white family and turns out to be very, very justified. And yet said family is not overtly racist- there are no white hoods here and I have absolutely no doubt that Dean Armitage would indeed have voted for Obama a third time if he could. These are people who would be genuinely upset to be thought of as racist and a little too anxious to prove their non-racism in not-very-subtle ways. And yet, as the film points out, these people have seldom met a black person who didn't work for them.

All this happens with a grainy picture an a directorial style which is at once superb and very much employing the unsettling visual grammar of the horror film. The intensity of the hypnotism scene is terrifying, as is the later framing of Georgina's face in a creepy and highly effective scene, a triumph of both actress and director. This is horror by unease rather than jump cuts.

Even the final reveal of what is going on works perfectly as metaphor; the family may want to lobotomise young black people so their grandparents can use their younger bodies, but the racism here is far from overt but more of a metaphor for cultural appropriation and all the subtle, unthinking exploitation that we white liberals almost certainly undertake all the time. An outstanding and thought provoking film.

Black Panther (2018)

“It's hard for a good man to be king."

This is a hard film to review objectively. It's clearly a significant cultural artifact, far more so than a normal MCU film, and has connected with the African diaspora worldwide for its Afro-Futurism, a big part of a cultural movement that includes works such as Janelle Monae's ArchAndroid, and which constitutes a positive look at the potential of African achievement in spite of a background of colonialism and the Atlantic slave trade.

The central conceit of the character of T'Challa has been, of course, for 52 years, that he's the king of a fictional African nation- Wakanda- that secretly defies all African stereotypes to be the most technologically and socially advanced nation on Earth. It's an African paradise, yet the cause of a central debate between the traditional view of the late T'Chaka- Wakanda is for the Wakandans, not for all Africa or the world, and it must be protected; and the view-,expounded with militancy by Erik Killmonger, that Wakanda must share its bounty with the world. This is an interesting central dilemma, but one fundamentally divorced from real world concerns. And, while it's good to see a positive portrayal of Africa and Africans, it's also a little disturbing to see Wakanda presented as a mish-mash of various West African, East African and South African cultures, not all of them Bantu, as though they were the same- and they are not; sub-Saharan Africa is huge and impossibly diverse. I'm not sure that the message that African cultures are pretty much the same is fundamentally a positive one, whatever the merits of the film's upbeat message. Is it only white and Asian people who are allowed to have distinctly different ethnic identities?

Still, the film works as entertainment in the traditional Marvel mould, and Chadwick Boseman's lack of charisma is well compensated for by an awesome and largely female cast. Ryan Coogler has made a film that looks superb in every way, with nothing in the visuals that I can fault. But, much though I enjoyed the film, with its black female Q, its James Bond pastiche antics and the big final battle with war rhinos(!), the film is merely good, not great.

Fantastic Stan Lee cameo, mind, though obviously bittersweet...

Black Mirror: 15 Million Merits

“That throat cutting thing? Neat gimmick.”

Wow. So much to talk about, most of which will only occur to me once this post is finished. That was proper good telly, that was; Nigel Kneale for the age of YouTube, iPhones and bloody X-Factor. How ironic that the best and most cutting statement about Britain in 2011 should come from something so old-fashioned as a one-off teleplay.

This feels very Charlie Brooker, but I suspect much of it (it’s hard to tell- I have no other script by her with which to compare) is by his missus, Ex-Blue Peter presenter and person with X-Factor related baggage Konnie Huq. Unlike last week’s, though, it’s a very human story. Daniel Kaluuya is superb as Bing (his name is a reference to modern tech in itself), our everyman. He’s a very subtle character, hardly uttering a word for most of the story and expressing his disquiet with his surroundings by means of passivity and inaction. It says a lot about him that we don’t even learn his name until we’re some way in. This gives him a certain nobility of character. Unlike most of his neighbours in this depressing world, he maintains a sense of feeling and authenticity. And yet, as we see, his fine feelings are ultimately rendered meaningless as he eventually learns, if not to love Big Brother, then to be co-opted by it, and to take his soma.

This is such a depressing existence, in which everyone lives in small cells and spends their days pointlessly cycling nowhere so they can earn credits with which to buy crap. There is no joy, no social interaction, and no attachment to the physical- everyone wears dull; grey clothing and even bits of origami are confiscated as “detritus”. Worst of all, people are forced to watch adverts for the crudest of porn and the tackiest of light entertainment shows, and heed to actively pay to opt out. Life exists to a constant soundtrack of the most awful and cynical of chart pop. There’s no fast-forwarding through the adverts in this society, and no peace, time to think, or to be truly alone. Significantly, Bings’s moment of connection with Abi, as her avatar blows him a kiss, is interrupted by porn.

Ah yes, Abi. I don’t watch The X-Factor, but I really, really don’t like these sorts of talent shows, It isn’t just snobbery (Although I really, really hate the way that this sort of thing is once again reducing pop music to the culture of the exploitative Svengali figure, after we all thought the Beatles had slain that particular dragon back in the ‘60s by writing their own songs. I exaggerate, but still.)- it’s the cruelty, the element of public humiliation, that I have often found just too upsetting to watch. And that’s what’s skewered here; poor Abi’s dream is cruelly reduced to a life of pimped sexual exploitation, alleviated only by drugs. It’s not difficult to see the metaphor here, or the implied comment on the ultimate fate that awaits the winners of these talent shows. And Jessica Brown Findlay is devastatingly good at portraying the sheer horror of Abi’s life as a “star”.

This is tyranny, all right, but it’s the tyranny of conformity, as expressed by Bing’s horrible neighbour on the exercise bikes, and by the reaction of the crowds. Bing’s final speech is wonderfully eloquent, and all the more effective coming from someone so passive and quiet. But he, like everyone, is co-opted, and the shard of glass he places to his neck is eventually reduced to a mere prop.

This is extraordinary stuff. It’s bleak, it’s brilliant and it’s Brooker.

Doctor Who: Planet of the Dead

“I don’t believe it. Guns don’t work.”

Well, that was great. I really enjoyed that; a good swashbuckling romp. I’m glad we get a story like this right now, as the ending suggests we won’t be seeing another such light-hearted romp for quite some time.

I love the beginning; we have a cat burglar. As there are no cats available she proceeds to steal a Priceless Shiny Artefact from a museum in the coolest possible way, and then turns out to be played by Michelle Ryan. I love this sequence; it’s brilliantly shot. The many short glimpses of various police officers before Christina gets on the bus really make us feel that there’s no escape.

But there is, of course; the bus is off to another planet. Gareth Roberts has co-written this with RTD, and this whole scenario reminds me of the Eight Twelves from his excellent (though slightly metalhead-ist) Virgin New Adventures novel, The Highest Science. The whole visual aesthetic of a London bus in the (genuine) desert is most effective, too. I don’t think I buy the oft-stated view that they could have filmed this closer to home than Dubai and still had a desert which looked as good (this is the first story to have been shot in HD, I believe), but I’m enough of a wishy-washy liberal to wish it had been filmed somewhere with a better human rights record than the UAE.

There’s a bit of misdirection early on as we’re made to expect everyone to turn on the Doctor as per Midnight (Humans on buses, always blaming me!”), but that’s not how things turn out. Instead, Christina takes charge and shows herself to have a natural air of authority but also to be a pretty good leader. This scene is also good practical scripting, as Christina rather efficiently gets everyone to introduce themselves. That’s one of RTD’s many admirable qualities; making the exposition double as character development.

The most interesting of the others is Carmen, a psychic, and a genuine one, as the Doctor’s reaction makes clear. Already she can hear “voices of the dead”, and her premonitions are strategically placed throughout the story to build up the tension.

Back on Earth, UNIT have been called in, led by Captain Magambo from Turn Left. The best thing about them is the Sergeant Osgood-like Malcolm, who may be nothing but an absent minded professor stereotype but is brilliantly played by Lee Evans. Any you have to love anybody who name checks Bernard Quatermass.

We’re shown some friendly insect creatures, Tritovores (they remind me a bit of the Rills from Galaxy Four all that time ago), who are rather obviously there just to serve the plot, although this fact is subtly but deliberately played for laughs in a slightly fourth-wall breaking way. Before we discover they’re friendly, though, Christina gets a great and Tom-ish line “Ah, I’ll remember that as I’m being slowly tortured. At least I’m bleeding on the floor of a really well-designed spaceship.” Nice one! The Tritovores believe the Doctor (just there to serve the plot, so of course they do) and allow the Doctor to do one of the things he loves best; exposition. It seems that cloud approaching from the background consists of billions of large manta rays with metal exoskeletons, which despoil planet after planet through wormhole after wormhole. It’s a terrifying threat, an unstoppable plague of locusts, and it’s heading first for our heroes and then for Earth.

The scene where Christina retrieves the crystal is fascinating and nuanced. There’s a quasi-political class subtext here (“The aristocracy survives for a reason.”) which is more notable now, in Cameron’s Britain, than it was at the time. But I find myself not really minding it, although perhaps I should. Do I have something of the English forelock-tugging gene / disease in spite of myself, or is it just that Christina is so cool? Because she is, and she goes some way to redeeming herself for her criminal lifestyle here with here bravery and potential self-sacrifice. Besides, she and the Doctor are both thieves, with a parallel being explicitly being drawn between her threat of King Athelstan’s cup and the Doctor’s theft of the TARDIS.

As soon as the McGuffin has been retrieved, the Tritovores become superfluous to the plot, and as their sole function in life is to serve the plot, they are promptly killed. Hilariously, the dialogue even pretty much states this out loud at this point. I so love little fourth-wall breaking jokes of this kind.

Christina gives up her treasure (another little moment of redemption?) and we have a flying bus. This is really very cool indeed, as is every moment of the final few minutes, from the Doctor’s meeting with Malcolm to the mutual respect between the Doctor and Magambo, who was trying to kill him moments earlier by closing the wormhole but, crucially, was doing it for the right reasons. This is a slightly cuddlier UNIT than we’ve known in the recent past, although the Doctor’s unease with the modern organisation remains.

I seem to be making a habit, these days, of saying I’m no longer bothered by something which annoyed me on original transmission. This time it’s the Doctor allowing Christina to get away; on second viewing I feel on balance that she’s been genuinely magnificent and redeemed herself enough to earn it. The kiss is cool too. But once again the Doctor is adamant that he travels alone. This can’t bode well.

Oh yes, and there’s Carmen’s prediction. I’ve had enough of things returning through the darkness- how many times is it now? But we’re told again that the Doctor’s song is ending. And that “He will knock four times.” Brr.

Magnificent. 5/5.