Twin Peaks: The Condemned Woman

 "You'll have to excuse me. the chef tried to stab Jerry."

I love the way the above quote isn't even followed up on, and is just an excuse for Ben to leave so that Audrey and mysterious newcomer Jack Wheeler can have their deliciously nuanced conversation, circling around each other. She doesn't like him. But...

Still, to state the bleeding obvious, this is Josie's episode. And what a horrible last few hours for her, after days of being bullied and humiliated by Catherine. Poor Josie. The dilemma of prison or "belonging" to Eckhart. The finality of the end- her shooting her tormentor, her death, Harry's heartbreak.

Other things happen. Windom Earle luring Shelley, Donna and Audrey to a few seats away from him. The tense game of chess by newspaper- and Pete as chess expert. Hank going to jail, Nadine dumping Ed, Ed proposing to Norma, and Norma dumping Hank in a uniquely Twin Peaks love quadrangle. Ben continuing to plot against Catherine as he schemes to revive the fortunes of his family.

But really, this episode is all about poor Josie, and the real, agonised despair of her final hours. Poor girl.

Twin Peaks: Slaves and Masters

 "The only things I know in Hungarian are paprika and goulash..."

This episode is especially well directed... by none other than Diane Keaton. Yes, that Diane Keaton...

This feels very much like an episode that's there to tie up all these rather odd little mid-season plot threads before the season enters the final stretch. Ben's madness arc climaxes and abruptly ends.... essentially, because Audrey is too clever to allow Jerry to exploit his madness. The sub-plot with James being framed by Evelyn and Malcolm seems, by the end of the episode, to have met a sudden end- mainly via Donna's intervention.

Then we have the disturbing scenes of Earle abusing Leo ("Domestic violence. Well, I am partial to that."), Catherine seemingly about to, rather evilly, just hand poor Josie over to the sinister Eckhart after making her serve them both as maid. Ouch. One can see where the episode's title comes from, while feeling rather more sorry for Josie than for Leo.

Then we have the rather delicious scene of Nadine casually finding Ed in bed with Norma, lots of random owls, and more intrigue in the battle of wits between Earle and Cooper. It's a good enough episode, although... is it me but, for an episode of Twin Peaks, the weirdness level seems a bit lower than usual!

Black Death (2010)

“I believe hunting necromancers and demons serves men more than it serves God."

This film seems appropriate right now, does it not? Personally I'm not scared for my own safety, really, nor that of either Mrs Llamastrangler or Little Miss Llamastrangler. We are all young and healthy. I'm more worried about my retired parents, the likelihood that at least someone I know is probably going to die when our current plague washes over us properly. And, given our circumstances, I've no idea what the Hell we're going to do for childcare if... when the schools close.

Anyway, this is an oddly redolent film and it's an act of defiant black humour to blog it. I suspect that, within weeks or days, it will become tasteless. Some readers, I fear, will already find it so, but let us not be too quick to cast aside the consolations of black humour.

I fear also that this film is rubbish. Oh, it's well-made in its impressive German locations and the cast- led splendidly by Carice van Houten, a very young Eddie Redmayne and the ever-doomed Sean Bean, is magnificent. The plot rattles on nicely with a nice twist at the end with Langiva only having drugged Averill, with Osmund the one who killed her. But it's rubbish nonetheless. I don't mind historical inaccuracies, especially in the name of artistic licence, but this film makes no attempt to research or approximate the England of 1348. The opening narration refers anachronistically to a "germ". All the characters have cod-Anglo-Saxon personal names which would be centuries out of use. And, of course, while mediaeval people lived in a world of superstition, they were not barbaric enough to burn women as witches until at least a century after this. And we may get an amusing tour of the tropes of plague- the obligatory flagellants and plague doctors, but the latter belong to the seventeenth century.

Worst of all, while I love the scene in which the encroaching Christian part is drugged and seized like Vortigern at the Night of the Long Knives, the idea of a whole village renouncing Christianity in favour not even of paganism but what seems to be atheism is not even slightly plausible. A pity; change the details and set the film in a fantasy world and it would be a nicely told and splendidly violent tale. But when historical inaccuracies are this fundamental they are not a small detail but a major flaw. Sadly, this is rubbish.

Mary Poppins Returns (2018)

“This family is clearly in desperate need of a nanny."

I'm almost glad the winds and the rain were so angry and threatening today: Mrs Llamastrangler, Little Miss Llamastrangler and I don't often all watch films together but we watched this today. And it was wonderful.

The casting is spot-on, and not only the nice little cameo for nonagenarian Dick Van Dyke at the end, complete with tap dancing. Emily Blunt is absolutely superb as Mary Poppins. She approaches the part in exactly the right way- echoing Julie Andrews without being a slavish copy, giving what is very much her own performance which is nothing short of a triumph- charismatic, assured, compulsively watchable. Lin-Manuel Miranda is only passable as Bert's replacement Jack, with a mostly ok Cockney accent in flagrant disregard of tradition. And one of the children is, of course, the precociously talented Pixie Davies from Humans.

It's the '30s now, and Michael and Jane have grown up. But Michael is now widowed with three kings, which makes him tense and vulnerable as well as providing a good excuse for Jane to be living with them. But there's trouble afoot as plot necessity demands that the family home be threatened with repossession unless a miracle is to somehow happen. This plot looks awfully similar to that of Nanny McPhee but, of course, it would be the mother of all pot/kettle situations to accuse a Mary Poppins film of ripping off that particular, er, homage. It's especially amusing to see Colin Firth as the baddie here.

The film is splendidly entertaining throughout, with the fantasy sequences being splendidly child-friendly and visually exciting. The songs, if nowhere near as memorable as those of the original, are good. For such a belated sequel this is really very good indeed.

A Midsummer Night's Dream (1968)

"Lord, what fools these mortals be..."

I never knew before tonight's random looking through Amazon Prime that this odd little Peter Hall film existed- associated with the RSC although unconnected with the many screen Shakespeare plays made a decade later.

As a production it's... odd. There is much use of location and visuals, yet this is very much in the style (and with the necessary attitude to realism) of a stag play- I suspect the budget would not allow otherwise. The make-up for the fairies, in particular, I can imagine working well on stage, but their look falls very flat here.

The fun of this production, though, is not in the visuals; it's in seeing this splendid cast of unfeasible young actors (Helen Mirren is in her early twenties here, and none of the leads are over thirty- five) perform one of Shakespeare's plays with which I'm most familiar. And Ians Holm and Richardson, in particular, are truly sublime as Puck and Oberon respectively. Most striking though is a young, sensual Judi Dench as she frolics erotically with Paul Rogers' Bottom... and yes, I know: that's quite a sentence.

Even a flawed production of Shakespeare such as this can showcase some individual performances worth seeing, and this is the case here. And I must admit that this particular version of Pyramus and Thisbe is the funniest I've seen. On the whole, then, a mixed bag- but it was always going to be a joy to see this play with this cast.

Tron (1982)

"I took a wrong turn somewhere..."

This is a strange film to see for the first time in 2018. It’s groundbreaking. It’s unique. It’s triumphantly of its time. And it’s utter pants.

Oh, it looks great. Unreservedly so; it captures the aesthetics of 1982 vintage computer graphics with perfection but is also, importantly, good to look at and of utility foretelling the story- although characters can be hard to tell apart in cyberspace. Then there’s Jeff Bridges’ rakish charm and David Warner’s desperate baddie.

There’s ever a surprisingly metaphysical side, as the baddies dismiss programs who have faith in “users” as religious fanatics. This line of thought may not be taken very far, but it’s indisputably there. I also don’t mind the total lack of realism in showing 1982 vintage computer programming in this almost proto-cyberspace way. Realism is boring, and this is a fascinating bit of the zeitgeist two years before William Gibson writes Neuromancer.

Unfortunately, though, the script, plot and characterisation are poor, and not even a generally high standard of performance can save them. Yes, the visuals are amazing and the look of the film is justly Famous. But I’m the end what we have is a turd which has been polished to a legendary standard. No wonder the visuals are all that ever gets talked about.

Time Bandits (1981)

"Four foot one! That is a long time, isn't it?"

This isn't really all that brilliant a film, in spite of some splendid individual bits of comedy, but it's a fascinating record of Terry Gilliam at this point in his career, with stylistic signs of his later directorial career yet with one foot very much still in Python- the film just feels very Monty Python, not surprisingly as Gilliam co-wrote it with Michael Palin, and both Palin and John Cleese get some splendid cameos: I love Cleese's version of Robin Hood as Prince Charles. And, as with the Python films, the owner of Handmade Films, one George Harrison, is involved, in this case providing a rather good song.

Also brilliant are Ian Holm's height- obsessed Napoleon and Sean Connery's noble and charismatic Agamemnon, complete with the Caledonian tones which were, I'm sure, de rigeur in ancient Mycenae. David Warner is, as ever, a magnificent baddie and the great Ralph Richardson is, literally, God, although he phoned in his performance somewhat.

The whole concept of a portal in young Kevin's bedroom, a portal into other realities that does not abide by the laws of science, is so very reminiscent of British children's fiction, from Alice to Narnia. The dwarves, put in charge of shrubbery by the Supreme Being, remind me a bit of Slartibartfast from the then-recent Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy, while also providing a good employment agency for dwarf actors.

It's not as good as I remembered; individual scenes are good but as a whole it drags a bit. Still, it's a fascinating film to look back on.

Penny Dreadful: Season One, Episode 6 (What Death Can Join Together)

"You must risk rejection!"

This one is a far more typical episode, albeit with Vanessa now a lot less mysterious. It's one of the less eventful episodes on the whole, with the exception of Van Helsing being casually killed by Caliban after telling Victor all about vampires. It's a shame; we won't be seeing David Warner any more. It's interesting to see him point to a penny dreadful featuring Varney the Vampire!

Aside from that, well... Brona is still dying and Vanessa is still doing that thing with Tarot cards. Caliban takes a fancy to a girl. Ethan tells Sir Malcolm about Brona, and Sir Malcolm sympathies. And then they fight some vampires (which look rather like Count Orlok from Nosferatu) and actually see and speak to Mina, but to no avail. 

But the episode is mainly about a rather hot date between Vanessa and Dorian Gray. They discuss religion and philosophy, have that sort of erotically witty conversation that never happens in real life and end up having some extraordinarily kinky sex, with Vanessa scratching Dorian to the point of GBH. All he has to do, of course, is use the portrait in his attic which we all know about from our old friend dramatic irony.

Sir Malcolm returns home, empty-handed, to find Vanessa once again possessed, and levitating...

Penny Dreadful: Season One, Episode 4 (Demi-Monde)

"Is it poisonous?"

"Like all beautiful things, I hope so."

We begin with a mise-en-scene, Grand Guignol style, with Dorian Gray surrounded by naked beauties of both sexes. Yep; he's decadent, decidedly an aesthetic and portrayed as a combination of both his literary self and Oscar Wilde.

Vanessa, however, is infatuated with him, as a very flirty sequence illustrates; it seems the mysterious ice maiden is capable of melting. Victor is more interested in his scientific mentor, however; Abraham Van Helsing is portrayed with typical brilliance by David Warner, and seems to know a lot about the foe they face, considerably more than Sir Malcolm. 

Our tour of characters takes us next to Caliban, who seems quite the social Darwinian; like Herbert Spencer he believes in survival of the fittest, and sees himself as the first of a new master race. Hence the desire for a bride...

The wolf boy is still in Sir Malcolm's basement, needing blood; he seems to be something of a Renfield character. Next, Ethan takes Brona to see the Grand Guignol, with Dorian and Vanessa also watching and Caliban working backstage. It looks as though there's a real death on stage, but no one realises.

Our two couples meet, and Brona learns from Vanessa that Ethan lied to her about his job. She's upset, and dumps him- she's dying, in any case. We end up with a contrast between Brona, dying and now looking very ill, and Ethan, morose, being seduced by Dorian after an unpleasant afternoon's blood sports. We end on their kiss...

Titanic (1997)

"I intend to write a strongly worded letter to the White Star."

This is, well, the biggest, most epic film I've yet blogged. It's long, expensive and big in every sense of the world. Is it any good? Well, yes. It has deep flaws in its pacing but it is a technical triumph of cinema, and the interminable first half eventually gives way to a second half (in real time from the moment the iceberg is hit until the final sinking in a significant chunk of the film that does not feel to long) which can stand among the finest disaster movies ever made.

That first half, though... yes, it looks amazing in its recreation of Belle Époque opulence, but it is bloated and unwieldy. Yes, the modern day sequences are nice and, yes, Gloria Stuart is a legend of cinema, but given the sheer amount of footage these sequences are disposable. And the long setting up of the relationship between Rose and Jack takes up a normal length film by itself- and, if that were the whole film, this would be fine.

Yes, it's nice to see the the amusing Hollywood romantic comedy trope whereby a woman starts out by being intensely annoyed by the man she will ultimately fall in love with. Yes, Rose and Jack are star cross'd lovers, divided by the gulf of social class. Yes, it's funny to see Cal's unthinking snobbery ("That's amazing. You could almost pass for a gentleman."). But the effect of all this is somewhat undermined for the audience by the fact that the characters are all on the Titanic and, bloodthirsty as we are, we're all impatiently waiting for that iceberg.

And the constant use of that bloody Celine Dion tune doesn't improve matters either.

There are some nice touches; we get to see such Titanic perennials as the unsinkable Molly Brown and J. Bruce Ismay. The Captain is played by Bernard "Yosser Hughes" Hill. There's a very nice sweeping camera movement from the Bridge to the hot, stifling environment with the machinery below. The class gulf between first and third class, and between old money and new, is made very clear. Jack seems to be a fan of Picasso's Cubist period. Rose gets naked and there ensues what can only be described as a sketching montage.

It's still a relief, though, when we're saved by the iceberg. It's an instant change of tone, and urgency; levels of panic will slowly rise and rise throughout the second half of the film. Jack finds himself handcuffed to a pillar as the ship starts sinking, and this leads to a magnificent sequence whereby Rose rescues him; this is truly superb, perhaps the highlight of the film.

Order soon collapses into chaos, with the brave, the selfish, the rich and the lucky finding themselves on lifeboats more often than not. The film becomes more and more gripping as desperation takes hold, with scene after scene providing top entertainment. Perhaps my favourites are the band- truly noble- the Captain going down with his ship and the gentlemen in first class who remain behind to die "But we would like a brandy."

The final moments of the ship are superb,  and we get to see the tragic deaths of people bobbing in the water while people watch in lifeboats which are nowhere near full, and (spoiler alert!) Jack's death is such a powerful moment. 

Titanic is a mixed bag of a movie: overlong, and a mix of bad melodrama and great disaster movie. But the latter, and it's awesome technical accomplishments which won it all those Oscars, makes it a film that has to be seen.

Doctor Who: Cold War

“I’m always serious… with days off.”

Mark Gatiss. I’ve reviewed a fair number of his scripts by now, but I’ve never really expressed a direct opinion of his work. That changes now. After all, everybody else seems to have an opinion. This is mine.

The opening scene is a nice microcosm of what I’m going to talk about: the contrast between nostalgia and innovation. It’s essentially a tribute to the opening titles to The Ice Warriors as broadcast back in 1967, but complete with modern camera movements and “non-diegetic” text, to use a big word what I learned from Graham Kibble-white in the latest DWM, which is something we’ve seen a lot in recent Doctor Who. Here we have a contrast between pastiche, a nostalgic reverence to the past, and the sort of metatextual playing with narrative structures, the sort of thing we associate with Steven Moffat. Gatiss is not like this. He’s a highly competent writer, but he prefers to work with an established style and structure, honouring the past without adding to it. It’s a more limited approach than Moffat’s, but one that can work in the right context. He’s very good at ghost stories for example.

This story is a direct pastiche of the “base under siege” stories of Patrick Troughton’s second season. A submarine is the perfect setting for this sort of thing. Even little details like the Doctor’s decision not to use his psychic paper and the suspicious first officer are little nods to this. In many ways this works, and gives us quite a good episode. And yet, as many have pointed out amongst my Facebook friends, the forty-five minute format makes this feel rushed. Ironically, however, as my girlfriend also pointed out, the need for suspense causes things to drag somewhat. Even a nice little touch, such as the Ultravox loving professor, doesn’t prevent the story from dragging.

The Doctor is as brilliantly portrayed as ever by the mercurial and superlative Matt Smith, but we have little further with which to judge Clara. She’s shown to be feisty and brave, but otherwise could just be any generic companion. Still, this is only her third episode as a companion, and perhaps an episode such as this, based largely on suspense, was never going to be characterisation heavy.

Where this episode succeeds massively is in its depiction of the Ice Warriors, an old monster who, to be brutally honest, I always thought were fairly rubbish. But this Ice Warrior, supposedly a legendary figure, is much chunkier, scarier and, well, cooler. Little scraps of dialogue hint at a cultural hinterland, while the honourable values of the Ice Warrior are shown in a way that doesn’t just make it look like a Klingon. The 80’s setting is also pleasingly evoked, given the shortness of the episode, with a nice use of 1983 as a setting, the year the world nearly ended.

Best of all, though, we get to see a naked Ice Warrior, and what it looks like under the shell. Its face, dragon-like, was a punch the air moment. Gatiss is a rather more limited writer than the likes of Moffat, but a script like this, nostalgic and working within a defined structure, plays to his strengths. Usually, I find his best scripts are his ghost stories. This one isn’t far behind. It isn’t brilliant, but it’s very solid.

The Omen (1976)

“When the Jews return to Zion
And a comet rips the sky
And the Holy Roman Empire rises,
Then you and I must die.
From the eternal sea he rises,
Creating armies on either shore,
Turning man against his brother
Till man exists no more.”

…And no, that poem isn’t real, it was made up for the film.

I’m not really what you’d call the most suitable person to review a horror film like this. Yes, I’ve done a few camp Hammers and Universals, but this is the first time I’ve done one which is supposed to scare you witless. But the thing is that I just don’t believe in anything supernatural- I’m the ultimate sceptic. Plus, I’m as atheist as they come- not the Richard Dawkins kind, mind. I just wasn’t brought up to be religious, I live in a fairly secular part of the world, and I’m one of those people who are simply unable to accept the existence of a higher being without actual physical evidence. The upshot of which is that films like this, which are reliant on at least some belief in the Devil and in predestination, just don’t scare me. Now, slasher movies, on the other hand…

None of this means I can’t appreciate when this sort of thing is done well, however, and it’s done brilliantly here. And, although Gregory Peck is always the most straightforwardly decent and heroic of leading men, there’s still a bit of camp horror here in the wonderfully over-the-top deaths of Father Brennan (the wonderful Patrick Troughton, whom we Doctor Who fans know to be a first-rate actor) and Keith (a shockingly young-looking David Warner).Plus, watching the film now, the atmosphere is a little diminished by the sheer retro pleasure that is the extreme 1970’s-ness of it all.

It’s a superbly taut script, with the first few scenes establishing the situation very quickly and economically, and unapologetically giving us a cast with fairly superficial; personalities so that we can focus on the plot. We’re given an image of a supremely successful man, Robert Thorn, United States ambassador to the Court of St James, and his seemingly idyllic family life. It’s only when Father Brennan intrudes into his life for the first time that we begin to get an inkling that his adopted son, Damien, may be something evil.

It’s interesting to ponder on the conceit of a child being evil in the light of the recent novel We Need to Talk about Kevin (recently filmed, of course) by Lionel Shriver. I should emphasise that I haven’t read or seen it yet, but it’s central theme- what if you, as a parent, raise a child who goes on to do something terrible?- seems to be the subtext of this film too, except that the fantasy / pseudo-religious elements help to make it more palatable for the movie-going public. It’s a deeply shocking idea (and redolent of original sin, of course) that a young child could be in some way “evil”. That’s what gives the film its power. That and the pacing.

There are a couple of plot holes, perhaps. Would a mother really not notice that her child had been switched just after birth? And how come the US ambassador to Great Britain has all this free time to go gallivanting all around Italy and Israel? But the whole thing fits together so well that I’m prepared to overlook these little things. The set pieces are superb: the sequence where Father Brennan is pursued by gales and tempests before his grotesque death is probably the highlight, but all the deaths are memorable, and the mutilated monk is a highlight too.

I’m glad I’ve finally seen this film- I’m 34, but today was the first time I’d seen it- as it looms rather too large in popular culture for it to be a film that can go unseen. I can’t say that I was scared, but that’s simply because such things don’t scare me. I enjoyed and appreciated it, at least. And so did Windsor Safari Park, I expect, who must have been delighted with the publicity.