O Brother, Where Art Thou (2000)

“I slaughtered this horse last Tuesday. I'm afraid she's startin' to turn."

I've blogged close to 600 films but, to my shame, nothing by the Coen Brothers until now. Yes, I know. And I’m suitably rebuked by how extraordinarily wonderful this film is. It manages to work both as a magnificent piece of art and as splendidly entertaining drama.

So yes, the sepia-tinged cinematography is impressive, and yes, the influence of The Odyssey is obvious- Big Dan is a hostile one-eyed giant, there are literal sirens, there may not be literal transmogrification but Delmarvis convinced that Pete has been turned into a frog, and of course (Ulysses)- who arrogantly refuses help, especially from (the) God(s), is desperate to get back home before a suitor marries his wife.

But the film is really a splendid mix of picaresque encounters and ongoing character development which shows the grim, Depression-era state of Mississippi in all its deeply racist, superstitious and corrupt barbarism. This depressing setting is leavened by lots and lots of wonderful humour, hiding a pessimistic message under its sugar; the evil, Ku Klux Klan cultist politician is the reformer, and his downfall leads to the corrupt incumbent cynically using the Soggy Bottom Boys to continue his cronyism, pardoning then at a stroke but not necessarily improving the lives of his constituents. But that evil secret society is still there and still lynching, prison conditions are abhorrently barbaric, with convicts breaking rocks pointlessly all day while the black ones are called “boy”, and desperate poverty pervades everything.

But against that is music, which makes life worth living, and so we have one of the greatest soundtracks in cinematic history. It is everywhere, giving much-needed colour to everyone’s lives. And so this film, about deeply desperate and suffering lives, which offers little hope, manages to be uplifting in spite of it all. A truly great film.

The Flintstones (1994)

“Yabba dabba doo!”

 This film may be technically set in the Stone Age, vaguely defined, but we all know it's actually set in those early years of the '60s that were very much still the '50s. It's to the credit of this '90s adaptation that, seen today, it’s very Mad Men in its ‘50s social mores, although in this case without the racism.

This is a very faithful adaptation, right up to the point of recreating variations of the original cartoon title sequence several times. It’s perfectly cast with John Goodman and a just pre-retirement Rick Moranis. It’s so well-realised, with copious dinosaur animatronics from the school of Jim Henson, that this is a rare example of a film with a rubbish script being worth seeing.  It’s rare that it’s worth polishing a turd, but here the polishing is truly magnificent.

The plot is ok- Free gets promoted, betraying Barney in the process, living a life of luxury until it turns out that he’s being set up by the villainous Cliff, a splendidly and surprisingly villainous Kyle MacLachlan. Oh, and Halle Berry is the early 1960s sexy secretary, done with just enough of a nod and a wink.

Yes, the script is pants. It really is. And this may be a rare example of an adaptation being too faithful to the source material. But the whole thing looks amazing, the casting is inspired, and the whole thing just feels right.

It’s worth watching, honest. You won’t laugh much, but you’ll feel a nice nostalgic glow.

Monsters Inc (2001)

"Kids these days... They just don't get scared like they used to!"

I'm somewhat winging it with this one; I wasn't going to blog this film and so I didn't make any notes. But here I am, a week later, deciding to blog it after all. I haven't done that since Drop Dead Fred. So here's hoping for some semblance of structure.

This film is, let us lay it out at the start, amazing. The animation, the voice acting and the witty script raise this up to something special, but best of all is the concept; a city of great looking monsters who get all their powers from the screams of frightened children. Sully is the most celebrated of the scarers, who enter inter dimensional doors (a fantastic image) to scare kids. But all this comes crashing down once a little baby girl and a dastardly plot enter proceedings.

One has to raise an eyebrow, I suppose, at a fairly contemporary looking society with an energy crisis which is able to use doors as interdimensional portals, but the whole concept is so cool that I simply don't care. The dynamic between Sully and Mike is fantastic, as it has to be for the film to work, and Boo is so very, very cute.

There's not much more to say; I'm not going to dig too deep for subtext although there are probably things that could be said about corporate greed. Just go and watchful. It's great.

The Artist (2011)

"Quiet, please!"

I feel completely naked right now. Every time I've reviewed something up until now I've taken notes while watching (meaning much use of the pause button), and referred to them while tying out my review. But I saw this at the cinema, where making notes is not exactly an option. So I'm naked, without a safety net, swimming without water wings, or whatever metaphor you prefer.

Incidentally, I saw this at the Phoenix Square cinema in Leicester, a rather excellent little place, somewhat arty, and just around the corner from one of my favourite little watering hols, the Ale Wagon. Not only does it have a bar, not only does it do Boddingtons, but you can take your pint of Boddies in with you to see the film. Result.

The film is, let's not wait before saying it, completely bloody brilliant, and entirely deserving of its Oscar, although I would have thought it might be a little light-hearted for the Academy's tastes. The whole thing looks gorgeous: Michel Hazanavicious does rather a lot of very things with the camera. The film just bulges with sumptuous 1920's-ness; the cars, the clothes- everything from the opening titles onwards evokes the period in a way that films made in the actual 1920's, when all this stuff was ordinary and mundane, don't. The cast is superb, too, with Jean Dujardin being another deserving winner, accurately portraying a strangely period kind of matinee idol charm while also evoking the pathos of a proud man humiliated, all while showing a superb sense of comedy. He does all these things, and yet George Valentin (bit of a nod to Rudolph with the name there...) comes across as a coherent and nuanced character. Really, there are people in this world far less fortunate than a washed-up ex-actor whose diminished lifestyle would arguably still be the envy of many, especially during the Great Depression, and Valentin really is a proud, arrogant and self-centrede git. And yet he fully retains our sympathy in spite of all this, and even the attempt at suicide feels both real and horrifying.

Bérénice Bejo (the director's missus) is superb too in a role that demands her to convince as an A-list star while also showing us the real enthusiasm and the big heart that lies underneath. It sort of helps that she happens to be gorgeous.

But the best thing about the film is how damned clever it is. There are few things I enjoy in a film more than a bit of metatextual fun, and that's exactly what this film is about- a "love letter to Hollywood" that wallows in all the glamour of cinema while also showing us the tragedy of what happens to those who have finished their time in the Sun, and how cruelly they are cast off.

The opening scene, a scene within a scene from A Russian Affair, features Valentin being tortured and refusing to talk. This is, obviously, pretty much a metaphor for everything he does in the film. Just before his wife leaves him she's most upset at him for his refusal to talk to her. In every way possible, he refuses to talk, and this underlines just how thoroughly and suddenly he's been sidelined by the arrival of the talkies.

My favourite scene and, I suspect, most people's favourite scene, is the dream sequence where sound (though not dialogue!) suddenly intrudes, with his glass thudding on to the table and a feather falling to the ground with an almighty crash. Sound is what Valentin most fears.

Only at the end are we told why as he utters his only line of dialogue in a pronounced French accent, which is if anything even more meta. And the last few seconds of the film feature a cacophony of voices calling for quiet.

A splendid film, then, marred only by the parking ticket I got from some bastard traffic warden. I strongly recommend you go and see it, but be careful where you park!