Ladyhawke (1985)

"Oh God, is it Lent again already?"

I expected this film to be one of those Sword and Sorcery or Tolkien-esque fantasies that abounded in the '80s. Instead I got a rather fun swashbuckler clearly inspired by Abelard and Eloise, bizarre concept though that is.

Here, though, our Abelard is not literally castrated. Instead, we have a family-friendly metaphor. Navarre is cursed, by a jealous, evil, devil-worshipping bishop in mediaeval France, to be a wolf by night, whereas his lover Isabeau is a hawk by day. It's tragic, it's romantic, it's as '80s, somehow, as the ever-present music in this film.

Yet the lovers are not the stars; that would be a very young and very impressive Matthew Broderick, with a sly comic timing and an ability to find chemistry with all ofbthe established stars- Michelle Pfeiffer, Rutger Hauer, Leo McKern- with whom he stars.

It's odd that a film I'd expected to be set on a generic fantasy world should instead prove to be set in a mediaeval France (albeit filmed in Italy) where the inevitable mythology turns out to be Christian and the villain a wayward bishop. This link to real history adds a certain weight, heft and realism, with Philippe introduced as a thief who escapes judicial murder. This helps us to get to know him, via his ever-present monologues with God about his very naughty thievery. Rutger Hauer is also superb, however, as is Rutger Hauer.

A superb film. I'm glad I've seen it at last.

The Prisoner: Fall Out

“You are the only individual.”

That was... a lot to digest, utterly glorious and at the same time quite, quite mad. On the surface this may not be quite as surreal as the first episode but there’s so much going on and we certainly aren’t spoon fed the subtext. Those who insist on a diet of strict realism probably hate this. Personally, I found it a fitting and magnificent ending. What straight- up realist finale could possibly have satisfied? Who actually cares why Number Six resigned, what his name is or the backstory of the Village? Revealing any of that would ruin everything. Patrick McGoohan knows this, which is why he reveals Number One to be a mask beneath a mask under which is Number Six himself. Is this a literal metaphor about Number Six being a repressed man who has really trapped himself, with the Village being within his own head? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Why reduce it all to one meaning when you can have the possibility of many? Keep the box closed, or the death of Schrodinger’s Cat may become real.

Has Number Six won and convinced the Village that individualism is best? Perhaps; suddenly the Judge who seems to be running things is fawning before him and he’s constantly praised and promised an “inauguration”. Yet his much-encouraged speech is drowned out by choreographed enthusiasm, and his own victory is juxtaposed by the trials of Numbers Two and Forty-Eight for, essentially, being individuals (Forry-Eight, of course, would be better charged with sexual assault...), the very quality for which Number Six is now suddenly being praised. Are the promises of power or freedom real? We will never know, as the narrative collapses and the escape of all three is a decidedly fourth wall breaking event.

So what does it all mean? Let us not spoil the fun by nailing that down. The author is dead, and Patrick McGoohan is jumping on his grave here. We, the viewers, are left to construct our own meaning from this wonderfully barmy text, and I for one am glad of it.

As for the series as a whole- yes, there are half a dozen episodes that we could have done without, but it wasn’t McGoohan’s wish to pad the whole thing out to seventeen episodes. The Prisoner is indeed a justly renowned and legendary piece of telly, and in 1967 was pointing forward to what television drama could be and do.

The Prisoner: Once Upon a Time

”Why don’t you resign?”

The Prisoner has never really cared much for realism; it’s full of surreal imagery and relies on it, being a programme about freedom and integrity in a world that’s always trying to gaslight you. But it’s never gone so far as in this penultimate episode, clearly no story of the week but part one of the finale, entirely studio bound (and, no doubt, cheap) and very much like a stage play, while making very few concessions to realism at all. This is “the” surreal episode of a programme that’s pretty bloody surreal to begin with. I’m not sure I fully understand it, but it’s brilliant.

Leo McKern is back as Number Two, reluctantly, and increasingly frustrated both by his return and by Number Six’s intransigence. And so begins a week of “degree absolute” where both are locked in a stage set for seven days and Number Two tries intense techniques to regress and brainwash Number Six with techniques seemingly based on Shakespeare’s “Seven Ages” speech from As You Like It. It’s weird but compelling viewing, and the school section is fascinating- this may have been broadcast in 1968, but both McGoohan and Number Six were born in 1928, so the school environment simulated here is that of the (public?) schools of the 1930s and ‘40s, where conformity is seemingly beaten into the traumatised children who presumably learn stoicism, emotional deadness and cynical smartarsery.

We end with the reversal of roles, Number Two dying simply because a countdown says so, and Number Six suddenly in charge and able to order about the butler and supervisor. I have absolutely no idea what’s going on, but that’s good; everything is on the level of metaphor and symbolism, the meaning of which are gloriously subjective. I love it.

The Prisoner: The Chimes of Big Ben

"I don't want a man of fragments..."

I’ve asked around and ummed and ahhed and done a bit of reading to see what the best order is to watch the seventeen episodes, and concluded that the order in my DVD set (the ITC order) will do. So here’s a somewhat arbitrary second episode for your delectation.

There’s a new Number Two, the splendid Leo McKern, although Christopher Benjamin as Number Two’s assistant seems to be a kind of Permanent Secretary. There is our first “I am not a number. I am a free man”. There’s the same opening sequence with the resignation, albeit truncated, I suspect the version we will get from now on. And there’s the Village, of course, both as Orwellian and as Kafkaesque as ever, with its curfews, it’s awful tannoy waking everyone up at the same time in a dreadful conformity, and, worst of all, “alcohol-free” whisky and vodka, which is an affront to civilisation itself.

This episode focuses on new arrival Number Eight, or Nadia, a seeming parallel to Number Six, from Estonia or so she says, although her surname sounds suspiciously Slavic to me. She gains his confidence and they exploit an art competition to escape together, believing they are in Lithuania and escaping across the border to Poland. They seem to arrive in London and... it’s all a simulation. They never left the Village, and it was all a plot to get him to explain to two familiar faces, both seemingly in on it, why he resigned. And Nadia was in charge all along.

It’s a fun little twist, and tells us something about what we may expect from the format. We have another escape, a last minute sleight of hand, and we are back to square one in a village which we no longer have any reason to believe is in Lithuania. There’s some interesting talk about “sides” and the Cold War which very much dates the whole thing, but it’s interesting that, overwhelmingly British though the Village may feel, we’re invited to consider that it is not necessarily in the UK.

A fascinating episode, although I’m genuinely intrigued to see what else they can do with what seems to be a rather restrictive format.

The Mouse That Roared (1959)

"Even a complete nincompoop like Tully can't spoil this war."

It's a nice idea- an obscure little English-speaking microstate, a kind of Monaco of the Alps, declares war on the USA so they can lose and receive US aid to solve their financial problems but, through a series of mishaps. Accidentally wins. Oh, and it's all against a themic background of nuclear annihilation. It's a great idea on paper, but in practice this is neither funny enough nor clever enough to be more than mildly diverting. Still, Peter Sellers is always good, if never quite as good as his reputation, and William Hartnell always does a great sergeant major.

Still, if you don't insist on your satire being too incisive, the film is entertaining enough. It looks good, it's all very Cold War and there's some nice slapstick with the bomb. But there really isn't all that much to say about it.

X the Unknown (1956)

"It's on it's way for the biggest meal of its life."

Yes, Mr. Kneale. We realise you refused permission to use the character of Professor Quatermass in this film. What's that, Mr. Kneale? Oh, no. Heaven forbid. The character of Dr Adam Royston is in no way a thinly veiled carbon copy of the good Professor. And the odd similarity of the format to your own work is just coincidence. Small world, isn't it, Mr. Kneale?

Suspicious coincidences aside, this is a good and entertaining film, if a rather shirt one. Not bad for the first ever Hammet horror, or not, depending how you define these things; to me this is very much science fiction.

Oh, it's a little odd that none of the characters seem to notice that Royston is American, and the young Frazer Hines' Scottish accent is a bit rubbish at this stage although, to be fair, give it ten years and he'll get a lot of practice. Also, it's the '50s, so everything is radiation this and radiation that. 

This is a fairly inconsequential diversion, but, if you can stand the sight of Leo "Rumpole of the Bailey" McKern bring indecently young, it's a fun and entertaining film.

A Man for All Seasons (1966)

"You lay traps for me!"

"No. I show you the times."

This is, obviously, an excellent film even if, like myself, you're somewhat sick of the excess of Henry VIII; can't historical dramas show a bit more interest in other periods. But we should pause and remember that this film is somewhat biased; there's a reason why it's one of the Vatican's official favourites. This is, quite literally, a hagiography. And, while I will leave the sectarian tiresomeness to those whom believe in God, I have to point out that Sir Thomas More himself tortured (personally!) and burned people at the stake because their religious beliefs did not accord with him. This makes his death seem rather less unjust; indeed, he died rather less painfully than most of his victims. More was no saint, whatever Pope Pius XI may have said.

But what of the film? Well, it's superb. To start with, look at the cast. Standing out is an excellent (and very young) John Hurt as the slimy and ambitious Richard Rich. Susannah York is excellent as Meg. Orson Welles, no less, plays Wolsey. But best of all is Paul Scofield himself, whose extraordinarily subtle and dignified More may be the highlight of his distinguished screen career.

But the script is the real star. The theme is of the rule of law, and how it protects us from both arbitrary tyranny and Hobbesian chaos. More's undoing, of course, comes because Henry, Cromwell and Rich are not as unscrupulous as he is, and will happily cut corners. The contrast is between More and Rich; More is willing to die rather than lie before God on an oath, while Tich casually perjured himself- and sacrifices More's life- for the sake of a petty little promotion.

More is forever cautioning people to avoid condemning themselves through what they say; careless talk at Henry's court cost lies. More believes that the age old religious tradition of dissembling will save him, but it does not. We proceed inexorably to his inexorable death, his world slowly narrowing; I love the shot of seasons and time passing as seem through More's tiny cell window. The end finally comes, the axe falls... and fade to black. Superb.

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.