Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Homecoming

"As Willow goes, so goes my nation."

So, we're back to these American high school traditions again, and this foreigner's continuing clumsy attempts to understand what's going on. I can work out that it's a posh ball, and a girl gets voted "queen", but I still have no real idea of what Homecoming is. To my American readers it's probably a traditional rite of passage. To me it's a lyric from the Monkees' "Daydream Believer".

Still, this is a great comedy episode, and also a Cordy episode, which goes some way to redressing the way the character's been neglected in recent episodes. She's still as shallow as ever, but that's the way we love her. And she's the one who scares off Lyle Gorch with that brilliant bluffing speech.

Of course, putting Buffy and Cordelia into conflict has repercussions on the rest of the Scoobies, who are forced to pick sides and feel the inevitable guilt. Most of the guilt, though, has to do with the kiss between Willow and Xander. Worse, it's not just an isolated kiss; there are obvious feelings of attraction that they have for each other which are only deepened by their very close friendship. And this happens at a time when they're both happily attached. This cannot end well. But both actors are superb in these scenes.

There's a direct contrast with Faith, of course, to whom this sort of guilt is alien. Not only does she discuss using and discarding a couple of "studs" with Buffy, but she brazenly goes and takes Scott away from his partner, no doubt to be used once and destroy. A lifestyle based on short-term pleasures, in fiction, is usually shorthand for a lack of investment in any sort of future.

Buffy, meanwhile, is dumped by Scott on the rather undeniable grounds that the life seems to have gone out of her. It's left to Giles to remind Buffy to actually have fun, and even to make a non-ironic joke at one point. Wow.

The conclusion of the episode is funny, but it's still a rejection of Buffy, who isn't even in the yearbook now. We're reminded that this is the final year of High School, and Buffy is finally working hard, investing in her future in stark contrast to both Faith and her slightly younger self. How will it end for her?

Plot arc-wise, there's a nice bit of sleight of hand here. We already have an established tradition of a rather cool baddie being introduced early in a season but turning out to be a red herring, so when Trick gets arrested we assume that's it for him. But it isn't. And we finally get to meet this mysterious mayor, a kind of Howard Hughes with a direct hotline to the socially conservative id and no apparent problem about associating with vampires. He only gets a few lines but he's a memorable and quirky character already. A lot of that is down to Harry Groener's performance.

Oh, and Lyle Gorch doesn't die either. I genuinely don't remember but I take it we'll be seeing him again.

It's a fun little episode, heavy on character development but with a lightness of touch befitting a comedy episode. Don't worry- after yesterday's barrage of political subtext I'll go light on it here…!

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Beauty and the Beasts

"All men are beasts, Buffy."

This is an extraordinary, if upsetting piece of television, and so well-judged in the little details. But before I get to the whole subtext of domestic abuse, I should probably say something about sexual politics. If you were to ask me, a man, if I was a feminist, I'd probably respond that there are several different feminisms, and it depends which one you mean. If you were then to tell me to stop being a smartarse and just answer the bleeding question, I'd say yes.

I've deliberately not sought out any other responses to the episode online; I always try to avoid doing that until after I finish my own blog post on the episode in question. But I'm wondering what the reaction might be to the palpable "all men are bad" vibes, which I'm actually going to defend. One of my pet hates is men (and women) who lazily dismiss feminism as man-hating crap. This is something which I find extraordinarily ungracious. It's obvious that women still, even in the West today, are a long way from enjoying equal status, pay and dignity, and that domestic violence is overwhelmingly directed against women by men. A gentleman should not try to deny such things.

That isn't to say that I don't have problems with the depiction of gender roles here, because it's not just about Debbie and Pete. Women are consistently shown to be both stronger and more mature than men. Xander pointedly falls asleep almost immediately into his turn at guarding Oz, something which Willow, who is female, is too responsible to ever do. Both Oz and Scott are shown as emotionally awkward and lacking in strength. And then there's the quote up there at the top, from Faith. All these things are fine on their own, but in combination it's all looking a bit too "all men are the same". This is a problem not because it's derogatory to men; frankly, given the misogynistic depictions of women that appear everywhere and always have, we have nothing to complain about. But there is a problem in that it's a rather passive sort of message, which seems to reject that the gender roles in society can be changed and imply that, hey, men are just like that and there's nothing you can do. The problem here is that men are left with all the agency while women are in a very passive role.

But I think, given the domestic violence subtext, that we can excuse this. The Jekyll and Hyde fantasy elements are just a thin veneer; this is a textbook abusive relationship. Pete turns into a monster and becomes violent, but then suddenly becomes gentle and caring again. He still blames Debbie, though, saying that "You know you shouldn't make me mad". It reminds me very much of Dennis Waterman's recent twattish comments. And what's particularly striking is that it's her who ends up comforting him. It's the abused party, of course the woman, who's the strong one. Frailty, thy name is Man. He's controlling, and she goes out of her way to make excuses for him.

This is such a very, very important episode in terms of the messages it sends to teenage girls watching. They really, really need to know about the dangers of domestic abuse and, if it makes them more cautious around potentially abusive men, then a bit of the old "all men are bastards" message is the right thing to do.

Phew. Moving on… there's a second subtext, I think, centred on Buffy, about wildness versus civilisation. The opening and closing narration from Call of the Wild is a nice touch. Buffy is still struggling with her ongoing issues from the small matter of sending the man she loved to Hell, when suddenly, unbeknownst to all but herself, he's back, and apparently traumatised by centuries of unspeakable torture from a situation which, in hindsight, was rather cleverly foreshadowed in Anne.

Significantly, she doesn't feel she can tell any of her friends about this, not even Giles. The only person she feels the can talk to is the school's rather nice psychiatrist. And he gets killed, leaving her all alone to deal with her demon(s). This is clearly going to fester…

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Faith, Hope and Trick

"Admittedly, it's not a haven for the brothers. Strictly the Caucasian persuasion here today."

That quote is obviously an admission by Whedon & co; there haven't exactly been… well, any significant black characters in Buffy so far, and that's more than a little awkward. So at least it's nice that the attempt to start making amends for this is considered important enough to be worth a little breakage of the old fourth wall.

Trick is very much a character in the mould of Spike: quirky, individual, unusually modern for a vampire, intelligent, and with little respect for boring, traditional vampiric hierarchy. His abandonment of Kakistos is a direct parallel with Spike's abandonment of the Annoying One.

But of course the more significant new character to be introduced here is Faith. She's a fantastic, charismatic yet nuanced character from the very start. Plus, Eliza Dushku is extremely hot, which is, er, a plus. She has all the attractive qualities you'd expect from a "bad girl"- she's very friendly, fun to be with, has great stories, and she gets "hungry and horny" after a bit of slayage. Five by five.

But Buffy feels as though she's been replaced by someone who threatens to be cooler than her. Everyone likes Faith, even her mother, and they even end up competing, sort of, over a boy. This isn't quite Kendra Mark II; Faith is confident, flirty and tattooed.

Except that it soon becomes clear that there's something dark behind the over-the-top cheeriness. Faith is running away from the traumatic sight of seeing her Watcher being killed by Kakistos after he did some unspecified but unspeakable things to her, and she's genuinely terrified; Dushku is superb at showing this. Far from being the confident "bad girl" that we see on the surface, Faith is clearly shell-shocked and running away from her demons, and not just the literal kind. Worryingly, everyone acts as though, with Kakistos dead, she'll be fine. But she clearly isn't.

Still, Faith's newly revealed vulnerable side allows her and Buffy to bond a little, and the conflict between them abates somewhat. It's obvious that the situation isn't permanent, though. It's very noticeable that the Scoobies are portrayed as a tightly knit bunch until Faith arrived. This is obviously intended as contrast for the dissent to be spread by this cuckoo in the nest. There will be more.

Oh, and both Faith and Dushku are from Boston, right? I thought I knew what a Boston accent sounded like, but she pronounces "about" rather Scottishly. I thought that was just a Canadian thing?

Faith faces her demons, and Buffy now feels able to do what she needs to do, too. She finally admits to Willow and Giles that it was Angel, not Angelus, that she sent to Hell. That needed to be said. And at last she feels able to symbolically get rid of the clanagh ring. She has closure, of sorts. So, naturally, Angel chooses now to suddenly return, and he's all naked too.

It's a strong episode, if perhaps a little arc-y to be properly considered in its own right. There are some nice touches to further the season; Snyder briefly shows apprehension at the prospect of speaking to the mysterious Mayor. Giles hints that Willow's dabbling in magic may not be entirely healthy. It's a brilliant episode for Joyce, too, perhaps above all else. She's a wonderful mother. She gets a fab scene of Snyder-mockery ("I think what my daughter is trying to say is… nah nah nah nah nah!"), to show us firmly that the troll has lost his bite. But her tears at the prospect that her daughter might die are heartbreakingly real.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Dead Man's Party

"You can't just bury stuff, Buffy. It'll come right back up to get ya."

So, Buffy's back. There are so many things that need to be said, and there's so much awkwardness. And yet, being people, everyone prefers to hide behind polite fictions and all sorts of procrastination- anything other than create awkward scenes. It just goes to show that even Americans can be so, well, British sometimes.

This may be a serious idea in what is, in many ways, a very serious episode, but it's also a great excuse to have an awful lot of fun at the same time. That quote up there tells us what the zombies are all about, for one thing. But there are so many clever depictions of people failing to communicate. Only Giles can see that an intimate get-together is what's called for, not a loud, overwhelming, alienating party. No one else agrees, and so we get a loud party at which it's hardly possible to talk and everyone is avoiding the potential awkwardness of actually talking to Buffy while telling themselves that they're throwing a great party for her. Personally, I see it as a great vindication of why I so much prefer a quiet pub to a trendy, horrible, city centre bar with no decent beer, but let's not wander off on any tangents.

Probably the single moment which symbolises what the whole episode is trying to say is when Giles rings Buffy, but the phone can't be heard under the loud music, and is eventually picked up by one of many people at the party who don't even know Buffy. There's failure to communicate, in a nutshell. It's also a reminder that this sort of party gatecrashing used to happen well before Facebook, as everyone's second favourite Beastie Boys video clearly demonstrates. I hope Joyce earns a lot of money and / or has great terms on her house insurance.

People only start saying the things that need to be said after Buffy, alone, upset and alienated at her own party, starts packing and gets caught by Willow. She, Joyce and Xander all then proceed to have a go at her. It's awkward, it's emotional, but it clears the air, and it has to happen for Buffy to be able to relate to any of them, again.

It's a great episode for Giles, who is dam right about all of this, all the way through the episode, and also gets to threaten Principal Snyder. It's perhaps a less great episode in its treatment of zombies, though. It's generally best, these days, to avoid the West African origins of the trope, as it's bound up with all sorts of post-colonialist awkwardness. And voodoo is a real West African religion, just as "primitive" art is part of real Bantu tradition, history and cultural context, not just something to be patronised as "primitive" and used as an influence by Cubists or whomever. That doesn't mean that West African cultural tropes should be in any way out of bounds (I wasn't moaning about all this with Inca Mummy Girl), but they should have been a little more tactful, I think. Still, it's only slightly unfortunate, and essentially we have another great episode

There's already a bit of arc stuff, too. Willow's study of magic proceeds apace, which will obviously not go wrong in any way. Buffy has another cryptic dream about Angel which, again, conveniently fulfils David Boreanaz's contractual need to appear in every episode. And Snyder is still on about that mysterious Mayor…

24 Hour Party People (2002)

"It's a shame that you didn't sign the Smiths, but you were right about Mick Hucknall. His music's rubbish, and he's a ginger."

I haven't really touched on music that much in this blog which is odd, as I'm rather obsessed by it and have been ever since I first heard Nevermind. I was a late starter; I didn't really bother with music at all until I was sixteen, but Nirvana and the whole Grunge thing meant a whole lot to me as a teenager. That sort of naturally led to Metal bands like Metallica, Pantera and Sepultura, American indie bands such as Sonic Youth, the Butthole Surfers and the Pixies, classic rock, '70s punk, post-punk, and eventually '70s reggae, blues and 20^th century composers like Penderecki, Glass and Xenakis. Basically, I likes me music. I'm sort of centred on the point where rock meets indie, and I'm a long-haired man who wears band t-shirts, but I'm more omnivorous than that might imply, although I'm not one for the late '80s baggy scene, and I've never been to a rave although I've dabbled in a bit of hardcore and gabber.

So I find myself identifying more with the first half of this film musically than the second. Joy Division and New Order are right up my street but I never really much bothered with the whole Madchester thing. I own both albums by the Stone Roses, and they're very good, but I don't know the Happy Mondays beyond the singles. But the whole story is such a fantastic ride, as rock n' roll always is. We see the great times, the sex and the drugs, but also the darkness as Ian Curtis quietly hangs himself after watching a Werner Herzog film. And hanging yourself is a painful, lingering, horrible way to die. The film also doesn't flinch from the awkward fact that the Hacienda, being awash with ecstasy, was funding gangs and guns and death, and Tony Wilson's flippant attitude to this (from real life, I assume, as his cameo appearance seems to imply a level of creative approval) doesn't exactly paint him in a good light. That's precisely why I don't take illegal drugs. Prohibition may be bloody stupid, but that doesn't mean that bootlegging is ok.

That aside, though, and noting his confessed neglect of his second family, the man is pure punk rock. The whole ethos of Factory Records- of total creative freedom for the bands- is wonderful, and economic reality can go to Hell. I'm just about old enough to remember when selling out was something that simply wasn't done, and signing to a major label was always something to be sheepishly apologised for although, in hindsight, that world came to an end when Sonic Youth signed to Geffen. Also wonderful is the way that he talks, and his unashamed refusal to downplay his education. As a fellow English graduate (although Nottingham, not Cambridge!) I love the speech about the "free play of signs and signifiers" in response to Rob Brydon's journalist accusing him (not unreasonably) of fascism because of Joy Division's rather dodgy name. The point here, of course, is that actually he does need to point out the irony of the Durutti Column's name, because these cultural references zoom straight over most people's heads. We see this sort of thing throughout the film; Ian Curtis doesn't even get the W.B. Yeats reference. I like this, though. There's too much inverted snobbery about. Why shouldn't we live in a world where tramps and game show hosts can quote Boethius if they want to?

There are so many stand-out performances here (I'll come to Steve Coogan in a bit), but Andy Serkis was particularly great as Martin Hannett. This is more or less a who's who of British comedy and drama performers, though, from Peter Kay to Simon Pegg. And the cameos, from Mark E. Smith (I spotted him!) to Howard Devoto (if you haven't heard Magazine's Real Life, get the album now) are a nice little extra bit of metatextual fun in a film where there's rather a lot of it, courtesy of screenwriter Frank Cottrell Boyce.

Rob Brydon has only a minor role but this is, I suppose, pretty much one of those Michael Winterbottom films with him and Coogan, all of which are rather good. The style is certainly very much in line with The Trip et al, with a lot of damage being done to the Fourth Wall. It's so very fitting that Coogan as Tony Wilson not only addresses the camera but does so as an unreliable narrator. Coogan has not only the talent but also the charisma to do this superbly. He also plays the moments of real feeling behind the façade; the scene where he's alone with Ian Curtis' laid-out corpse is genuinely moving.

The moment of nemesis is a magnificent conclusion as the Hacienda finally closes and Tony Wilson invites the punters to loot the place. The place certainly had its dark side, very much so, but this film is a joyous celebration of what now seem to be old-fashioned values of independent record labels, creative freedom and vibrant, changing music, unlike the stagnant scene of today with its landfill indie and chart music strangled by the dead hand of svengalis and talent shows. Er, said the old fart. But I'm increasingly coming to the conclusion that the bad old days of svengalis and staid musical conservatism, which came to an end when the Beatles came up with the radical practice of writing their own songs, thereby slaying that dragon. But it never really went away. I've always thought that the rock n' roll revolution of the '50s and '60s was a one-off, an injection of African rhythms into the mainstream of Western popular music, which had already been heralded by jazz and blues which now took over completely and gave rise to so much that was new and alive and wonderful. There will always be new music worth listening to, but those days now seem to be more or less over as a dominant part of mainstream culture. Musically, it's 1955 again. This film is a reminder of better times.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Anne

"If we can focus, keep discipline, and not have quite so many mysterious deaths, Sunnydale is gonna rule!"

Well, here I am, the prodigal son returned, and the Fates have dealt me an episode that feels rather appropriate in the circumstances. This blog is now back to normal, so it's time for me to plough through Season Three of Buffy. This happens to be my favourite season, I'm afraid, boring and conventional though that opinion may be.

This episode is, let's just come out and say it, simply sublime. It's also a sort of statement about the following season, breaking new ground in a number of ways, the most obvious of which is the subtext. It's not been unusual for Buffy to use monsters and supernatural phenomena as metaphors for aspects of teenage life and young people's issues, but this episode deals with a social issue which is much more gritty and adult: homelessness.

We begin by seeing Buffy living hand to mouth, in a dead end job, in a crummy apartment in LA. This is our first example of Joss Whedon using the big city as the setting for more adult problems which, in spite of the metaphorical supernatural elements, feels much more gritty and "realistic". This is not the world of adolescence, authority figures and parental support; existence is much more tenuous. The contrast between "Anne", with her tenuous and poverty-stricken life, and the homeless people she passes, is only a matter of degree. It's made very clear that homelessness is something that could happen to anyone. And premature aging and death is an obvious metaphor for what homelessness does to you.

Of course, Buffy isn't "really" poor, as she could return to her mother at any time, but I think the point still stands.

The homeless are, of course, ripe for exploitation. I'm not sure I'm getting all the subtext of who the bad guys represent (this may be a specifically American thing), but a certain piece of blatant symbolism later on gives a definite indication that they're supposed to be capitalists of some kind. Buffy leads the workers against their oppressors armed initially with a hammer, but soon acquires a sickle too. And the camera lingers far too much on Buffy posing with a hammer and sickle (in fact, this is one of the iconic poses) for it to be possible to deny that the intent is to represent revolutionary socialism. And I, much though I'm sometimes tempted to wish for an equal and opposite left-wing counterweight to our excessively conservative political discourse, am no revolutionary socialist. Still, I'm not sure Whedon is either. Buffy does, after all, begin her revolution by asserting her individuality, and ends by returning to her bourgeois lifestyle.

Oh, and it's nice to see Chanterelle again, now calling herself Lily but with no fixed identity. It's already clear that her arc is going to be one of increasing confidence and self-reliance. She's an interesting character.

But what of Sunnydale, after that extraordinarily long summer? Everything seems to revolve around Buffy's absence but, of course, Whedon isn't afraid to have a bit of metatextual fun with this. The fact that Willow doesn't find the quips coming as easily as they do for Buffy is essentially a cheerful admission that Whedon-esque dialogue is hardly realistic; people in real life just aren't as witty as that, especially in times of stress. But the point is, well, who says realism is so great, anyway?

The whole inevitable sequence of Cordy and Xander being nasty to each other and then finally snogging is played for laughs, too; it's become so familiar now that it can be presented almost as slapstick. And Whedon manages to get around the massive plot convenience of Oz having to repeat a year by pretty much just coming out and admitting it.

The scenes with the biggest emotional punch both involve Joyce, though. At first we think that she and Giles have built up a connection but then she turns on him. And, of course, we end perfectly, with a silent hug between mother and daughter.

One Last Update...

I'm coming to the end of this period of not posting very much because of stuff happening. Season Three of Buffy starts on Friday 30th March, and I'll be back on a full schedule of posting from that point onwards. Saturday and Sunday will both be movies, but after that I'll be back to the usual schedules of movies on Saturdays (if I'm in) and Buffy the rest of the time.

Vampire Circus (1972)

"They play no games. They are death."

I love old Hammer movies, especially vampire ones. The combination of camp humour and genuine creepiness is such fun, and there's such fun to be had with the subtext, too. Take the opening sequence here, for example. It's your typical Hammer setting: somewhere vaguely Mittel-Europa-ish in what looks like Napoleonic times, and everyone has vaguely German or Slavic names. Yet there's a nasty old Count, living in a suitably gothic castle, who's cuckolding the local gentry by stealing their wives, which has mediaeval droit de seigneur overtones, and drinking the blood of their daughters, which has paedophile overtones. Oh, and he's a vampire. Naturally. There are all sorts of sexual and class subtexts here already.

We also have lots more of the usual tropes- mobs with burning torches, sinister forests, even the music. (Incidentally, does anyone know whether the David Whitaker who composed the music here is the same chap who script edited Doctor Who? It's not a common spelling of the surname so I wonder…). Most obviously, of course, there's a very direct equivalence of vampirism with sex; every single scene of necks being bitten in the whole film is so wonderfully erotic. Anna's lust for the Count probably implies that Albert, her husband, is a bit rubbish in the sack. Of course, being a woman who is seen to enjoy sex, she has to be punished by all the men, by being whipped. Which, er, obviously has no sexual overtones whatsoever.

All of this is just the set-up, though, in a pre-titles sequence, something surprisingly rare in films. A lesser film would have this as its main plot, but here it's a mere preamble to establish a curse and get on with the films main purpose; scaring us, titillating us and reminding us that circuses, and not just clowns, are the creepiest things ever. Because they are, aren't they? The mysteriousness, the feeling of a closed world, the highly dodgy treatment of animals and, yes, the clowns. I'm a little worried to see the treatment of a dwarf as "other" and therefore scary, and also the overtones of Gypsies being sinister ("Hey, woman! Gypsy woman!"), but circuses are well creepy. A circus like this would, I suppose, have been recognisable in 1972 but now, thankfully, it isn't.

The plot is wonderful and satisfying, although it's not at all clear why the townsfolk keep going to the circus if they all suspect it of extreme dodginess! There are some nice touches and some nice set pieces. I like the way the strongman (Dave Prowse, no less!) is unaffected by a crucifix as he's not a vampire, and that the quick-thinking (if wet!) Anton is able to use a crossbow as a crucifix. It all looks gorgeous (particularly the large quotient of beautiful young ladies!) and the direction, by Robert Young, is excellent, with lots of particularly brilliant shots. The film is let down by a lack of charismatic actors, however. The cast is mainly competent, or better, but there are no real lead actors to be seen. The exception is John Moulder-Brown, who is eye-poppingly awful and, unfortunately, in a very major role. With a better cast, this would have been a much better film.

Still, there's not a lot wrong with the script or the look of the film. I'm surprised that Robert Young doesn't seem to have done much else. The later Hammers certainly tend to be a lot more erotic, but there's some very good stuff.

Four Lions (2010)

"Waj, why are you doing this?"

"Rubber dinghy rapids!"

I've resisted reviewing any outright comedy for this blog so far, film or TV, for the obvious reasons: trying to analyse humour is about the most po-faced thing I can possibly imagine. I don't really hold to the oft-repeated belief that you ruin a joke by looking at how it works, but it's still hard to do it without appearing to have no sense of humour and, as John Cleese once said, an Englishman would rather be accused of having a really small penis than that.

Still, I've reviewed quite a few films now, and I can't keep ignoring a whole genre. I have to find some way of talking about it. And it isn't that I haven't found humorous things to discuss before (Flash Gordon, for example. Actually, that's a comedy, innit?). So I've deliberately decided to have a go. Originally I was going to review Kind Hearts and Coronets, but I had to give up five minutes in as there are no subtitles on my DVD and the dialogue just isn't clear enough to compensate. I'm a bit pissed off about that, really; a DVD release without subtitles is not acceptable.

So, Four Lions. It's a brilliant film. But the first thing I have to say is: DO NOT BUY THE DVD. Just record it off the telly or something. The DVD forces you to watch about ten minutes' worth of trailers that can't be skipped. Any DVD that does this has to be boycotted, otherwise they'll just keep on doing it.

Crikey. Got out of the bed the wrong side this morning, didn't I? Anyway… I picked Kind Hearts and Coronets so that I'd be able to talk about the class subtext instead of trying to analyse jokes. This was my second choice, obviously, because there's a political subtext to talk about. Thing is, though, there's not an awful lot to say about it, cleverly done though it is. All sorts of taboos are cheerfully ploughed though, as you'd expect from Chris Morris, but it's funny for rather old fashioned reasons. The format is basically that old classic, thick bloke and thicker bloke. The three thicker blokes (the Stan Laurels / Buttheads / Garths / Syd Littles, depending on your cultural reference point) are Waj, Faisal and Hassan, and the two thick blokes (the Hardys / Beavises / Waynes / Eddie Larges) are Omar and Barry. There's a bit of an added level of this between these two, jostling for the spot of alpha male, but it's Omar who's ultimately the least thick, and the leader. Of course, though, the humour lies in the fact that they're all wazzocks. This is co-written by the creators of Peep Show, and feels like it.

It's Omar and Barry who are fleshed out more as characters. Omar has a loving wife and young son, and the family relationships are quite heartwarming. Yet his wife is enthusiastic for Omar's plans to blow himself up, and their son is being brought up to idolise jihad and martyrdom. His brother Ahmed, a far more observant and pious Muslim than Omar, who is forever referring to Western pop culture, is appalled at all this, yet we can't quite side with him as he's such a zealot that he locks his wife up in a "little room"! So many contradictions.

Barry, although charismatic, is a little semi-detached because of his white ethnicity, his convert status and his lack of Urdu. I suspect this, rather than anything else is the real reason why he refuses to attend the mosques (he wants to blow then up!) and prefers only to associate with other Muslims who accept him as one of them, not an outsider, which pushes him towards extremism. He doesn't quite belong anywhere, precisely because of his stubborn adherence to a particularly narrow version of "Islam". So many contradictions.

And it's the contradictions that make this film so funny. Barry accuses Omar at the end of killing his thick brother by dragging him into this, but he did the same himself with Hassan. Waj ends up about to blow himself up inside a kebab shop full of Muslims. Omar and Waj go to train with Al Qaeda and end up blowing up Bin Laden. And Omar blows up a branch of Boots, something which he's mocked earlier.

There's something almost Monty Python about the explosions, too. All of them, from Faisal's crow to Faisal himself to Barry's choking demise are very, very funny. It goes to show that the subject matter, being fundamentally absurd, is ripe for humour. I'm glad that a film like this exists, and that it's good.

Frau im Mond (1929)

"Learned ignoramuses, lacking in fantasy, whose brains work in inverse proportion to their level of calcification…!"

I can't watch Metropolis yet, as I still haven't got around to buying the restored version, including all the recently recovered clips. But I do happen to own this, a very different science fiction film by Fritz Lang, from just a couple of years later and grounded very much in "hard" sci-fi. And it's a fascinating document of film history as well as of space travel in popular culture.

For all that it's very much of its time and very German (the car number plates are recognisably German even in 1929, and I was amazed to see that the credits and intertitles use the long "s", something which I imagined had fallen out of use during the eighteenth century!), this reminds me very much of Bollywood films in one important respect. Bollywood films tend not to specialise, but to be aimed at a very wide audience of all ages and backgrounds, and both genders. Hence films tend to include action, romance, comedy, songs, etc. This film may not have any songs (a silent film hardly could!) but it ticks pretty much all the other boxes.

We have science fiction, obviously. We have romantic drama in the form of the love triangle between Helius, Friede and Windegger. We have an extended comic sequence at the beginning, in the Professor's flat. Most of the first hour is devoted to a bizarre, but entertaining, conspiracy theory thriller. There's even a quick shoot-out. This is several films in one; no wonder it's so bloody long.

It doesn't feel too long, though, strange though it can feel for a silent film, to feature so many sequences of people talking. It's never boring; the acting style sees to that. This is very much a melodrama, with all that entails. This is probably essential, and it works; the characters are all extremely well-rounded. We have the brave, determined but worry-prone Helius, whose name seems to evoke the Icarus myth, rather appropriately. We have the decent but cowardly Windegger. We have Friede, the bravest, most loyal and most collected of the whole of them, and the epitome of the strong woman. She's the heroine of the film. We have the Professor, our requisite comedy character. We have Gustav, the boy in short trousers with his sci-fi pulp magazines.

But perhaps the most interesting character is Walt Turner, he of the superhuman powers of disguise. The hairstyle and mannerisms evoke Hitler very, very strongly, and in the Germany of 1929 this can be no accident. Interestingly, the Hitler character is the only one who isn't German, and he hasn't got a moustache (that would be too blatant!), but it's hard to escape the conclusion that Fritz Lang was not exactly a fan of Hitler's; it's hardly a flattering portrayal. Not only is Turner incredibly sinister and villainous, but he's by far the most cowardly (and dishevelled!) during the g-force section. Hitler is being treated as a contemptible Nick Griffin figure which is, of course, exactly what he was in 1929. The Nazi party didn't exactly come to power by promising to shove people into concentration camps and murder six million Jews; they kept rather quiet about that. That's something which should be borne in mind by anyone who imagines the BNP or the like are remotely less dangerous.

Still, it's weird to see the Hitler figure as the one who's part of the sort of conspiracy which, in Germany between the wars, can hardly not have anti-Semitic overtones. This cabal of four rich men and one cigar-chomping woman is utterly ridiculous and not remotely believable. Then again, there are depressing numbers of people today who believe even more obviously stupid conspiracy theories, so perhaps I shouldn't judge.

It's hard not to be impressed by the prescience with which manned space flight is depicted, with two caveats, both forgiveable. Yes, to have the Moon (or even just an unseen part of it) be breathable and habitable is a bit dodgy. But there are, I think, very good grounds to plead artistic licence here. It's 1929; everyone knows that actual travel to the Moon is decades away, and at least they're acknowledging that the known part of the Moon is airless. Besides, there's a literary tradition of a habitable Moon from Verne and Wells (whose novel is echoed in the strong element of greed here).

The other odd thing is that this is a private expedition, not state sponsored, although surely only a nation, and a major one at that, could possibly be able to fund such an undertaking, especially back then? But, those little things aside, there are so many amazingly correct predictions. An unmanned vessel, equipped with a camera, was sent first. Travel is by rocket, and it has three stages. There's a countdown, the first ever example of what would become a well-worn trope. There's a sort of spacesuit which, rather logically, looks like a deep sea diving suit. There's even weightlessness, with people walking by aid of footstraps in the floor!

There are things to raise eyebrows, of course. The Moon has an atmosphere as strong as the Earth's, which is not only a problem in itself but raises the question of how they can take off again. The different stages of the rocket have to be jettisoned manually during a period of strong g-forces, which seems rather risky. But the film gets so many things right that it seems churlish to complain; I'd be amazed if Werner Von Braun didn't turn out to have seen this film...

The film may have dated a little, it's very long for a silent movie, but it held my interest throughout and is a fascinating little historical document.

Conan the Barbarian (1982)

"Conan, what is best in life?"

"To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women!"

I'm a bit OCD when it comes to consuming popular culture. If I miss an episode of a television drama, I can't watch the next one until I've seen the one I missed. I can never watch a film from part way through; I absolutely have to see the start. I wasn't always such an extreme case, though, which means that in my late teens I actually did read some of Robert E. Howards's Conan stories. I'm not sure I could do that now, for those very OCD reasons. What order are the books supposed to be in? Does it matter? Does the stuff written by L. Sprague De Camp count as "canonical"? Is there some sort of overlap with the stories of H.P. Lovecraft whose stories, I believe, were published by the same pulp magazine? Also, incidentally, why are there so very few films based on Lovecraft's stories?

I remember enjoying what I read, but very little about it because, I suspect, it was extremely disjointed. I liked the book covers, though; that I do remember. And this film faithfully recreates that aesthetic of scantily clad, sexy individuals of both sexes, sorcerers in horned headgear, loads of snakes, and really cool armour with even cooler helmets. It's a shame about all the mullets (not Arnie, fortunately), but I believe they were still legal in the early '80s. Still, the whole look of the film is bloody good. I'm now rather interested in reading about this whole world, and when I've finished this article I'll be off for a spot of Wikipeding.

But… it's really rather easy to pick holes in the whole idea of the Hyborean age, isn't it? This made-up epoch between the fall of Atlantis and the beginning of recorded history is pretty much an invitation to look for anachronisms- and here we get concepts such as Valhalla, Vanir and a character called "Thorgrim" with a massive warhammer. The technology level is very much Iron Age or later; the first thing we see is steel being worked, we see corn being ground with a quern early on, and I'm trying to recall if the horses had stirrups. I suppose you can explain some of these things as being lost in some later cataclysm, but it's rather hard to explain the sight of horses being ridden. I believe that horses were fairly light-weight until at least the Iron Age, which is why their use in warfare was pretty much limited to chariots for all but the lightest of uses.

Still, let's not pick holes, fun though it is. A fictional "lost" age is probably the only way you can do this kind of hard-edged, rough and ready sort of sword and sorcery stuff. These characters are neither stupid nor uncultured (they have poetry and philosophy), but there's a roughness to them. Speech is extremely direct. There are absolutely no pleases, thank yous or any other kind of verbal politeness. Characters mean what they say and hat they mean, which doesn't make them in any way shallow, unintelligent or incapable of irony or humour. Their society may be very harsh indeed, but there's an innocent lack of guile to them, and they're perfectly capable of warmth, love and even a kind of articulacy.

Not Arnold Schwarzenegger, though. Of course not. Aside from an ill-advised semi-soliloquy just before the big set-piece fight towards the end he's a man of few words, as befits his command of English at the time. Still, the future Governator was obviously hired for his rippling muscles and required to be more of a presence than an actor, and this is a role he fulfils admirably. And it's quite an achievement to display so much charisma, and to be the undisputed star of the film, while saying so little.

Of course, James Earl Jones is much, much more charismatic, and he does this entirely through actually acting. He has possibly the finest voice in all of cinema; Thulsa Doom is an utterly delicious baddie, but he has pretty much nothing at all in common with Darth Vader in his vocal stylings. He's pretty bad-ass, demanding that his underlings be prepared to face death and "emptiness" on his whim. Presumably this means that they sacrifice themselves for him without question, knowing that their deaths are pointless and they will be utterly forgotten, and in every expectation that there will be no afterlife. Chilling.

The film manages the wonderful feat of playing everything straight while slipping in a bit of metatextual silly subtext on the sly. Conan's crucifixion is such overblown and pretentious Christ symbolism that it can only be intentional. My eyebrow was also raised during the sex scene between Conan and the prophetess. As soon as she reaches orgasm she turns into a horrible screeching demon. Hmm. Perhaps just a slight hint of male fear of female sexuality there then. There are also lots of scenes of semi-naked women chained up and on public display, meaning that I couldn't help thinking about the male gaze and all that. But I think the scene where Conan, as a slave in his cage, is allowed to have sex with (well, rape) a female slave in his cage while others watch pretty much has to be taken as evidence that it's being done knowingly. It's still being done, of course. Doing things ironically doesn't actually stop things being misogynistic.

Oh yes, and then there's the scene with the semi-clad woman jumping into a pit to sacrifice herself to a snake, which one can't help noticing is a somewhat phallic creature. Do you reckon there might be a bit of symbolism there? Of course, the snake turns out to be dead. There might be a bit of symbolism there, too. No wonder Thulsa Doom is so humiliated and angry about this later on. And I can't help noticing that the only characters at whom he aims those snake-arrow things are female. What an amazing coincidence…

It's also rather noticeable that Conan's girlfriend, a rather major character, doesn't even have a name, in marked contrast to Subotai, whom I like a lot. A also like Akiro; he's such a fun character. I love the way he narrates the film and then appears halfway through, too. It's a very well-structured script, co-written, I notice, by none other than Oliver Stone.

I enjoyed this far more than I expected. It may not be very deep but it's solidly written, and a lot more fun than it might appear to be at first glance.

The Rest of the Month...

Real life... what a bummer, eh?

I'll still be posting as much as I can, but my blogging schedule is going to be pretty light for most of the rest of the month- I'm just not going to have much free time on weekday evenings. I'll try and knock out at least a movie a week though, and hopefully some telly, too. Next up is Season Three of Buffy, which I'm really quite excited about.

Fear not, though- this is only a temporary thing. April should be back to normal.This blogging thing is bloody addictive, believe me.

Borgen: The First Tuesday in October

"I want a divorce."

So, that's it. No more Borgen on BBC 4 until the Winter, we're told. I suspect it'll be worth the wait, although I certainly hope they don't show it as two consecutive episodes a week next time. That's not a very clever way to show a series where each individual episode requires much, much digesting, and I'm not sure I was the only one put up to just record it until much, much later. I can think of a few things about the last episode which I wish I'd written about last night. I feel like that with every episode. One episode a week, please!

This episode is such a deeply satisfying culmination of the threads, character-based and thematic, which have run right through the season. Birgitte's marriage collapses into selling-out for the cameras, and then into inevitable but cathartic divorce, just as the first anniversary of her premiership looms, alongside a new Parliament and a new year's legislative programme.

It's clear there's no way back from the strain, and the lapses in judgement, suffered by Birgitte. Such is the nature of power. All senior politicians live in a bubble which, in the end, inevitably severs them entirely from reality. And the sheer physical and emotional strain of this most demanding of jobs is so utterly crushing that it seems to approach Stockholm Syndrome at times. Relationships with "civilians" tend not to survive such pressures. Not only Birgitte, but also Bent and the Sir Humphrey figure have given up hope of a functional relationship with their spouse, whatever the "official" situation. All of this feels very, very realistic, and it's interesting to relate it to UK politics.

It's only where both partners exist in this world that there's any hope. It's very notable how, even though Katrine ends the episode disgusted with Kasper, things between them end on a note that's rather on the hopeful side of individual. Neither of them could possibly maintain a relationship with a "civilian"- what choice do they have? I suppose that's a kind of Stockholm Syndrome, too, but it isn't really anywhere near that bleak. They may fight, a lot, but they understand each other perfectly and what they have between them is, for all its faults, real.

The early mention that "Cabinet seats cost popularity" certainly raised at least one eyebrow from me, being an accurate description of what the inevitable compromises of power have done to Lib Dem support here in the UK, and Nick Clegg is nowhere near as pretty as Birgitte Nyborg. The Labour plotting against Bent, Birgitte's father figure and her only true friend in politics, is devastating for her at a time like this but also feels very real.

The episode is framed around Kasper's speech, and his struggle with it, culminating in Birgitte's triumphant delivery which, of course, confirms that she can still be a good Prime Minister in spite of her inevitable problems. Kasper actually shows himself to be a bloody good scriptwriter; his comments on Kennedy's inauguration speech, and the need for pathos and ethos as well as logos (See? I just spontaneously remembered stuff from a module in Rhetoric I took at uni, a disturbingly long time ago…!), show how well he understands the values of the political principles he lacks. Of course, now that we know his history it's fascinating to speculate on why he's like this. Also interesting is how he casually uses the lovely but soon-to-be-sacked Sanne for his own gratification at a time when he seems to be getting on fine with Katrine, dumping her so very casually.

Katrine, on the other hand, is very, very principled, but how much of this is really ambition? I notice that Kasper seems to hint at this when he points out that she's not yet thirty but wants to dictate the news policy of a major channel. I suspect she'll follow Hanne Holm into newspapers.

In one sense things are wrapped up. In another, we're right in the middle of things. Politics is like that.

Borgen: Divide and Rule

"Who'll be Prime Minister while you do all our jobs?"

Well, we might as well start by talking about that moment. But, for the record, this was a bloody brilliant bit of drama, just one slightly dodgy Scottish accent away from perfection, and I think we can forgive that in a programme from Denmark.

Blimey. I know I ended last episode's review by observing that Philip asserting himself by taking the job was ultimately just storing up conflict for the future, but I didn't expect it to happen so soon or so literally. Philip's been a sympathetic character so far in spite of his faults, and someone we can identify with. But in making him hit his wife the writers have decided to place him beyond the pale. Whatever his motives- and they are, of course, genuine and even understandable- there's no possible way that him doing this can ever be defended. The moment hits the viewer like a bomb. It's great drama, especially as it feels "earned" by a long set-up, but even so I'm a bit uneasy by what it says about masculinity.

The episode title is, yet again, really rather clever. This episode sees people divided from each other- Birgitte from Philip and Katrine from her boss, Torsten, both of them partly because of a stubborn refusal to delegate- a rather obvious big theme- but also lots of conflict about power- both of those same examples, again- but also within Cabinet and between government and media.

With all that going on, the political issue this episode- which fighter jet should be bought by the Danish air force- is fairly ho-hum, thus allowing us to focus on these kinds of power relationships. Certainly, it's become very clear that Birgitte's personal life is impinging on her premiership. She's devastated by the total breakdown in her marriage, much as she tries to show it. She's still capable of being magnificent (her response to Katrine's naughty question at the end is a fairly clear parallel to her similar act of off-message genius in the debate before the election), but her inability to delegate is a worrying sign. She's overreacting to the Hox's actions last episode, and given her domestic circumstances she's possibly headed for a nervous breakdown. The way she humiliates herself by barging into Freja's flat is a very worrying sign. Her open government initiative is certainly going to stir up a hornet's nest, too. I certainly wouldn't want her job.

Katrine's problem of being unable to delegate is superficially similar but there's a big difference; she's not the boss. She spends the whole episode defying Torsten and getting away with it because she's successful, but when she finally oversteps the line there are consequences. Her relationship with Kasper is getting interesting too. They're close again, but he still won't discuss his demons with her, except for the one shocking outburst. This is building up to something. Everything's building up to something. And the BBC 4 announcer referred to the last episode as a "season finale" over the closing titles. Should I be excited?

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!

Borgen: The Silly Season

"Don't you wash your hands?"

"It doesn't make the smell go away."

This is an extraordinary episode. It makes us completely reinterpret so much of what we've seen in earlier episodes. Suddenly it makes sense that Kasper is the way he is, cold, repressed, horribly damaged and in denial about his past.

After my comments about last episode, thinking I had the format of Borgen sorted as an issue-of-the-week political drama with added character arcs, this episode goes and breaks that template, if there was one, completely. It's the Summer. Parliament isn't sitting and there's no news, only gossip. It is, to use a very British phrase, the Silly Season. (I'd be interested to know whether that was a direct translation- I suspect not.) So that means we can drop the issues of the week (Laugesen's memoirs aren't really that) and really focus on character. Even the opening quote is not from Machiavelli or Lenin but James Joyce, of all people, and is about the past coming back to bite you. Lots of threads come to a head here.

Incidentally, isn't Laugesen odious? He's like a cross between Tony Blair and Kelvin McKenzie. Urrrgh.

Kasper's past might not be all that unexpected- I was expecting child abuse as soon as we got the first flashback- but that doesn't make the actual revelation and less huge. These flashbacks are quietly devastating. And Pilou Asbæk is an extraordinary actor- so many scenes are made by his facial acting. In fact, this gives us a wonderful piece of misdirection as he's apparently nervous just before his interview. Of course, he nails it, but looks no less uncomfortable. It's really been his father, not Laugesen's revelations, that have been bothering him.

The fact that he went so far as to change his first name speaks volumes, and his stilted relationship with his mother (does she know?) is so awkward to watch. His refusal to take any of his father's shirts becomes very understandable once you've seen the flashback, and his insistence on a minimal funeral and an unmarked grave is horribly revealing of his desire to bury these feelings away and forget about them.

Ironically, all this is what brings him and Katrine together. Even her disgust at how he came across the receipts that incriminated Hesselboe is leavened by the fact that for once he's being honest. And she has real feelings for him. ("If you just told me the truth, I'd do anything for you." I knew it was her entering the room at the end, despite the blurred focus, but the scene is so deeply cathartic and, yes, lovely. What happens between them now?

Birgitte and Philip's storyline is less dramatic and, given that it could hardly compete with child abuse, less upsetting, but it's quietly upsetting to see their relationship continue to deteriorate. Philip's a nice guy, but he's emasculated, and doesn't even want sex. Society is fine with a woman being Prime Minister (although of course things are still fine from equal; let's not kid ourselves), but the role of her "consort" is awkward, given the way gender roles work culturally. Philip is adopting a traditionally feminine role, and is therefore emasculated. He's as much a victim of cultural misogyny as his wife. And although he may temporarily solve things at the end by asserting his masculinity, this can only be storing up conflict for the future...

Borgen: See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil

"I consider you a dead man in my government now."

In the Grauniad's G2 supplement this week there was a guest column from someone connected with The Thick of It, in which he described Borgen as "The Thick of It without the laughs". I'd say it was closer to Yes, Minister without the laughs but the comparison stands. There's a very similar feel, and perhaps the format which is common to all three shows is a little more problematic when it comes to a straight drama like Borgen.

There are continuing plot threads, yes, but these are heavily focused on character- little things like the fact that Hoxenhaven is a member of a political dynasty, desperate to attain the political success that his family background expects in spite of the fact he's a rather weak man. But the "story of the week" format is a bit of a problem for a series that defines itself by realism. Last week the only political issue that existed was the state visit. This time there seem to be no other political issues around to distract us from the illicit bugging of the Solidarity party. A satirical comedy can get away with this sort of thing as we expect a degree of caricature. Here, it's a little awkward.

On the other hand, it's also probably necessary that things are this way for the individual episodes to have any coherence. No drama based on the world of politics could avoid doing things this way, and Borgen is bloody brilliant. Still, there's a certain awkwardness.

Anyway… this week we have a meditation on the conflict between friendship and power in which Birgitte is forced, through political expediency, to side with a weak, lacklustre and petulant Justice Minister (Hox) against her estranged left-wing friend (Anne-Marie Lindenkrone). Hox may be weak and, when he begs to keep his job, pathetic, but as an insider he knows how to play the game and the value of a well-timed leak. Such are the perks of an upbringing within a family used to power. Lindenkrone has none of these advantages, and pays a harsh price.

There's a nice political balancing act in how the two sides are presented, too. Hox is heard to use a lot of disturbingly authoritarian "War on Terror" style incoherent rhetoric, while Lindenkrone's years-old plan to kidnap the then PM's children is really quite far beyond the pale, whatever the circumstances.

Politics and relationships are awkward, er, bedfellows elsewhere, too. Katrine's idyllic relationship with Benjamin, which has until now been defined pretty much entirely by physical attraction and extremely frequent great sex, suddenly starts to flounder when he admits he doesn't know who the defence minister is. The two of them have nothing in common. This is a fling, nothing more. My money's still on her and Kasper getting back together.

As for Birgitte and Philip, the disintegration of their relationship is becoming ever more painful to watch. The fact that she can even think of accusing him of having an affair means that a line has been crossed. On the other hand… is he? If not, will he?

Throne of Blood (1957)

"Without ambition, a man is not a man."

I've been wanting to do a Kurosawa for ages. The only reason I haven't done one yet is because the DVDs are at a hard-to-get-at part of the cupboard. I'm going to make a concerted effort to start watching some of those back-of-the cupboard DVDs in the next few weeks, instead of just plonking them straight from the front pile. Honestly, the things I do for you, my readers…

This is a fairly straight remake of Macbeth with the obvious cultural adjustments, although of course we should remember that a film is a fully completed work, whereas a play script is just a script, so it's not a like-for-like comparison. This would have been just as extraordinarily, and would have had Akira Kurosawa's imprint stamped all over it, even if it had been a straight version of Shakespeare's script. But it isn't. It's very different. The characters are absolutely the same psychologically, but the means by which this is expressed is fascinatingly different.

Shakespeare's work is fundamentally about language, about expressing philosophicasl musings, psychological depths, humour and pretty much the whole world through the medium of words. What's fascinating about what Kurosawa has done here is that we have the opposite situation entirely; this film is to a large extent about the absence of language. There are many, many scenes which consist of long silences, characters communicating only (but very effectively) by facial expression. Characters are generally terse and inarticulate, and struggle to communicate with each other. The scene in which Washizu and Miki struggle to speak coherently about the prophecy they have just heard is highly revealing. The film even begins with a garbled series of reports by messengers, which is highly appropriate.

The scene where Miki welcomes Washizu into Cobweb Castle after his murder of Lord Tsuzuki  is fascinating: the two of them walk in silence, with Miki speaking only to briefly say that he will support Washizu because he will be able to defend the castle. It's left ambiguous whether he realises what Washizu has done but is supporting him for pragmatic reasons. The point is what's not said, the absence of language.

The exception to all this, of course, is the highly articulate, scheming Asaji, the only major female character. Making the Lady Macbeth figure the only articulate figure in the entire film (except, perhaps, for several examples of Kurosawa's signature use of peasants as a kind of Greek chorus) makes articulacy appear to be devious and feminine, whilst inarticulacy is made to look weak and masculine.

Asaji induces a sense of paranoia in Washizu, constantly persuading to act by insisting that others are conspiring against him, which is something of a change of emphasis from the source material. This is further entrenched by the many, many instances of bad omens, which intensify the sense of foreboding. There's a constant sense that something is going bto happen and this is deepened, I think, by Kuropsawa's decisions to keep the dramatic events- the battles and murders- firmly off-screen. For Shakespeare, keeping these scenes off-stage was a rather prosaic, practical necessity but for Kurosawea, I think, it's a way of delaying the pay-off until the end.  And Washizu's death scene, with the hail of arrows and some incredible facial acting from the legendary Toshiro Mifune, is the best thing ever.

As we'd expect, everything looks great, with lots of murky fog, a suitably labyrinthine forest and gnarled trees, and Kurasawa's trademark wipes that George Lucas loves so much. I enjoyed that a lot.

Un Chien Andalou (1929)

No quote, unless "wtf?!" counts.

Got me a movie, I want you to know. Slicing up eyeballs, I want you to know. Don't know about you, but this is beautiful. Also weird. But good weird.

It's rather hard to say much about the surrealism, or indeed to get any kind of grip on a film that isn't really a narrative at all. When you're looking at a movement based on Freudianism and free association it's rather hard to find anything much beyond "a bit random, innit?" to say about the various weird scenes. The captions denoting that it's "eight years later" or "sixteen years earlier" are presumably supposed to indicate the random way time passes in dreams, much like cutting between scenes in a film, so I suppose that's a bit metatextual. The man's unexpected assault on the woman's boobs is probably supposed to be some sort of illustration of how the id is let loose within dreams- Freud and all that- but I'm otherwise wary to use phrases like "supposed to be" at all. I have pretty much the same attitude about Salvador Dali's paintings. What do you say about them beyond "Ooh, a bit Freudian, dreamlike and therefore random"?

What matters for the surrealism to work is that the film should look gorgeous and be creatively shot. Thanks to extraordinary work from Luis Buñuel, it does and it is. The use of light, camera angles and dissolves makes the whole thing look gorgeous and appropriately weird. It helps, from a 2012 perspective, that it all now looks so charmingly period, with the look of the cars, the relative lack of them and, yes, the clothes. The flapper looks gorgeous. The hats look cool. The beachwear is, er, less so. Tanktops, on the beach? Really?

I'm glad I've seen this film though- it really is beautiful and, although I'm sure the makers wouldn't thank me for saying so, a charming document of intellectual thought between the wars. You should see it too; it's on YouTube, and it's only sixteen minutes. Go on.

The Great Train Robbery (1903)

Again, no quote, for reasons which should be obvious.

I'll confess I'm not feeling too well disposed towards Thomas Edison after reading about what he did to poor old Georges Méliès, but in the context of the other early silents I've recently seen this is extraordinary. Extraordinary enough, in fact, to make up for my dismay at the fact that there aren't quite as many very early short silents worth reviewing as I'd assumed. There may be fewer reviews tonight than expected.

The plot is quite straightforward and dramatic, depicting a train robbery, getaway, and the eventual deaths of the robberies in a shootout. It seems to take place in the present day, which in 1903 was a perfectly sensible thing to do. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid are both, after all, alive and well. The many deaths by shooting seem all the more horrifying through being shown in silence; the film doesn't flinch from realistic violence. Crime doesn't pay, we're told in no uncertain terms. The robbers aren't very sympathetic (they murder a lot of people) but it's a bit worrying to note that no one thinks to arrest them or get them to surrender- they're just shot.

This is so, so different from the other silents I've seen. It isn't a stage with a camera pointed at it, in spite of the static cameras; it takes place mostly on location, with a real sense of physical space. There's an extraordinary scene shot from a camera mounted on the tender of a moving train. And we finish on a close-up in which a man shoots at the camera. This made me jump, now in 2012; I'm sure that it was all the more effective in a time when the camera was not expected to do such things.

It's interesting that the gunsmoke should be coloured orange, although I was rather puzzled by the apparently random use of colour during the brief dancing scene. Perhaps they just did it because they could.