Thursday, 2 August 2018

Full Metal Jacket

FULL METAL JACKET

(contains spoilers)

There are issues with Full Metal Jacket, but let's focus on the positives.

The film is barely 2 minutes old when Lee Ermey explodes into it. I say explodes, because this swearing, sweating, quote a maniac incompetent drill sergeant doesn't so much steal the show. He is the show, the camera and the viewer's eye are drawn to him and (almost) him alone from that moment on. Most of his lines aren't quotable here as not very PC out of context (or indeed, in context!) but some of the best in his introduction alone include not knowing "shit was stacked that high", a fine character reveal about his views on racism, and the legendary line about what Pvt Cowboy is the type of man for - the punchline of which was an adlib by Ermey which so shocked Kubrick he insisted it got kept in the second take. A lot is made about Lee Ermey's adlibbing (only one of two men allowed to do so by Kubrick, other being Peter Sellers) but it gives the wrong impression: the man was actually word perfect on his script, and a lot of the adlibs were from his audition tape which they then added to his actual script. A perfectionist, Ermey learnt all that dialogue inside and out within a week, so that Kubrick became so impressed with someone as crazy prepared as the director liked to be, that any inspiration was accepted. See the hinted at line to Cowboy above, hinted at only because this might get read by teens!

The Drill Sergeant is easily the axis around which the rest of the film orbits, and the only person to exhibit similar interest in the film is Pvt Pyle/Lawrence, played wonderfully by Victor D'Onofrio, one of my mum's favourite actors. While Ermey's role is relatively straight (he doesn't believe he's in danger right up to the final moment), D'Onofrio has to "go on a journey" (as actors like to put it) from goofy to victim to sociopath. He pulls off all three with aplomb, going from likeable to sympathetic to scary in the flash of a moment. Critics like to point out Pyle would have been out of the marines within a week, but then, R Lee Ermey would always point out (as a man who had been a drill seargant before turning to acting, and apparently had a reputation as being a very good one), his Hartman is not meant to be a competent man. Hence he doesn't spot the signs of cracking (note cracking starts fully after hazing incident and when Laurence becomes a model soldier - you'd expect a decent teacher to spot those worrying signs immediately, or indeed, that some of the ammo on the base has gone MIA), hence he talks lovingly of the marksmanship of Lee Harvey Oswald. That no one notices Pyle has the Thousand Year Stare at the centre of the film (the look a soldier gets after their first kill) BEFORE he's even left training.

This all ends in the pivotal moment where Pyle shoots Ermey dead, before turning the gun on himself. The film has been electric up to this point, and this feels like the sad but inevitable climax to the underlying tension.

Now, the problem with Full Metal Jacket is that there is a third man in this scene. Our main character - de facto so far, but from now, actually. Pvt Joker is nowhere near as interesting as these two men, and when the film goes to Vietnam, it turns into just another war film.

And the big problem is this: we've just killed off the only 2 interesting characters 50 mins into a 2 hour film.

After this, the film becomes a series of set pieces, some of them interesting, some not, but none have the electricity or tension that Ermey and D'onofrio bring to the proceedings.

It's also notable that a film which goes out to say that war is hell, civilians tend to be the ones that get fucked over and that sociopaths (the helicopter gunner) have no place in the army... has a reputation for being a cool war film. That Hartman is designed to be a bad instructor yet the hawks (and the phony veterans who are everywhere on social media, Mary Sueing themselves into the heart of Vietnam when they were doing office jobs or weren't even born) applaud him as a hero. He ain't a hero, Alec Baldwin isn't a hero in Glengarry Glen Ross, society is missing the goddamn point. But perhaps that is the point, you can't make an anti-war film, as soon as the explosions and body count starts, it will always appeal to those you are trying to oppose.

Perhaps Full Metal Jacket would have been better if it had never gone to Vietnam, and focused on the training. Certainly, it wouldn't have done worse to keep the only 2 characters of note in the story. Sadly, the film dies with a whimper (a snipers bullet, even?) the moment Hartman and Pyle die, leaving the film far less than the sum of its parts.

Wednesday, 25 July 2018

Brazil (Terry Gilliam)

BRAZIL

(contains spoilers)

The problem with Sam Lowry is that he is genre savvy, but starring in the wrong genre. Time and again, we see the daydreamer imagine events as more mythical than they are and in those sequences, like Don Quixote and the windmills (well, this is Gilliam), he sees the route to personal glory and whats more, escape. Lowry is a normal man within the decrepit system, who thinks he is the hero of his own action movie, complete with random damsel in distress to save. So little does it occur to him that Brazil isn't that type of film, so brazen are the risks that he takes to make reality of his own dreams, that its clear in his final moments before insanity that only right at the end did he twig he'd got the whole genre wrong entirely. Not that he's the only one, as Brazil is essentially all about people trying to make their dreams reality, and reality doing its best to crush them, with copious amounts of paperwork. Jonathan Pryce is perhaps not the best man to play a big lead role, but as Sam who thinks he's the lead in his own film, but blends so easily into to the faceless mob, it is better casting than it sounds on paper.

Speaking of which, Michael Palin. Robert De Niro wanted the role of Jack Lint, which shows how good a role it is, and how much De Niro has misjudged it. You can easily imagine De Niro as Jack Lint but then it's played as a De Niro role. The steel behind the grin is less subtle, people take on face value he might be hiding something. De Niro's career was built on tough guys. The character needs the opposite. For the true horror to seep in, you really needed a nice clean cut family man. And Michael Palin, who for all his National Treasure status is still woefully underrated as an actor, is bloody brilliant as this most normal of Nazis. The family man who takes his kids to work, and holds amiable chats with old friends, while clocking in and out as State Torturer. The scene of him, coated in blood, chatting to Sam and entertaining his own daughter at the same time is the best in the film by far. I'd rather an entire film based around Michael Palin: Nazi Torturer and Family Man. People tend to think a horrific regime is full of Hitler, or Trump types, but really it needs thousands of Jack Lints casually going about their work.

Lots of good actors spend flitting moments with us, and in the end flit away as if their presence was a dream itself. Some of those with 5 mins or less of screen time include Bob Hoskins, Simon Jones and the wonderful late Ian Richardson. The continual meddling in the film from all quarters does lead to an un-even and slightly disjointed film, with a jarring right turn from family and bureaucracy into explosions and girl even within its own framework. And given his dreams of action hero status, and his knowledge of the system, Sam's final solution to their problem seems a bit naive and trusting of a system he knows is bollocked by inefficiency, but then, that's paperwork for you. And dreams.

In short, Brazil has all the pieces for success, but the presentation winds up rather disjointed. So this stream of thought has something in common with it. And even if its not the film in our dreams (how apt) it still produces Jack Lint, one of the great screen villains. Which instantly makes it a far better film than one without Michael Palin's Jack Lint, like, for example, a Brazil with Robert De Niro's Jack Lint.

Aliens

ALIENS

(contains spoilers)

I recently saw Aliens for the second time in my life. The first was when I was four, and watched parts of it with my Auld Yin. To his parental credit, he had assumed I was asleep at the time, the flat in Allison St being a kids bedroom/living room 2 in 1. In fact, the moment where a toddler loudly announced, at a pivotal moment, “I don’t like these dragons, dad!” might have made him jump more than the film.

But then, this tells me how weird memory and experience is. When I saw Alien for the first time, it was also with Dad but I was in my late teens, so while it was thrilling, it didn’t linger as a particular terrifying film. (I really like the film Alien, for the record, great cast and cinematography, but I saw it too late…) Whereas the incidental music and some of the dialogue from Aliens is seeped into my subconscious from the age of 4. This is my excuse for the fact that while Aliens is in every single way an inferior film to the original, I found watching it more of a tense experience than the Ridley Scott film.

Mind you, the parental aspect does play on one more now there is a Sarah about. If the first film tells that if anyone listened to Ripley, they’d still be alive, then the second tells us that all of these crack troops should have listened to the wee girl with actual experience of the colony siege. Carrie Henn has no previous (or further) acting experience, but her portrayal of Newt is at the heart of this film. In fact, she takes a brief veterans can struggle with – cold but sympathetic – and pretty much knocks it out of the park. The relationship between her and Ripley blossoms on screen with no small credit to their chemistry, to the point that when a terrified Newt, surrounded by xenomorphs, calls out “Mummy!” to Ripley, what might have looked trite in lesser hands comes across as a natural progression of events. Ripley has lost a child through the Weyland Corporation’s nefarious schemes and a nightmarish creature (and that nightmare scene in the hospital is quite unsettling for how out of the blue it appears) but through standing up to the Corporation, and facing her own nightmare, she’s gained another. (Let’s just gloss over Alien 3 here…)

Really, she’s the mirror image of the Alien Queen, the big bad who seems to be more fussed with how her young are doing, rather than fight Ripley, until Ripley goes mental on them right in front of her. She’s like the alien version of the mum from Malcolm in the Middle, really. Seemingly, after the Queen shows mercy, it’s Ripley’s actions that spur on the climax, as who else taught the Alien Queen the concept of vengeance? Also, note, the terror brought upon the survivors is caused by… Ripley herself, in a fury of panicked button smashing, giving the Queen a route to freedom. Everyone makes mistakes in this film.

Elsewhere, Bill Paxton’s mood swinging Private is a quote-a-meme standout, and it’d have been nice to see Vasquez live. James Cameron’s direction is good at keeping a verve and pace to a film when there’s action scenes to be had, so the Alien scenes are dealt with quite well. He’s less good with the nuts and bolts, however, and that’s where Aliens starts to drag. As does the fact that nearly every character seems to have a sort of idiot ball attached to them. Really, there are times when it seems the only thinking characters in the film are the Aliens themselves, and that point, you are almost tempted to root for them. Those dragons, eh, whit they like?

Assault on Precinct 13

ASSAULT ON PRECINCT 13

There's a thesis out there somewhere correlating the inverse budget of a 1970s thriller and it's quality. Now I like Freidkin's infamous flop Sorcerer (4 men, 4 secrets, 1 killer, 1 truck in the middle of Colombia) much in the same way I dislike Heavens Gate, so you know, outliers and all that. But it does seem that the more money thrown at a project, the flabbier and more, dare I say, pretentious it gets. Which is how The Deer Hunter is a decent 90 minute film disguised by 3-4 hours of flab. 

This isn't solely a knock on Cimino, honest, but it brings us to his antithesis here in John Carpenter. John Carpenter is a director who flourishes under pressures and small budgets - The Fog, They Live and even The Thing all had remarkably small budgets compared to their contemporaries, and all are great. Assault on Precinct 13, Carpenter's first "big" film, takes this to the extreme: no budget at all. In fact, all the money used on the film was raised by Carpenter and his friends asking their parents for dosh. Even the eerie incidental music is his own work.

But where issues show, genius, if it exists, also reveals itself. And Assault on Precinct 13 is a brilliant film. The casting, from Austin Stoker's hero cop to Laurie Zimmer to Darwin Joston's Napoleon (who in a remarkable feat makes a multiple murderer sympathetic in context) works across the board. The latter two make a simmering chemistry work through saying little and stares, and it works. The setting works its claustrophobic qualities to the best, even with scenes set in broad daylight in LA. We have a gang laying siege to a police station in revenge for some gang members dying. Carpenter makes the gang multi-racial so that the usual sorts can't make a direct political statement. He also films it as though he was filming a zombie film. All the same tropes, beats and moments, but with human villains. If you believe that the evil men do is worse than any imagined monster, then this is the film for you, and it bloody works.

Elsewhere Martin West does a decent shot at PTSD (and the reasons for that are legit one of the more shocking moments in cinema history, even if JR's review spoiled it and this spoiler free review will make it obvious when you do watch...), and Tony Burton is the conflicted death row inmate with star quality - you can see his route to Rocky.

In short, this is fantastic, and I'm glad it existed, because between St Elmos Fire, A Good Day to Die Hard, and those James Cameron films, man have been stuck on a rubbish run of first time film viewing lately.

Saturday, 2 June 2018

World Cup 2018 Preview




Well, it’s the World Cup soon, and we have heard lots from the experts. So I thought, why not hear from a bumbling amateur who knows sod all? After all, as Richard Todd’s character probably didn’t say in Kinda, the wise man knows how little he knows. And I know very little about Saudi Arabia. Right, there’s my Alan Shearer confession up front. 


The World Cup is home to some of the greatest players involved in high end dramatic or quality matches. It was also home to Switzerland vs Ukraine, a last sixteen game in 2006 the forced watching of which is the second crime noted on the Geneva Convention. 

Friday, 9 February 2018

Top 40 Chart Singles (1984)





Recently BBC4 were showing Top of the Pops from 1984. I wasn’t alive in 1984, so it was interesting to see a lot of the music in a historical context for the first time. Especially when you see some 1980s bubble-pop, and then John Peel or someone announces “and new in at number 25, a new song by Stevie Wonder, I Just Called to Say I love you” (!) or something along those lines. The charts are usually filled to the brim with shit. This is not a nostalgia thing. I look back at 1993-4, the era I grew up in for pop, and spot so much bloody rubbish in the top ten. That’s not a surprise. What was a surprise was that, if you looked beyond the tosh, there was a lot of really good songs in there too. 

Hell, there was at least 40 of them. So I thought, hey, why not do a Top 40 of 1984? So here it is! I wound up with a shortlist of 70 songs and cut down from there. Some songs which tried to sneak a spot on the list but just missed out include: Berserker by Gary Numan, Never Ending Story, I’m So Excited, The Wanderer, The Riddle, Too Late for Goodbyes, Dr Beat, Love Kills or The Killing Moon. Sadly. There’s also no room whatsoever for Band Aid, because I fucking hate that song. It wont come up much though. 

For a song to qualify for contention, it had to be in the UK top 40 at some point in 1984. 

And without further do, on to 40th place…

Saturday, 20 January 2018

Recommended 70s Films







    List created for Gav Mills in 2017. He wanted a list of good films from the 1970s with only a snippet of what they are about. No plot twists or synopsis, just teasers. So, here they are.

     Patton: “No one won a won by dying for their country, they won it by making some other bastard die for his!” – biopic of US’s biggest WW2 general, played by George C Scott, who won the Oscar and then refused it.

WWF No Way Out 2001 (crib notes)







1. Raven v Big Show 


- This was Raven’s 10th Hardcore title reign.

- This was then Raven’s 11th hardcore title reign… of 27



The Rescue: A Ghost Story for Christmas






Let me tell you about a writer I adore. M.R. James, once provost of Eton, legitimate world expert on Biblical scholarship, and editor of Le Fanu’s work. 

Goldberg's Undefeated Streak (from debut to the world title)



 Goldberg's Undefeated Streak (from debut to the world title)



I was never much a fan of Goldberg. Probably because I was a massive Hart Family mark, and so always linked him to Bret Hart’s career ending. 

Friday, 22 December 2017

Some Musings on the Dead (2017)





If 2017 couldn’t (cross fingers) live up to the rampant terror of 2016, that’s only because nothing could. Muhammad Ali, David Bowie and Terry Wogan could only die once, after all. 2017, however, tried to follow this with quantity. In the days when I thought I’d have time to write my annual In Memoriam, the list had reached over 700 noteworthy people before I gave up the ghost. 


In particular this year the Reaper seems to have had it in for my childhood personally. So farewell Paddington, Cleggy, Batman, Siegfried Farnon, lots of Doctor Who alumni, etc. As I became ludicrously busy this year, I ran out of time to do my usual obits, and whilst the long read versions are the most popular, I felt it unkind and morbid to cherry pick a list. And, besides, anyone knows I could write 4000 words on why John Hurt was great. We know these things to be self-evident. A good 400-500 words on why we should spare a thought for, say, Jan Pruitt, matters just as much, if not more.