Crayons and half a can of spam.

For years, I’ve thought that Ridley Scott doesn’t understand why his best films work. One of the reasons why Alien is such a success is that we don’t know where the aliens come from. They are terrifying creatures that lurk in the darkness out there, totally inimical to human life. So, he made prequels explaining where they come from. Just to put the tin hat on that, he further explained that the Space Jockey – one of the most memorable images in the original film, something inhuman and unexplained – was, in fact, a bald bloke in a big hat.

And then there was his director’s cut of Blade Runner, removing any doubt as to Deckard’s identity and, in the process, removing the emotional heart of the film. Think about it. The story of the original film is Deckard, a man who has lost his humanity, rediscovering it through the example set by a group of replicants. In the director’s cut, this becomes the story of a replicant who can feel love – just as all the other replicants in the film can. We must be grateful that so far, he’s resisted the temptation to make Thelma & Louise 2: Road Trip Boogaloo, with the revelation that their car was fitted with ejector seats.

So, you can see why I was a trifle apprehensive about Gladiator 2, or, as the title card has it, GladiIIator.

We quickly realise that the film is largely made up of two elements – bits included because they worked the first time round and bits that have been changed sufficiently that they don’t work any more. So, the film opens with a brutal battle in which our hero leads an army against an attacking enemy. Where the first film had Russell Crowe’s Maximus giving a rousing speech before leading the Roman army into battle against Germanic tribesmen, this has Paul Mescal’s Lucius giving a similar speech before leading his followers to defeat against Rome’s navy. The battle lacks the visceral quality of the first film, with the CGI ships looking like a cut scene from an Assassin’s Creed game. It’s not helped by a lack of attention to detail when the scene cuts from slaves rowing inside the ship to exterior shots of the same ships, with their oars moving in an entirely different rhythm.

This sets a pattern for the film of action scenes which have been amped up from the corresponding ones in the first film, but lack impact by comparison. Lucius is captured and becomes a gladiator, as was Maximus. Where Maximus’ first fight in the arena is against other gladiators, Lucius’ is against some unconvincing CGI baboons. He later faces off against a rather easily defeated rhino, apparently for no better reason than that Scott was prevented by the limitations of technology from mounting such a scene in the first film. The biggest gladiatorial set piece in the original film is Maximus and his men against chariot-riding Amazonian archers. Here, the colosseum is flooded and filled with sharks for a naval battle between two ships. Unfortunately, since the film opened with a dozen Roman warships assaulting a town, this can’t help but come across as a smaller-scale repeat of something we’ve already seen.

And then there’s the characters. Gladiator took the trouble to show why characters were as they were. We saw Commodus’ love for his father and his hurt at being passed over in favour of Maximus. This gave a reason for his subsequent vengeance and anger. Here, we have two Emperors, both of whom are insane and corrupt. Why? Who knows. Certainly the film shows no interest in providing an explanation. Later on, Lucilla, one of the two returning characters from the first film, realises that Paul Mescal’s character must be her long-lost son. Why? The Doylean reason is that the film needs her to. The Watsonian reason is that he digs his fingers into the dirt of the arena and recites poetry for no particular reason and this is enough to convince her.

Aside from not bothering with such fripperies as character development, the sequel also falls short on the casting front. The original film had a secret weapon in Russell Crowe, before he pissed away most of his credibility through a toxic mixture of extreme poetry recital, dubious accents and appearing in A Good Year. To be fair, Crowe was a stroke of luck – the original casting was to have been Antonio Banderas, fresh from playing Zorro. Banderas had shown he could handle a sword, but it’s hard to imagine him matching Crowe’s charisma and power as Maximus. There’s a reason why Crowe’s “father of a murdered son” speech is still iconic 24 years later. I think it was Empire magazine that described Crowe as having been born in a hard month of a hard year during a freak outbreak of hardness. And this is why we accept that men – whether experienced soldiers or hard-bitten gladiators – are willing to follow Maximus and are willing to die for him. He has charisma. He inspires. His men love him.

Meanwhile, Paul Mescal has an impressive personal trainer. Unfortuantely, that’s as far as it goes. Repeatedly, we’re told that the reason Lucius makes a great gladiator is his unquenchable rage, that he gives off rage like a mother gives milk. So it’s unfortunate that, after watching his wife die in battle, after seeing his home destroyed, after being sold into slavery, the most he can muster is mild resentment. This is a man who survives a battle with a baboon by screaming with such ferocity that the animal is freaked out, giving him the chance to break its neck with his bare hands. Later, he screams with such rage that a character who has come to ask for his help flees in terror. Scott would have been wise to cut a second or so earlier. Mescal’s expression after this would-be blood-curdling scream can best be described as, “Did I do it right, Daddy?” Throughout the film, it’s impossible to shake the thought that immediately after Scott shouted cut, Mescal’s assistant handed him a latte and a muffin.

The one aspect of the film that unquestionably works is Denzel Washington’s performance as Macrinus, the trainer who teaches Lucius how to be a gladiator. It’s noticeable that it’s also the only part of the film that does something completely different from the original. In Gladiator, Oliver Reed plays Proximo as a gruff cynic, gradually won over by Maximus, in spite of himself. By the by, Reed, along with Richard Harris, is also the only actor in the original capable of matching Crowe for charisma. Trying to match Reed – a man capable of stealing a scene simply by dancing in the background, a man who could make the sentence “You sold me queer giraffes” threatening - would be an exercise in futility. And so Washington does not try. He plays Macrinus as positively Satanic – a Machiavellian tempter, equally at home flirting with Tim McInnerny, playing the two Emperors off against each other or politely intimidating the Roman Senate while casually brandishing a severed head. By turn seductive, queasily funny or downright terrifying, he dominates the film in a way not, seen since Alan Rickman’s turn as the Sheriff of Nottingham in Robin Hood – Prince of Thieves.
He's also given a background to his character - that he was a slave to the Emperor Marcus Aurelius and that he wants revenge for how he was treated. There's room for an interesting story to come from this, of how cruelty and mistreatment can beget evil. Sadly, we don't get it and we're left with the nasty feeling that the film thinks ex-slaves should know their place. What's worse is if we compare the film's treatment of him with that of Lucius. The white guy is allowed to overthrow the Emperor in revenge for his enslavement. The black guy? Not so much...

Sadly, Denzel doesn’t get an exit worthy of him. As the film reaches its climax, Lucilla has been butchered in the arena, as has Pedro Pascal – who has very good legs – and Derek Jacobi, the other returnee from the first film. Pascal is playing a Roman general who has been stripped of his rank and forced to fight in the arena – stop me if this sounds familiar. Pascal’s army is marching on Rome and lines up facing Rome’s garrison. All is prepared for a pitched battle. Which never happens. Rome’s defenders, who are sworn to kill Lucius, inexplicably let him through their ranks to face off against Macrinus. The two engage in a rather tepid sword fight notable only for Macrinus’ inability to stab Lucius. Throughout the film, armour has been shown to be about as much use against a determinedly wielded sword as damp tissue paper. Multiple victims are run through with gusto. Here however, Lucius’ leather armour blocks Macrinus’ sword thrusts with loud clanging sounds as Macrinus repeatedly aims for the shiny bits – presumably because he’d read the script and knew he had to lose. So Mescal whacks him in the head with a rock, lops off his hand and finally stabs him. Washington still manages to steal the scene by dying with a look of pursed-lipped annoyance, clearly having had enough of the whole business but presumably relieved that he won’t have to be back for the sequel.

Mescal follows this with an impassioned appeal for both sides to come together and to work on rebuilding the grandeur of Rome, which really should be followed by a voice saying, “This has been a Party Political Broadcast on behalf of - “, after which, both sides decide to be friends.

Anyway, a sequel is planned. We last see Lucius – now Emperor of Rome – appealing to Maximus’ ghost for advice. Maximus doesn’t answer, and frankly is well off out of the whole business. With Washington, Jacobi and Pascal dead, the best actor left alive is Matt Lucas, who plays the master of ceremonies in the arena. This does not feel like a sound basis for a sequel, but no doubt Ridley has it all in hand…

I mean it’s not like he has a prior history of fucking up previous successes, is it?

As a side note, Nick Cave wrote a script for a sequel in which Maximus was sent back to Earth by the Roman gods to prevent the rise of Christianity, discovers he is immortal and ends up working in the White House. At least it wouldn’t have been boring.

Early this year, following a change in medication, I realised I was able to read books again. Not as much as when I was young and would get through three or four in a day, but certainly more than last year, when I think I managed 3 in the entire year.

Anyway, I bought a diary and kept a record of what I'd read this year. ( Read more... )

One of the opening titles of The Black Cat reads “Suggested by the immortal Edgar Allen Poe classic”. Having watched the film, I can only assume that it was suggested in the sense of someone saying, “Maybe you could do a film with a cat in it? Perhaps a black one?” Honestly, it’s difficult to spot any other connections between the two. ( Read more... )

The Black Hole 1979

The Black Hole and Moonraker are two films I have a particular nostalgic fondness for as both of them were shown over Christmas 1982. I have very distinct memories of lying on my bed, watching this on a small black and white portable, while reading The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole. Of the three of us, I’d say Adrian Mole has aged best.

The Black Hole is very much a throw back to 1950’s American science fiction films, given some up to date effects and a healthy dose of portentousness. The crew of the Palomino, a deep space probe ship – including for some reason a journalist who spends the entire film wearing dung-coloured pyjamas – encounter a long lost ship on the edge of a black hole.

It’s quickly clear that, whatever strengths the film may possess, dialogue is not one of them. The second line of the film tells us that there is to be an unscheduled course correction at 22.00 hrs. This appears to be some use of the word unscheduled that I wasn’t previously aware of. There’s also a tendency for unsubtle foreshadowing. The first line from the journalist – Ernest Borgnine leading up to his career defining role as the one not named Stringfellow in Airwolf – is that the black hole is “straight out of Dante’s Inferno”. The second in command, characterised by a tendency to make squawking noises in combat, agrees that he expects to see “some guy with red horns and a pitchfork.” Readers who remember the end of the film will see what the dialogue is subtly hinting at.

The captain of the ship is clearly a man taking his inspiration from 1950’s films such as The Thing from Another World. “Locking warheads in firing position”, he mentions conversationally on realising the ship may not be deserted. The science officer is similarly the kind of milquetoast who would have been killed 40 minutes into such a film, usually while approaching the alien and saying, “We have so much to learn from each other.” Here, he tells the captain the occupants of the ship “have to be friendly – they could have blasted us out of the sky.” This assumption that anyone who does not kill on sight must be the intergalactic equivalent of Father Christmas reminds me of a moment in Blakes Seven. The telepathic Cally tells Avon that her people have a saying - “A man who trusts cannot be betrayed – only mistaken.” Personally, I’m not sure this would be much of a comfort. Avon’s response is to ask whether life expectancy among Cally’s people is quite brief.

One of the great strengths of this film is the design of the missing ship. The Cygnus is a great expanse of steel and glass, illuminated like something from the Great Exhibition. It’s very much something from Jules Verne – as is the ship’s captain. Doctor Reinhardt is really Captain Nemo by any other name. He lives in isolation aboard this remarkable craft, has no interest in joining with the rest of humanity and devotes his life to the study of science and nature.

Reinhardt welcomes them on board, asks them to consider themselves his guests and offers all necessary help to fit out their damaged ship. Kate, another science officer asks after her father, who served under Reinhardt. She is – presumably – heartbroken to find he is dead. I say presumably – the actress shows no real reaction. To be fair, strong performances are not a feature of this film, even though it has quite an impressive cast. Reinhardt is Maximillian Schell, while members of the probe ship’s crew include Robert Forster, Anthony Perkins and the aforementioned Borgnine. Roddy McDowell and Slim Pickens play two vile robots. These last two are interesting casting. Disney were looking to reproduce the appeal – and merchandising - of C3PO and R2D2 and so the obvious choice would be to cast two actors best known for playing an uptight chimp and skydiving on a nuclear bomb. It’s a shame that neither of them channel either of these performances. Nor does Pickens reproduce his request to Stanley Kubrick on Dr Strangelove. Apparently, when Kubrick asked if he had any particular requirements for accommodation, Pickens told the director he’d be happy as long as he had “loose fitting shoes, some tight pussy and a warm place to shit.” Kubrick’s response is not recorded.

As our heroes explore the Cygnus, an intriguing mystery starts to take shape. Why do the robot crew mourn one of their dead and hold a funeral service? How can a robot have a limp? Why does a ship with only one human on board grow enough vegetables to feed an army? It’s rather a shame that, rather than have characters do any detective work, the entire plot is spelt out by Slim Pickens in a lengthy infodump. He doesn’t even say, “Screw you, I work for Mel Brooks.” Reinhardt has killed the Cygnus crew and converted them into zombie-like robots who do his bidding.

Reinhardt’s characterisation is by no means consistent. He wants the Palomino crew as witnesses to his trip into the black hole. He wants them dead. He gives Anthony Perkins the records of his work. He has him killed. He is terrified of Maximillian, the massive robot he has built. He shouts orders and abuse at Maximillian. There is a thread here that may be undeveloped. At points, Maximillian seems to have a telepathic link with Reinhardt, obeying him without an order being given. A previous descendant of Captain Nemo was Professor Morbius in 1954’s Forbidden Planet. Is Maximillian Reinhardt’s robot from the Id?

It’s at this point that characterisation falls apart as characters act in accord with the needs of the plot. Reinhardt turns on the Palomino crew because that’s what mad scientists do. Ernest Borgnine steals the Palomino because the crew need to be stranded on the Cygnus. A meteorite storm shows up and damages the Cygnus because extra jeopardy is needed. The ship has been poised on the brink of the black hole for 20 years apparently without any such incident, but narrativium demands. One of the iconic shots of the film is a meteorite rolling slowly towards our heroes as they flee across a bridge before it’s destroyed. Interestingly, although the meteorite has smashed through the ship’s hull, it still seems to be airtight at this stage. Presumably because Science.

To cut a short story shorter, everyone goes through the black hole. Maximillian and Reinhardt meld together into one and are last seen reigning in hell. (Remember what I said about subtle hints in the dialogue?) This seems a tad harsh on Reinhardt’s murdered crew, who seem to be populating hell. The Palomino crew follow an angelic creature through heaven and out of a black hole into a new universe.

The End.

For all its faults, I’m very fond of this film. Part of this is nostalgic, but there are odd elements of greatness. Maximillian Schell as Reinhardt is far and away the most entertaining performance. The Cygnus is beautiful. The sight of the black hole, so often visible in the background lends an ominous atmosphere, as do moments like the robotic funeral scene. The final trip through the black hole is obviously an attempt to do the stargate scene from 2001, but is more memorable than many other such homages. Also, there’s very few children’s films which conclude with a trip through the afterlife.

There’s long been rumours of a remake from Disney. Now, I’d argue that this is the could be the ideal subject for a remake – a film with potential that’s never fully realised. Plus we might get a decent blu-ray of the original, maybe even with an explanation from the people behind it of what they were actually trying to do.

Dracula's Daughter. (1936)

Interestingly, despite being released 5 years after the original Universal Dracula, this is a direct sequel. It picks up minutes after Dracula's death as the police arrive, arrest van Helsing - now renamed von Helsing - and charge him with murder. Meanwhile, the titular Countess Zaleska spirits away her father's body, destroying it in the hope that this will free her from his influence and leave her able to live as a human.

Robbed of the main draw of the original - Lugosi's iconic performance - this struggled to engage me. Gloria Holden as the Countess summons a little magnetism, but her thread of the plot is the only one of interest. Her efforts to free herself of her destiny are hampered by her servant Sandor pressuring her to accept her fate. In one scene she muses on the beauty of music and the comforting evening shadows it conjures up for her. He retorts that they are shadows of darkness and death. Anyone who remembers Duckula's relationship with his butler, Igor, may find this pleasantly nostalgic.

Von Helsing's struggle to prove his innocence is potentially an entertaining idea, but is let down by Edward van Sloan's performance. Never the most dynamic of actors, he at least managed a couple of moments of defiance opposite Lugosi. Here, though, he gives such an underplayed performance that one wonders if he realised the camera was rolling.

The Professor retains as his defence lawyer Jeff Garth, the celebrated psychiatrist - fuck knows why - who becomes involved in a love triangle with the Countess and his secretary, Janet. Jeff and Janet have the kind of relationship that could lead to a recommendation of celibacy for all concerned. The whole imbroglio winds up in Transylvania, where Sandor shoots the Countess for Reasons following an attempt to make Jeff immortal. Along the way there has been a surprisingly overt allusion to lesbianism, with the asking one of her victims to undress and pose for her before being overcome by lust, bloodthirstyness or a combination of the two.

Add to this some lacklustre comic relief from the two cowardly police officers and the end result is hardly inspiring. Suffice it to say that, having watched this a week ago, I had to consult Wikipedia while writing this to remind myself how it ended.

Nothing as cohesive as a review - instead some random thoughts.

The opening matte shot of the mountains is rather impressive. As are Castle Dracula and the interior of Carfax Abbey with the great staircase. It's a shame the latter is so underused, with so much of the film set in the Seward living room.

The film - and the play it sprang from - move Dracula centre stage with mixed results. A vampire who drops round for tea has his work cut out to appear threatening, although the battle of wills between him and van Helsing is a welcome moment of tension with powerful acting from both Lugosi and Edward van Sloan.

Lugosi makes for an impressive figure and his unique diction adds to the sense of Dracula being out of place - not merely un-English, but inhuman. I'm reminded of Mikklesen's Hannibal being described as wearing his human suit.

The film is very static and sedate. Tracking shots through the castle aside, the camera moves little, adding to the stagy feel. Dracula is also sedate, never moving with any form of urgency. There are moments where this adds an air of nightmare, such as the death of Renfield, able only to beg for mercy, apparently transfixed like a rabbit in headlights. Despite this, it lacks the feral savagery brought by Christopher Lee in later years, while failing to match the spidery grotesque of Max Schreck. For me, Lugosi's most disquieting moment if vampirism comes in Mark of the Vampire, as he runs, snarling, straight at the camera, as if to burst out of the film.

Besides Lugosi and van Sloan, the other standout performances are Dwight Frye as Renfield and Helen Chandler as Mina. Frye's cringing adoration of his master comes across as an exaggeration of his earlier professional eagerness to please. Chandler effectively conveys the change between herself and Dracula's bride, being particularly impressive while seducing Jonathan.

The worst effect of the film's sedateness is on the climax, which lacks any tension. One has to wonder why the decision was taken to kill Dracula off screen, marked only by the sound of a hammer blow and a groan from Lugosi. One can only imagine the impact had it been staged with the verve of Island of Lost Souks a year later, where a screaming Charles Laughton is held down and vivisected by his own creations.

Young-old face

Sprightly yellow roadster

Strange wheezing groaning sound

Never cruel or cowardly

Pleasant open face

The colour for monsters is green.

It was a place of ancient evil

Through the ruin of a city stalked the ruin of a man.

Reverse the polarity of the neutron flow.

All you need is an original idea. It doesn't have to be your original idea.

That strange traveller in time and space known only as the Doctor.

Escape to Danger.

There's no point being grown up if you can't be childish.

A man is the sum of his memories, a Time Lord more so.

RIP Terrance.

I heard today that my friend Kate died on the 8th of July.

When my second marriage broke up, she offered me her spare room to stay in. We'd been friends for some years, having met at work and for a while we were very close. She'd had a very difficult life and channelled a lot of energy into helping people. I wasn't the first person she'd provided a home for.

We fell out eventually and lost touch some years ago. I think a lot of people will miss her.

Currently sitting in A & E at Leeds General Infirmary waiting for blood tests.

Had a period this morning when I only knew my name because it was on a security pass round my neck. Things started to come back after half an hour or so. Given the amount of stuff to be stressed, regretful or both about, that seems like something of a Pyrrhic victory.

ETA have been sent home after blood tests revealed nothing of any interest. Probably due to stress and/or depression. Thank you all for hood wishes.

Just had the first meeting with my new counsellor, organised via the Anti-Psychotic Early Intervention Team, this being five months after the initial referral. I'll be having weekly meetings with her, to include CBT. In short, exactly what I was having back in January/February, before I was told they had to be stopped as I was being passed to a different team.

Feels like a waste of five months.