elab49
Posts: 51635
Joined: 1/10/2005
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88= The Crying Game (Neil Jordan, 1992) You probably know the twist, but don't let that put you off. After all, the big reveal is at the midway point – there are plenty of surprises still to come. I just thought we'd get that out of the way. From the opening blast of Percy Sledge's 'When A Man Loves a Woman' – the camera panning round to reveal a funfair in full swing – The Crying Game does things differently. It's a film with an other-worldly atmosphere, where frequent jolts in mood and tempo make perfect sense and love transcends all. It's filled with characters who are troubled, duplicitous and constantly playing games. But for a film that constantly yanks at the rug beneath our feet, it never feels gimmicky or shallow, with twists for twists' sake. Stephen Rea is an IRA activist who helps kidnap British soldier Forest Whitaker (judging from his accent, if he is from London, he went there from Johannesburg). Forced to babysit his adversary in a woodland hideout, Rea strikes up an unlikely friendship with the talkative quarry. The Crying Game is a consistently excellent film with a singular atmosphere that makes every sequence something special, but these early scenes are particularly powerful. Rea's dishevelled gunman displays a tenderness and humanism that's unexpected and heart-rending, whether chiding himself ("I'm not good for much", he says resignedly at one point) or quoting St Paul to the man he's been chosen to kill ("When I was a child, I thought as a child...") Later, he travels to London to seek out Whitaker's lover (Jaye Davidson), a cabaret singer with a secret. With the change in location comes a shift in tone, as action sequences and comic interludes are thrown into the mix, but that's great too. One memorably pithy exchange between Rea and his boss sticks in the mind. "She's not a tart," Rea says angrily. "No, I suppose she's a lady," his effete manager barks back. The film is uncategorisable and all the better for it: a glossily-shot masterpiece that bucks convention at every turn. And in Stephen Rea's subtle turn it possesses arguably the best performance of the '90s. Davidson and Miranda Richardson (as Rea's former lover) are also strong, while Neil Jordan excels not only as a director, but also as a writer of dialogue. All that and a cover of the '60s theme song by Boy George over the end credits. It's so much more than just a fantastic twist. Favourite bit: Rea draws on the book of Corinthians, as he wrestles with his mission. See also: The Butcher Boy, director Jordan's terrific adaptation of Patrick McCabe's novel about a likeable, cheeky, mentally ill Irish lad. It's light on top, fittingly dark underneath, with a wonderful performance by 14-year-old Eamonn Owens. Rick 7 The Day the Earth Caught Fire (Guest, 1961) After both America and Russia detonate nuclear bombs, the world is knocked off its normal orbit and is spiralling towards the sun. Told from the point of view of some newspaper men, most notably Peter Stenning (Edward Judd) and Bill Maguire (Leo MacKern), as they report the story to the public who – if it was left to the appropriate authorities – would be none the wiser. "The Day the Earth Stood Still” is a pacey and grounded sci-fi film that never seems out of touch with reality despite its outlandish and quite ridiculous premise. Played out as a serious drama, Guest's film does a number of things very well. The banter between the newspaper reporters is excellent, and it's very well written (by Guest and Wolf Mankowitz). There are definitely problems with the performances, particularly Edward Judd who – in the lead role – only seems to have one style of delivery. He deadpans every single line, and his voice gets incredibly monotonous by about half way through. Leo MacKern fairs better in an obvious stereotype as the old, wise veteran with a head for science and wisdom to share. The star, though, is Janet Munro as Jeannie Craig. As Stenning's love interest, Munro is incredibly fetching yet strangely accessible, and also manages to propel the plot forward thanks to her insider information. For once, this isn't a pointless romantic subplot, and it's actually quite sweet to see it played out. I don't really know if I'd call this a sci-fi film, though, because it's so grounded in reality and, thanks to the fantastic writing, actually quite believable. It's more of a drama in exceptional circumstances. There are certainly problems with the film. Its obvious theme of nuclear disarmament is a little too obvious for my liking, and you often wonder why these people aren't panicking a little more than they actually are, but these little flaws can be forgiven if you just throw yourself into the drama and let it take you to its ambiguous climax. Piles Of Time and the City (Terence Davies, 2008) The fifth feature from Britain's greatest living director, Terence Davies, was shot for just £250,000 as part of Liverpool's European Capital of Culture celebrations. His first movie since 2000, it followed years of failed, thwarted projects. Anyone familiar with Davies' work will recognise his pet concerns here, as he uses the city as a canvas on which to paint memories of childhood and lost innocence. He no longer recognises the city; barely recognises himself. Davies delivers an intensely personal voiceover that's tragic, verbose (he has a nice turn of phrase) and ripe for parody, offering one part incomprehensible wordiness to every dose of pithy poetry. Some have hailed this as the director's greatest achievement, but it is only when Davies stops yapping and dedicates himself to those unparalleled fusions of music and nostalgic visuals - passages of lyricism, irony and sorrow - that the film really approaches the brilliance of his earlier work. The sequence set to Peggy Lee's The Folks Who Live on the Hill, charting the move from terraced housing to the false dawn of high-rise blocks, is one of the best things he has ever done. Oddly, though, the continuation of that thread, which seems to stress the terrible human cost of such schemes as young children return to the hellish towers, is interrupted by Davies going on about municipal architecture being a bit of an eyesore, comprehensively undercutting the effect. On second viewing, Of Time and the City looks the same as first time around - only more so. It's erratic, lurching from truth to redundant repetition, though when it works, it's glorious. Rick_7
< Message edited by elab49 -- 15/8/2010 5:06:53 PM >
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Lips Together and Blow - blogtasticness and Glasgow Film Festival GFF13! Films watched 2012 Annual Poll 2012 Countdown Started.
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