Autumn Sonata

"Those are very beautiful words, are they not? You know words that doesn't mean anything real."

By John Garell, with spoilers

I don't want to talk about Bergman's Autumn Sonata (1978) by describing it or the events in it, because that doesn't really say anything. I don't actually have too much to say about it, so I'll keep myself short, this is not a full, completely covering review, more about what the film gave me. I'm not writing this to advertise it, I don't want you to read this if you didn't see it, because everything to take from the film should come from it, this shouldn't take away from it.

Who is Eva? Who does she wants to be, and how does she compromise? Is there a person in everyone, or are most people the result of everyone else? Her sister Helena cannot take any space, she is stuck in her body, which limits her from taking part in the world. However, Eva is in a cage of her own. One may talk forever, yet say nothing, because words can't explain everything, they are just small compromises to try to have your thoughts fit into certain boxes, to make the thoughts compatible.

Is Eva willfully concealed? If others were to understand her, they would see all her anger, hate and agony. Perhaps it's better for everyone to ignore this and maybe it will be subdued? Life is too short to spend time fighting over the past, or is it too short to waste time suffocating thoughts and feelings? Is life too long to have it painted of dark memories of arguing, or is it too long to keep the truth silent?

Did she say it for her sake, to make peace inside of herself, or to make justice, and have her mother face the unjustice she caused her daughter? But it isn't about revenge, Eva doesn't want to be as bad as her mother. Perhaps they didn't understand eachother, but ultimately they were able to accept eachother, which might be enough.

What if she didn't say it? What if her mother was aware she didn't treat her right, but didn't really care, and was trying to normalise her behaviour, even though she was haunted by her conscience and nightmares. Still, she never said anything, she rather run from the problems, and perhaps wants to not view them as such. That is, after all, the easiest way. What if Eva could forgive and forget? Would she like to?

How will life be after this? Is Eva really able to forgive, assuming she wants to? Is all good? Will it be? Maybe, Eva might even regret saying it, silence might be the most merciful approach, maybe not.

On The Hero's Journey

By George Hobson

The scriptwriting process can be difficult for many writers, with many struggling to come up with ideas and to keep up the process of writing without getting into a mess and eventually giving up. Many filmmakers who wish to emulate mainstream Hollywood-productions and secure themselves a career in the industry will often follow strict guidelines that will please both executive types and mainstream movie going audiences. This will include using established character tropes and often following the three act “hero’s journey” structure used in many blockbuster films. The “hero’s journey” goes back to ancient mythology, with the same structures that we would find in Hollywood blockbusters appearing in fairy tales and classic literature. It has been studied by many academics, but the hero’s journey was popularised by Joseph Campbell, who discussed the story structure in his book “The Hero with a Thousand Faces”, taking heavy inspiration from influential psychoanalyst Carl Jung and his view of the myth. When describing the hero’s journey, Campbell writes - “The usual hero adventure begins with someone from whom something has been taken, or who feels there is something lacking in the normal experience available or permitted to the members of society. The person then takes off on a series of adventures beyond the ordinary, either to recover what has been lost or to discover some life-giving elixir. It's usually a cycle, a coming and a returning.”

The description given by Campbell sounds like the plots of endless Hollywood blockbusters that follow the three act structure. Citing an example of a popular Blockbuster that emulates this is the first Star Wars film. The first act introduces main character Luke Skywalker who (as Campbell would say) “feels there is something lacking in the normal experience available or permitted to the members of society”. Luke’s homeland is a dull empty desert – his Aunt and Uncle want him to live his life as a farmer, despite Luke wanting to be a space pilot and explore the vast galaxy. Luke spends the first act of the film stuck in a boring predicament, so in the iconic scene where Luke looks out into the sunset, we the audience also share his desire to break free from mundanity. The relatability the audience shares here is one of the reasons why the hero’s journey archetype has stood the tests of time and continues to be told in stories to this day – the feelings of longing and desire for purpose described that are present in the hero’s journey are essential traits of the human condition. We like Luke seek an escape from the mundanity of our everyday lives, so when Luke’s life takes a change for adventure, which includes him taking on the empire in the second act and him blowing up the Death Star in the concluding third and final act, it satisfies our inner desires.

George Lucas did an excellent job of bringing The Hero’s Journey to script form and it is one of the reasons why Star Wars is one of the most successful films of all time. Whilst the hero’s journey structure works well here and in many other blockbuster movies, many scriptwriters will imitate the hero’s journey structure robotically, so much so that it comes off as a poor imitation of other successful films, in which the same recurring plot points and character tropes become noticeable, so therefore the film appears uninspired and unoriginal. Ironically, Joseph Campbell wrote in his autobiography “You enter the forest at the darkest point, where there is no path. Where there is a way or path, it is someone else's path. You are not on your own path. If you follow someone else's way, you are not going to realize your potential.” This is true of so many scriptwriters who try so hard bit by bit to imitate this structure. Interestingly, George Lucas (who many scriptwriters try to copy the structure of his work in order to get approval from studios) was disapproved by studios when pitching Star Wars. The sci-fi space adventure prospect was something completely different to the films being made at the time – it was so unique that studios saw the idea as stupid and that audiences wouldn’t take to it. George Lucas was so passionate about his vision however, that he decided to go independent and finance the film itself. In a way, the story of how Star Wars was made serves as George Lucas’s own hero’s journey - the underdog filmmaker whom the big studios disapproved of, took on the trial and tribulations of making and funding his own independent film. Despite being told that it would fail, he chose not to sell out for mainstream approval, and instead pursued his original vision. The final third act conclusion being that Star Wars is one of the highest grossest films of all time and George Lucas becomes a billionaire. 

As the hero’s journey is being copied and pasted by many scriptwriters, this can lead to unoriginal scripts, and over-simplified versions of Campbell’s structure. Stewart Farquhar, who holds Screenwriting and Advanced Screenwriting certificates from the Professional Program at The UCLA School of Theatre Film and Television, comments on how this structure is seen as “The Holy Grail” by executive types when greenlighting blockbuster scripts saying how audiences are “force-fed a pre-sold, path predictable stream of recycled CGI”, and how “often this cookie-cutter approach leads to a super abundance of sequels, prequels and rehashes ad infinitum”.

Also, simplified versions of Campbell’s structure can make content over simplified and black and white when it comes to its morality and intellectual complexity. By this I mean that modern interpretations of the hero’s journey follow simple “good vs evil” structure in which “good” always triumphs over “evil”. These over-simplified themes and structures are most likely prominent in modern blockbusters, as they serve as ego-boosters and reassure viewers of their own perceived moral purity. People are aware of this facet in the modern interpretation of the hero’s journey. For example Hollywood screenwriter Sean Hood wrote in his article “Is THE HERO’S JOURNEY dead in screenwriting today?” about when writing the script for blockbuster “Hercules”, his scripts version of the ancient Greek hero was “a Hercules who subverted the Greek myth of the Hero, a Hercules with doubts, fears and divided goals, a Hercules who winced at pain, avoided conflict and resented the role he was born to fulfill.” When director Brett Ratner read the script, he dismissed it with Hood saying that he “had made Hercules too metrosexual” and that Ratner demanded that “Hercules needs to be BADASS”. Due to this, Hood’s more complex script was replaced with one that fits the stereotypical, over-simplified hero’s journey that we’re all familiar with.

When talking of the oversimplified morality of many modern hero’s journey stories, he cites how the ancient myths that were influential to the likes of Campbell and which are being told and retold to this day, have some ugly facets that don’t find their way into modern storytelling, saying – “The sanitized Monomyth tends to cover up the violence, horror and perversity of myths. In the original version of Sleeping Beauty, Prince Charming rapes the princess while she is unconscious, and she awakens nine months later with twins suckling her fingertips. Then, Prince Charming, who is already married, burns his wife alive so he and Sleeping Beauty can live happily ever after. As I’ve argued before, Real Myths Are Weird”. The over simplified “good vs evil” morality is pushed by the likes of Disney when re-telling these ancient myths, whilst ignoring the more ugly aspects of history, mythology and life in general.
These oversimplified scripts and, more specifically, the mass amount of people who crave the feelings of moral-reassurance that comes with them, lack what Friedrich Nietzsche described as “the intellectual conscience”. In his book “The Gay Science”, he writes “the great majority of people lack an intellectual conscience. Indeed, it has often seemed to me as if anyone calling for an intellectual conscience were as lonely in the most densely populated cities as if he were in a desert. Everybody looks at you with strange eyes and goes right on handling his scales, calling this good and that evil.”  He also states - “But what is good heartedness, refinement, or genius to me, when the person who has these virtues tolerates slack feelings in his faith and judgments and when he does not account the desire for certainty as his inmost craving and deepest distress--as that which separates the higher human beings from the lower.” These ideas put forward by Nietzsche are relatable to the modern hero’s journey script writing structure and the masses that love it. It is why these generic movies are so popular, and why the scriptwriters and directors whose themes stray beyond “good” and “evil” (pun intended) and veer into more complex, and sometimes uncomfortable, territory aren’t as popular with mainstream filmmakers who follow the algorithm. As Nietzsche said these filmmakers are “as lonely in the most densely populated cities as if he were in a desert”. However, although they might not receive the greatest mass appeal, their “desire for certainty” and ability to go against common thought “separates the higher human beings from the lower”. In this case it separates the higher film makers from the lower.

What is impressive is when what I call “higher filmmakers”, write scripts that emulate the three act hero’s journey structure, but instead of giving into “the intellectual conscience” mind-set, they’ll delve into more complex and intricate ideas that surpass common notions of “good” and “evil”, but still gain mainstream appeal by following the beloved hero’s journey. For example, avant garde filmmaker David Lynch’s 1986 film Blue Velvet has the basic three act structure premise. It introduces a romanticized 50s-esque American town, complete with picket fences and all the images associated with suburban utopia. It starts by introducing the average viewer to the safe and familiar. We are then introduced to our “hero” Jeffrey Beaumont – a decent college student who has an ongoing romantic relationship with the typical, blonde haired girl next door, Sandy. Jeffrey appears to be normal, but as Campbell would say, Jeffrey “feels there is something lacking in the normal experience available or permitted to the members of society.”
When news of a murder case breaks out, Jeffrey becomes intrigued and begins breaking from the romanticized 50s-eque world he is used to and goes into more gritty territory. During the second half, Jeffrey starts having an affair with nightclub singer Dorothy, who can’t escape the clutches of psychopath and sexual sadist Frank Booth who has kidnapped her child. Frank is introduced as the story’s “villain”, but during Jeffrey’s affair with Dorothy, our “hero” begins to show perverse, sexually sadistic behavioural traits similar to Frank. For example when engaging in intercourse, despite resisting Dorothy’s pleas that she wants to be abused, he eventually gives in and pleases Dorothy’s sadomasochist desires and persists to beat her, the same way that “villain” Frank did in a scene before. The similarities are communicated visually with Frank telling Jeffrey “you’re like me”.

This ugly and perverse world is a stark contrast to the safe and familiar vision of romanticized suburbia introduced in the first half of the film. The average viewer was no doubt able to relate to the first half, so this contrasting second half in which the “hero” is seen to engage in sadomasochism would have been quite a shock. However, Blue Velvet just manages to keep its mainstream appeal, due to the third act conclusion. Jeffrey ends up killing Frank, ends up winning the heart of girl next door Sandy; Dorothy is reunited with her child and we return to the ideal, suburban world, with the film ending with the same shot it started with of a clear blue sky – these two identical opening and closing shots can be linked to what Campbell described as “a cycle, a coming and a returning”. By giving us a supposed “happily ever after” ending, Lynch is able to appeal to the average viewer who don’t possess the “intellectual conscience” mind-set. It’s why Blue Velvet was a huge financial success with mainstream movie goers and critics alike – the three act, hero’s journey structure with a “happy ending” was just enough to win over the mainstream beings, yet the more controversial, complex Freudian themes, were able to appeal to the more indie, intellectually conscious audiences.

Years later, David Lynch’s 1997 film Lost Highway is released, and like Blue Velvet, contains uncomfortable themes of sadomasochism and contrasting suburban utopia with a dark and gritty underbelly. Whilst the two films had similar themes and content, Lost Highway was panned by both mainstream critics and audiences. Could this be due to Lost Highway not following the three act hero’s journey structure? The narrative of Lost Highway is hard to explain, as it contains the main character changing actors and completely changing their identity (Bill Pullman plays a saxophonist who murders his wife, but then morphs into a young mechanic played by a completely different actor halfway through the film). Also the film doesn’t have a clear conclusion, as the film ends exactly where it started with Bill Pullman’s character talking to himself on the end of house-doorbell saying the words “Dick Laurent is dead”.

The complexity and nonlinear narrative of Lost Highway was hard for mainstream audiences to wrap their heads round and because of this it was a financial and critical flop, with America’s most beloved critics Siskel and Ebert giving the film “two thumbs down”. 

The narrative style isn’t the only reason why Lost Highway didn’t appeal to mass audiences. The film has an “intellectual conscience” and goes beyond “good vs evil” morality that exists in most established hero’s Journey films. Whilst Blue Velvet had similar themes, it still managed to appeal to mainstream audiences as it started off with the safe and familiar and ended with the safe and familiar. Although Blue Velvet had dark content, it included it in the middle of the film, so by ending it with a supposed “happy ending”, it was enough to reassure the mainstream viewer and tie all loose ends. Lost Highway starts with the unpleasant (Bill Pullman brutally murdering his wife), whereas the middle of the film introduces the idyllic suburban fantasy (Bill Pullman becomes a different actor and completely different character who is free from murder charges). However, the film ends with darkness remerging, with Bill Pullman’s wife-murdering character returning to the spotlight and the film ending exactly where it started.

Interestingly, both Blue Velvet and Lost Highway open and close with the same identical shot, with Blue Velvet using the shot of a clear blue sky and Lost Highway using the shot of a desolate highway at night. This goes back to what Campbell was talking about when discussing “a cycle, a coming and a returning”. Whilst Campbell’s hero’s journey concept of “coming and returning”, is often associated with happy, neat conclusions that where supposedly offered to us in more mainstream films such as Blue Velvet, Lost Highway has a much more darker take on the idea. In fact, Nietzsche’s doctrine of “Eternal Recurrence” is a much more appropriate way to describe Lost Highway’s structure. The idea put forward by Nietzsche that events will continually loop up
on themselves and that history will repeat itself with no escape, is a much more nihilistic unifying theory of life compared to the more optimistic “coming and returning” offered by the hero’s journey. The bleak ending and nihilistic conclusion of Lost Highway is another possible reason why it wasn’t a hit with the masses.

 The “Eternal Recurrence” structure isn’t used by many mainstream film makers, but occasionally niche films will use more cynical structures despite the lack of mainstream praise. Interestingly, influential rom-com director Woody Allen seems to be aware of the concept with him saying – “And Nietzsche, with his theory of eternal recurrence. He said that the life we lived we're going to live over again the exact same way for eternity. Great. That means I'll have to sit through the Ice Capades again.”

However, the truth is that the three act, hero’s journey structure that follows basic “good vs evil” morality is what masses like, and if a filmmaker wants to get his way into the mainstream and secure his place in the industry, they are best following the scriptwriting guidelines that have been well established.

All That Jazz (1979)

All That Jazz - Bye Bye Life

By Reece Beckett

The following analysis contains major spoilers for All That Jazz, if you haven’t seen the film, please do so and then return. You will not regret it.

All That Jazz, directed by Bob Fosse in 1979, is easiest explained as a film that welcomes chaos. Whether it be the insane opening scene, which throws us as the audience straight into the jaws of Broadway and excites us with the fast pacing, snappy editing, the glitz, the glamour, the excitement... we are lost, instantaneously, never to return from the dazzle, which sticks to our perspective like an unwanted glue. 

The film shows us Joe Gideon, a flawed man from the very beginning, taking prescription and smoking like a chimney. He seems almost like the spirit of a lost man, floating around the stage, only given vitality by his “fans”, who are more often people only wanting to use the man for the sake of putting themselves in a better position than he... but this is only the beginning for Mr Gideon. 

We see his daily life. He struggles with his ex-wife and child, who both love him dearly and want to see him succeed and yet Gideon, consistently yet unintentionally, pushes them out. We see him direct his play, nothing comes together but he continues to fight until he has something that he deems Beautiful, only for his vision to be crushed by the money laundering scumbags in charge, whom we will come to dislike much more as the film continues. We see him go straight from here to editing his new film about a stand up comedian, specifically a scene featuring a speech about the five stages of death... “Anger, denial, bargaining, depression and acceptance”, the same five stages we will see Joe embark on through the film. 

We have no choice but to witness Joe at this point. His life and his intermittent thought trains, which we view through Gideon’s own mind as a dialogue with an angelic figure. We have grown attached to his character, despite his flaws, because in him you can see the spark of great passion.

As the film continues, the repetition of Joe’s life starts to become evident. The man is becoming burnt out, and this hurts us to see. He gives everything he has, and all of his ideas are turned down for the sake of money. One example is after Gideon shows his finally completed erotic airplane sequence, one of them says “There goes the kid’s audience”, and this will not do.

Similarly to other films of the struggling artist, the film doesn’t shy away from anything. It is a brave film, especially considering the fact that the film is semi-autobiographical, true to an extent of Fosse’s own experiences. If this film doesn’t make you question loving cinema, nothing else will. 

Finally, during a script reading, Joe begins to lose himself. His endless work has caught up to him. He is working himself to death, and has a heart attack. He awakes in hospital. This part is something truly terrifying, to me specifically, as I always try to work as much as possible, afraid to let time pass me by, and I can certainly see a potential future for myself in Gideon, which makes his eventual downfall all the more petrifying. “To live on the wire is life” says Gideon, implying that any time spent without risk is unimportant, an ethic that I certainly agree with. Gideon shares my perspective of pouring everything you had into everything you can, and seeing that place the character into such a situation makes All That Jazz one of the most startling films I will ever see.

This is where the film becomes a whole other beast. The surrealism starts to take the front seat, Gideon slips more into the aforementioned steps. He is now in denial. He plays around, he drinks like a fish, he continues to smoke, he flirts with nurses constantly... anything to distract himself from his poor condition.

Before the audience can blink, the next step is here, bargaining. Gideon tried to convince himself that he was going to be fine, but now he is startled by his gradually worsening state, and tries to wriggle his way out of it. Sadly, this doesn’t work out. He slips straight into the depression. 

We see Joe wander aimlessly around. He is a lost man entirely now. He becomes cynical to show-business, plagued by a 0/4 review from a stuck up critic on his now released film about a stand up comedian and now upon finding out that his play will be cancelled if he doesn’t finish it is a pushing point.

He is now nothing, his work is gone... so what does he have to live for? 

A wife and kid who look up to him despite his incredibly flawed persona? His “fans” who secretly despise him? Nothing... not even the studio care for him, as we see them excitedly chattering about how much profit they will make if Gideon should pass away.

Gideon reaches acceptance, and then comes the greatest ending in cinematic history. A speech that Gideon had come to know off by heart is now changed from a positive and charming introduction to a chilling “This cat allowed himself to be adored but not loved, and his success in show business was matched by failure in his personal relationship bag. Now, that’s where he really bombed... and he came to believe that work, show business, love, his whole life, even himself and all that jazz was bullshit.”

“To this cat, the only reality... is death, man.”

The character now rises, clad in a slick black suit and equally dark sunglasses obscuring his eyes. He smiled at the audience, a chilling, knowing smile of what is to come for Gideon.

“Let me lay on you a so-so entertainer, not much of a humanitarian, and this cat was never nobody’s friend, in his final appearance on life’s great stage - applaud if you want to - Mr Joe Gideon.”

The great, golden heads eerily turn to face Joe. The eyes fixate on him, just as they had before during his shows. These golden statues are as faceless as Gideon’s true fans in the film, and also have quite a resemblance to an award. The music chimes and candles are lit all around by the audience. Gideon appears, and starts furiously dancing, then slows.

Two women dressed in eerie body suits gracefully dance beside him as the score lifts, with beautifully swelling violin chimes. 

If Joe shall leave us, it will be with a gracious beauty.
He brings the microphone to his lips. 

“Bye bye life,
Bye bye happiness,
Hello loneliness,
I think... I’m gonna... die.”

He takes his time with these lines, and as he sings the final line once again as a faster speed and the songs tempo viciously increased, Gideon starts to twitch. His co star begins dancing, singing with Joe. He has finally reached acceptance, we realise, as he sings a gleeful song of the end of his own life. The editing becomes even more ferocious as we see the character dance, musicians joining in and Gideon accept what is coming. “I think he’s gonna die.”, they repeat. There is no escape now. 

“There goes his baby
With someone new...
She sure looks happy...
I sure am blue.” 

They sing, as we realise Joe’s girlfriend will move on from his death in no time. 

The chorus comes in again. He is a step closer, and at this point all we want is to see Joe feel the release of his death. The energy of the song and dance number continues to increase, the audience now starting to clap along.
“I’m through with romance
I’m through with love
I’m through with counting
the stars above.”
“Forget the stars!
And there’s a reason
Why’s he’s so free
His lovin’ baby...”
“She’s through with me...”

Gideon sings this line with a great pain, but continues to smile.

He runs into the audience, they adore him. They clap like they’ve never clapped before. They’re as cathartic as he is. He embraces the people in his life.

“This must have cost a fortune!” applaud one of his producers, finally accepting his work. 

He hugs his daughter, and gently touches his wife’s face as he says “At least I won’t have to lie to ya anymore!”, Gideon has found his freedom. He feels forgiven in his final moments for all that he has done.

One final chorus, the audience screams and applauds, the singers scream, the dancers spasm, the musicians play their hearts out, before the final couple of lines calm everyone down. Gideon is raised above everyone else by a small podium, and all goes silent, other than Joe’s final lines, “bye bye, my life, goodbye”, until one more great round of applause and a musical riff.

Gideon now floats to his death, into the light which is personified by the angelic woman we have seen him speaking to all this time. 

A harsh cut flies out of nowhere and we see Gideon. A doctor zips up his body bag, in silence. The shot lingers for a few seconds, and as we zoom in on Gideon’s body, There’s No Business Like Show Business By Ethel Merman begins to play.

“There’s no business,
Like show business,
Like no business I know!
Everything about it is appealing!
Everything the traffic will allow!”

These final excitable screams define the new generation, who see show business as just what the lyrics describe, but they have been fooled. Show business will eat you up and spit you out at a moments notice.

All That Jazz works so brilliantly because there are no true victims in it. Sure, most of the characters are sympathetic, but none of them are exactly angels, even Joe’s daughter, who we see gradually become more and more corrupted by the people surrounding her as the film goes on. Gideon isn’t victimised, we may feel empathy for him, even some sympathy, but we do not love him as a person, we love the idea of him - a greatly productive man who stood at nothing to produce his art. 

If Gideon’s tale is one to end up true to myself, then maybe my great fears for the future are finally justified.

Meantime (1983)

By Reece Beckett

The following essay contains spoilers for Meantime.

Meantime, another Mike Leigh television film, made for the BBC, is considered to be one of the true hidden gems of British cinema. I’d like to be able to say that it’s a wonder as to how the film fell into obscurity, however in this case the blame falls to the BBC, who simply refused to release the film other than on TV, meaning that the only ways of access to the film were to see it on the recently opened Channel 4 or on a bootleg.

The film, released in 1983, is very difficult to explain. The best way I can explain it is to say that it is about a family struggling with the ridiculous unemployment caused by Thatcher’s reign in the 1980’s, which left more than 10% unemployed in Britain. The film brilliantly highlights the aimless lives of the characters, none of them really move on or change throughout the film, and the film is almost plotless, with essentially small episodic stories that are carefully placed together to construct a narrative.

There are many different themes featured in the film, ranging from a political tone to a smaller subplot on racism, though the film mainly focuses on the issues that come with “the virus of unemployment”, as Leigh puts it himself in an interview with Jarvis Cocker. Though we mainly see just the daily lives of these people, it is impossible not to see the effects of Thatcher’s reign and how it is changing the lives of these people. Leigh says in an interview “I think that the education system is really to blame”, before going on to talk about Phil Daniel’s character, Mark, who is evidently intelligent and yet has no place to articulate his skills, no job to make himself useful in, and so instead he only uses his intelligence to “take the piss out of his brother”.

 

His brother in question, Colin, is the character at the heart of the film as far as I’m concerned. Though Leigh himself says that he believes Marion Bailey’s Barbara to be the sympathetic character of the film, I truly believe that Tim Roth’s Colin is the one to feel sorry for. Colin’s character is potentially mentally disabled, or at least he was “never given a chance!”, as Barbara says to her husband early on in the film. We see Colin desperately try to seek employment and to fit in throughout the film, potentially even find himself a girlfriend in Tilly Vosburgh’s Hayley, and yet he never quite manages to make it. Thankfully, by the end we come to realise that his brother does care for him more than he lets on, whether he likes to admit it or not.

As much as the film sees one of the very earliest performances from Tim Roth, fresh off of the set of Alan Clarke’s Made In Britain (1982), he is not the only secret star hidden in the film. If you pay attention, you can also notice Pam Ferris playing the mother, Mavis, who would later go on to be in Children Of Men (2006), Matilda (1996) and even the third Harry Potter film in 2004, as well as the very first major performance from Gary Oldman, who was actually lucky to complete the film after an injury on set that very nearly blinded him (“If you were to see a very close-up shot of him, you’d still be able to see a little scar just here, above his nose”, Leigh says).

Though Leigh brought these stars to light in the film, the way he constructed their characters is what really interests me. Tim Roth explains some of the way Leigh works in a 2006 interview, wherein he explains that Leigh had no script and simply let the actors find the characters themselves before writing a narrative for them to find themselves in... something that may have been an inspiration to the way that Shane Meadows works. He also explains that there were great stretches of time when he wouldn’t see anyone on the set, and he was initially very surprised when Leigh told him that he was one of the film’s main characters... thank God that Clarke happened to know Leigh was casting at the time, something I, and I’m sure Roth too, are very thankful for.

The film, though quite brief at 104 minutes, manages to pack in a lot of different characters. A great example of this is the estate manager, played by Peter Wight, who, despite the fact that we see him in just one scene of the film, manages to create a rather in depth character with small mannerisms and quirks that make him memorable. “Okay. Our job is to help you, yeah? And it helps us to help you if you help us, okay? ... An anthill, yeah? An anthill, which can be as big as a man - as big as three men - begins as a single grain of sand, Okay? Time passes... the single grain becomes the anthill, Okay? It’s like repairs, you know. Small things become big things, yeah? What I’m saying is, it helps if you talk to use about the grain of sand, don’t wait and report to us an anthill, yeah?” He says, stealing the show in his brief encounter with the other characters of the film.

Despite the fact that surely the film was limited by the BBC’s lack of care for release, thankfully in 1988 Leigh’s High Hopes was given a better release, and even better is the fact that after many years as a generally unknown cult film, the Criterion Collection have given it a stunning 2K restoration, which was released in 2017.

The film’s legacy continues to this day, with filmmakers like the Safdie Brothers admittedly being inspired heavily by the film, noticeably using a similar style in their films, specifically Good Time, which even has a similar title, but also a very similar style of cinematography (the use of extreme close-ups on actors) and a similar feeling of a known and lived in area around these characters.

Though Meantime may have kickstarted the careers of two of the most well known actors in Hollywood today, it also gave Mike Leigh another fantastic film in his filmography, and one that sticks out in comparison to the rest.

Mike Leigh even says himself, “I have a real soft spot for Meantime”, and I must say, I couldn’t agree more.

Kes (1969)

By Reece Beckett

The following essay contains spoilers for Kes.

“Kes! C’mon Kes, c’mon lass!”

In Britain, just as the 1970’s were on the horizon, Britain was a little behind in the times. It wasn’t until the 1980’s that things really started to switch, and in that case, they certainly didn’t go well, making way for skinhead gangs and brutality, which has only continued since, even to present day. In 2017 Britain, I, being only fourteen at the time, watched Kenneth Loach’s 1969 film, Kes.

Kes centres around a young boy in a lower class family, who finds a great freedom and love when he stumbles across a Kestrel and begins to train it. I believe that’s something we can all relate to, we all had our own hobbies, our own freedoms as a child. They’re what every child needs, an escape from the burden of school and a home life, a freedom. Kes, in this film’s case, is that freedom.

We see Billy Casper out on great fields, as Kes glides through the air with no troubles, elegantly. Kes can fly away at any time, she has that freedom, yet Billy can only long for it. As the tagline of the film states: “They beat him. They deprived him. They ridiculed him. They broke his heart but they couldn’t break his spirit.”. Despite the fact that Kes is a huge part of Billy’s spirit as the film progresses, and her harsh departure at the hands of Billy’s cruel older brother, Jud at the end of the film would surely break any typical young man, Billy Casper is not any typical young man. He has been forced to grow up surrounded by hassle, he has become numb to it whether it be from his uncaring teachers, his menacing brother or his harsh schoolmates, and this has toughened him to a point wherein he can bear the death of his one true friend in the awful world he lives in.

I don’t think you could see much post-1970 cinema without seeing the ripple effect that this film had on British film, and British culture in general. You can see little bits of Kes everywhere, and no that isn’t a pun related to the bird’s unfortunate death. Look at, for instance, some of the films of Terence Davies, particularly his early career. His short film trilogy, which painted a startling picture of the director’s own childhood in Children, and then went on to seemingly predict his own future, is as startlingly honest and stark as the Loach film, as are some of Davies’ later features, particularly Distant Voices, Still Lives (1988) and The Long Day Closes (1992), both of which present realistic, yet more poetic and visually focused than Kes, views of British family life.

Kes, shot much like a documentary at times, (it reminds me greatly of Allan King’s documentary style, of a fly on the wall whilst still being able to feel incredibly intimate), feels so personal - maybe because we can all see ourselves in it to a certain degree, maybe because of the realistic and carefully constructed performances, or maybe out of pure nostalgia. Whilst you can’t go far into British cinema without spotting Kes’ influence, I’ll bet you also can’t show many Brits this film without having one of them say “that’s happened to me!”, especially when it comes to the somewhat comedic football game at Casper’s school, where the PE teacher seems to think he’s Gary Lineker. 

Kes is, quite clearly, one of the key films to the British Kitchen-Sink Realism Wave, and one of the most favoured almost 50 years later. The film looks at the state of current affairs in the late 1960’s, and seems to be against them to a certain degree. We can see, quite clearly, that the young Kasper is neither physically or mentally fit for a working environment yet (this is emphasised further when he arrives late to his job interview, too), he has a lot of maturing to do, and yet there is a pressing force throughout the entire film that tells him he must find himself a job, for the sake of his family. It’s not the future that Casper wants, made evident by his occasional moaning about it, and I don’t believe that it is the future that Loach wanted for the boys of Britain at the time, either.

Of course, Loach would go on to many, many more political films as his career continued, notably his most recent film, I, Daniel Blake (2016), which certainly has a few things to say about the state of the country financially and how he feels it should be fixed. Loach is a man unafraid to show what he truly thinks, a brave character who will share his stance and doesn’t care what others may think of it. Even if you don’t agree with him, I dare you to say that he doesn’t care for the country, and even now, almost 50 years later, Kes may still be his most passionate, most caring and most tender film to date.

Spring (2014)

Love is a Monster

By Paul Birch

Spoilers ahead!

Cross Genre films are becoming more and more popular as the viewing public need something extra to keep their interest. Of course, sometimes a film will come along that transcends genre. A film that you only hear about through word of mouth. That film where someone says ‘You HAVE to see this’. So you search for it, and when you finally find it, it just blows your mind. For me this is in the top 5 of films ever made. I’ve seen around 5,000 films (at least) so a top5 spot means it must mean something to me. It’s also one of those films that I have to make everyone watch, and I’ll admit I’ll base my entire view on them as a human being based on their thoughts of this afterwards!

Directors Justin Benson and Aaron Moorhead were little known in the industry. They’d had a small indie hit with Resolution, and through this were given a segment in one of the V/H/S anthology series, and were well on their way to bigger and better things. This is a story you’ll hear about with literally hundreds of directors though. Some go on to bigger and better (Trevorrow going from Safety not Guaranteed being the best example) and then you have all of the one hit wonders.
Justin and Aaron didn’t want this though. They had a vision. They were always horror fans, but were looking for something more. We’ll get to them more later though.

Spring is on the face of it a simple story. A love story of sorts. Evan (played to perfection by Lou Taylor Pucci) is your average working class American. We find him at a crosswords in his life. The opening shot is him at his mothers side, as she loses her fight with cancer. A distraught Evan ends up in trouble with the police after a drunken altercation and a friend suggests a well needed holiday away from his troubles is what he needs. So hungover, and running out of options at home, he ends up in Europe. Here he meets two brits who lead him on a path of booze and women as he tries to escape his demons. Now some might see these two brits as caricatures of how people behave but trust me, unfortunately they have this spot on.

Whilst with these two reprobates he meets Louise (a simply stunning performance by Nadia Hilker) and they instantly connect. So far… so so right? It’s well shot, and basing most of the film in the idyllic coastal beauty of Bari everything is stunning. There is more to this story though, there always is right? We aren’t sure as yet what is up, but we know something. 

After a night of passion Louise leaves and when they next meet they begin to learn more about each other emotionally, now that they know each other physically. One of the best scenes of the film happens over a dinner date they are having where they are exchanging personal details. Louise takes out a contact lense, showing a different eye colour. Evan has seen this before, in the old books on the area and some of the older paintings. Evan wants a picture of Louise but she does now want this, when a picture is taken it is severely out of focus as if she is not who says she is. Then she runs off. This is where we really see who she is. We have seen hints, as she is something else, but as she is accosted by a drunk who mistakes her for a prostitute, we see the fuller picture. 

The next vital scene is where Evan goes to see Louise at her house and hears struggling. Smashing the door down, he sees her mutation, she is on the floor, half monster and half beast. There is a needle next to her and this is where he has a decision to make… stay or flee. He decides, of course, to stay, and helps her return back to her normal self.

We find out the history of what she is now. This is where the film does something smart. It keeps it simple…ish. So, and this sounds silly on paper, but on film it is a delight. Louise is a 2,000 year old monster. Every 20 years she will become impregnated and use the cells in her unborn child to recreate herself as she fights back from the monster that she is. There is more to it though. Should she fall in love, her body will create a hormone that will keep these cells from being consumed, and she will become mortal. In 2000 years this has never happened though and she says she will never give up her immortality for anyone. This is a modern day fairytale. Pinocchio meets the elves from Lord of the Rings. It’s beautifully made though, with no cynicism or irony, and this is why it works. The usual genre cross-over for horror is comedy, and although this works, here it would have become farcical. Playing it straight lead you to one of the great modern romances. 

The effects are stunning and for the budget (could not find the amount but assuming it must be small) you’d believe this was a major production company in charge. It doesn’t overstretch or try to show you more than you need, and this is a major plus point for the movie. Instead, you focus on the characters, and the more you believe in them, the more you believe in everything else you are seeing.

After knowing all of this, Evan still wants to be with her, so asks to spend the last 24 hours with her. He is in love with her, and admits it freely. Louise says that she cannot control who she loves, the monster is in control. If he stays with her during the change and her body and soul is not in love with him, he will be killed.

Now we have massive spoilers. If you have seen this then you may agree or not, but if not… then stop reading this and watch the film.

So, the ending. It’s beautiful. Louise is lying with her head on Evans lap, outside. In the background a volcano gently erupts. Evan is looking down at Louise and the music is playing (the soundtrack by Jimmy Lavelle is just stunning. Gentle piano keys mixed with deep strings to omit an emotion mirrored by what you’re seeing).

Finally we here a crunching sound, as if a transformation is taking place. Evan looks down and Louise is there, as herself…. Showing that she has fallen in love with him.

Now I’ve had arguments about this ending. Some people wanted the film to stop 5 seconds earlier, so as a viewer we are left to guess if she changes or not. I don’t think that would work. Films with ambiguous endings are great, I love them. Sometimes though, you want an end to the fairytale. Evan has been through a lot, Louise even more so and to see such hope in the world is what ties the film together.

What puts this film above anything else is the originality in how it is made. Making something so sincere under anyone else would have been crass. What we get is something so stunningly beautiful that you can believe that in all the evil that occurs in the world, there can always be redemption. You can take your before sunrise, or In the mood for love. For me this is where is begins and ends. Love really is a monster. It’s something to fight for, and when you meet the right person it’s something you can give up everything for. Telling it in a way so different from anything else is just the icing on the cake.

We Need to Talk About Kevin (2011)

By Saša Avramović

This film directed by Lynne Ramsay (Ratcatcher) was greeted mostly with standing ovations from audiences and praise from the critics at the festivals where it was shown. It is mostly better than the products usually served at similar events, but not so much to call it a masterpiece - the word that many rushed to use while describing it. On the contrary, it's far from that.
The film follows Eva (Tilda Swinton), the mother of Kevin (played by Ezra Miller, Jasper Newell, and Rocky Duer in various stages of his life) who has committed a terrible crime and is now in jail. The film follows her struggle with inner demons and relations with the outside world, as her recollections of her former family life when she was trying to establish a normal relationship with an impossible child.
Another in a series of films about evil children, 'We Need to Talk About Kevin' tries to be anti-thriller, drama, and horror at the same time and to say some important things about the problems of the modern world, in this case about mass murders in schools of the United States. It doesn't fully succeed in any of the self-assigned tasks. When it comes to the thriller aspect, the entire film is set as an anti-thriller. Very soon after the beginning of the film the future of the main characters is revealed, the tragedy has already happened and the perpetrator is known. We see the flashes and the scenes in which survivors of the tragedy appear. That's a valid method but it doesn't work here because of the mild treatment from the director. The main function of that anti-thriller frame was to bring us closer to the characters, to both the victims and the ones responsible for the tragedy, to their drama and life. Sadly, the film failed in that area. We don't fully believe it, most of it isn't convincing at all and it doesn't bring us closer to the characters.

Here the director asks some simple, but (some would say) important questions: was Kevin born bad, was it all about the family influence, or perhaps both? The fact is that the mother was not happy because of the birth of a child. All that translates to Kevin during an early age and he uses every opportunity to turn her life into hell. The director settles for the option - born bad, and the environment made him even worse. So, he is set on the wrong track from the very beginning, and the behavior of his mother in the beginning (and later his father, but in a different way) form his personality. Kevin is evil and a manipulator. Even when it seems that he established a normal relationship with his mother, the next event shows us that it was only an illusion, and part of his game. He behaves completely differently around his father (John C. Reilly, in a very weak role) and the father does not believe his mother when she blames Kevin for various violent acts - he kills his sister's hamster, and in the end, blinds his sister in one eye. This part of the film has a big problem because the director decided to present the characters and their relationships in black and white manner. In essence, the most problematic thing is the way Kevin's eeeeevillll is represented, the claim that he is the main cause of all problems, and the way his family responds to his acts. Without going now into the ideological and moral implications of this deeply disgusting perpetual blaming of the children as the root of all problems (a very common thing in cinema), let's try to play by the director's rules (with an emphasis on "try"). Relations between the characters are very simplified and subordinated to the director's intentions. Father always acts confused, is not aware of Kevin's actions, and always complies with him. If Kevin is evil, then his mother is always nice to him, even though at first she did not want to have a child. She always attempts to get over all his wrongdoings. But it seems that Kevin doesn't believe in her love, he is convinced that deep down she hates him. In one scene, when he intentionally dirties his diapers (he wears diapers only to annoy his parents, not because he needs them) she angrily pushes him and he breaks his arm. Before this flashback, in prison, in a scene set in the present, he says to his mother that this action of hers is the only honest thing she had ever done to him. Kevin is wrong because she immediately shows remorse for her action and stays with him until his arm is healed. That much proof of his hatred toward his mother is unnecessary. The director does everything so that we as viewers feel uncomfortable because of Kevin's actions, but I felt uncomfortable mostly because of the way Kevin's acts were represented, and most of it is completely unnecessary. It's pure grotesque, and a simplified quasi-psychological portrait of the genesis of the main problem.

The director also wanted to play with a horror genre in this film, but it's not functioning, again largely connected with the previously described problems of the weak writing and the portrayal of the characters and because of the director's lack of understanding of the possibilities of the genre. Kevin's actions as a child are not truly creepy nor were directed in a horror key, and in the end, everything becomes pure exaggeration and almost funny in its failed seriousness (I can imagine how the actors who play little Kevin were directed: "Okay, now lower your brows and look evil!"). In the beginning, there are a few interesting scenes. The scene of the bathing in tomato juice in the crowd is effective because it shows Eva's current freedom with hints of future events. There is a partially effective scene of childbirth, during which we see only Eva's horrifying reflection in the mirror, then after giving birth we see her in a catatonic state in the bed with her husband holding the baby. In the scenes taking place in the present, the director is satisfied with the repetition of actions that should leave an unpleasant and uneasy impression on the audience, and this applies in particular to the scenes of Eva's attempts to cope with the new situation after Kevin's crimes - Tilda Swinton is excellent in some scenes, but in multiple scenes, she slips into pathetic - this part of the film is unconvincing because it should be shorter and less repetitive. Eva is constantly taking off red paint thrown onto her house (okay, you made your point, we understand the symbolism and we don't need to see the color red in every single scene of the film). The director wanted to make sure that we see Eva's character as a victim too, and she made that point aggressively. Eva accepts insults and slaps on the street without question and moves on. The almost identical scenes showing her loneliness begin to annoy her after many repetitions. In fact, in this film, there is no real human drama or horror, only at moments some effective scenes, with a lot more redundant ones. The director wants to show us the victims of the tragedy and their suffering, but there are not many of these scenes. The crime that Kevin commits is shown in a way that Kevin sees it as the fulfillment of some kind of messianic fantasy, but the scene remains sketchy and incomplete. When it comes to the actors who play Kevin, the best one is Ezra Miller as Kevin the teenager, who occasionally manages to show a tangible threat. Tilda Swinton is an excellent actress but she didn't impress me much here, she is mostly playing the same flat type of character and going with the flow of the script.

The film doesn't say anything new and important about these horrific crimes. As a study of the relationship between parents and children, the film is weak and one-dimensional. Also, it doesn't say anything new about human rights and choices in life. Eva at first does not want a child, then she changes and struggles with the problems, but it is all shown in a black-and-white manner and the end, leaves us almost cold. The very end of the film is effective but does not help much with the overall impression.

Hellraiser (1987)

By Saša Avramović

This review may contain spoilers.

Clive Barker is certainly one of the most important writers and artists working today. He cemented that position at the beginning of his career with a short story collection 'Books of Blood', issued in six volumes during 1984 and 1985. This collection is more than enough evidence of the wild imagination of the author, and quite sufficient for entry into the pantheon of immortals. A true Renaissance man, Barker writes books, directs movies, paints and designs video games.
In 1986 Barker adapted his story from the 'Books of Blood'  called 'Rawhead Rex' into the script which was made into a very weak movie (directed by George Pavlou). Unhappy with the results of the adaptation, Barker decided to write and direct a film based on his novella 'The Hellbound Heart' (issued in 1986). 'Hellraiser' was born. 

Frank (Sean Chapman) wants to go beyond the limit of sensual and spiritual pleasures by acquiring and solving a mysterious puzzle-box (the Lament Configuration), which opens a new doors of perception. What he gets is a slavery in the underworld of Cenobites, a demons who in their experiments on people are constantly crossing the border between pain and pleasure. The family of Frank's brother Larry (Anrew Robinson) will soon have to face the world which they never dreamed existed. Frank wants to escape from the depths of Cenobite SM hell. Few drops of Larry's blood spilled on the floor of the attic where Frank was torn apart by Cenobites will bring him back (in a magnificent scene of rebirth), but horribly deformed. For complete recovery he needs flesh and blood of the victims brought to him by Larry wife Julia (Clare Higgins), his former lover and partner in research of (at that time still just physical) limits of experience. Larry's daughter Kirsty (Ashley Laurence) will soon discover the secret hidden in the attic. Even greater problems arise when she solves a puzzle and Cenobites come for more flesh.
With 'Hellraiser' Barker found perfect art form for expressing his thematic preoccupations. For him there are no borders between different worlds and limits between layers of experience, seemingly distant worlds are mixed together building a new world that exist beneath the thin surface of the "normal world", a surface that sooner or later breaks and the underworld exposes itself. In Barker's work, supernatural horrors attack and consume our physical world, transforming it and forming new unbreakable unity of mutated flesh and spirit. His Sadean demons are not the "bad guys" in traditional sense of the word. He gives them space to speak and explain, he is successfully balancing on the border. 'Hellraiser' is his own "sympathy for the Devil". As the main Cenobite says, in his concise and effective reply to the question: "Who are you?" "Explorers, in the further regions of experience. Demons to some, angels to others." 

Pain and pleasure are inextricably mixed, and the flesh is a playground of inhuman forces. Those forces are represented by the Cenobites, who subject their victims to a continuous and extreme sadomasochistic experiments. Their design is completely in accordance with that: piercings, pins protruding from the head, leather suits cutting through the skin. Original creations in every sense of the word. Cenobites are the priests of new religion of flesh and spirit (the word "cenobite" comes from the Middle Ages and have direct religious conotation, meaning "the member of the monastic community"). The actors who play them are perfect in their roles: Doug Bradley plays Lead Cenobite, Grace Kirby plays Female Cenobite, Nicholas Vince plays Chattering Cenobite and Simon Bamford plays 'Butterball' Cenobite. They are the demons of human flesh, completely dedicated to their work. Using chains and hooks they are tearing apart human bodies, which is just the beginning of the process. Those extreme sadomasochistic experiments are the rituals of their faith, a faith of the seekers who solved the puzzle. The element of religious ecstasy ("Doors of plesures of heaven or hell, I didn't care which") are perfectly fused with pain and pleasure in the scene when Cenobites come back for Frank. Seconds before he is torn apart, while hooks and chains are holding him in the crucifixion pose, deforming his skin and body, he perversely licks his lips, smiles and says: "Jesus wept." and is immediately torn apart. 

Another important religious element of the film is the portrait of the demonic. Barker shows the figure of the Devil (not necessary a Christian one) in five shapes through the film. The first and obvious one are the Cenobites, the priests-surgeons of the new religion. The second one is the figure of the Tramp (another synonym for the Devil in mythology and literature), shown in one scene in a pet shop while eating the crickets from his hand. At the end of the film he transforms into the dragon-like creature, The Guardian of the Lament Configuration who takes the puzzle-box from the fire and flies away with it. In the last scene he is presented as the salesman of the puzzle, asking the next candidate: "What's your pleasure, sir?" The fifth one is the creature that visually resembles the cross between scorpion and worm. Its anatomy is fittingly inverted, the sting and the head exchanging places. All five incarnations are part of the same religion, the religion of the seekers and the curious ones. 

In the world of 'Hellraiser', people who are looking for new sources of satisfaction (and thus knowledge) are getting much more from what they initially wanted. But although Cenobites clearly say that their task is exploring the further limits of experience and winning a new landscapes of knowledge, even though Frank at one point says that Cenobites brought him the experience beyond every border in the form inextricably mixed pain with pleasure, still their experiments have the form of punishment. In a way, it becomes a punishment for those who want to explore new worlds.
Here Barker makes direct link between sensual pleasures and desires with the forbidden, some would even say with a sin. The angle from which that element is viwed is far from the traditional (Christian) perspective, but have its roots deeply in Christianity. In Christianity, the body is directly connected with forbidden desires and sin, which Barker uses to create his own mythology that exist beyond good and evil, which connects him with Marquis de Sade. In his mythology, the punishment for curiosity and desires has no form of Christian punishment in the eternal torments of hell. In Cenobite SM hell pain and pleasure are inseparable from each other and brought to such extremes that even the people like Frank did not count on that.
Julia is the woman who neglects her marriage, relationship with her husband and stepdaughter because of the desire for Frank. This craving for new sensual experiences is a major factor in the decision to help him bringing his victims. By living with Larry, she repressed her desire for Frank, and when she had the opportunity to renew the relationship, she will do it, no matter what the obstacles are. In this sense, the film exposes the dark family secrets and the consequences that arise when instincts come to the surface.

Before this film, Barker directed only two (solid) experimental short films ('Salome' and 'Forbidden') but with 'Hellraiser' he proved to be a true master. The film is drenched in a dark atmosphere, it combines intriguing ideas, physical horror, gothic iconography and the excellent acting into one highly original film. Makeup effects (designed by Bob Keen) are excellent and give another level of quality to the film. The budget for 'Hellraiser' was extremely low (about one million US dollars). Most of the film was shot on single house location, which Barker used to the maximum (although the filming in the house partially restricted movement of the camera), turning it into gothic torture chamber. 

My only serious objection goes to very end of the film, which at times looks like it was done in a hurry. Which is actually true, at the end very little money was left and everything was actually filmed quickly, including the weak animation effects. With regard to the budget, it can be said that the Barker achieved most of what he wanted in the film, but still we are left wondering how it would all look with improved effects at the end of the film. Also, the other problem arises from the scenes when Kirsty sends Cenobites back to their hell by solving the puzzle backwards. That element is not in sync with the rest of the film, it breaks the established rule - Cenobites are the ones who are bringing in new members. But because of the other enormous qualities, that element is not that much problematic for the construction of the film. Especially because nothing is final at the end, the doors are still opened for new seekers and new pleasures. 

The acting is on very high level, Clare Higgins and Doug Bradley are the best of the group, although everybody gave their maximum. Music by Christopher Young ('Hellbound: Hellraiser II', 'The Dark Half') is another element important for the success of the film. The original version of the music was composed by industrial band Coil, but it was rejected by the studio, and issued on their album The Unreleased Themes for Hellraiser. Young's very dark, beautiful, and elegant orchestral compositions are effectivelly fused with the visuals, pervading the events with the sounds from the Cenobite hell.
'Hellraiser' became a modern classic and his strength, intensity and strong conviction in presenting both visceral and intellectual elements, his refusal to draw any borders remained an inspiration to future filmmakers and a guide for achieving their goals. No limits!

The Squid and the Whale (2005)

By Reece Beckett

This review may contain spoilers.

Frank: Me and Mom versus you and Dad.

The Squid and the Whale is a film that feels almost like an 80 minute emotional assault, in all of the ways that you would want a film to. It's the dramatic tension between the characters that is instantly hooking. The entire film feels  like a game of tennis, which is ironic seeing as that is the sport that all of the characters participate in at some point in the film. The opening scene probably expresses this idea in the most upfront way, with the family playing tennis themselves. Walt and Bernard vs Frank and Joan, the net acting as a wall stopping them from really clashing. They hit the ball back and forth, until Bernard remarks to Walt that he should hit the ball at his mothers back hand, as it is weaker. The idea of specifically aiming for a weakness, even if it is 'just a game' (as Walt says), still says a lot about the characters. 

The moment that always sticks out to me is the ending, which may be my favourite ending of this century so far. As soon as Lou Reed's Street Hassle starts to play, the cello gently screaming out and hitting the audience in the gut with its raw feeling, it's impossible not to have shivers all over your body, and it was as I started to tear up, the credits rolled and I sighed, realising how truly special this film is for my fourth time. It's the performance from Jesse Eisenberg, the almost documentary-like cinematography and Lou Reed's brilliant song that make this moment one of the most emotional and most memorable that I have ever seen. 

One aspect of the film that I certainly deem note-worthy is the characters and their actions. The like-ability of the characters is something that Baumbach really plays around with. I find his confidence incredible, with the way that he gives all of the characters unlikeable moments, but he realises that they are fleshed out and human enough for the audience to simply understand their actions. My favourite example of this is a moment that comes towards the end of the film, when the entire family finally clashes and the emotion is let out. Bernard says to Joan that if he had tried a little harder, he thinks he could have saved the marriage, and then he asks if they could try one more time to fix things, and it's her almost instant outburst of laughter that really solidifies Baumbach's confidence in his characters and his confidence in the actors.

I find it interesting how the film is titled after what is seemingly insignificant, and doesn't seem to represent the film, The Squid and the Whale. Of course, the title refers to the closing moments of the film, wherein Walt's character arc is fulfilled by him confronting his fears and coming to realise how wrong he has been throughout the film, but I think that it represents more than that. For one, if you see the actual part of the exhibit that The Squid and the Whale is, you'll know that it almost looks like strangulation, the squid wrapping its tentacles around the Whale, and I find that this represents how the characters feel in the film. They feel as if they're being strangled, as if they're suffocating, the family tension is simply dragging them down, which leads to the divorce in the first place. It could also be a representation of the way that the family seems to be split into two parts, Walt and Bernard being one and Joan and Frank being the other. The way that Bernard seems to be overbearing, or in a way suffocating towards his family, pressuring them, especially Walt to be the same as he is. It could also represent the way that the two are fighting, whether it is Bernard Vs Joan or Walt vs Frank, they all have their tension involved at times and this feels strangulating too. 

The most noticeable emotion throughout the film is anger, with the way that all of the characters seem to be angry with each other at one given point, but never truly express it. Walt seems to be the one who is the most annoyed in the film, annoyed with himself, his mother, his brother, his girlfriend and eventually his dad (when we get to the end of the film). It's all of his pent up anger that I would say leads to the finale of the film, when he finally starts to cry in front of his dad, he lets that anger and frustration out, and he stands up to his dad, telling him that he won't go and see him for a little while. He then does something for the first time in the film, he goes against what his father has told him to do, and leaves (shortly after being asked to stay for the day, as Bernard says he 'needs the company'). 

One thing that I found very interesting was an interview with Jeff Daniels, who gives potentially the greatest performance in the film playing Bernard, the self obsessed and narcissistic father. In the interview, he stated that "The Squid and the Whale was the film that saved my film career.", and that it came after a few failures in a row, and just when it seemed as if Daniels' acting career may be over, director Baumbach went to him and cast him to play Bernard. I find it rather ironic that the best actor in the film was the one who was struggling the most to find any work at the time, and I'm sure that he's as thankful as I am for the fact that he was cast in this film.

Another thing that I find to be unique to this film is the way that it really wears it's time setting as much as it can. From the use of Pink Floyd's Hey You to the clothes and cars in the film, the film doesn't throw it in your face with a time stamp every few minutes but instead simply allows the audience to figure it out, and though it doesn't add all too much to the story beyond some context and reasoning for certain things to be included, it makes the film feel more personal in a strange way.

The film is one that I find myself heavily relating to, especially in the character of Walt. Walt is a character who seems to be entirely lost in what he wants. He thinks that he can do better than his girlfriend, he thinks that he 'could have wrote' Pink Floyd's 'Hey You', he feels that his fathers opinion is far more important than finding out for himself. It's the admiration for his father that I would say I used to share. When I was younger, my dad meant the world to me, even after my parents divorced, eventually (much like Walt) I came to realise that in reality, it was my mum who was always there when my dad wasn't, which was very often, and that he wasn't that great at all. It's a tough thing to get over, almost like if you were to meet your hero only to find out that they weren't who you thought, but at the same time I feel it's something that many people have gone or will go through. I suppose in a way I also relate to Walt's pretentiousness, as all of you reading this will know (unless this is the first thing you've read by me) I'm really pretentious for a fourteen year old kid, and I'm still trying to figure out if that's a good thing, or if it's as negative as I tell myself. 

Either way, Noah Baumbach's confident film blossoms whilst the characters involved seem to gradually deteriorate, due to excellent performances and sharp, incredibly witty script. It's a film I find myself rewatching very often, and I'm sure it's a film that I will always hold a spot in my heart for, as long as when you say 'heart', you're referring to my favourite films list.