Obsessions - A Michael Mann Retrospective

By Reece Beckett

As people, we all become obsessed with certain things. Whether it be hobbies, passions, pastimes, we can all lose ourselves to what we find the most interesting. Michael Mann’s cinema seems to be the epitome of obsessions portrayed in cinema. Many of his films seem to have some of the same beats, and even if it isn’t broken you don’t need to fix it, I can’t help but notice these repeated beats - these obsessions.

 
THE JERICHO MILE (1979)

Mann’s cinematic exploration begins with The Jericho Mile, which is an interesting though quite stylistically flat film about a man in prison, who runs around the prison track constantly. An upsetting film as a man so desperate to run, to be free, is bolted down and trapped. As I said, stylistically the film is quite bare, which means that the story is the real focus, and thankfully the story is quite interesting and unique. The racial commentary is also interesting, though it isn’t explored too deeply, and it’s also an upsetting look at how one moment can define an entire lifetime. The ending scene has quite a kick to it. Though it is one of the few Mann films I don’t consider phenomenal, the film is still very much enjoyable and entertaining.

 
THIEF (1981)
 
Mann’s Thief, released in 1981, 2 years after The Jericho Mile is generally known as Mann’s first film (as this was his first theatrical release, I assume). It is possibly the film where Mann’s style is clearest, his obsessions are evident in so many frames, and this ideology that is so noticeable in Thief is also noticeable through Mann’s entire filmography. There is the ideal of The American Dream, so intelligently mixed with the disturbing nature of his characters and yet - the audience feels such a sympathy for Frank in Thief, as we know he only wants what he had come to know as the ideal life (The American Dream). It’s a scary phenomenon to be afraid of a character, and to view them as a despicable criminal, but to also greatly contrast this with a Robin Hood-esque man who seems to want to escape this life of crime to live out his dream (an ideal explored further in Ferrara’s 1990 King Of New York). Frank is a no-holds-barred man, willing to sacrifice it all in order to have the woman, the money and the house, to live off of his own back and have no one to do anything for. Of course, these ideas are also apparent in Mann’s Heat, released 14 years later. The American Dream is the main focus of this film, and ultimately it is the takedown of that dream that makes it so enthralling. At the beginning, we see Frank as a con-man, a thief, and by the end we see him as a desperate dreamer... a man who once had his hands on the edge of the cliff, so close to securing the dream, but slipping... and thus, reinvention occurs. Frank becomes a new man.
Thief is an incredibly slick urban crime thriller, and one that highlights much of what is to come in Mann’s oeuvre.

 
THE KEEP (1983)
 
The Keep is the one Mann film that sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the rest. The film plays out as if it is supposed to be interpreted as a film about war trauma, and even has some phenomenal dialogue that fits in more with his later work, I mean, any film that has the dialogue “What drives people out in the middle of a stormy night?” “Dreams... nightmares.”, is an interesting one. It’s a fascinatingly odd film, one that I couldn’t take my eyes off of despite the fact that I had no idea what was going on. The film is utterly incomprehensible, but presents some interesting ideas that are easy to appreciate. I don’t have much to say on this one, seeing as it sticks out so much, but it is interesting nonetheless.

 
MANHUNTER (1986)
 
Manhunter was the second huge success of Mann’s career, after Thief. The film, which slips slightly under the radar now as most prefer its sequel, Silence Of The Lambs, is about the sacrifices made to protect others, a theme that comes out quite a lot throughout Mann’s work. A cop returns after being persuaded by a friend, and he must find a killer by speaking to another one. “Someone took a child and manufactured a monster.”, one character says, and I must admit that line had quite an impact on me. The film is dark, upsetting and tense, with a phenomenal sound design and a killer script. The final showdown in the film is one of the more memorable I’ve ever seen, with many of the shots sticking in my head for a long time after seeing the film. Sadly, Manhunter has become a bit of a cult classic now, as most view Lambs to be superior and so, Manhunter has lost some of its iconic status.
“Everything with you is seeing, isn’t it?” says one character, an ironic phrase to be heard in a film. Later on, there is a stunning scene where a woman strokes a tiger, and she trusts her hand to slowly glide across the coat of the beast, wholly trusting it and those around her.
If only she could do the same with everyone.

LA TAKEDOWN (1989)
 
L.A Takedown is an unintentionally fascinating look at how budget can effect a film. Seeing as low budget seems to garner more credit for itself nowadays than anything else, I find it absolutely fascinating that this film, the original that makes Heat technically a remake, is so different and yet so similar to Heat. Though most of the story beats are exactly the same, the difference in style and technical work from LA Takedown to Heat is a fascinating study in how much a bigger budget can do for a film.
There is also a great difference between the character of Vincent between LA Takedown and Heat, which is just as interesting as the contrast between the films themselves. Both films show that Vincent Hanna is fast on his feet, quick thinking and determined, unable to focus on anything but his work, however what I find interesting is that he seems to borderline on genuine anger management issues at times in LA Takedown, and goes much too far at some points which adds more friction to his already struggling marriage.
Whilst LA Takedown loses much of the more philosophical and contrast based greatness that shines in Heat, it’s still an interesting watch wherein you see the style of Mann develop, slowly starting to tear away from the more urban films to his bigger films that were yet to come, with a grander scale. If anything highlights an absolute obsession with an idea, or a group of ideas, it is the repetition of them, and Mann repeated them 6 years later with Heat.
“It consumes you. I was in for sharing, this isn’t sharing... this is leftovers.”

 
LAST OF THE MOHICANS (1992)
 
Last Of The Mohicans is one of the Mann films that stands out as a little odd. Mann... making a period drama? However, once you get past the confusion, The Last Of The Mohicans is really quite a good film. Despite my personal troubles with the period piece genre, I must admit that I found myself quite captivated by the film due to its character development and smaller scope. Rather than a ten minute exposition dump at the beginning of the film, Mann slowly drips information into the film, creating a brilliant enigmatic narrative hook for viewers who don’t know the history of what happened and creating an impressively honest portrait of America in the 1700’s for those who do know the historical background to the story of the film.
Daniel Day Lewis is just another iconic Mann front-runner turned memorable Mann character in the film, and though I don’t recognise much of the cast at all, they all give good performances and keep the film feeling realistic. The cinematography is gorgeous, too, and in keeping with Mann’s typical trademarks, the film goes on to say quite a bit through rather subtle suggestions. Mann creates a sweeping epic through his smaller scope via contrasting the small, dialogue driven scenes with larger set pieces of destruction and chaos that really make the war quite petrifying rather than entertaining (a Mann trademark is making action frightening rather than entertaining), and it also turns into quite a saddening portrait of a country that has become a victim to war to such a point that I couldn’t help but think of how the country could have thrived if these opposing countries were to simple make an agreement, and the repetition of the opening shot as the ending shot, as if all this war and pain were for nothing ultimately, is a harrowing revelation. It’s a fascinating film and though I found it to be one of Mann’s weaker efforts, it was still a captivating and great technical work that managed to have me invested in a genre that typically I struggle very much to care for.
“You stay alive, no matter what occurs!”

 
HEAT (1995)
 
Now for the big one. Released in 1995, three years after The Last Of The Mohicans, Mann’s Heat is generally considered his crowning achievement, and anyone who sees it will understand why that is. Anyone can enjoy this film, thoroughly, as there is simply so much to take from it. There is the philosophy of the characters, Vincent Hanna who is determined to do what he deems right, McCauley who has his very strict ideology on not growing attached to anything “you wouldn’t walk away from in 30 seconds when you feel the heat coming around the corner.”, and even the side characters provide interesting pieces to the puzzle from time to time, one that particularly sticks with me being when one of the men working with McCauley says that “the action is the juice.”, regarding the heists. Of course, if you don’t want to look into it as far as philosophy, you don’t need to, and you can sit back and enjoy the insanely engulfing spectacle of the film which thrills with the incredible set design and cinematography. There is one scene in particular that really strikes me other than the epic action scenes and the iconic diner scene with the two men meeting, and that is when we see Hanna chasing after McCauley, and the song New Dawn Fades (in this case, covered by Moby) plays in the background. The camera whizzes around, with as much energy as the audience at this point, the epic guitar riffs slide into the story and the thrill of what may come next is one of the greatest adrenaline rushes one can have in cinema. Finally, Hanna catches up and offers McCauley a coffee, and the iconic diner scene comes together.
Of course, this scene is iconic for a reason. That reason being that it is a masterful pairing of two of the greatest actors ever, some of the greatest dialogue ever and a contrast so strong that one simply will be taken in by it. The two men, sat opposite one another, and they explain their principles and differences. McCauley describes that “I am never going back.”, and that he does “what I do best”. “So, you never wanted a regular type life?”, asks Hanna. McCauley laughs, jokingly saying “What the fuck is that? Barbecues and ball games?”. Hanna begins to open up, he mentions his struggles with his family, which have been created due to chasing “guys like you”, to which McCauley replies with the main philosophy of the film, “don’t let yourself get attached to anything you are not willing to walk out on in 30 seconds flat.”. The men, now equal, despite their differences. Mann’s philosophy, all suddenly tied together, his obsession with contrast, with good and bad guys, with his characters, with the falsehood of The American Dream... they suddenly all come together, and this occurs throughout the entirety of Heat, which certainly makes it a masterpiece, and, in my opinion, the single greatest crime film ever crafted.
The film is also Mann’s most technically profound. The score is filled with gorgeous music, as is the soundtrack, particularly from Brian Eno and Moby. I particularly love the use of a Moby cover of Joy Division’s New Dawn Fades and also the ending score track called God Moving Over The Face Of The Waters, which stands out to me as one of the single most beautiful scores ever made. The cinematography is insane and the style pops, it’s a melancholic yet incredibly tense and exciting film and one that simply remains unmatched by any American film in history.

 
THE INSIDER (1999)
 
The Insider is another Mann film that takes a slight departure from his typical style. The film is a tense political thriller, one bursting with emotion throughout, and very much an anti-capitalist look at journalism and protecting your family. Notice that once again, Jeffrey Wigand begins the film holding onto The American Dream, and throughout the film it is slowly ripped away from him, however, this time it is ripped away by the truth, it is taken for a good cause... but that leaves the man himself no less beaten down. “You are important to a lot of people”, Lowell Bergman assures a distraught, possibly even suicidal Wigand... a man who started with it all, but ended with nothing, and ironically a pairing with Lowell Bergman that sees Bergman end just fine, if not redefined, reborn. It’s an upsetting look at how capitalism squashes the good out of people, for example the pressure getting to the CBS workers in the third act leads to them caving in, and they themselves know just how wrong this is, commenting on it once they realise their mistakes. The film contains some of the most stellar cinematography in a Mann film, with some phenomenal editing and music to mix with it. It’s a mesmerising, gripping film, and one of Mann’s most emotional films on the surface, though I don’t think it is quite as deep as his others.
“I’m running out of heroes”, says a desperate, worn down Bergman... and it would appear that Mann agreed, and so, next he made...

 
ALI (2001)
 
Ali is clearly a film made by a man who loves Ali himself. It’s a heartfelt film and one that is made with a lot of love behind it. It also gives a fascinating insight into Ali’s life that goes a whole lot further than any typical biopic, focusing on the political climate Ali was involved in rather than just telling a watered-down life story of the famous boxer. As the tagline says, “Forget what you think you know.”, and that rings true. Ali’s emotional mixture of frustration, lust and violence mixes so well with the current climate that he was living in, when people were very unsure as to what was going on, and had even less of an idea as to how to solve these problems and move on with their lives. Ali is a fascinating study of a man and of a time, however it is the use of the camera that really captivated me technically. The camera always seems to be moving. Like a shark in water, we feel that we will die if we don’t stop moving, and so we never really do. This brings up an idea of the camera suggesting life, and whenever Ali steps into the ring, the lights seem to go on forever (a gorgeous leading lines trick that I wish were used more as it looks phenomenal), and the camera suddenly starts to fly around, brimming with life, until the ring becomes a hive of activity, and therefore, a producer of life, existence, vitality...

 
COLLATERAL (2004)
 
Following up Ali was more of a return to form for Mann, Collateral. Released in 2004, starring Jamie Foxx and Tom Cruise, Collateral is about how one night can change a person, and it is ultimately a look at what makes men tick and what the meaning in/of modern life is.
We begin with Max, played by Jamie Foxx, being introduced to us and also introduced to a woman. Max explains the fact that he wants to own a limousine company, however when asked by Cruise’s Vincent, Max reveals that he has been driving and preparing to open this company for 12 years. Vincent’s introduction is odd, and strangely what Mann does here is use a hitman as a catalyst to change Max. The two characters, once again opposites (a trademark of Mann’s work, one of his obsessions), contrast each-other so greatly that eventually they collide, around the mid-point when Max steals Vincent’s bag, and throws his list into the street. Suddenly, Max becomes everything he needed to be. He becomes the definition of The American Dream, a strong, confident, independent man, who can do as he pleases. As Lessons From The Screenplay day in their analysis of Collateral, “To overcome his character’s weaknesses, Max has needed to be more like Vincent - the embodiment of everything he’s not. Now, his inner-self and his facade collide as he is asked to become Vincent.”. This sudden switch for Max becomes the pivotal point of the story, as we see Max deal with the dangerous drug-lords and hitmen more confidently than he would usually deal with a civilian.
Collateral also sees Mann look into philosophy from a new angle, nihilism. A scene towards the end of the film sees Vincent berate Max and tease him, saying that Max will never achieve his goals because he has waited too long and that, ultimately, there is no point in chasing that dream anyway... Max has no purpose. For a brief moment, Max agrees, and in one last attempt to kill Vincent, and possibly even himself, he swerved his car over. We see that Max’s goal is gone... he has no purpose, however when he stands up, it is revealed that the woman from the beginning of the film is the final person on Vincent’s list, and therefore Max has a new purpose - to protect, and he does. In the end, he finds his new purpose, he saves Annie, and Vincent is killed. A total switch from the beginning, when Max was doing so little in life that he may as well have been dead, and Vincent was thriving due to this.
“A man dies on an L.A subway... think anyone’ll notice?”

 
MIAMI VICE (2006)
 
Now things get a little harder to pin down. I can safely say that Mann’s 2006 film, Miami Vice, changed the way that I see cinema. Never before had I been so involved in characters, but furthermore, never before had I seen a film where we only see the real character for very brief moments throughout, most of the time they hide behind a facade. Sound familiar? That’s because it is... yet another re-occurring theme from Mann’s cinema.
Now, for a tangent on Mann’s portrayal of character that works for a few of his films.
One thing I noticed that has fascinated me since was his choice to almost always cast recognisable, well known stars. De Niro, Pacino, Hemsworth, Foxx, Cruise, Farrell and many more have been at the centre of Mann’s films, and I find it interesting, particularly in Miami Vice, how the film is all about performance. This is another theme that pops up through Mann’s cinema, the idea of presenting yourself as someone you aren’t, and it really solidified in Miami Vice, Public Enemies and Blackhat.
In this film in particular, the loss of identity is profoundly moving, heartbreaking. These cops hide behind cover to the point that, they cannot become themselves again. The ultimate sacrifice to protect and serve. Rather than being themselves, these men hide behind fake identities, behind falsehood, and rather than being themselves they are über exaggerated versions of themselves: glossy, stylised action heroes only there to protect others and sacrifice themselves.
It’s a terrifying thought to think that you can lose yourself to the image you present, to what you dream of being, and how becoming what you want to be can mean losing yourself. The film itself is masquerading just as much as the two men are, it hides itself behind the buddy cop film, behind the mindless action film, when really it is all about performance.
In an America fuelled by lies, it seems ironic that Miami Vice would be released. “Who are you?! Who are you?!” screams one character at the men, as they become aware of the mask that has taken over the lives of these men, and that has left them out of touch with reality. The mask that has placed them into a God complex, wherein they’re the heroes and everything else is a side character or a villain. A world without love, without significance, without hope. No law, no rules and no order.
“This was too good to last.”

 
PUBLIC ENEMIES (2009)
 
Public Enemies continues with Mann’s strange presentations of memorable characters, and, if you ask me, John Dillinger may just be his finest character to date. Usually, Mann has a few huge stars to help carry his film, and to gain some instant like-ability for his characters, and oddly, in Public Enemies he casts Depp, a big star certainly, however one who hadn’t been in such a territory very often. Instead of portraying infamous gangster John Dillinger as a force, this is only how the police see him in this film. Any audience member innocently stumbling across the film and putting it on expecting your typical badass, morally questionable gangster will be shocked to find that in this film, it is only those who don’t know Dillinger who see him that way. As Mann’s camera seems to be familiar with Dillinger, we see such an odd intimacy that I have never seen before in a gangster film. It’s startling, scary and upsetting to see him in such a vulnerable way. Rather than a quick talking, impatient killer, Dillinger is a truly vulnerable character, almost animalistic with his simple desires that once again fulfil the American Dream criteria... however, Mann takes it a step further here. Instead of America helping Dillinger to achieve his dream, much like Thief, Dillinger is instead stripped of his dream by America, and plans to move away to another country to fulfil his desires.
Mann’s Camera also acts as danger in the film. Dillinger never quite faces the camera until the end of the film, his heartbreaking death scene which remains haunting even to briefly think about. Sadly, Dillinger cannot escape his past, as no one can, and eventually, he is forced to suffer the consequences of his earlier actions.
“Bye bye, blackbird.”


BLACKHAT (2015)

Blackhat concludes what I have named Mann’s Vulnerability Trilogy, and it sees quite a leap from the style and setting of Mann’s precious film, Public Enemies. Instead of being set 80 years ago, Mann jumps to present day, possibly even the not-so-Distant future and rather than giving us a Man Vs System tale of old (Dillinger vs the police force), Mann gives us an updated story of man vs a whole new system, the modern day system. When we meet Nick Hathaway, he is imprisoned, held against his will by the system, and when they free him, all hell breaks loose. Blackhat is a masterfully told story of what happens when a man is beaten down by the world and he is finally given the chance to fight back, an idea also expressed excellently in You Were Never Really Here (Lynne Ramsey, 2017) and a topic so well done in many films. Mann makes the shootouts terrifying rather than entertaining, the characters lively and vulnerable rather than random meshes of flesh with guns... and this is what makes his cinema so refreshing. That mixture of intellectualism and thrills is something seen so incredibly rarely.
Jean Renoir once said, “a director spends his life making one film”, and I think that in the case of Michael Mann, this rings true. Though his films vary quite strongly in style and tone, they all seem to draw from the same points, and whilst I feel that Heat is the ultimate hit of this mixture of style and story, the one in which it worked most effectively, to say that Mann isn’t consistent would be to lie. I think that he is the greatest American director currently working, and can’t wait for his next film, Ferrari, which is currently set to release next year (2019). Mann’s films all carry strong casts, which seem to almost work with the strange facade he has in his films that they are these larger than life stories of spectacle, which they are on the surface, but as you dig deeper into his work, you see nothing but anguish, pain and vulnerability from these men.
Mann is also responsible for a great deal within American cinema. He is a key inspiration to many directors, such as The Safdie Brothers, who seemed to throw their own, more urban take of Heat onto the screen in 2017 with Good Time. Mann also inspired many American films that riffed on his strange characters, such as Miami Blues (Armitage, 1990) for example, which sees a crazed criminal slowly withered down into a sympathetic oddball, and even in terms of The Insider, Mann inspired many political films and you can certainly spot the early stylistic choices that are now common within political cinema. Try watching The Insider and Zero Dark Thirty back to back and saying that they don’t share any simulators with a straight face, I dare you.
What Mann has been able to do for cinema throughout his career is an extraordinary achievement, and one that I’m sure will continue. I also find that Mann has got to be the go-to for proving people wrong when they say that big budget is bad... a figurehead sadly needed.

McQueen - The Big Three

By Reece Beckett

“I was a painter before, and it was always about the frame, of course. But within this frame, somehow, because of movement, because of things passing through the frame, it seemed to have a life bigger than the actual frame itself. That’s the thing that gave me passion to sort of want to make films.” - Steve McQueen

Steve McQueen is a British filmmaker, a man who is at this point three films into his career, with a fourth coming this year. It isn’t often that you come across what seems to be a perfect filmography, films that are consistently impossible to find flaws in, however I believe that McQueen has accomplished this. He made his first feature length film in 2008, after spending 15 years (at least) making his own short films. He has continued to make features for the last decade, even winning Academy Awards for his latest film, 12 Years A Slave.

His first film, Hunger, faced much critical acclaimed upon its release, even winning The Carl Foreman Award at the Bafta’s, The award for a British director in their debut film. The film was even given a release on The Criterion Collection, a company “dedicated to gathering the greatest films from around the world.”

There are many parts of his three films that seem to cross over. For example, all films centre around one male character: Bobby Sands in his first film, Hunger, released in 2008, Brandon in Shame, released in 2011 and Solomon Northup in his most well known film, 12 Years A Slave. This may seem like something you could attach to many different filmographies, however something that I noticed was the fact that in all three of these films, this one man is used as a symbol for a much bigger conflict. In Hunger, Bobby Sands is representative of the IRA hunger strike of 1981, in Shame, Brandon represents sexual addiction in general, and of course in 12 Years A Slave, Northup represents the overall conflict of slavery. 

This shows McQueen’s clear understanding of what makes cinema really tick. There isn’t any need for large scale action, and the closest he ever comes to this is in Hunger, in which a brutal scene plays out in just one take, following the prisoners as they are harshly beaten and searched. This scene isn’t only horrific to view, and extremely uneasy, but McQueen even justified both sides of the fight. It would’ve been almost too easy to victimise Sands and the other prisoners, however during this fight, and throughout the film for that matter, we are shown that life isn’t too much better for the officers. In the beating scene, we see one officer traumatised by what he is seeing, and his own actions, hiding behind a wall as the violence continues on the other side of it.

This idea of ignorance is another recurring theme in McQueen’s filmography so far. In Shame, Brandon ignores his sisters frequent cries for help, he ignores her calls and he ignores his own addiction. He seems to not pay attention to anything other than his sexual satisfaction, consumed by his addiction to a point that he no longer views what he is doing as wrong. His addiction has engulfed him in a bubble, one that he cannot break out of.

Ignorance is also seen in 12 Years A Slave, not only from the general public towards the slavery, but also towards the emotions of these characters. For example, there is a scene wherein Northup is left to hang, and the shot lingers on his hanging body as we see life simply continue in the background. A harsh and disgusting moment, difficult for anyone to see.

McQueen’s earlier work, strangely, doesn’t seem to show any ignorance or the representation of a conflict through a single person, instead McQueen’s 1993 short film, titled “Bear”, shows two men, totally naked, fighting and embracing each other. This film communicates strange connotations of homoeroticism, violence and race rather than being more character based. Though “Bear” may differ from his other work, I find it interesting that the men fight whilst naked, which once again is in all of McQueen’s films. In Hunger and 12 Years A Slave, nudity is included to show vulnerability and helplessness, whilst in Shame, it is used as a horrific reminder that whilst Brandon is so addicted to his sexual fantasies, he is also incredibly vulnerable to his addiction, overpowered by it... whenever Brandon is naked, he seems to feel free, something rather tribal which is a similar ideology to what we see in “Bear”.

Strangely, McQueen also made a short film heavily inspired by Buster Keaton. The film, titled “Deadpan” is a recreation of the iconic Buster Keaton stunt wherein a house falls onto Keaton, however he narrowly survives as a hole lands over him. This one stands out compared to McQueen’s other films, basing itself off of a comedic genius rather than the rough conflicts that he usually focuses on, however, it still makes sense considering that McQueen could have learnt his excellent visual style from Keaton.

I find it incredible how McQueen isn’t afraid to let the camera linger. The most obvious example of this is in Hunger, a film with many excellent long takes, however the one that comes to mind first to me is a scene when we see a prison cleaner, mopping up urine. The shot lasts over a minute, uncomfortably dragging out this simple job and reminding the viewer that the prisoners aren’t the only ones suffering through their actions and protests, it’s a harsh reminder that with the way things are in the story, there is no winner, there is no clear-cut protagonist.

McQueen uses long takes in all of his films, whether it be the 20 minute conversation scene between Bobby Sands and a priest in Hunger, a phenomenal tracking shot that follows Brandon through the streets of New York as he jogs, trying to clear his head, in Shame, or some brutal takes in 12 Years A Slave, including one wherein Solomon Northup is forced to whip one of his friends to death.

Another thing that I noticed about Steve McQueen is that he never takes specific sides. Even in his short film, “Bear”, he never focuses specifically on one man more than the other, and this is something that continued throughout his filmography. In Hunger, the prison officers aren’t made out to be antagonists, in fact the first 10 minutes of the film focus on one prison officer, we see his bruised and cut hands, his difficult family life strained further by his job and the paranoia that the current politics caused for people. In Shame, Brandon is never looked down upon by the film, McQueen leaves everything to the audience, they need to decide. Even in 12 Years A Slave, McQueen doesn’t push either way. The film shows that not everyone was involved, only making the awful men villainous, whilst the majority of the characters sympathise with Northup and the other slaves. As McQueen himself said about 12 Years A Slave, “Everyone deserves not just to survive, but to live. This is the important legacy of Solomon Northup.”

One other thing that I noticed was the way that Hunger and Shame seem to connect. Whilst they focus on entirely different things, I notice a strange connection between Sands’ hunger strike to going ‘cold turkey’ from a drug, just as Brandon would have to in Shame. I may be reaching, however it seems strange that the two connect in such a way.

I also noticed an odd connection between McQueen’s Shame and Martin Scorsese’s New York, New York, made in 1977.
Though there are so many connections between Steve McQueen’s films, from the way that he chooses to portray his subject and the way that his films feel incredibly observant, their great variation in topics is what I find very interesting.
Though they are all upsetting topics, fuelled by conflict, there’s also a great range in the topics of choice, as I stated before with the great contrast between Hunger, and its protagonists choice to abandon a necessity of life, compared to Shame, in which the protagonist seems to have created an entirely new necessity in his own life. 

Though McQueen’s cinematic career may be a mere three features long, I believe that he is one of the greatest contemporary directors, creating some of the greatest current films consistently, presenting beautiful and harsh films about real issues that people face, whether it be fictional or non-fictional. I believe that in McQueen, cinema has acquired yet another anthropologist, a man who cares endlessly for his peers, and wants desperately to acknowledge the pain that some go through.

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.

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.