Cocktails and Records

Usually the National Film Theatre/BFI over there on London’s sunny South Bank is a sedate place. People go in to the cinema sans popcorn, talk to each other in low voices, watch the film quietly and leave swiftly (usually after dutifully watching all of the credits). It is, in short, not the Wood Green Cineworld.

But last week something different happened at the NFT, an event so rare that I need to share it with you. Particularly since it happened, not once, but twice:

1. Drunken Angel

This is one of Akira Kurasawa’s ‘modern’ films (i.e. not a samurai epic). The film tells the tale of an ‘unlikely friendship’ between an alcoholic doctor and a gangster with TB, a death wish and hey, a keen interest in booze as well. Although quite grim in places, I would say that Drunken Angel is pretty enjoyable and definitely compelling. It is, however, certainly not the sort of film where you expect to see snogging couples indulging themselves in the seats in front of you. After a while though, I came to unfortunately recognise that there was indeed an emotional connection between the tongue-wrestlers and the film – as the gangster’s plight became more desperate so did their passion. Probably because they’d long given up on reading the subtitles.

2. Bronco Bullfrog

This British film from 1969 about a group of miserable mono-syllabic 15-year-olds living a life of petty crime and violence in East London is not the sort of film I previously expected to appeal to the cinema snogging type. OK, there is a blossoming romance between the two main characters* and I personally found this story of non-swinging London a strangely touching portrayal of youth, but clearly there is more to the film than that. The bleak streets of late 60s London make a perfect accompaniment to cinema fumbles. Well, for the couple near me anyway.

Well, it makes a difference from the usual straight-laced cinephile types I suppose. Any other unlikely snogging at the cinema tales to tell?

* Sample dialogue from when he first goes round to her flat to ask her out:

‘Is your daughter in? I don’t know her name, but she’s medium size with long hair.’
‘I’ll get her for you…’
[girl arrives at door]
‘So do want to go out with me on Saturday?’
‘Yeah.’
‘See you then.’
[boy leaves]

It’s Friday night at the movies. I am waiting in the BFI foyer to see On Dangerous Ground. Two old blokes are sitting next to me in silence. Finally one of them speaks and the following conversation ensues:

‘Good film this.’
‘Yep, pity everyone in it’s dead.’
‘Robert Ryan?’
‘Dead.’
‘Ida Lupino.’
‘Yep. Dead.’

[long pause]

‘Did you go to that Diana Dors screening the other month?’
‘She’s dead too.’
‘And Sid James…’
‘Yep. Dead.’
‘Guess we’ll be joining them soon.’
‘Yep.’

[even longer pause]

‘Fancy a pint after the film then?’

Oh, how I wish I could have joined these cheery chaps for a swift half and further chat…

A useless fact you may not know about me is that I go to the cinema a lot, probably about once a fortnight on average. I’ve been maintaining this habit now for a good 15 years.

Up until this weekend, I had only managed to see one 3D film during that time – a reissue of the particularly lame 3D version of Hitchcock’s Dial M for Murder in about 1996. The glasses were of the cellophane-taped-to-a-bit-of-cardboard type, the film itself was dull and the 3D effects (other than a lunging pair of scissors) were a complete non-event. 3D didn’t add anything whatsoever to the impact or enjoyment of the film.

Is that all there is I thought, deciding then and there that 3D was definitely nothing more than a clever marketing fad aimed at getting people away from their 50s tellies. And no wonder it didn’t last - no one would put up with this level of pointless spectacle for long, and particularly not if wearing stupid, uncomfortable glasses remained part of the deal.

So it was with this memory in mind that I went to see Alice in Wonderland in 3D on the weekend. I was partly lured by my fondness for the tiresomely inconsistent  Tim Burton and 35 years of having to put up with ‘witty’ references to the book, but really I needed to put my past behind me and see the revival for myself. New 3D had to be better than 50s-style 3D.

And the verdict? Well, the the film itself was dull and the 3D effects (other than a lunging cat) were a complete non-event.* 3D didn’t add anything whatsoever to the impact or enjoyment of the film. It is still nothing more than a clever marketing fad, this time aimed at combating piracy and illegal downloads.

So again, I’m going to write off a whole technological development based on viewing one film. Am I being hasty though? Have any of you actually seen a good 3D film?

*The glasses have improved a bit however – you can’t accidentally rip them, but they are filthy. I spent the trailer-time pedantically cleaning the lens with my own lens cleaner and still couldn’t manage to remove the distracting smears.

Our local council has been embroiled in a long-running farrago regarding the local cinema. Walthamstow’s EMD cinema was once a much-loved Granada cinema, complete with 30s décor and Christie organ. In addition to the screens, the cinema was built with top-notch staging so in the 50s and 60s the likes of Gene Vincent, Buddy Holly, The Beatles, The Kinks and The Stones played there. In recent years though, the cinema has fallen into decline and now it lies unused in a fairly miserable state.

However, those trusty friends of the large historic building, Christian evangelicals (in this case the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God, UCKG) have come to the rescue. Like Finsbury Park Astoria, they have bought the building and plan to transform it into a place of worship.

There has been much public outcry and local campaigning against this decision. Waltham Forest is the only London borough not to have a cinema, people have a genuine fondness for the traditional Grade II* listed cinema and there is very little trust in our local council anyway, particularly its attitude towards regeneration, the arts and heritage. None of this is helped by the fact that there are rumours that various cinema operators have proposed viable plans for refurbishing the EMD and running it as a profitable venue again, but have been rejected by the council. It is all a long, sorrowful story of mistrust between the local authority, the church and cinema campaigners.

So far so typical, sadly enough. This week though, two quotes from local councillors have really made me wonder what world I’m living in.

Councillor Matt Davis: ‘Do you not think the council needs to manage people’s expectations on the EMD, and make it clear that people can get Mick Jagger out and bunches of kids protesting but it won’t make a difference?’

Councillor Terry Wheeler: ‘[a new church will be] more attractive, to particularly young people, than a modified cinema.’

What is happening when public protests (even if they include Mick Jagger) are dismissed so out of hand? And more to the point, what kind of world is it where the council can even think about claiming that a church will more appealing to young people than a cinema?

I’m so out of touch with young people though these days that I wouldn’t have a clue. Maybe he is right. Maybe religion is more appealing to the ‘yoof’ than movies. This can’t possibly be true, can it?

Or thank God my school days are over

After a productive morning washing up and vacuuming, I took myself to the movies yesterday to see Palm d’Or winner The Class (or Entre les Murs). Since then the film has lodged in my mind and, like an annoying Robbie Williams song, I can’t seem to free myself of it.

The Class is a French film about well, a French class in a suburban Paris school and it stands out for a number of reasons:

1. This mixed, multi-racial school of kids from poorer backgrounds is not what you usually see in French cinema. Apart from rare films like La Haine, you could be forgiven for thinking that the entire Parisian population spends all its time having steamy affairs and/or arguing about Deleuze at swanky dinner parties. There are no dinner parties in this film. Not one.
2. Pretty much the entire film was shot in four locations: the classroom, the staffroom, the school playground and a school meeting room. Combined with long sequences of painfully realistic dialogue in class, this intense documentary-style focus on the school day serves to remind you just how claustrophobic and awful the place can be. School days are definitely not the best days of your life.
3. And (I have to say it) are schools these days really like this? The kids were appallingly behaved in the classroom. With non-stop backchat, bickering, insolence and obfuscation,  each lesson for them was a battle not to learn anything. My school certainly wasn’t like that and neither were my main sources of school-related information – Grange Hill, Degrassi High, Dead Poets Society and er, The Naughtiest Girl in the School.
4. The 14-15 year old kids in the film may have made me grit my teeth and grimace at their behaviour, but this is because they were entirely believable. How often does that happen when you watch a film featuring so many young actors?
5. The Class has the most subtle and nuanced plot and character development I have seen in quite some time. There are no cut-and-paste stereotypes – you really can’t hate the students, no matter how much you want to and you can’t entirely sympathise with the teacher either.
6. If a bunch of native French speakers don’t understand the finer gramatical points of the subjonctive imparfait then what hope do I have?

Conclusions:  It’s either a brilliantly humane look at adolescence and a tribute to the teaching profession, or a complete indictment of the school system today. Either way, The Class is fab – go see.

Carmen Miranda
The Lady in the Tutti-Frutti Hat

‘I have a major weakness for old musicals’ I confessed to the guy behind the counter at the Cinema Store the other week. ‘Then you will absolutely love this.‘  he enthused, waving a copy of The Gang’s All Here at me ‘It’s the campest film of all time. It. Is. Fabulous.’ So I dutifully bought a copy.

And he was right! It may have the worst plot ever, some terrible, terrible acting and Benny Goodman has all the pizzazz of a stressed IT manager, but The Gang’s All Here  is fabulous. It does afterall, contain ‘The Lady in the Tutti-Frutti Hat’, a work of musical genius if ever there was one. Busby Berkeley directing Carmen Miranda amongst a sea of oversized fake bananas and even faker smiles – it doesn’t get much better (or camper) than this.

‘The Lady in the Tutti-Frutti Hat’ from The Gang’s All Here, 1943

‘Sunset drive-in, Amarillo, Texas, 1974,’ by Stephen Shore

To celebrate the credit crunch, I have indulged  myself and bought a copy of American photographer Stephen Shore’s ’seminal’ work Uncommon Places, a book I have been lusting after for years. The book was originally published in 1982 and collects together the colour photography Shore took on his road trips across the States in the 70s.

This image of the already rundown looking ‘Sunset drive-in’ in early 70s Amarillo set me off on a bit of a reverie. I’d almost forgotten that such a thing as a drive-in ever existed.

We had a drive-in in the town where I grew up and my parents took us there every now and again. Although I’ve long forgotten the films, I clearly remember the excitement of the huge, huge screen, the novelty of sitting in the car and the fact that you could wander around between the darkened cars during the boring bits. If you were lucky you could see couples kissing. [Errghh... yuck] I also remember being disappointed that we were never served popcorn by glamorous girls on rollerskates.

The drive-in’s glory days were long over by the time of our visits in the early 80s and in retrospect, I’m suprised that it didn’t close earlier. When the drive-in finally did shut in the mid-80s I remember going past the desolate grounds and feeling sorry for it and its abandoned cinema dreams. Wonder what’s there now.

I’ve always liked film soundtracks – they do afterall, combine two of my very favourite things together. I have a mental list of favourite soundtrack moments which has been pretty fixed for quite some time. It isn’t very original and contains all the predictable films you might expect:

- Mean Streets
- Saturday Night Fever
- Trainspotting
- Vertigo
- Scorpio Rising
- Manhattan
- Shadows
- Reservoir Dogs
- The Umbrellas of Cherbourg

etc. etc. etc.

However, just this past week I’ve been taken by surprise at the cinema and have been forced to add two more to the list:

Lift to the Scaffold /Ascenseur pour l’échafaud
(Louise Malle, 1958)

An excellent and stylish B&W 50s thriller best known for low-key naturalistic lighting and a make-up less Jeanne Moreau moodily wandering the wet Parisian streets. This was pretty good admittedly, but I was most pleased by Louis Malles decision to fully embrace 50s cool with an improvised Miles Davis score. Not that any of the reviews I’ve been able to find have bothered to mention this.

Killer of Sheep
(Charles Burnett, 1977)

Tagged the ‘greatest unknown film’ this brilliant depiction of ordinary Black American life from the 70s was in film purgatory for 30 years because the director never cleared the music rights. And it’s the music which makes this film for me – Dinah Washington, Earth Wind and Fire, Scott Joplin, Paul Robeson, Etta James and Rachmaninoff really lift those beautifully composed images off the screen. Typically, not one review I’ve read of the film has discussed the impact of the soundtrack.

Don’t any film critics listen to the music?

What with being snowed under with work, it being miserable hayfever season and having bought way too much new music recently, I’ve been rather lax on the blogging front compared to usual.

But last night I saw ‘classic British film’ Brief Encounter (David Lean, 1945) and it has completely inspired me. I’d never seen Brief Encounter before and what a fantastic film it is! I was completely transfixed throughout.

The trusty film notes provided by BFI Southbank where I saw the film, tell me that Brief Encounter is ‘quintessentially British’ in its depiction of restraint. I really don’t understand this in the slightest. I know that the cliche says that ‘the British’ are the very epitome of restraint and are reserved and polite, stiff upper lip and all that (except on a hot day after a few pints of Stella), but really…?

I read the film, where two married people meet, fall in love and have a 4 week affair, as the classic struggle between individual desire and family obligation. Showing emotional restraint area in this area is hardly unique and particularly not in 1945. I was actually suprised that the couple were so unrestrained in seeing each other in public places – I’d constantly be terrified of being seen (as they indeed were).

No for me, the most moving (and British) thing about Brief Encounter was its combination of realism and romanticism. Two ordinary people, in ordinary relationships, doing ordinary things in an ordinary town suddenly find each other and fall in passionately in love. So I wasn’t struck by the infamous British ‘restraint’ but by the crushing reality of their boring lives and the fact that thousands and thousands of people have sat there watching this film since 1945 wishing to God that it could happen to them.

When I’m not reading children’s books and listening to jazz-funk, I like to go to the cinema…

This week I’ve been to see This Sceptred Isle, a package of holiday memories from the British Film Institute archives. The screening allowed me to wallow in nostalgia for long lost holidays I never had – coach tours around the B roads of Britain (c.1958), hop picking in Kent (c.1933), being blown along the Cornish Riviera with my long skirts and fancy parasol (c.1904) etc. etc.

But the place that I really want to be is Blackpool in 1957. Well, the Blackpool depicted in this fabulous film called Holiday made by British Transport Films. With its Chris Barber soundtrack, saturated colour and sheer gleefulness, Holiday is summer perfection. And they’ve got champagne on draught.

Excerpt from Holiday, 1957, BFI National Archive