In a word: Lovely.
Hal Ashby carved out a notable career making character driven oddities, including Harold and Maude. Being There is the film that united him with Peter Sellers, in a role that he deliberately sought after.
It's not hard to see why. Chancy Gardener (as he is humorously mistaken for) is a brilliant comic creation. Sellers plays a man in his 60's who has lived his whole life in the safety of his ailing fathers grand house. He cannot read, he cannot write, he cannot function as a proper human being. He spends his time gardening, being looked after by the maid and being entranced by the many TV sets littered around the home. He seems to live his life through the images he watches on the screens.
The film begins as we find his father lying dead in his bed, and Chancy unable to react to the passing of his only family. The maid leaves, and when a couple of attorneys come to claim the house, Chancy has no ability to reassert his possession. So, a man with no experience of the outside world and only a few choice phrases in his vocabulary, is turfed out onto the concrete streets. Parallels could be drawn with Harold; both living inside their own worlds and both forced to confront their fears through chance meetings.
Chancy's fateful meeting comes in the form of Eve, when she invites him back to her home to recuperate after her car hits him. The home is a huge grand mansion belonging to Ben a wealthy old financial advisor, with ties to the president. It's here that the film gets into gear, and Chancy becomes introduced to the high life. Ben and Eve's relationship is beautifully sketched out; the couple present genuine warmth and affection in the face of Ben's worsening illness. Both of them are charmed by Chancy's warmth and eccentricities, his vacant expressions and occasional pearls of wisdom. In a moment of generosity and love, Ben suggests that Eve take Chancy as her lover when he dies. There's some really funny but sweet scenes where we see Eve confused but desperately trying to initiate some romance between the two, while Chancy sits contentedly and obliviously.
As well as the love triangle, much humour is mined from Chancy's dalliances with politics. A meeting with the president results in Chancy's TV chatshow debut, where he uses gardening as a metaphor for the growth of the US economy, and inadvertantly presents himself as some kind of prophet. Although the film is lit up by its main character and the colourful supports, it also works really well as a satire of American politics and media. The farcical nature of a simpletons rise into fame.
In another directors hands Being There could be simply a broad comedy, or more likely just fall apart, but Ashby carries that same charm and mysteriousness, the same odd but true humour, as Harold and Maude. The tone is nicely dry yet playful, and nicely shot with Ashby's customary wide shots. But the real hero of the piece has got to be Peter Sellers as Chancy. With what could be a boring, cliched character, Sellers endows Chancy with heart and soul, and an endearing strangeness.
8/10
Wednesday 20 May 2009
Repo Man
Alex Cox's film is a cult sci-fi satire from 1984. It stars Emilio Estevez as a young punk taken under the aged wing of Harry Dean Stanton's repo man.
The plot finds Estevez's slacker quitting his dead end job, and tricked into helping Stanton hijack a car, thus hastily welcoming into his new repo career. The film becomes more complicated by rival repo men, Estevez's old punk gang, the FBI and an alien body.
Estevez does his usual schtick of looking a bit pissed off, but it's still one of the better roles I've seen him in. Stanton plays it straighter than I've seen him, which is odd considering the rest of the film is so strange. After the initial friction, common in most buddy movies, the two eventually grow used to each other, and Estevez is trained in the dangerous world of repo men. This, he comes to realise, is full of shootouts, menacing grandmothers and car chases.
Repo Man is often cited as a punk sci-fi- it reminded me of the slacker films of US indie in the 80/90's. The soundtrack is part mariachi, part punk rock, a surf guitar rumbling throughout the film. Elsewhere, Iggy Pop and the Circle Jerks enforce its punk credentials. I really liked the fact that Cox mixed the film/punk formats- I'd like to see more collaboration between rock music and film.
The sci-fi element comes in the form of the aliens and the FBI. The main subplot of the film is the journey of the alien lifeform stuffed inside the boot of the car. The FBI, rep men and alien believers are all on the trail of the radioactive vehicle. Cox ekes some humour out of the situation, but I wouldn't say the film is a broad comedy. Farcical, but not laugh-out-loud funny.
7/10
The plot finds Estevez's slacker quitting his dead end job, and tricked into helping Stanton hijack a car, thus hastily welcoming into his new repo career. The film becomes more complicated by rival repo men, Estevez's old punk gang, the FBI and an alien body.
Estevez does his usual schtick of looking a bit pissed off, but it's still one of the better roles I've seen him in. Stanton plays it straighter than I've seen him, which is odd considering the rest of the film is so strange. After the initial friction, common in most buddy movies, the two eventually grow used to each other, and Estevez is trained in the dangerous world of repo men. This, he comes to realise, is full of shootouts, menacing grandmothers and car chases.
Repo Man is often cited as a punk sci-fi- it reminded me of the slacker films of US indie in the 80/90's. The soundtrack is part mariachi, part punk rock, a surf guitar rumbling throughout the film. Elsewhere, Iggy Pop and the Circle Jerks enforce its punk credentials. I really liked the fact that Cox mixed the film/punk formats- I'd like to see more collaboration between rock music and film.
The sci-fi element comes in the form of the aliens and the FBI. The main subplot of the film is the journey of the alien lifeform stuffed inside the boot of the car. The FBI, rep men and alien believers are all on the trail of the radioactive vehicle. Cox ekes some humour out of the situation, but I wouldn't say the film is a broad comedy. Farcical, but not laugh-out-loud funny.
7/10
Wild Strawberries
Wild Strawberries is legendary Swedish auteur Ingmar Bergman's film released in 1959.
It follows the journey of an aged professor on his way to a university to receive an award for his life's work. The film stars Victor Sjostrom (himself a revered actor and director) as the stubborn Isak Borg. On the journey the professor encounters several different people and places that remind him of his youth. Not only are these links suggested in the characters/places, but the film also delves into occasional dream sequences where Isak revisits the periods as an old man.
I found the film to be very enjoyable. I've only seen The Seventh Seal and Fanny and Alexander, and smatterings of his other films, but this was definitely the most warmest and most accessible. Whereas The Seventh Seal seemed overly solemn and somewhat alienating in it's gloom, Wild Strawberries carries themes that can easily be related to. The character of Isak is at the beginning unfeeling and withdrawn from life. He even admits his problems (although he may not see these as problems) in the first lines of narration. We are then introduced to Ingrid, his sons fiancee who will accompany him on the trip. In a way, she is the foil to Isak; the prompt for Isak to reassess his way of living. She feels the rippling effects of Isak's legacy- her husband is similarly difficult to his father. On the road, they talk frankly and she admits her hate for him. This perhaps sets the scene for the transformation of Isak.
It's a surprisingly sentimental piece of work from Bergman. It wallows in the angst and beauty of youth. The dream sequences where Isak witnesses his brother and his young love kissing is tinged with melancholy and dilemma. The visions of youth are romantically painted; riverbanks, flowery meadows and picturesque, quaint houses. This seeems the right place to say the film is beautifully shot. Not only is the film framed very well, but the black and white images are shot with a notable clarity and crispness. As a modern audience, we are used to films looking prim and perfect, often soulless, but good looking nonetheless. But watching older films from the 40's and 50's I often notice that the images are murky. Not so here.
8/10
It follows the journey of an aged professor on his way to a university to receive an award for his life's work. The film stars Victor Sjostrom (himself a revered actor and director) as the stubborn Isak Borg. On the journey the professor encounters several different people and places that remind him of his youth. Not only are these links suggested in the characters/places, but the film also delves into occasional dream sequences where Isak revisits the periods as an old man.
I found the film to be very enjoyable. I've only seen The Seventh Seal and Fanny and Alexander, and smatterings of his other films, but this was definitely the most warmest and most accessible. Whereas The Seventh Seal seemed overly solemn and somewhat alienating in it's gloom, Wild Strawberries carries themes that can easily be related to. The character of Isak is at the beginning unfeeling and withdrawn from life. He even admits his problems (although he may not see these as problems) in the first lines of narration. We are then introduced to Ingrid, his sons fiancee who will accompany him on the trip. In a way, she is the foil to Isak; the prompt for Isak to reassess his way of living. She feels the rippling effects of Isak's legacy- her husband is similarly difficult to his father. On the road, they talk frankly and she admits her hate for him. This perhaps sets the scene for the transformation of Isak.
It's a surprisingly sentimental piece of work from Bergman. It wallows in the angst and beauty of youth. The dream sequences where Isak witnesses his brother and his young love kissing is tinged with melancholy and dilemma. The visions of youth are romantically painted; riverbanks, flowery meadows and picturesque, quaint houses. This seeems the right place to say the film is beautifully shot. Not only is the film framed very well, but the black and white images are shot with a notable clarity and crispness. As a modern audience, we are used to films looking prim and perfect, often soulless, but good looking nonetheless. But watching older films from the 40's and 50's I often notice that the images are murky. Not so here.
8/10
Kramer Vs. Kramer
Is it more manly if you blink back tears?
Actually, I don't want denigrate Kramer Vs. Kramer as merely a tearjerker. It's a very sober, straightforward account of the breakdown of a relationship and the formation of a new one. It's become quite an iconic film since it's release in 1979, so much so that I knew the story and knew certain images, such as the first reunion in the park.
I thought prior to watching the film that the two actors would take up equal screen time, but not so. Hoffmann plays the workaholic father left stranded with a 7 year old son and the broken pieces of a marriage, while Streep plays an absent mother, disillusioned with her marriage and alienated form her son. Both actors are excellent. Hoffmann would seem to carry the film, as we witness his transformation from a father who seems disinterested in his son, to one who would go to any lengths for him. We feel his frustrations, and he gives a relatively naturalistic performance. Streep, although she has a smaller screen time, is very touching and believable as a woman at the crossroads in her life. There was a chance of the film becoming too one sided, but the script does well to show empathy with both characters. The little boy seems refreshingly normal, mopey and unsettled like a young child would be in the midst of a divorce. Personally, I generally think it's unnatural for kids to act in films; the mental facility shouldn't be developed enough to react to tough roles. But this child performance worked because the script seemed authentic.
The all round film is very nicely crafted. The characters and drama are allowed to breathe, but the editor also knows when to end the scene. It has a nice, seamless flow to it. The mise en scene and cinematography also contributes to the authenticity and flow of the film. Nestor Almendros, who also shot 'Days of Heaven', photographs the New York Streets with considerable aplomb. The autumnal scenes in the park are subtle and textured in their appearance.
Benton has crafted a very touching and very convincing divorce drama. The film works best in it's creation and development of the relationship between Hoffmann's character and his son. The three scenes that bookmark the journey are when the two make breakfast together, While the first time goes disastrously, exposing their difficulties, by the final time they are completely in sync. These kinda scenes seem pretty much universal.
7.5/10
Actually, I don't want denigrate Kramer Vs. Kramer as merely a tearjerker. It's a very sober, straightforward account of the breakdown of a relationship and the formation of a new one. It's become quite an iconic film since it's release in 1979, so much so that I knew the story and knew certain images, such as the first reunion in the park.
I thought prior to watching the film that the two actors would take up equal screen time, but not so. Hoffmann plays the workaholic father left stranded with a 7 year old son and the broken pieces of a marriage, while Streep plays an absent mother, disillusioned with her marriage and alienated form her son. Both actors are excellent. Hoffmann would seem to carry the film, as we witness his transformation from a father who seems disinterested in his son, to one who would go to any lengths for him. We feel his frustrations, and he gives a relatively naturalistic performance. Streep, although she has a smaller screen time, is very touching and believable as a woman at the crossroads in her life. There was a chance of the film becoming too one sided, but the script does well to show empathy with both characters. The little boy seems refreshingly normal, mopey and unsettled like a young child would be in the midst of a divorce. Personally, I generally think it's unnatural for kids to act in films; the mental facility shouldn't be developed enough to react to tough roles. But this child performance worked because the script seemed authentic.
The all round film is very nicely crafted. The characters and drama are allowed to breathe, but the editor also knows when to end the scene. It has a nice, seamless flow to it. The mise en scene and cinematography also contributes to the authenticity and flow of the film. Nestor Almendros, who also shot 'Days of Heaven', photographs the New York Streets with considerable aplomb. The autumnal scenes in the park are subtle and textured in their appearance.
Benton has crafted a very touching and very convincing divorce drama. The film works best in it's creation and development of the relationship between Hoffmann's character and his son. The three scenes that bookmark the journey are when the two make breakfast together, While the first time goes disastrously, exposing their difficulties, by the final time they are completely in sync. These kinda scenes seem pretty much universal.
7.5/10
Marketa Lazarova
Marketa Lazarova is a medieval Czech epic with an avant garde twist. It was released in 1967 and was voted the best Czech film of all time in a national poll by critics.
The complex plotting follows various warring clans in the wintery Czech countryside. The film begins with a bevvy of noblemen ambushed by a trio of highwaymen, and this seemingly minor action sets off a series of dangerous events. As the film reflects the novels avant garde origins, the film is somewhat confusing, frequently descending into dream sequences and flitting from clan to clan, character to character without prior warning. The jist of the story is that the highwaymen have captured a Lord's son, and the Lord and the Czech king set out on pursuit of the vagabonds. The other main plot thread is the highwaymen stealing a young virgin from a rival clan. The conflict here is in the virgin's love-hate relationship with her captor, a rough but charismatic warrior.
The picture has some religious background; the transference of Paganism to Christianity. The contrast between the saintly convent and the wildness of the desolate, brutal outside world is shown in Marketa's (the young virgin) dalliances with the convent. Her father, a man conflicted between his life as a clansman and his desire to do well for his daughter, pushes her towards the convent. While the countryside is shot in sometimes muddied dirges, the convent is overexposed with white light filling the screen.
The film is really nicely shot using the same template as other Czech new wave and avant garde films; handheld camera, often unerring POV shots. The countryside is strikingly beautiful and the images resonate in your mind. As said before there are dreamlike sequences, most notably in the romantic sequences with the Lord's son and a clans maid. The unusual birdseye shots are reminiscent of 'Valerie and her week of wonders', another Czech film of the period. The music is absolutely haunting as well. A mixture of subtle tribal rhythms and ghostly choral music, it elevates the stark beauty of the landscapes to a higher level.
I think what makes the film interesting also provides one of it's biggest flaws. In most historical dramas, the films are shot in a linear, conventional fashion, careful not to take away from the story. Marketa Lazarova is very odd in that it combines an avant garde aesthetic and narrative with a historical drama. Although it's always visually interesting and much more daring, the story often seems muddled and hard to follow. This template may work in a film like 'Valerie..' but is more challenging in an historical epic.
7/10
The complex plotting follows various warring clans in the wintery Czech countryside. The film begins with a bevvy of noblemen ambushed by a trio of highwaymen, and this seemingly minor action sets off a series of dangerous events. As the film reflects the novels avant garde origins, the film is somewhat confusing, frequently descending into dream sequences and flitting from clan to clan, character to character without prior warning. The jist of the story is that the highwaymen have captured a Lord's son, and the Lord and the Czech king set out on pursuit of the vagabonds. The other main plot thread is the highwaymen stealing a young virgin from a rival clan. The conflict here is in the virgin's love-hate relationship with her captor, a rough but charismatic warrior.
The picture has some religious background; the transference of Paganism to Christianity. The contrast between the saintly convent and the wildness of the desolate, brutal outside world is shown in Marketa's (the young virgin) dalliances with the convent. Her father, a man conflicted between his life as a clansman and his desire to do well for his daughter, pushes her towards the convent. While the countryside is shot in sometimes muddied dirges, the convent is overexposed with white light filling the screen.
The film is really nicely shot using the same template as other Czech new wave and avant garde films; handheld camera, often unerring POV shots. The countryside is strikingly beautiful and the images resonate in your mind. As said before there are dreamlike sequences, most notably in the romantic sequences with the Lord's son and a clans maid. The unusual birdseye shots are reminiscent of 'Valerie and her week of wonders', another Czech film of the period. The music is absolutely haunting as well. A mixture of subtle tribal rhythms and ghostly choral music, it elevates the stark beauty of the landscapes to a higher level.
I think what makes the film interesting also provides one of it's biggest flaws. In most historical dramas, the films are shot in a linear, conventional fashion, careful not to take away from the story. Marketa Lazarova is very odd in that it combines an avant garde aesthetic and narrative with a historical drama. Although it's always visually interesting and much more daring, the story often seems muddled and hard to follow. This template may work in a film like 'Valerie..' but is more challenging in an historical epic.
7/10
La Antena
Recently Guy Maddin brought out his 'docufantasy' pic about his hometown, 'My Winnipeg'. It was a glowing tribute to the early cinematic efforts of the 20's and 30's, and featured a large dose of surrealism. 'La Antena', an Argentinian film by the director Esteban Sapir, continues this thread of Golden Age throwbacks.
The surreal, anti-fascist plot takes place in the ficticious 'City of lost voices', where the inhabitants are all trapped by silence. All of them, except a mother (The Voice) and her son, who has no eyes. The city is controlled by an evil news corporation and it's seedy owner. He entraps the Voice, forcing her to broadcast her voice across the city and hypnotise the citizens to his own gain. The bespeccled hero, a worker at the station, stumbles across the dastardly plot and with the aid of his grandfather and daughter sets out to foil the plans.
The main feature of Sapir's film is the striking 1920's inspired visuals. The general look of the film is a pastiche of Fritz Lang's 'Metropolis', all gloomy film noir and angular architecture. Like 'My Winnipeg', the city is bathed in dusty snow, and has a similarly strange, sleepy atmosphere. The visuals combine the past with the present, utilising a series of inventive homemade special effects and editing tricks. The titles play a big part in expressing the characters thoughts or feelings, in place of the dialogue. The film is basically like a modern day silent film; it has a theatrical, cartoony feel to it, and the characters act in exaggerated movements.
Although the film is visually striking, an all round slick and oiled machine and original and inventive (to an extent), I'd have to say that I felt a little unmoved by the film as a whole. The story was thin and lightweight, the characters one dimensional and unengaging. I do believe the story and characters were intended to be light and playful, but I think I'm past the age where I can appreciate this kind of story. Style over substance, perhaps in this case.
6/10
The surreal, anti-fascist plot takes place in the ficticious 'City of lost voices', where the inhabitants are all trapped by silence. All of them, except a mother (The Voice) and her son, who has no eyes. The city is controlled by an evil news corporation and it's seedy owner. He entraps the Voice, forcing her to broadcast her voice across the city and hypnotise the citizens to his own gain. The bespeccled hero, a worker at the station, stumbles across the dastardly plot and with the aid of his grandfather and daughter sets out to foil the plans.
The main feature of Sapir's film is the striking 1920's inspired visuals. The general look of the film is a pastiche of Fritz Lang's 'Metropolis', all gloomy film noir and angular architecture. Like 'My Winnipeg', the city is bathed in dusty snow, and has a similarly strange, sleepy atmosphere. The visuals combine the past with the present, utilising a series of inventive homemade special effects and editing tricks. The titles play a big part in expressing the characters thoughts or feelings, in place of the dialogue. The film is basically like a modern day silent film; it has a theatrical, cartoony feel to it, and the characters act in exaggerated movements.
Although the film is visually striking, an all round slick and oiled machine and original and inventive (to an extent), I'd have to say that I felt a little unmoved by the film as a whole. The story was thin and lightweight, the characters one dimensional and unengaging. I do believe the story and characters were intended to be light and playful, but I think I'm past the age where I can appreciate this kind of story. Style over substance, perhaps in this case.
6/10
Werner Herzog Q & A + Encounters at the end of the world
Werner Herzog. What a guy.
The cinema at BFI Southbank in London was full to the brim with Herzog fanboys and intellectuals alike, all waiting in awed expectation. Herzog briefly spoke before the screening of his new documentary, listing a couple of points about the film.
The documentary was set in the antarctic, in a desolate, alien land where the ice caps are king. In the interview with Mark Kermode, Herzog had stated that he only came across the idea when he saw producer Henry Kaiser's footage from his underwater work in the antarctic. The images were running on Kaisers laptop, and Herzog rushed over to ask him about them. The original stock formed the basis for Herzog's 'The Wild Blue Yonder', a science fiction docudrama. This led Herzog onto pursue this new project.
The film has much in common with both Herzog's previous fiction and documentary work. Firstly, the location is relatively cut away from the rest of the world and inhabits it's own bubble. Like the mountains in Aguirre or the rainforest in Fitzcarraldo, the setting is beautiful and takes on it's own character. Secondly, the inhabitants of the town are distinctly Herzog-ian. Dreamers, philosophers, travellers; all outsiders who have somehow reconvened in this distant corner of the earth. We meet a truck driver with his own New Age ideals, a pipefitter descended from Aztec royalty and a near mute penguin expert. Herzog finds both the humour and the sadness in these people. Trying to continue the conversation, Herzog asks the penguin expert if any of the penguins have shown gay or insane behaviour. The camera observes an absurd outdoor training exercise where buckets with painted faces on are put over the visitors heads in order for them to prepare for poor vision in bad conditions.
Herzog reiterated in his interview that he felt nature was indifferent to human beings, yet his film is full of beauty, poetry and humour. We marvel as we look over the abyss of a simmering volcano, and as we scale the luminous, otherworldly depths beneath the ice. It is frequently jaw dropping in its beauty. As far as transcendental possibly. There is one brilliant, silent moment where Herzog's gentle tones narrate a lost penguin. An extreme wide shot shows the penguin lose it's journeymen, and head off back to the mountains, which Herzog tells us are thousands of km's away. It is an absurd and poignant point in the film, showing the randomness of nature and it's inability to conform to human expectation.
The stories and rumours surrounding Herzog have been circulated to death, but Kermode's interview managed to steer well clear of cliches. Herzog was gracious and very eloquent. The interview began with three clips from his most famous works Aguirre, Fitzcarraldo and Grizzly Man. It was quite a striking image to see Herzog's silhouette standing legs astride in front of his most revered works, and his old friend Klaus Kinski. You get a different impression of Herzog to other filmmakers. While most stay comfortably in studio lots in Hollywood crafting their films, Herzog has trawled through jungles and across rivers, been imprisoned and harrassed. He is as worldly and fearless a filmmaker as you will find.
He was humorous and not afraid to appear like a seasoned intellectual, on being questioned about recent films that have inspired him, he answered that he didn't get to see very many, but said that he thought 'The Real Cancun' was 'delightful'. He called himself 'prudent' in the face of his accusations of recklessness. One of the main themes he talked about was climate change and the direction of the planet. Of course, much of what was said has been said before, but through Herzog's words the sentiments seemed more powerful.
Encounters at the end of the world- 8/10
The cinema at BFI Southbank in London was full to the brim with Herzog fanboys and intellectuals alike, all waiting in awed expectation. Herzog briefly spoke before the screening of his new documentary, listing a couple of points about the film.
The documentary was set in the antarctic, in a desolate, alien land where the ice caps are king. In the interview with Mark Kermode, Herzog had stated that he only came across the idea when he saw producer Henry Kaiser's footage from his underwater work in the antarctic. The images were running on Kaisers laptop, and Herzog rushed over to ask him about them. The original stock formed the basis for Herzog's 'The Wild Blue Yonder', a science fiction docudrama. This led Herzog onto pursue this new project.
The film has much in common with both Herzog's previous fiction and documentary work. Firstly, the location is relatively cut away from the rest of the world and inhabits it's own bubble. Like the mountains in Aguirre or the rainforest in Fitzcarraldo, the setting is beautiful and takes on it's own character. Secondly, the inhabitants of the town are distinctly Herzog-ian. Dreamers, philosophers, travellers; all outsiders who have somehow reconvened in this distant corner of the earth. We meet a truck driver with his own New Age ideals, a pipefitter descended from Aztec royalty and a near mute penguin expert. Herzog finds both the humour and the sadness in these people. Trying to continue the conversation, Herzog asks the penguin expert if any of the penguins have shown gay or insane behaviour. The camera observes an absurd outdoor training exercise where buckets with painted faces on are put over the visitors heads in order for them to prepare for poor vision in bad conditions.
Herzog reiterated in his interview that he felt nature was indifferent to human beings, yet his film is full of beauty, poetry and humour. We marvel as we look over the abyss of a simmering volcano, and as we scale the luminous, otherworldly depths beneath the ice. It is frequently jaw dropping in its beauty. As far as transcendental possibly. There is one brilliant, silent moment where Herzog's gentle tones narrate a lost penguin. An extreme wide shot shows the penguin lose it's journeymen, and head off back to the mountains, which Herzog tells us are thousands of km's away. It is an absurd and poignant point in the film, showing the randomness of nature and it's inability to conform to human expectation.
The stories and rumours surrounding Herzog have been circulated to death, but Kermode's interview managed to steer well clear of cliches. Herzog was gracious and very eloquent. The interview began with three clips from his most famous works Aguirre, Fitzcarraldo and Grizzly Man. It was quite a striking image to see Herzog's silhouette standing legs astride in front of his most revered works, and his old friend Klaus Kinski. You get a different impression of Herzog to other filmmakers. While most stay comfortably in studio lots in Hollywood crafting their films, Herzog has trawled through jungles and across rivers, been imprisoned and harrassed. He is as worldly and fearless a filmmaker as you will find.
He was humorous and not afraid to appear like a seasoned intellectual, on being questioned about recent films that have inspired him, he answered that he didn't get to see very many, but said that he thought 'The Real Cancun' was 'delightful'. He called himself 'prudent' in the face of his accusations of recklessness. One of the main themes he talked about was climate change and the direction of the planet. Of course, much of what was said has been said before, but through Herzog's words the sentiments seemed more powerful.
Encounters at the end of the world- 8/10
Rachel Getting Married
With all the great films being released this January in the UK, it would be easy for a film like Rachel Getting Married to get lost in between. I caught this at the cinema with my brother and sister, which is apt considering it's a resolutely family film.
Rachel Getting Married is supposed to be director Jonathan Demme's return to his indie roots after a long spell in the mire of large Hollywood productions. I can hardly name any of his films off the top of my head to be honest, saving 'Silence of the lambs'. My brother laughed when I told him that was one of his earlier films. It's also a strong showcase for Anne Hathaway as a serious actress. And she performs admirably.
The plot revolves around Hathaway's recovering drug addict leaving rehab to go to her sister Rachel's wedding (hence the title). The family seems well to do and live in a large house in the suburbs. The contrast is set between the warm, comfy homelife and Kim's (Hathaway) turbulent existence. Her father and sister are caring and considerate, while Kim is self absorbed and acerbic. Conflict arises in Kim's need for attention jeopardising the harmony of her sisters special day. Although the sisters seem to share a special bond, we can see an underlying tension ready to erupt at any moment.
Hathaway excels as Kim. Her portrayal of a damaged and bitter person is convincing and uninhibited, condemning her yet leaving some room for hope. Demme often goes back to intimate, lingering close ups of Kim's face, examining her inner turmoil as the wedding guests go about their business happily. The father is played with camp exuberance, clapping excitedly, yet able to deliver the more serious material as well, and the sister also seems very human; a mixture of compassion and resentment felt for her wayward sister.
The characters and their problems all seemed wholly authentic, but Demme's camera also contributes greatly to the realism. Shot in shaky handheld camera and warm colours, the film feels less like a Hollywood product and more like one of your own home movies. So when the characters are arguing, or sharing a joyous moment, you feel the warmth on screen.
One other peculiar but welcome aspect of the film is the frequent musical performances. There's a worry that Demme might overstep the mark and over saturate the film with the music, but for me it worked really well. At the rehearsal a young drums and guitar duo play a fuzzy rendition of the wedding theme. Elsewhere, there is folk music, reggae, dance and even Robyn Hitchcock makes an appearance. To assert it's musical credibility even further, TV on the Radio's Tunde Adebimpe stars as Rachel's fiancee. Now, I can't honestly say any Oscars are heading his way any time soon, but his performance is made worthwhile by a sparkling vocal solo for his soon to be wife.
8/10
Rachel Getting Married is supposed to be director Jonathan Demme's return to his indie roots after a long spell in the mire of large Hollywood productions. I can hardly name any of his films off the top of my head to be honest, saving 'Silence of the lambs'. My brother laughed when I told him that was one of his earlier films. It's also a strong showcase for Anne Hathaway as a serious actress. And she performs admirably.
The plot revolves around Hathaway's recovering drug addict leaving rehab to go to her sister Rachel's wedding (hence the title). The family seems well to do and live in a large house in the suburbs. The contrast is set between the warm, comfy homelife and Kim's (Hathaway) turbulent existence. Her father and sister are caring and considerate, while Kim is self absorbed and acerbic. Conflict arises in Kim's need for attention jeopardising the harmony of her sisters special day. Although the sisters seem to share a special bond, we can see an underlying tension ready to erupt at any moment.
Hathaway excels as Kim. Her portrayal of a damaged and bitter person is convincing and uninhibited, condemning her yet leaving some room for hope. Demme often goes back to intimate, lingering close ups of Kim's face, examining her inner turmoil as the wedding guests go about their business happily. The father is played with camp exuberance, clapping excitedly, yet able to deliver the more serious material as well, and the sister also seems very human; a mixture of compassion and resentment felt for her wayward sister.
The characters and their problems all seemed wholly authentic, but Demme's camera also contributes greatly to the realism. Shot in shaky handheld camera and warm colours, the film feels less like a Hollywood product and more like one of your own home movies. So when the characters are arguing, or sharing a joyous moment, you feel the warmth on screen.
One other peculiar but welcome aspect of the film is the frequent musical performances. There's a worry that Demme might overstep the mark and over saturate the film with the music, but for me it worked really well. At the rehearsal a young drums and guitar duo play a fuzzy rendition of the wedding theme. Elsewhere, there is folk music, reggae, dance and even Robyn Hitchcock makes an appearance. To assert it's musical credibility even further, TV on the Radio's Tunde Adebimpe stars as Rachel's fiancee. Now, I can't honestly say any Oscars are heading his way any time soon, but his performance is made worthwhile by a sparkling vocal solo for his soon to be wife.
8/10
L'Homme du train
Patrice Leconte's 2003 film starring Johnny Halliday and Jean Rochefort.
I picked this film out after enjoying 'The hairdresser's husband' and 'The girl on the bridge', by the same director. 'The man on the train' features the same style as these two previous films, and even seems to reference them at some points.
The film begins mysteriously with a rugged, silent man (Halliday) stepping off a train and arriving in a small provincial French town. The man goes to buy some aspirin at the local pharmacy, where Rochefort's character is also visiting. When the pharmacy doesn't have the aspirin, Rochefort offers to give him some back at his house. It is a chance meeting, of two wildly different characters intercutting each others lives; parallels could be drawn with Rochefort's entrance into the salon in 'The Hairdresser's Husband'. While Halliday is cool and weary, Rochefort, with his droopy features and excitable demeanour, is the exact opposite. The only things they have in common are their autumn age and their location.
Rocheforts house is old and grand; he gives Halliday a tour of his family paintings and antiques with great pride. It is obvious that Rochefort is at home here and engrained in a routine of leisurely provincial life. Leconte then tells us that Halliday is a gangster, and less impressively, Rochefort a teacher. The gap between the two seems great, but this only sets the scene for the transformation of the two characters.
Rochefort begins to learn the ways of the gangster, shooting a gun, while Halliday slowly appreciates the stately way of life, like a good pair of slippers or a book. Rochefort wants more excitement and danger in his life, while Halliday is looking for the opposite, something more eternal. Leconte shows restraint and measurement in the unfolding of the relationship. There's no sensationalism or crude sentimentality in the friendship between the two men.
The images are saturated sometimes to compliment the surroundings or situations, like a blue tint for the meetings with the gangsters. The score by Pascal Esteve is playful and adds guitar to the usual mix of strings. The film is generally confident and unshowy, smooth camera movements and lingering two shots.
Overall, I would recommend any of Leconte's work. This film didn't quite hit the heights of the previous two I mentioned. The relationship between these two weathered men is witty and well observed, yet doesn't quite have the sparkle of the romances in his earlier pieces.
I picked this film out after enjoying 'The hairdresser's husband' and 'The girl on the bridge', by the same director. 'The man on the train' features the same style as these two previous films, and even seems to reference them at some points.
The film begins mysteriously with a rugged, silent man (Halliday) stepping off a train and arriving in a small provincial French town. The man goes to buy some aspirin at the local pharmacy, where Rochefort's character is also visiting. When the pharmacy doesn't have the aspirin, Rochefort offers to give him some back at his house. It is a chance meeting, of two wildly different characters intercutting each others lives; parallels could be drawn with Rochefort's entrance into the salon in 'The Hairdresser's Husband'. While Halliday is cool and weary, Rochefort, with his droopy features and excitable demeanour, is the exact opposite. The only things they have in common are their autumn age and their location.
Rocheforts house is old and grand; he gives Halliday a tour of his family paintings and antiques with great pride. It is obvious that Rochefort is at home here and engrained in a routine of leisurely provincial life. Leconte then tells us that Halliday is a gangster, and less impressively, Rochefort a teacher. The gap between the two seems great, but this only sets the scene for the transformation of the two characters.
Rochefort begins to learn the ways of the gangster, shooting a gun, while Halliday slowly appreciates the stately way of life, like a good pair of slippers or a book. Rochefort wants more excitement and danger in his life, while Halliday is looking for the opposite, something more eternal. Leconte shows restraint and measurement in the unfolding of the relationship. There's no sensationalism or crude sentimentality in the friendship between the two men.
The images are saturated sometimes to compliment the surroundings or situations, like a blue tint for the meetings with the gangsters. The score by Pascal Esteve is playful and adds guitar to the usual mix of strings. The film is generally confident and unshowy, smooth camera movements and lingering two shots.
Overall, I would recommend any of Leconte's work. This film didn't quite hit the heights of the previous two I mentioned. The relationship between these two weathered men is witty and well observed, yet doesn't quite have the sparkle of the romances in his earlier pieces.
Slumdog Millionaire
I only watched this in the cinema a few hours ago, so hopefully it'll be fresh in the memory.
It was an absolute joy to watch. You could sense the whole audience's involvement in the film. At one point I heard a woman to the right of me volunteer and "Oh no!". It sweeps you up and never lets go.
Danny Boyle's film follows the ascent of a 'slumdog' from Mumbai named Jamal. The film is punctuated by conversations between a policeman and Jamal, who is questioning him about his inexplicable success on the Indian 'Who wants to be a millionaire?', akin to the structure in The Usual Suspects. The other two big characters in the film are Salim, his brother, and Latika, his perennial love interest.
The film begins in Mumbai amid the shacked houses and dirty streets. The cinematography is particularly superb in these early sequences. The energy and verve of the slums is captured by frenetic chases across the rooftops and concrete plains, in a loose documentary style reminiscent of City of God. Boyle conjures up a sense of the roughness of life in the slums but also the vibrancy. The complicated relationship between the two brothers is also established, alternating between camararderie and deception.
The attack on the muslims of the slum is brutal and unexpectant, but Boyle manages not to sentimentalise the aftermath. It already has a power of its own, the sight of three orphaned sheltering from the rain. The whole film is almost an updating of Dickens to contemporary India. Jamal is forced through a series of hardships, but all help him on his way in the end. Each flashback shows how he came to know the questions that will transform his life.
The different incantations all turn in fine naturalistic performances as Jamal, Salim and Lakita. The earliest incantations especially carry a zest for life and an infectious humour. The 'baddies' that they encounter on the way could be seen as slightly one dimensional, but it's not to hard to imagine a dog-eat-dog world like Mumbai having its fare share of criminals who desire a better life with whatever means possible.
As I say, I really, really enjoyed this film. It adds another feather to Boyle's illustrious bow. It takes a lot of courage to step into a completely different world form the one you inhabit and present a convincing portrayal of that world. Sure, some aspects of the film require a suspension of disbelief, but if you go along with it then it's a rewarding, enlightening delight.
8/10
It was an absolute joy to watch. You could sense the whole audience's involvement in the film. At one point I heard a woman to the right of me volunteer and "Oh no!". It sweeps you up and never lets go.
Danny Boyle's film follows the ascent of a 'slumdog' from Mumbai named Jamal. The film is punctuated by conversations between a policeman and Jamal, who is questioning him about his inexplicable success on the Indian 'Who wants to be a millionaire?', akin to the structure in The Usual Suspects. The other two big characters in the film are Salim, his brother, and Latika, his perennial love interest.
The film begins in Mumbai amid the shacked houses and dirty streets. The cinematography is particularly superb in these early sequences. The energy and verve of the slums is captured by frenetic chases across the rooftops and concrete plains, in a loose documentary style reminiscent of City of God. Boyle conjures up a sense of the roughness of life in the slums but also the vibrancy. The complicated relationship between the two brothers is also established, alternating between camararderie and deception.
The attack on the muslims of the slum is brutal and unexpectant, but Boyle manages not to sentimentalise the aftermath. It already has a power of its own, the sight of three orphaned sheltering from the rain. The whole film is almost an updating of Dickens to contemporary India. Jamal is forced through a series of hardships, but all help him on his way in the end. Each flashback shows how he came to know the questions that will transform his life.
The different incantations all turn in fine naturalistic performances as Jamal, Salim and Lakita. The earliest incantations especially carry a zest for life and an infectious humour. The 'baddies' that they encounter on the way could be seen as slightly one dimensional, but it's not to hard to imagine a dog-eat-dog world like Mumbai having its fare share of criminals who desire a better life with whatever means possible.
As I say, I really, really enjoyed this film. It adds another feather to Boyle's illustrious bow. It takes a lot of courage to step into a completely different world form the one you inhabit and present a convincing portrayal of that world. Sure, some aspects of the film require a suspension of disbelief, but if you go along with it then it's a rewarding, enlightening delight.
8/10
Witchfinder General
Funnily enough I was actually hoping to watch 'Festen', when I opened the DVD case from the library it instead had the 'Witchfinder General' disc. Luckily WG is a film that I was looking to watch at some point, and should be glad it wasn't Bad Boys 2. That would have been irritating.
Witchfinder General is a 1968 psychological horror directed by Michael Reeves. I'm not totally confident, but I think it may have been part of the Hammer Horror series popular in the UK in this period. It certainly has links to the series anyway, as Vincent Price stars as Matthew Hopkins. The film is quite an oddity; a strange mix of serious historical drama and somewhat schlocky B-movie horror. If I was to draw comparisons between any other films, I would say Robin Hardy's 'The Wicker Man', released a few years later comes to mind. It has the same themes of religious fanaticism and horror, and similarly worked with a low budget. Of course, 'The Wicker Man' is obviously a much finer film and is pretty much flawless. WG stands up pretty well as a psychological horror today, though it does betray it's low budget limitations in a few minor gaffes, and the quality of the image is sometimes tarnished.
The story focuses on Hopkins and his chief torturer's campaign against a priest and his young nephew, who are accused of idolatory and conspiring with the devil. In one of the early scenes, a gathering of villagers tell of unholy garments and candles used by the priest. The priest is dunked in his castle moat, in which he swims, leading him to be hanged as a witch. His nephew allows herself to be seduced by Hopkins in order to stop her uncle's death, but to no avail. Reeves' film does well to emphasise Hopkin's pursuit of sex, power and money.
The dramatic conflict comes in the form of Anthony Hopkins (in an early role) playing a heroic Roundhead soldier. Betrothed to the priest's nephew, he engages in bloodthirsty pursuit of Hopkins and his henchman. The film has well choreographed fights, and a number of breathless horseback chases. The film presents quite a simplistic portrayal of the evil Hopkins and the noble Roundhead.
On the one hand the film is coherent and exciting, the burnings and hangings horrific. Vincent Price is surprisingly subtle in his portrayal of Hopkins, and the film is nicely shot in the rural (Norfolk?) countryside, with echoes of Constable's paintings. On the other hand, it only goes surface deep in its examinations of Matthew Hopkins and the phenomenon of witch hunting in that period. There are only little snippets of social and political hysteria in the film, leaving the viewer wanting. On viewing this film it struck me that a really strong piece of work could be made from the Matthew Hopkins saga. Reeves' work is an effective piece of entertainment horror, yet there is still opportunity of a serious examination of this period in history.
7/10
Witchfinder General is a 1968 psychological horror directed by Michael Reeves. I'm not totally confident, but I think it may have been part of the Hammer Horror series popular in the UK in this period. It certainly has links to the series anyway, as Vincent Price stars as Matthew Hopkins. The film is quite an oddity; a strange mix of serious historical drama and somewhat schlocky B-movie horror. If I was to draw comparisons between any other films, I would say Robin Hardy's 'The Wicker Man', released a few years later comes to mind. It has the same themes of religious fanaticism and horror, and similarly worked with a low budget. Of course, 'The Wicker Man' is obviously a much finer film and is pretty much flawless. WG stands up pretty well as a psychological horror today, though it does betray it's low budget limitations in a few minor gaffes, and the quality of the image is sometimes tarnished.
The story focuses on Hopkins and his chief torturer's campaign against a priest and his young nephew, who are accused of idolatory and conspiring with the devil. In one of the early scenes, a gathering of villagers tell of unholy garments and candles used by the priest. The priest is dunked in his castle moat, in which he swims, leading him to be hanged as a witch. His nephew allows herself to be seduced by Hopkins in order to stop her uncle's death, but to no avail. Reeves' film does well to emphasise Hopkin's pursuit of sex, power and money.
The dramatic conflict comes in the form of Anthony Hopkins (in an early role) playing a heroic Roundhead soldier. Betrothed to the priest's nephew, he engages in bloodthirsty pursuit of Hopkins and his henchman. The film has well choreographed fights, and a number of breathless horseback chases. The film presents quite a simplistic portrayal of the evil Hopkins and the noble Roundhead.
On the one hand the film is coherent and exciting, the burnings and hangings horrific. Vincent Price is surprisingly subtle in his portrayal of Hopkins, and the film is nicely shot in the rural (Norfolk?) countryside, with echoes of Constable's paintings. On the other hand, it only goes surface deep in its examinations of Matthew Hopkins and the phenomenon of witch hunting in that period. There are only little snippets of social and political hysteria in the film, leaving the viewer wanting. On viewing this film it struck me that a really strong piece of work could be made from the Matthew Hopkins saga. Reeves' work is an effective piece of entertainment horror, yet there is still opportunity of a serious examination of this period in history.
7/10
Chungking Express
Chungking Express is Wong Kar Wai's 1994 film set in Hong Kong and revolving around the fates of two couples. The film is split into two parts, the first involving a female con artist and a male policeman, and the second a female cafe worker and another male cop. Apparently the film was only made in 23 days and it was split into two for faster editing purposes. It doesn't diminish the quality of the film- it has an effortless flow to it, and the audience can examine the parallels between them.
The four main characters are all lost, and in the case of the two male policemen, aching for their former girlfriends. In the first part the glamorous but dangerous con artist plays a sort of femme fatale figure, apathetic to the cop's advances. In the second, the girl secretly longs after the cop who frequents the cafe, and ends up trespassing into his his flat. Both cops naively wait for their ex's to come back; Kaneshiro's character goes running to ease the pain and eats her favourite fruit, while Leung talks to household items like soap for comfort.
It is an incredibly sweet and romantic film; after watching In the mood for love I was frustrated by what I deemed the restraint, and perhaps even the coldness in the characters relationship. Chungking Express hinges on the same secret longing, but has a warmth and openness to it that elevates it past ITMFL. Kar Wai's film is filled with charming character nuances, like Kaneshiro's insistence that he eat canned pineapple dated May 1st, in tribute to his love for his ex, while the cafe girl loves to play music loudly "so you don't have to think", particularly the Mama's and the Papa's 'California Dreamin".
It is also an absolute feast for the senses. Kar Wai's longtime cinematographer Doyle is noted for his superb colour pallete and invigorating cinematography. In the case of this film, the Hong Kong streets are a blur of colours and sounds. The serene colours echo the characters joy and sadness. Even the most menial everyday tasks, such as cleaning kitchen surfaces, are turned into exhilarating cinematic sequences through the eyes of Doyle's handheld camera. The music is also very evocative, 'California Dreamin', one of my favourite tracks from childhood, was a welcome surprise, as was Wong's covers of Cocteau Twin and Cranberries tracks. The lushness of the visuals are perfectly complimented by the woozy songs.
Surprisingly warm, energetic and charming. 8/10.
The four main characters are all lost, and in the case of the two male policemen, aching for their former girlfriends. In the first part the glamorous but dangerous con artist plays a sort of femme fatale figure, apathetic to the cop's advances. In the second, the girl secretly longs after the cop who frequents the cafe, and ends up trespassing into his his flat. Both cops naively wait for their ex's to come back; Kaneshiro's character goes running to ease the pain and eats her favourite fruit, while Leung talks to household items like soap for comfort.
It is an incredibly sweet and romantic film; after watching In the mood for love I was frustrated by what I deemed the restraint, and perhaps even the coldness in the characters relationship. Chungking Express hinges on the same secret longing, but has a warmth and openness to it that elevates it past ITMFL. Kar Wai's film is filled with charming character nuances, like Kaneshiro's insistence that he eat canned pineapple dated May 1st, in tribute to his love for his ex, while the cafe girl loves to play music loudly "so you don't have to think", particularly the Mama's and the Papa's 'California Dreamin".
It is also an absolute feast for the senses. Kar Wai's longtime cinematographer Doyle is noted for his superb colour pallete and invigorating cinematography. In the case of this film, the Hong Kong streets are a blur of colours and sounds. The serene colours echo the characters joy and sadness. Even the most menial everyday tasks, such as cleaning kitchen surfaces, are turned into exhilarating cinematic sequences through the eyes of Doyle's handheld camera. The music is also very evocative, 'California Dreamin', one of my favourite tracks from childhood, was a welcome surprise, as was Wong's covers of Cocteau Twin and Cranberries tracks. The lushness of the visuals are perfectly complimented by the woozy songs.
Surprisingly warm, energetic and charming. 8/10.
Inland Empire
This is my first entry in what will hopefully be a catalogue of films.
Inland Empire is a film that cannot be analysed in the same way as your average film. It is most definitely 'art cinema'- non linear narrative, characters acting inconsistently from scene to scene and abstract meaning. It's all there. The film stars Laura Dern, who seems to be something of a muse to Lynch and co-produced the film. She plays an actress who takes the lead role in a film based on a Polish wives tale. The thing is, I can't actually say that last sentence was true. In Inland Empire, nothing is certain. Dern's character seems to be playing numerous reflections of herself in multiple realities, which makes it basically impossible for the audience to derive a coherent plot to follow. We don't know if we're seeing a film within a film, or a dream within a film, or a film within a dream. It is completely open to interpretation.
At the beginning, an elderly Polish woman arrives at Dern's house, and warns her of the curse on her film. It is one of the most eerie sequences in the film. The camera is uncomfortably close to the woman's boggling eyes and thin, predatorial smile. It is very reminiscent of Nic Roeg's films, where the claustrophobia is conjured by extreme close ups, tilted angles and unhinged orchestral music.
The film was shot digitally, and the film has a grainy look to it which contributes to the feelings of uncertainty. The camera also allows Lynch an adventurous, roaming style adding to the edginess. Although the shots aren't as composed as say Mulholland Drive, there are some genuinely striking visuals and moody colours. It's grungy, freeform feel is a departure for Lynch but it works for the most part.
Most of the characters are typically Lynchian in their oddness. Swaying uncomfortably between deranged amusement and feverish seriousness, there is never a let up of the intensity of the characters we encounter. Dern is quite excellent, giving a committed and uninhibited performance in a difficult role. Much of the scenes were supposedly written just before they were shot, so Dern shows a remarkable ability to adapt to the chaotic nature of the production and the characters.
I have no idea what is going on in this film, and for that matter, Lynch's quiffed head. For me, it veered between morbid fascination, horror, boredom and confusion. I must confess I struggled through the film in 3 parts- the length of the film coupled with it's tangled narrative and mercurial characters meant I floundered somewhat. I feel that a more concise running time would have packed a more powerful punch. What I'm left with is a film with a handful of images that will resonate uncomfortably in the burrows of my mind.
Inland Empire is a film that cannot be analysed in the same way as your average film. It is most definitely 'art cinema'- non linear narrative, characters acting inconsistently from scene to scene and abstract meaning. It's all there. The film stars Laura Dern, who seems to be something of a muse to Lynch and co-produced the film. She plays an actress who takes the lead role in a film based on a Polish wives tale. The thing is, I can't actually say that last sentence was true. In Inland Empire, nothing is certain. Dern's character seems to be playing numerous reflections of herself in multiple realities, which makes it basically impossible for the audience to derive a coherent plot to follow. We don't know if we're seeing a film within a film, or a dream within a film, or a film within a dream. It is completely open to interpretation.
At the beginning, an elderly Polish woman arrives at Dern's house, and warns her of the curse on her film. It is one of the most eerie sequences in the film. The camera is uncomfortably close to the woman's boggling eyes and thin, predatorial smile. It is very reminiscent of Nic Roeg's films, where the claustrophobia is conjured by extreme close ups, tilted angles and unhinged orchestral music.
The film was shot digitally, and the film has a grainy look to it which contributes to the feelings of uncertainty. The camera also allows Lynch an adventurous, roaming style adding to the edginess. Although the shots aren't as composed as say Mulholland Drive, there are some genuinely striking visuals and moody colours. It's grungy, freeform feel is a departure for Lynch but it works for the most part.
Most of the characters are typically Lynchian in their oddness. Swaying uncomfortably between deranged amusement and feverish seriousness, there is never a let up of the intensity of the characters we encounter. Dern is quite excellent, giving a committed and uninhibited performance in a difficult role. Much of the scenes were supposedly written just before they were shot, so Dern shows a remarkable ability to adapt to the chaotic nature of the production and the characters.
I have no idea what is going on in this film, and for that matter, Lynch's quiffed head. For me, it veered between morbid fascination, horror, boredom and confusion. I must confess I struggled through the film in 3 parts- the length of the film coupled with it's tangled narrative and mercurial characters meant I floundered somewhat. I feel that a more concise running time would have packed a more powerful punch. What I'm left with is a film with a handful of images that will resonate uncomfortably in the burrows of my mind.
Best songs of 2008
1. Beach House- Gila
That slow loungey drumbeat, the whistling organ, the melancholic guitar- it all falls together so effortlessly. And then there's that quietly dominating voice soaring over, repeating the haunting refrain 'Gila'.....dreamy and sublime.
2. Meho Plaza- The Beach
A force of nature. One of those songs up there with The Rat and Wolf like me for pure energy and rush. Jagged, insistent fuzzy guitar lines, muffled and distorted drumbeat, and robotic-like vocals. Sounds like some weird sci-fi punk song from 2150.
3. Deerhunter- VHS Dream
Delicate guitars intertwine like two harps serenading each other, then that chugging drumbeat, and Cox's hushed vocals. Absolutely stunning.
4. No Age- Sleeper Hold
20 seconds in, the song bursts into life, torrents of feedback exploding against splintered drums, and desperate vocals. The sound of youth in under 3 minutes.
5. Santogold- LES Artistes
Hip hop drum beat gives way to a burst of electronic guitar fuzz like TVOTR have pioneered. Like a breath of fresh air.
6. MGMT- Time to pretend
Incredibly joyful, upbeat song. Bouncy synths, fuzzy guitars come together in unison. One of those songs which is immediately brilliant.
7. TVOTR-Halfway Home
The only great song in an otherwise disappointing 3rd album. The drums thump, the guitar fuzz sizzles and Adebimpe's vocals are confident and omniscient....just savour it before song 2 kicks in.
8. Atlas Sound- Recent bedroom
Another superb song from workaholic Brandon Cox. This takes the 90's slacker rock template of Pavement and drenches it in reverb. A modern day lullaby.
9. Helio Sequence- Keep your eyes ahead
Baacked by a catchy discobeat, the Portland duo carve out a shimmering, jangly 4 and a half minutes carried by rich, expressive vocals.
10. Crystal Castles- Crimewave
A late contender to the party. Glitchy, robotic and addictive.
and the rest:
Clinic-Memories
Beach House-DARLING
Magnetic Fields-Too drunk to dream
Deerhunter-Never stops
Foals-Cassius
Fuck Buttons-Sweet love for planet earth
Hercules and love affair-Blind
Jonny Greenwood- Prospectors Arrive
Lykke Li-Dance Dance Dance
M83- Graveyard Girl
MGMT-Electric Feel
No Age-Miner
Port Royal-Bahnhof Zoo
Santogold-Anne
Sigur Ros-Festival
Sun Kil Moon- Tonight in Bilbao
Helio Sequence-Lately
The Walkmen-If only it were true
Deerhunter-Slow Swords
Atlas Sound-Ativin
Foals-Big Big Love
Hercules and love affair-Iris
Meho Plaza-I sold my organs
Black Kids- I'm not gonna teach my boyfriend how to dance with you
Crystal Castles-Untrust us
Fleet Foxes-White Winter Hymnal
That slow loungey drumbeat, the whistling organ, the melancholic guitar- it all falls together so effortlessly. And then there's that quietly dominating voice soaring over, repeating the haunting refrain 'Gila'.....dreamy and sublime.
2. Meho Plaza- The Beach
A force of nature. One of those songs up there with The Rat and Wolf like me for pure energy and rush. Jagged, insistent fuzzy guitar lines, muffled and distorted drumbeat, and robotic-like vocals. Sounds like some weird sci-fi punk song from 2150.
3. Deerhunter- VHS Dream
Delicate guitars intertwine like two harps serenading each other, then that chugging drumbeat, and Cox's hushed vocals. Absolutely stunning.
4. No Age- Sleeper Hold
20 seconds in, the song bursts into life, torrents of feedback exploding against splintered drums, and desperate vocals. The sound of youth in under 3 minutes.
5. Santogold- LES Artistes
Hip hop drum beat gives way to a burst of electronic guitar fuzz like TVOTR have pioneered. Like a breath of fresh air.
6. MGMT- Time to pretend
Incredibly joyful, upbeat song. Bouncy synths, fuzzy guitars come together in unison. One of those songs which is immediately brilliant.
7. TVOTR-Halfway Home
The only great song in an otherwise disappointing 3rd album. The drums thump, the guitar fuzz sizzles and Adebimpe's vocals are confident and omniscient....just savour it before song 2 kicks in.
8. Atlas Sound- Recent bedroom
Another superb song from workaholic Brandon Cox. This takes the 90's slacker rock template of Pavement and drenches it in reverb. A modern day lullaby.
9. Helio Sequence- Keep your eyes ahead
Baacked by a catchy discobeat, the Portland duo carve out a shimmering, jangly 4 and a half minutes carried by rich, expressive vocals.
10. Crystal Castles- Crimewave
A late contender to the party. Glitchy, robotic and addictive.
and the rest:
Clinic-Memories
Beach House-DARLING
Magnetic Fields-Too drunk to dream
Deerhunter-Never stops
Foals-Cassius
Fuck Buttons-Sweet love for planet earth
Hercules and love affair-Blind
Jonny Greenwood- Prospectors Arrive
Lykke Li-Dance Dance Dance
M83- Graveyard Girl
MGMT-Electric Feel
No Age-Miner
Port Royal-Bahnhof Zoo
Santogold-Anne
Sigur Ros-Festival
Sun Kil Moon- Tonight in Bilbao
Helio Sequence-Lately
The Walkmen-If only it were true
Deerhunter-Slow Swords
Atlas Sound-Ativin
Foals-Big Big Love
Hercules and love affair-Iris
Meho Plaza-I sold my organs
Black Kids- I'm not gonna teach my boyfriend how to dance with you
Crystal Castles-Untrust us
Fleet Foxes-White Winter Hymnal
Best albums of 2008
Best albums
1.Deerhunter/Atlas Sound- Microcastle+ Weird Era/Let the blind...
I've put all Brandon Cox's projects together because I'm lazy, and the projects are all kinda tied together. It's been his year, really. Microcastle is a lesser album than Cryptograms, more muted by it's 50s/60's influences but has 3 or 4 great songs in Never Stops, Little Kids and Twilight...- these songs combine the lush fuzziness with the breezy 60's pop to the best effect. Weird Era I like even more- they seem to have saved the more experimental material for this album, and its pretty refreshing after what I'd consider quite conventional song structures in Microcastles. VHS Dream and Slow Swords especially are absolutely gorgeous.
Let the blind... is a more stately affair than the Deerhunter records, seems much more steeped in the shoegaze template. Ativin and Recent Bedroom are my favourites off the record.
2. Beach House-Devotion
First time I'd come across the duo, who have been compared favourably with Mazzy Star. Their record sounds so decadent and luxurious. They've basically taken lounge music to a higher form. Her voice is distinctive, understated but soaring at the same time. The combination of the perfume- like organ, the lazy guitar and her voice is just superb. Gila and D.A.R.L.I.N.G are two of my most played songs of the year. Brilliantly haunting melodies.
3.No Age-Nouns
Brilliant noise pop duo part of the LA noise scene. Beauty lies in the quiet droney build ups then the furious unleashing of noise. Sounds like teen anthems.
4.The Helio Sequence-Keep your eyes ahead
Found out about the Portland duo after they supported Low. Combine shoegazey textures with a repertoire of dancey New Wave numbers and folk dittys. The singer has a great voice, too.
5.Santogold-Santogold
Pretty surprised by how much I've enjoyed this album this year. In a year when TVOTR failed to deliver a great album of New Wave, shoegaze and R'n'B, Santogold stepped up. Very addictive and catchy.
honourable mentions:
Clinic-Do it
Crystal Castles-Crystal Castles
Foals-Antidotes
M83- Saturday=Youth
Magnetic Fields- Distortion
Meho Plaza-Meho Plaza
MGMT-Oracular Spectacular
Port Royal-Afraid to dance
The Walkmen-You & Me
Vivian Girls-Vivian Girls
Sun Kil Moon- April
1.Deerhunter/Atlas Sound- Microcastle+ Weird Era/Let the blind...
I've put all Brandon Cox's projects together because I'm lazy, and the projects are all kinda tied together. It's been his year, really. Microcastle is a lesser album than Cryptograms, more muted by it's 50s/60's influences but has 3 or 4 great songs in Never Stops, Little Kids and Twilight...- these songs combine the lush fuzziness with the breezy 60's pop to the best effect. Weird Era I like even more- they seem to have saved the more experimental material for this album, and its pretty refreshing after what I'd consider quite conventional song structures in Microcastles. VHS Dream and Slow Swords especially are absolutely gorgeous.
Let the blind... is a more stately affair than the Deerhunter records, seems much more steeped in the shoegaze template. Ativin and Recent Bedroom are my favourites off the record.
2. Beach House-Devotion
First time I'd come across the duo, who have been compared favourably with Mazzy Star. Their record sounds so decadent and luxurious. They've basically taken lounge music to a higher form. Her voice is distinctive, understated but soaring at the same time. The combination of the perfume- like organ, the lazy guitar and her voice is just superb. Gila and D.A.R.L.I.N.G are two of my most played songs of the year. Brilliantly haunting melodies.
3.No Age-Nouns
Brilliant noise pop duo part of the LA noise scene. Beauty lies in the quiet droney build ups then the furious unleashing of noise. Sounds like teen anthems.
4.The Helio Sequence-Keep your eyes ahead
Found out about the Portland duo after they supported Low. Combine shoegazey textures with a repertoire of dancey New Wave numbers and folk dittys. The singer has a great voice, too.
5.Santogold-Santogold
Pretty surprised by how much I've enjoyed this album this year. In a year when TVOTR failed to deliver a great album of New Wave, shoegaze and R'n'B, Santogold stepped up. Very addictive and catchy.
honourable mentions:
Clinic-Do it
Crystal Castles-Crystal Castles
Foals-Antidotes
M83- Saturday=Youth
Magnetic Fields- Distortion
Meho Plaza-Meho Plaza
MGMT-Oracular Spectacular
Port Royal-Afraid to dance
The Walkmen-You & Me
Vivian Girls-Vivian Girls
Sun Kil Moon- April
ATP Release the Bats, Forum, 30/10/08
Lightning Bolt
Arrived too late to get in a good viewing position for the band, so trundled up to the balcony with all the others who had not yet gained 'giant' status. Leaning over the balcony I was greeted with a semi circle of moshing heads, the musical provocateurs barely visible beneath the baying mob. But boy was it loud. Ear splittingly loud scattergun drumming and a holocaust of guitar noise, utterly relentless in its endeavour. This is Lightning Bolt. I guess the duo want the audience to have as much a visceral, open musical experience as possible, hence why they choose to play 'in audience'. If you're looking for easy on the ear melodies, then search elsewhere. It was kinda fun watching all the crowd moshing like crazy (there was spectacular group of Japanese moshers at the front), but I 'm not sure I could listen to these guys at home.
Pissed Jeans
Pretty rubbish. Noisy but no discernible melodies. The aural equivalent of nails down corrugated iron. My friend told me they were ripping off Jesus Lizard. Jesus Lizard aren't this bad, surely?
Wooden Shijps
Very much enjoyed these guys. They looked exactly like you would hope- a bunch of aging hippies with grey beards. The group are from San Francisco and play trippy psychedelic krautrock. When the band get into full flow and its hard not to get lulled in to a trance like state. The music is so woozy and and the repetitive rhythms so intoxicating, yet it sounds so simple.
Les Savy Fav
I'm a bit late to the party with Les Savy Fav- but what a party it is. Prior to RTB I'd heard about LSF's stage antics and was excited. What I didn't expect was possibly the most fun gig I've ever witnessed. Post punk....new wave....yada yada yada- let's get onto Tim Harrington doing crazy stuff! Well, lets see: Stripping down to his shorts? Check. Faux humping a deranged devil baby? Check. Hanging upside down from the balcony? Check. Faux humping a papier mache Tim Harrington? Check. Lunging at me and grabbing me by the neck? Check.
Just the most funnest fun you can do for fun.
Shellac
I haven't listened to much Shellac at all really. So I'm in no position to comment. But I will anyway! Revered by Albini fanboys the world over, Shellac aren't averse to a bit of playful dressing up, and here they are as a mummy (Albini), Frankenstein's Monster and Dracula. Shellac's music, of little I've heard of it, is stark and nihilistic sounding. Stilted, stop start drumbeats, and blunt guitars, like it was conceived in a gutter. The set is pretty brutal, and the fanboys are jerking their heads back and forth with devoted vigour. Why not be a Shellac fanboy for the night?
Om
Only saw the first song. Well, I say song, but it seemed almost as long as my life. But it was good. The guitar droned on and on and on, and the guitarist was telling this story in a deep, ominous voice. I have no clue what it was about, but he could be the new JK Rowling.
Arrived too late to get in a good viewing position for the band, so trundled up to the balcony with all the others who had not yet gained 'giant' status. Leaning over the balcony I was greeted with a semi circle of moshing heads, the musical provocateurs barely visible beneath the baying mob. But boy was it loud. Ear splittingly loud scattergun drumming and a holocaust of guitar noise, utterly relentless in its endeavour. This is Lightning Bolt. I guess the duo want the audience to have as much a visceral, open musical experience as possible, hence why they choose to play 'in audience'. If you're looking for easy on the ear melodies, then search elsewhere. It was kinda fun watching all the crowd moshing like crazy (there was spectacular group of Japanese moshers at the front), but I 'm not sure I could listen to these guys at home.
Pissed Jeans
Pretty rubbish. Noisy but no discernible melodies. The aural equivalent of nails down corrugated iron. My friend told me they were ripping off Jesus Lizard. Jesus Lizard aren't this bad, surely?
Wooden Shijps
Very much enjoyed these guys. They looked exactly like you would hope- a bunch of aging hippies with grey beards. The group are from San Francisco and play trippy psychedelic krautrock. When the band get into full flow and its hard not to get lulled in to a trance like state. The music is so woozy and and the repetitive rhythms so intoxicating, yet it sounds so simple.
Les Savy Fav
I'm a bit late to the party with Les Savy Fav- but what a party it is. Prior to RTB I'd heard about LSF's stage antics and was excited. What I didn't expect was possibly the most fun gig I've ever witnessed. Post punk....new wave....yada yada yada- let's get onto Tim Harrington doing crazy stuff! Well, lets see: Stripping down to his shorts? Check. Faux humping a deranged devil baby? Check. Hanging upside down from the balcony? Check. Faux humping a papier mache Tim Harrington? Check. Lunging at me and grabbing me by the neck? Check.
Just the most funnest fun you can do for fun.
Shellac
I haven't listened to much Shellac at all really. So I'm in no position to comment. But I will anyway! Revered by Albini fanboys the world over, Shellac aren't averse to a bit of playful dressing up, and here they are as a mummy (Albini), Frankenstein's Monster and Dracula. Shellac's music, of little I've heard of it, is stark and nihilistic sounding. Stilted, stop start drumbeats, and blunt guitars, like it was conceived in a gutter. The set is pretty brutal, and the fanboys are jerking their heads back and forth with devoted vigour. Why not be a Shellac fanboy for the night?
Om
Only saw the first song. Well, I say song, but it seemed almost as long as my life. But it was good. The guitar droned on and on and on, and the guitarist was telling this story in a deep, ominous voice. I have no clue what it was about, but he could be the new JK Rowling.
Shred yr face tour
Times New Viking
Pretty lo-fi three piece. Quite fun, smashing their drums, running their fingers sloppily down the their frets and jabbing at their keyboards. In a similar vein to No Age, but generally a bit more noisy and less catchy.
No Age
Really enjoyed their 2nd album 'Nouns' this year so was greatly anticipating their set. Sounds like anthemic teen rock like Nirvana drenched in swarthes of noise. What's great about 'Nouns' is the anticipation and the release- the restraint of noise and the moment to unleash it, is timed perfectly. And when they unleash the noise, it's euphoric. Very impressive for a two piece, the level of carnage they manage to generate between the two of them- and live they channel that energy. They tear into songs with great abandon, and though much of the crowd seems nonplussed, there are a fair few bobbing and moshing about. My band of the night.
Los Campesinos!
Seem to be really popular among indie kids at the moment, and the crowd tonight confirm this. The few songs I'd heard didn't really seem that notable to me- just average jangly indie pop songs that are played the country over. I was kinda expecting not to like them too much, but they were pretty enjoyable. The singers voice was pretty self conscious and twee to a grating effect, but the songs had some good hooks and were cheery.
Pretty lo-fi three piece. Quite fun, smashing their drums, running their fingers sloppily down the their frets and jabbing at their keyboards. In a similar vein to No Age, but generally a bit more noisy and less catchy.
No Age
Really enjoyed their 2nd album 'Nouns' this year so was greatly anticipating their set. Sounds like anthemic teen rock like Nirvana drenched in swarthes of noise. What's great about 'Nouns' is the anticipation and the release- the restraint of noise and the moment to unleash it, is timed perfectly. And when they unleash the noise, it's euphoric. Very impressive for a two piece, the level of carnage they manage to generate between the two of them- and live they channel that energy. They tear into songs with great abandon, and though much of the crowd seems nonplussed, there are a fair few bobbing and moshing about. My band of the night.
Los Campesinos!
Seem to be really popular among indie kids at the moment, and the crowd tonight confirm this. The few songs I'd heard didn't really seem that notable to me- just average jangly indie pop songs that are played the country over. I was kinda expecting not to like them too much, but they were pretty enjoyable. The singers voice was pretty self conscious and twee to a grating effect, but the songs had some good hooks and were cheery.
Latitude Festival 2008
This was my third Latitude-I've been there since the start- so I knew what to expect, and this in turn made the festival possibly my easiest yet. Having witnessed the first two years I could perceive a slight shift in personnel and their number- word of the festival had spread across the country and the event was less like the sleepy rural festival of old but ever so slightly more cosmopolitan. I expect it to continue in this vein. The success of previous years had allowed this years line up stellar names in music and comedy, as well as a luxuriant selection of other arts entertainments. Although some have noted unfavourably upon Mean Fiddler attaching a more corporate status to Latitude, it is perhaps worth considering the idea that festival is a success because of such a stable and experienced backer. Two sides to every coin.
I'd arrived on site earlier as I wanted to take in as much as possible. The first band of the weekend I witnessed was the New Yorkers Heloise and the Savoir Faire. The little I'd heard of them suggested Scissor Sisters, but I was pleasantly surprised to learn they had more in common with disco punk peers such as LCD Soundsystem and Hercules and Love Affair. An energetic performance, both camp and theatrical with the backing singers sashaying around the stage in togas. A promising start.
Next up on the Uncut stage was Gravenhurst, a bespectacled young man with an electric guitar. What made Gravenhurst stand out from the legions of wet songwriters was the emphasis on the guitar compositions- moody, potent sounds, often let down by vocals that didn't quite match the power of his playing. Micah P Hinson, on the other hand has a superbly warm, husky voice. Backed by his band Hinson's music had a muscle that contrasted with the fragile performance that preceded him. The songs I'd heard prior suggested a sleepy, folky set but Hinson found the time for some more upbeat, rocking tracks to balance the material.
Probably the only disappointingly dull acts I saw over the three days were residing on the main stage on Friday. The Aliens, featuring former members of the Beta Band, were the first victims of boredom. The stuff I'd heard on record was quite decent if not mindblowing- amiable psychedelic indie pop- but up on a big stage in front of a lot of people they just fell a little flat. The only notable thing about their set was the singer bounding about like a monkey or drunk clubber on a Friday night. Beth Orton was perhaps even less interesting, so much so that we didn't even bother to get up from our sitting positions to watch her and left after only a few songs.
After catching a bit of British Sea Power (4th time seeing them- I don't even know why), it was off to see Howling Bells, who seem to have become a welcome staple of the festival- the only band to have played all 3 years. It had been a couple of years since I'd seen them play at the first festival, and what struck me was how Juanita Stein had matured into a great frontwoman. Yes, she's gorgeous and plays the guitar, but she parades around the stage so confidently and in such a sultry manner that it's easy to get swept up in her performance. The band as a whle were again great, and I'm looking froward to another album of dark, moody desert rock from the Australians.
An expedition into the film tent rewarded me with an interesting interview with Grant Gee, director of the recent documentary 'Joy Division'. Unfortunately we missed the screening of the film, but he had some insightful thoughts about the coverage of celebrity and rock music, despite alimp interviewer and some daft questions. In the woodland Sunrise arena were Clinic- a real treat. A lean, quick set mixing old favourites like Walking with thee and The Second Line with new stuff from their excellent recent album To those who don't know them, the Liverpool band play a weird hybrid of psychedelic organ driven krautrock and wear surgical dress- and were fantastic.
We hung around for Crystal Castles, who I was kinda familiar with but a little apprehensive of. Their set was packed with excitable teenagers claouring to touch the spritely 'singer' (screamer) on the satge, who bopped continuously while screeching out unintelligible words, occasionally leaping out onto the barriers, once amusingly being dragged into a pack of sweaty youths. Ah, the kids of today, when will they learn? I'm retty sure no one can consider Crystal Castles high art, but they do evoke a visceral, pleasurable reaction, as evidenced in the crowd reaction.
The 1st day ended with alternating trips between Franz Ferdinand and Amadou & Mariam, who both got popular crowd responses, and Franz Ferdinand looked capable headliners.
2nd day
On the second day I had determined to infiltrate the formidable fortress that is the comedy tent. As the tape was pulled around the edge of the tent, a huge wave of people rushed into the tent and jumped into seated positions- ah, so that's why no one can ever get in! Smug at my infiltration but my buttocks soon to be sore, I waited for the opening comedian Dan Atkinson, a Yorkshire comedian with a scruffy appearance. He was OK at best, and didn't always pander to his youngish audience, but was often confused and confusing. He was followed by Carey Marx, a sub par Bill Hicks with a voice resembling Alan Rickman. He had a devilish demeanour and some filthy jokes to go with it. Not bad. Then Tim Minchin came on. He plays the piano. He sings songs in an ironic fashion . He has long ginger hair. He is a cunt. And of course, he was extremely popular with the numbskull crowd of square teens. I think the best way to describe him is as Newton Faulkner with crap jokes. Yes, that bad. My distaste for him climaxed with a song aimed at a critic who slated him (a perfectly reasonable response to Minchin), which had him singing typically bland lyrics badly about wanting to kill said critic. Oh, the audacity!
If I'm being honest, I'm not that clued up with the world of stand up comedy, and this was actually the first experience I'd had. But recently I was lucky to see a trio of Irish comedians in a low key performance at the Edinburgh Fringe festival. Against these so called stars of the stand up scene, these Irish comedians seemed like geniuses. Wittier, funnier and a much better rapport with the crowd, it made me realise the guys at Latitude were actually pretty poor.
Having escaped the comedy tent I caught bits of Wild Beasts and White Lies, neither of whom caught my fancy. The first major band of the day was dEUS, the veteran Belgian band. They were a tight act and played with youthful enthusiasm, intercut with some odd Belgian banter from the singer. As much as I enjoyed the performance, I still feel unable to really describe what kind of music they play. Rock music, yes, but any more than that and I get flummoxed.
I'm quite a bug fan of the shoegaze/dream pop bands of the 80's/90's so I was intrigued to see House of Love play. They looked old and unfashionable but hadn't lost their touch. The sound had some problems, such as the guitars being a little muted but otherwise it was a successful reappearance.
I've been lucky enough to see most of the bands I've really wanted to see, but Sigur Ros was one band that had previously eluded me. Closing the 2nd night they met all my expectations. Hypnotically beautiful, I could have watched them play for hours. The stage was all lit up in in a white glow with large white spheres making the backdrop. The band were joined on stage by a marching band and orchestra which made it a more theatrical experience, but it would have been fantastic with just the four of them. Sadly my enjoyment was tainted somewhat by a gaggle of pricks who pushed in front of me to get to their friends, then turned their backs on the band and started talking loudly and amusing themselves by taking pictures of each other on their phones. Jesus Christ, anytime but during fucking Sigur Ros. I wouldn't have minded so much if they were enjoying the band and were merely rowdy, but their blatant disinterest in the band and their disregard for people who might want to enjoy the band leaves a bitter taste in the mouth. I might just have to try and catch them again, they deserve better.
Day 3
Sunday, AKA day of the musical titans, began with a solo performance from Joanna Newsom. Now, I like her, but I don't feel the same hysteria as many others do when her crops up. She looked nervous on her own and smiled sweetly throughout, but the audience was with her all the way. Her set had attracted a large number considering her early slot, and it was with almost complete silence that her performance was gratefully received. Even just the harp and her voice was beautiful and captivating. She often forgot lyrics but this was received with good humour and some good natured heckles. Her stint on the piano wasn't as enjoyable-the songs on the harp carry much more weight, but it was enjoyable nonetheless.
There was a bit of a gap in preparation for the marathon of musical majesties (and Foals, ho ho ho), which began with said bands evening set. I like Foals, I enjoyed Antidotes, but they do seem a tad annoying, particularly Yannis. Live they were good, but could have done with a bit less chat. Energetic, intense performance but with restraint, complimenting the catchy, angular songs they play.
I'm not that familiar with The Breeders back catalogue as I should be, but I like the bits I know and they are almost legendary. They were not, as you'd imagine, throwing themselves around the stage, and lacked a bit of muscle and noise, but it was a good set anyhow. The better known songs got the biggest cheers from the crowd, and the sibling banter between the Deal sisters was amusing. I was reminded of an earlier gig at Joy Zipper, where one of the members confessed their love of The Breeders-guess who they based their stage persona on?
Grinderman provided a much needed edge to Latitude-it's almost surprising that they actually played. Nick Cave is a superb frontman- stamping his gangly pinstripe legs everywhere, raisning his arms aloft and shrieking like a wild evangelist preacher. The band, too, look like a ragged bunch of 19th century bandits. The songs were dark and nihilistic, the most electrifying 'No pussy blues'. The explosions of drums and clanging guitars, wild howling abound- a sight and sound not to be missed.
Interpol, my favourite band, are next on stage to headline perhaps their first major festival and surely one of the biggest shows yet. I am standing at the front centre. They are minutes from the stage. And then I realise my bladder filling up. Hilarious. So, I trudge off, leaving some wide eyed young fan to shore up the army at the front, and eventually find myself a mid spot. Interpol crack into 'Pioneer to the falls', and everything is right with the world. In fact, this is the best I've ever seen them. They play confidently, pitch perfcct. Paul's voice soars over the wet masses as the rain thunders down. Daniel glides happily across the stage, and you get the sense that this is his time to shine. They play several songs off the new album, OLTA, some favourites off TOTBL and then round it off with a euphoric, rare play of 'Roland'. An encore follows but I'm already elated. A great end to the festival.
Other highlights:
My triangle-baring cardigan is a hit- 'nice cardigan'- a few blokes,
'nicest cardigan of the festival'- some girl
'Life is beautiful' scrawled on the dingy toilet wall- made me chuckle.
Going to get a rubbish, overpriced pizza and realising I'm standing behind all 4 Arctic Monkeys, who are getting change off of each other.
I'd arrived on site earlier as I wanted to take in as much as possible. The first band of the weekend I witnessed was the New Yorkers Heloise and the Savoir Faire. The little I'd heard of them suggested Scissor Sisters, but I was pleasantly surprised to learn they had more in common with disco punk peers such as LCD Soundsystem and Hercules and Love Affair. An energetic performance, both camp and theatrical with the backing singers sashaying around the stage in togas. A promising start.
Next up on the Uncut stage was Gravenhurst, a bespectacled young man with an electric guitar. What made Gravenhurst stand out from the legions of wet songwriters was the emphasis on the guitar compositions- moody, potent sounds, often let down by vocals that didn't quite match the power of his playing. Micah P Hinson, on the other hand has a superbly warm, husky voice. Backed by his band Hinson's music had a muscle that contrasted with the fragile performance that preceded him. The songs I'd heard prior suggested a sleepy, folky set but Hinson found the time for some more upbeat, rocking tracks to balance the material.
Probably the only disappointingly dull acts I saw over the three days were residing on the main stage on Friday. The Aliens, featuring former members of the Beta Band, were the first victims of boredom. The stuff I'd heard on record was quite decent if not mindblowing- amiable psychedelic indie pop- but up on a big stage in front of a lot of people they just fell a little flat. The only notable thing about their set was the singer bounding about like a monkey or drunk clubber on a Friday night. Beth Orton was perhaps even less interesting, so much so that we didn't even bother to get up from our sitting positions to watch her and left after only a few songs.
After catching a bit of British Sea Power (4th time seeing them- I don't even know why), it was off to see Howling Bells, who seem to have become a welcome staple of the festival- the only band to have played all 3 years. It had been a couple of years since I'd seen them play at the first festival, and what struck me was how Juanita Stein had matured into a great frontwoman. Yes, she's gorgeous and plays the guitar, but she parades around the stage so confidently and in such a sultry manner that it's easy to get swept up in her performance. The band as a whle were again great, and I'm looking froward to another album of dark, moody desert rock from the Australians.
An expedition into the film tent rewarded me with an interesting interview with Grant Gee, director of the recent documentary 'Joy Division'. Unfortunately we missed the screening of the film, but he had some insightful thoughts about the coverage of celebrity and rock music, despite alimp interviewer and some daft questions. In the woodland Sunrise arena were Clinic- a real treat. A lean, quick set mixing old favourites like Walking with thee and The Second Line with new stuff from their excellent recent album To those who don't know them, the Liverpool band play a weird hybrid of psychedelic organ driven krautrock and wear surgical dress- and were fantastic.
We hung around for Crystal Castles, who I was kinda familiar with but a little apprehensive of. Their set was packed with excitable teenagers claouring to touch the spritely 'singer' (screamer) on the satge, who bopped continuously while screeching out unintelligible words, occasionally leaping out onto the barriers, once amusingly being dragged into a pack of sweaty youths. Ah, the kids of today, when will they learn? I'm retty sure no one can consider Crystal Castles high art, but they do evoke a visceral, pleasurable reaction, as evidenced in the crowd reaction.
The 1st day ended with alternating trips between Franz Ferdinand and Amadou & Mariam, who both got popular crowd responses, and Franz Ferdinand looked capable headliners.
2nd day
On the second day I had determined to infiltrate the formidable fortress that is the comedy tent. As the tape was pulled around the edge of the tent, a huge wave of people rushed into the tent and jumped into seated positions- ah, so that's why no one can ever get in! Smug at my infiltration but my buttocks soon to be sore, I waited for the opening comedian Dan Atkinson, a Yorkshire comedian with a scruffy appearance. He was OK at best, and didn't always pander to his youngish audience, but was often confused and confusing. He was followed by Carey Marx, a sub par Bill Hicks with a voice resembling Alan Rickman. He had a devilish demeanour and some filthy jokes to go with it. Not bad. Then Tim Minchin came on. He plays the piano. He sings songs in an ironic fashion . He has long ginger hair. He is a cunt. And of course, he was extremely popular with the numbskull crowd of square teens. I think the best way to describe him is as Newton Faulkner with crap jokes. Yes, that bad. My distaste for him climaxed with a song aimed at a critic who slated him (a perfectly reasonable response to Minchin), which had him singing typically bland lyrics badly about wanting to kill said critic. Oh, the audacity!
If I'm being honest, I'm not that clued up with the world of stand up comedy, and this was actually the first experience I'd had. But recently I was lucky to see a trio of Irish comedians in a low key performance at the Edinburgh Fringe festival. Against these so called stars of the stand up scene, these Irish comedians seemed like geniuses. Wittier, funnier and a much better rapport with the crowd, it made me realise the guys at Latitude were actually pretty poor.
Having escaped the comedy tent I caught bits of Wild Beasts and White Lies, neither of whom caught my fancy. The first major band of the day was dEUS, the veteran Belgian band. They were a tight act and played with youthful enthusiasm, intercut with some odd Belgian banter from the singer. As much as I enjoyed the performance, I still feel unable to really describe what kind of music they play. Rock music, yes, but any more than that and I get flummoxed.
I'm quite a bug fan of the shoegaze/dream pop bands of the 80's/90's so I was intrigued to see House of Love play. They looked old and unfashionable but hadn't lost their touch. The sound had some problems, such as the guitars being a little muted but otherwise it was a successful reappearance.
I've been lucky enough to see most of the bands I've really wanted to see, but Sigur Ros was one band that had previously eluded me. Closing the 2nd night they met all my expectations. Hypnotically beautiful, I could have watched them play for hours. The stage was all lit up in in a white glow with large white spheres making the backdrop. The band were joined on stage by a marching band and orchestra which made it a more theatrical experience, but it would have been fantastic with just the four of them. Sadly my enjoyment was tainted somewhat by a gaggle of pricks who pushed in front of me to get to their friends, then turned their backs on the band and started talking loudly and amusing themselves by taking pictures of each other on their phones. Jesus Christ, anytime but during fucking Sigur Ros. I wouldn't have minded so much if they were enjoying the band and were merely rowdy, but their blatant disinterest in the band and their disregard for people who might want to enjoy the band leaves a bitter taste in the mouth. I might just have to try and catch them again, they deserve better.
Day 3
Sunday, AKA day of the musical titans, began with a solo performance from Joanna Newsom. Now, I like her, but I don't feel the same hysteria as many others do when her crops up. She looked nervous on her own and smiled sweetly throughout, but the audience was with her all the way. Her set had attracted a large number considering her early slot, and it was with almost complete silence that her performance was gratefully received. Even just the harp and her voice was beautiful and captivating. She often forgot lyrics but this was received with good humour and some good natured heckles. Her stint on the piano wasn't as enjoyable-the songs on the harp carry much more weight, but it was enjoyable nonetheless.
There was a bit of a gap in preparation for the marathon of musical majesties (and Foals, ho ho ho), which began with said bands evening set. I like Foals, I enjoyed Antidotes, but they do seem a tad annoying, particularly Yannis. Live they were good, but could have done with a bit less chat. Energetic, intense performance but with restraint, complimenting the catchy, angular songs they play.
I'm not that familiar with The Breeders back catalogue as I should be, but I like the bits I know and they are almost legendary. They were not, as you'd imagine, throwing themselves around the stage, and lacked a bit of muscle and noise, but it was a good set anyhow. The better known songs got the biggest cheers from the crowd, and the sibling banter between the Deal sisters was amusing. I was reminded of an earlier gig at Joy Zipper, where one of the members confessed their love of The Breeders-guess who they based their stage persona on?
Grinderman provided a much needed edge to Latitude-it's almost surprising that they actually played. Nick Cave is a superb frontman- stamping his gangly pinstripe legs everywhere, raisning his arms aloft and shrieking like a wild evangelist preacher. The band, too, look like a ragged bunch of 19th century bandits. The songs were dark and nihilistic, the most electrifying 'No pussy blues'. The explosions of drums and clanging guitars, wild howling abound- a sight and sound not to be missed.
Interpol, my favourite band, are next on stage to headline perhaps their first major festival and surely one of the biggest shows yet. I am standing at the front centre. They are minutes from the stage. And then I realise my bladder filling up. Hilarious. So, I trudge off, leaving some wide eyed young fan to shore up the army at the front, and eventually find myself a mid spot. Interpol crack into 'Pioneer to the falls', and everything is right with the world. In fact, this is the best I've ever seen them. They play confidently, pitch perfcct. Paul's voice soars over the wet masses as the rain thunders down. Daniel glides happily across the stage, and you get the sense that this is his time to shine. They play several songs off the new album, OLTA, some favourites off TOTBL and then round it off with a euphoric, rare play of 'Roland'. An encore follows but I'm already elated. A great end to the festival.
Other highlights:
My triangle-baring cardigan is a hit- 'nice cardigan'- a few blokes,
'nicest cardigan of the festival'- some girl
'Life is beautiful' scrawled on the dingy toilet wall- made me chuckle.
Going to get a rubbish, overpriced pizza and realising I'm standing behind all 4 Arctic Monkeys, who are getting change off of each other.
My Bloody Valentine at the Roundhouse, 21st June 2008
A short, pretty pointless review.
Sonic Boom, formerly of Spacemen 3 was pleasant enough- hushed, minimalistic drone- but not enough to keep you on the edge of your seat. Perhaps it was more out of cameraderie than merit that they were chosen to open for MBV, because I can think of a number of better bands aligned with MBV that could have opened for them. Still, the Mudhoney cover went down well (probably the best of the set).
It's kinda strange going to see a band who basically split up when you were about 3, and hearing all the stories about them- and then there you are waiting excitedly in a darkened room, watching the stage like hawks for the band's arrival. I had my earphones stuffed loosely in my pockets, ready for my hands to quickly dive for in case it got so loud I had to run out screaming. Was it that loud? Well, no, but it was definitely the loudest show I've seen.
On stage Shields and Butcher were typically still, while O’Ciosoig and Googe were thrashing and battling about. Belinda's vocals were especially angelic, when you could hear a piece of them under all the noise. Apart from a couple of false starts they were a tight group (older fans have said they've improved as a live act since they're first coming). Personal highlights for me would be Soon, Only Shallow (a great opener), To here knows when and Blown a wish. My only wish would have been that they'd played No more sorry and Sometimes, but you can't have it all.
Sonic Boom, formerly of Spacemen 3 was pleasant enough- hushed, minimalistic drone- but not enough to keep you on the edge of your seat. Perhaps it was more out of cameraderie than merit that they were chosen to open for MBV, because I can think of a number of better bands aligned with MBV that could have opened for them. Still, the Mudhoney cover went down well (probably the best of the set).
It's kinda strange going to see a band who basically split up when you were about 3, and hearing all the stories about them- and then there you are waiting excitedly in a darkened room, watching the stage like hawks for the band's arrival. I had my earphones stuffed loosely in my pockets, ready for my hands to quickly dive for in case it got so loud I had to run out screaming. Was it that loud? Well, no, but it was definitely the loudest show I've seen.
On stage Shields and Butcher were typically still, while O’Ciosoig and Googe were thrashing and battling about. Belinda's vocals were especially angelic, when you could hear a piece of them under all the noise. Apart from a couple of false starts they were a tight group (older fans have said they've improved as a live act since they're first coming). Personal highlights for me would be Soon, Only Shallow (a great opener), To here knows when and Blown a wish. My only wish would have been that they'd played No more sorry and Sometimes, but you can't have it all.
Liars/Deerhunter at Koko London, June 17th 2008
Due to rubbish trains and an achingly long journey into London, I missed High Places opening set, to which I am regretful. I had heard little bits of praise for them in the run up to the show, and will labour to give them my full attention in the future. More disappointingly, I arrived at the venue and was greeted by the familiar sound of pounding drums and paranoid guitars bathed in lush ambience. Yes, Deerhunter had already got started. Entering the stage arena I was unable to enjoy the band as much as I would have wished- I was taken aback by the hurriedness of my travel and the reallisation that the band I had travelled for a number of hours to see had already set sail. Judging by the performance on the night, the abrasive, chaotic shows previously associated with the band had been left behind. None of the band was particularly mobile; it was similarly mellow to Atlas Sound's earleir show at the same venue. The foursome alternated between Cryptograms and their recent Microcastles. Personally, I would have preffered more material from Cryptograms, especially the second half with the pulsating, chaotic Krautrock-like rhythms of Heatherwood and Spring Hall Convert. Microcastles has more in common with Atlas Sound- a relaxed, introspective affair that is a pleasant, but inferior listen. There were moments though, that the warm, dreamlike songs progressed into clattering, lush crescendos that were pure joy.
Could the final act trump the opener yet again, as Animal Collective did so not yet a month ago? Why, yes, of course. Liars were superb. The few records I 'd set my ears upon them left me unsatisfied. Unlike AC, who were frequently gorgeous on record but utimately left me wanting, Liars were a much more difficult proposition. Yelping, pounding tribalistic drums, and raw guitars- it was hard for me to get into. LIve though, it all made sense. Entering the stage wearing a blue schoolboy blazer and white sailors trousers, Angus Andrew was he undisputable star of the show. Never have I seen such a compelling magnetic performer. As the band started playing, Angus looked menacingly out into the crowd underneath a batch of wild hair. Swaying, swinging, jumping around the stage like a force of nature, you could not take your eyes off of him. The drums were loud and pounding, the guitars were sinister and cutting, and Angus was howling and murmuring like a wild man. It was entrancing.
Could the final act trump the opener yet again, as Animal Collective did so not yet a month ago? Why, yes, of course. Liars were superb. The few records I 'd set my ears upon them left me unsatisfied. Unlike AC, who were frequently gorgeous on record but utimately left me wanting, Liars were a much more difficult proposition. Yelping, pounding tribalistic drums, and raw guitars- it was hard for me to get into. LIve though, it all made sense. Entering the stage wearing a blue schoolboy blazer and white sailors trousers, Angus Andrew was he undisputable star of the show. Never have I seen such a compelling magnetic performer. As the band started playing, Angus looked menacingly out into the crowd underneath a batch of wild hair. Swaying, swinging, jumping around the stage like a force of nature, you could not take your eyes off of him. The drums were loud and pounding, the guitars were sinister and cutting, and Angus was howling and murmuring like a wild man. It was entrancing.
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