The Lady Vanishes (Alfred Hitchcock, 1938)

I guess I’ve seen about 20 or more Hitchcock films now, but still there is something to get from this guy, although I might be scraping the bottom of the barrel. The Lady Vanishes was one of his British films, before he decided to go to America. The film therefore has a different feel to it than his Hollywood productions, particularly those of the 50’s. What is interesting, though, is that we can already see in this early film, elements which would become very prominent later in his career, and hailed as hallmarks of his cinema.

The film has a very “British” sense of humour, my two favourite characters in the film are two Englishmen who constantly talk about cricket and how they have to get in time home for the big cricket tournament. Most of the film takes place on a train, and Hitchcock does well to keep the film interesting despite the limited space he can tell his story in. The narrative is about a woman who vanishes, as the title says. It is actually quite disturbing when she does disappear, and a strange sense of the uncanny and questioning one’s self mind come to the fore. It is a thriller, though, in typical Hitchcock style, with all the recognizable narrative ploys he usually uses, for example having a conversation while eating, or the classic romance. What made this one stand out a bit more than the rest of his films that I have seen is the focus on the comedy, which there is a lot more of here than usual. All of Hitchcock’s films have quite a bit of humour, but it is usually subtle or just for short moments. Here, though, it takes centre stage and is a big part of what the film is. I also found the interplay between the two romantic leads very good and playful, although the acting is never anything spectacular in itself, at least not on the level such as It Happened One Night.

I did think though that the film lacked a bit of the depth that Hitchcock’s films usually have. Not to say that the film isn’t subtle, because it is quite subtle at times, and explores some interesting themes on denial psychology. What the film misses, most crucially, is the cutting edge in narrative that some of Hitchcock’s later films such as Vertigo, Rebecca, Notorious, Rear Window, and to a lesser extent, North by Northwest had. Still, the film works wonderfully in its own way, and is still high above the average of similar films from that time period. The 1930’s are a difficult era in film to analyse, because the move from silent to sound put the films technologically back a couple of years, and one can see the raw crudities in some of the early 30’s films. In The Lady Vanishes, however, there is little sign to this, and the sound design is also quite impressive for its time. Watching this makes me a bit nostalgic; as I feel I am starting to draw dry the amount of good films that Hitchcock still has to offer. That I have seen well over 20 of his films, though, and still being able to look for more material he directed, only stands as a testament to his immense quality and consistency as a director. Sure, there were a couple of stinkers, but overall the amount of quality films he has put out is nothing short of impressive.

There are always re-evaluations of directors. Recently I have felt that many have started to vindicate Hitchcock to be not all he was made out to be, much like Citizen Kane. Of course, though, Hitchcock is one of the finest directors of all time, he made some fantastic, deep and entertaining classics, and some of the best camerawork and sound design you will ever see or hear. This one was good, and while a classic, not quite up to speed with his very best. Not as if that says much.

Oliver Twist (David Lean, 1948)

Based on the classic novel by Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist is another classic British film by the director David Lean. Of course, this is a very well known book, and there are actually several film adaptations. I am familiar with the adaptation Oliver!, which was a musical, and one of my fondest childhood film memories. So, obviously, this film had to live up to the expectations of the musical. And, actually, it did, to some extent.

This film is much darker than the musical-colour-extravaganza version. The setting, the characters, and the story are pretty much the same, but the tone and atmosphere of the gritty cinematography creates the much more depressing tone of the film. The opening scenes exemplify this strongly, and I was not too surprises when I read that this film, at its screening, caused quite an upset. One thing that upset me, quite a bit, was the character Fagin. In the musical he is such a lovable person, in a very strange way, but here he is much darker, menacing and generally a bastard. I guess this goes for a lot of the characters in this film. Fagin, though, is played extremely well by one of my favourite British actors, Alec Guinness, and this was his first breakthrough performance. Fagin is quite a larger than life character, but Alec Guinness plays him with enough subtlety to give the character some more depth. He does it perfectly, and Fagin is a typical you love to hate him and hate to love him character. Of course, the real bastard in this film is Bill Sikes, and he is much darker than I remember him, but there you go. Mostly, the casting in this film is perfect, except, I think, the role of Oliver. He is a tad bit boring, and doesn’t really do much, and lacks some natural charisma to make him likable. But he is just a kid, though, and the adult actors support him well.

The book, which I haven’t read by the way, I assume is quite long. Because it feels like the film doesn’t leave out too much, but at its relative short running-time, the film seems to zoom by at lightning speed. Everything seems somewhat rushed, as we are just going through the motions to get to the next part of the narrative. This is the thing I remain most critical to, as the film never really slows down and takes its time properly developing the story, but moves too fast from one point to the next. Oliver is also adopted by some rich family, but compared to the musical, this relationship I felt was never properly explored, and I wanted more time spent in such scenes. Comparing this and the musical is obviously quite hard, because of their very different styles, but I must say that, even though I thought this was great, I think I still prefer the musical. It has charm, beautiful cinematography, great acting and a very well developed story which, even with the excess of the songs, doesn’t seem to be rushed. 10-20 odd minutes more could have added a lot of pace and depth to this black and white version. Still, it has all the trademarks of a classic, and deserves its place within British cinema. It has a very dark atmosphere, which is interesting for the time it was made, and has that undeniable British charm that I quite love.

The film is very enjoyable in many ways, but at the end of the day, it suffers from the rushed storyline. Anyway, the casting is mostly great and the cinematography is great, what’s not to like?

Brief Encounters (David Lean, 1945)

I don’t know much about David Lean, despite having watched several of his films before. I knew him mainly as a director of wide-shot epics, and some of them were my favourite films, particularly The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957), which was fantastic. But, David Lean also made some smaller films before that, in black and white. Brief Encounters is quite famous, but it was only recently that I discovered that it was David Lean who directed it.

So this is a shorter, less spectacular film than I have previously associated with David Lean. The black and white cinematography isn’t as sweeping as those other later colour films, but it creates a nice and tight atmosphere, particularly at night. This film is your basic love story, and has been copied and parodied countless times. Luckily, though, the film avoids being a cliché of itself by creating a wonderful melancholic mood and nostalgic feeling to it. There is also laid down a lot of groundwork to get us, the audience, to sympathise and feel the protagonist’s point of view and submit us to the somewhat dreary life that she leads. Although she is not really unhappy, she doesn’t have much passion in her life, and this meeting with a strange man quickly leads to a romance which introduces her to passion again. Of course, both of them are married, and therefore the romance is doomed, particularly in this old day England. Actually, I really enjoyed the setting, and the thick accents of some of the characters are wonderful. The main setting is a small bar at the train station; both of the main characters live far apart, but meet on this station when they are to go home. Interestingly though; many of the supporting characters almost never have anything to do with the actual story, they are just people bantering at the bar. While the danger here is to take away from the main story, it actually enhances it, as it gives the film, which is already quite gloomy, a more lighter mood, and also provides some fun comedy.

One of the things that I particularly liked was the age of the two characters. They aren’t young, but more middle aged. Today, of course, romance is usually only between two young people, but I feel this works better, because young romance is so easy to write anyway. The romance between the two main characters is based on the fact that they both lack something in their lives, and this is important to adding to the particular mood of the film, which is overall, the best element. Despite the sometimes euphoric romance, there is always a sense of doom and inevitability, and it makes every single minute feel like it counts. Actually, the film felt much longer than it actually was, but this wasn’t really a bad thing. Some of the best moments are when the two go for walks in the country, and this really resonates a romantic tone which feels all the more sad when knowing how hopeless the courting is. The film isn’t really that broad, but it excels at what it is trying to achieve, and is a great exploration of romance. The protagonist is continually well developed throughout the film, and this helps create the strong resonance in the film. However, I sometimes felt that the male interest was a bit too hollow, and one really doesn’t get to close a look at his character, and the interest in the romance from this part suffers as a result. But it doesn’t really detract that much from the film overall.

Pretty damn good romance film, as good as these get, I would say. It doesn’t really go many places nor have any broad themes or interests, but for what it is it is exceptional. Not really the kind of film that will become my favourite, but the film is carefully directed and shows great touches of atmosphere and the emotions a film can create. Neat.

Repulsion (Roman Polanski, 1965)

Roman Polanski is one of the finest directors out there, is sense of space and creating a dark and claustrophobic atmosphere is brilliant, and he showcases this in such films as Rosemary’s Baby and The Tenant, and his Chinatown is just brilliantly directed. Repulsion was his first film outside Poland, I believe, and it is interesting to see what further steps he took his directing to. This was made in the UK, during that infamous flower power era, and this film does reflect that, to some extent.

What is crucial for the film is its quite daring exploration of a woman’s sexuality, more specifically that of Catherine Deneuve, who lives in London with her sister, who have come to work from Belgium, the French part of Belgium obviously. Of all the Polanski films I have seen, this probably has the most sharp directing, which is quite a feat, considering his previous films. There isn’t a lot of dialogue in this film; rather, we see the inner world of the protagonist, as she becomes more and more paranoid about the surroundings around her, and when she is all alone in the apartment. The most memorable image in the film is the rotting carcass of a rabbit in the kitchen. The film slowly progresses and reveals more about the character, and the tension builds effectively. Polanski takes some unexpected routes to get to where he wants, but always to great effect. The film is shot in grim black and white, and properly suits the mood of the film. Deneuve is perfect in her ice cold manner, and although she doesn’t emote much, this works well with the isolated character that she plays. Great example of good casting. Polanski, though, doesn’t mind throwing the audience about a bit, and our senses are distorted at times, which is quite effective. Much of the films strengths is its development and unfolding, so I won’t go too much into it.

Polanski is a master of the exploration of space and claustrophobia, and this is fairly similar to Rosemary’s Baby although, I believe, Repulsion is superior to that film. The intense feeling of claustrophobia, together with sexual angst, grows throughout the film, and builds towards a great climax. This is where Polanski’s sense of directing really comes to its best, his angles, the framing, it’s all great, and helps create the underlying fear of the film. This is a great example of truly telling the story through visual means, the lack of much dialogue helps create the sense of isolation, but also allows Polanski to experiment with the camera, everything is told through the lens, most of the dialogue is superfluous and is just there to add some background information. Isolation and paranoia was what Polanski was best at, and it shows gloriously in this film. In fact, I think this is the best film I’ve seen by Polanski, and I love Polanski. He is without doubt one of the best directors to appear during the early to mid 60’s, and this film is the point where the young director really reached his heights.

Brilliant film, brilliant framing and cinematography. The way tension and paranoia is built is superb, and it is a deep and disturbing exploration of repressed sexuality, not to get too Freudian. Not very accessible, the pacing is quite slow, but properly slow. Indeed, I prefer slow pacing compared to fast pacing. But that’s just me.

The Red Shoes (Powell and Pressburger, 1948)

Seeing a lot of great films is nothing new to me. I attempt to watch as many good films as possible, which tends to make my choices about what films to see quite picky. I don’t mind spending time watching an average film, but I always prefer to watch something good that will give me more knowledge of cinema. But every once in a while, I see a film that is beyond great, a film that truly captures my senses and creates vivid images that convey meaning in a simple yet intricate way. The more you see film the less impressed you will get by watching new films, because you will come to a point where most films you see you can say “I’ve seen this before”, even though the film might be quite good. This is one of the things that make watching cinema worthwhile, discovering films that blow you away, that stand as a fantastic piece of art on the screen.

So is the case with The Red Shoes, the second film I’ve seen by Powell and Pressburger. I was quite impressed with the imaginative A Matter of Life and Death (Powell and Pressburger, 1946), but this film just takes their craft to a whole other level. The story is that of a ballet company, most importantly the director of that company, Boris Lermontov, excellently played by Anton Walbrook. Usually it isn’t such a good idea for a film to lean too much on a character, but here it works wonders. In fact, it is even hard to call Lermontov the protagonist of the film, it is more of an ensemble piece, but his character is so vital to the film and puts it in a certain direction that you cannot underestimate the importance of this character. That’s one of the things I loved the most, Walbrook’s character. He believes in suffering and sacrificing oneself to ones art, and obviously he comes into conflict with the other characters. But it is the devotion and crushing belief he puts into his faith that makes it all the more powerful, and avoids making him an antagonist, which could easily have happened. There is almost a paradox in the film, you will be brought almost to despise the character for his coldness towards others, at the same time you cannot stop admiring him. I think that most artists would like to be just like him, but few are wilful or strong enough. He is probably one of the most fascinating characters I’ve ever seen on the screen, and makes the film extremely memorable for me. I know it is subjective, and a lot of audiences will feel that he is nothing but a cold hearted brute, but for me he remains one of the most interesting and melancholic characters of cinema.

Now, the film would have been great with just this character, but there is so much more. What I cannot forget to mention is the fantastic 15 minutes long ballet sequence, which is also some of the most impressive I’ve seen in cinema, and reminds me quite a bit of A Matter of Life and Death. It starts off as a straight theatre scene shot with a camera, but slowly starts to become much more cinematic and stunning. This sequence captures some of the most indefinable and beautiful moments in cinema, and works extremely well in the context of the themes. The rest of the film is also very well shot, particularly when it moves around in different locations. This DVD is from the same Powell & Pressburger collection from which I saw A Matter of Life and Death, and in contrast to that version, this looks quite good, fairly sharp images, and the sound is good, which it better be considering how important music is to the film. Indeed, the music is another critical point which makes this film so good. It is relevant to the narrative, and has several thematic ideas. Most films just use it for simple emotional purposes, but here it is put to use the right way, much like La Pianiste (Michael Haneke, 2001). While the film aesthetically centres on ballet, the film is in its core about all art. What does it mean to be an artist and what one has to sacrifice? The film is not afraid to ask any of these questions, but keeps the answer ambiguous to the end credits, and leaves the audience to contemplate what they have just seen.

There are so many memorable scenes, so many great aspects about this film, but in the end what I will remember it the most for is the character Lermontov and the fantastic performance by Anton Walbrook. I have never heard of him or seen him in anything else, but through this film he will probably haunt my thoughts as one of the most problematic and fascinating characters in cinema history. The rest of the film? Just fantastic.

A Matter of Life and Death (Powell and Pressburger, 1946)

It’s funny how when you delve into cinema there are some areas that you miss, and I’m not talking about some obscure Russian film from the 1930’s, but obvious classics and filmmakers that just go right above your head. The longer you go into the water, the deeper it gets and there is never enough time to see it all. I am sometimes ashamed at how few films I’ve actually seen and the lack of depth in my knowledge on cinema. The Powell and Pressburger duo is very famous and legendary, but it wasn’t until fairly recently that I for the first time heard of them, and decided to the get the Powell & Pressburger box set that contained 11 of their films. The first in line was A Matter of Life and Death, and when I saw the poster for it I immediately remembered it from the 1001 Films You Must See Before You Die book. I was anxious to see what sort of cinema this British duo might have to offer.

Technically speaking, this is one of the films I’ve been the most impressed with. Not in the way, oh say, Star Wars was impressive for its use of special effects, but how inventive and well implemented. The opening scene is fantastic, and the set-pieces are wonderfully created. It just shows you that truly creative and ambitious people are behind the process. But I’ve always stressed narrative over technical stuff, so lets just get down to it. A Matter of Life and Death is a fairly standard boy meets girl story, but has a compelling twist that makes the film truly original and imaginative. The protagonist played by David Niven has barely escaped a flight crash during WW2, and meets an American woman played by Kim Hunter. They fall in love at an instant, fairly classical way. However, shortly into the film it turns out that the protagonist was supposed to die, but because of the heavy fog that day the person from “up there” who was going to get him missed him. Now he has come to reclaim the protagonist, but he refuses, claiming that the time he was given made him fall in love, and now it is unreasonable to take him back. This opens for a very interesting and different story, which constantly raises questions in the audiences head, whether this messenger from “up there” is just a part of the protagonist’s imagination, or if he is real. There is no quite correct answer, and I believe many audiences will be split in two.

A Matter of Life and Death is a good example of how you take a trite old cliché and turn it around and make it wonderful and imaginative. The twist in the plot makes the film all the more memorable for the audience, and seals its place as a classic. But it’s not just the film being original, but the solid script and directing which makes the film very enjoyable to watch. There is quite a bit of hidden and non-hidden humour in there, one of my favourite characters was the French person ordered to bring the protagonist back “up there”. The film is shot in both colour and black & white; earth in colour and “up there” in black and white. This contrast is nice, and it opens up for a bit of interpretation. This is similar to Wim Wender’s Der Himmel Über Berlin (1987), where from the point of view of the angels the world is black and white, but when the angel comes to the world of the living it is in colour. What I felt was important about this was the certain coldness there was to “up there”, almost sterile. “Up there” is also only filmed on a set, so there is a purposeful hard architecture to the place, which makes earth seem all the livelier.

Seeing as I bought a box containing 11 films, I shouldn’t expect too much from the quality of the picture. However, I was a bit let down. For example, in one of the earliest scenes there are to images juxtaposed, one of David Niven and one of Kim Hunter. While the shot of Niven is fine and sharp, the shot of Hunter is quite blurry and unfocused, which I am sure was not the intention of the filmmakers. There is also a scene where the French person who is coming to get the protagonist is arriving on earth. He looks around him on the beautiful colours which are otherwise absent where he lives. This scene should have been beautiful, but the colours on the transfer are all horrible, there is a lot of wrong mixing of colours and the edges of the screen are very burnt out with some ugly orange colour. While the box set was cheap and I probably shouldn’t complain about such an extensive collection, I do feel a bit annoyed when great films don’t get the transfer they deserve. Graininess and not to sharp picture quality are not too bad, which is why black and white films usually get the best transfers, but in my book bad transfer of colour is unforgivable. Just look at the horrible quality of Dersu Uzala (Akira Kurosawa, 1975), the colours should have been so sharp and radiant, but instead they are blurred together and don’t spark that much. In contrast, a great transfer can make brilliant results, like the Cinema Reserve version of The Fly (David Cronenberg, 1986), where the colours are absolutely beautiful and crystal clear.

If you are going to check this out, I would recommend you to get a better version than I did. Still, I only spent something above £10 and still have 10 films left to see, so it isn’t too bad. Lately I’ve seen a couple of marvellous films, and this goes right into that category. The narrative is wonderful and imaginative, the cinematography is good (although it could have been better in a better DVD release), and the acting is good, although some of the lesser characters steal the show. The sets and some of the special effects are amazing, not just in a technological sense, but in the artfulness and wonderful execution and implementation of them. Very memorable, one of the best British films I’ve seen.

Shaun of the Dead (Edgar Wright, 2004)

I’ve got no great infatuation with zombie films, but I found this in a store for £3 and thought it might be a nice view for a good laugh, and my friend a couple of years ago recommended this to me. Although I had my doubts, parody has become a blighted genre of late, if you are any familiar with contemporary American cinema you will know what I am talking about. But considering this was British, I thought it might be different. And indeed it was.

One of the things that really get to me in parody movies is how way over the top they go. I known, it’s a parody, but it truly borders on the pointless. Shaun of the Dead, however, shows us how a good parody film should be made. It borrows from its inspiration, but at the same time is quite loving to its source. Most American parody films are vile and mock their source, which makes us question what the whole purpose is. It is clear that the filmmakers loved the old zombie films, and make a lot of reference to these films, but also manages to make fun of the clichés and plot holes without mocking them. One thing I found interesting was that this film was clearer shot and looked more professional than one of its sources, Dawn of the Dead (George A. Romero, 1978). It is usually the other way around, but considering Romero’s original films were fairly low-budget it does make some sense. The effects are good, although quite scarce, at least compared to Dawn of the Dead. Shaun of the Dead is clever in putting a fairly normal romantic comedy plot into the zombie film. Not so cleverly though they used very similar fast paced editing techniques seen in Guy Ritchie’s Snatch (2000). First off, these techniques are superficial and redundant. They do not necessarily add to the narrative, and although they did in Snatch, don’t here. There is quite a bit of good directing though, one of my favourite parts is a long take where the camera pans with the protagonist as he goes to get something from the store. This is repeated twice, the second time after the zombies have started to take over, however the characters actions remain exactly the same.

This is one of the most interesting comedic points the film makes, how most people in the beginning of the film don’t notice the zombies. A scene where two of the main characters see a zombie in their garden, they respond with: “Oh my God. She’s so drunk!” The film makes a point in many ways how some of us are mindless zombies anyway, not to mention the ending, but it is a fairly original idea and is executed well, although a similar idea was done on The Simpsons a couple of years earlier. The most important thing to ask though is if the comedy works. I would say it does, the film is cast well and the comedy is very good. It’s not over the top, but slightly understated. There is a lot of in your face comedy, and quite a bit of subtle hidden comedy bits you won’t necessarily get on the first view. The film also plays well with its genre conventions, and mixing the two really works well. Another thing that separates this from most of the garbage that comes from America is that it’s quite dark for a comedy. There are several parts that aren’t that funny, but quite sad, and some moments make us actually care about the characters, while the American equivalent makes its characters out of tinfoil. I believe fans of zombie films will love this, because it makes gracious references to its sources and heighten the genre.

I was very surprised by this film, and in a good way. I just watched it to have something easy to watch, and while that was right; it turned out to have a lot more potential than I thought. The directing goes from being annoying to very good, but the comedy is rarely left out, and when it is, it’s for something more interesting. Recommended to film viewers in general.

Sympathy for the Devil (Jean-Luc Godard, 1968)

As I talked about when writing on Performance (Donald Cammell; Nicholas Roeg, 1970) I am a big fan of the Rolling Stones. So this felt like a bit of a treat, one of my favourite filmmakers covering the making of The Stones classic song Sympathy for the Devil. Other than that I did not know what sort of film this would be, but I expected some sort of documentary. However, what I got was something quite different, something that I think that I and many others who see it will be confused by. However, I will try to discern exactly what I saw.

First off, there is the documentary footage of The Rolling Stones recording their song. What first is puzzling about this is the way it is presented. Every single scene is a long take, and there doesn’t seem to be any particular idea of the presentation. They are very straight forward, long runs of The Stones trying out different stuff to improve and build their song. Recordings start, then stop, and then start again. Usually in conventional filmmaking the director would cut in between these moments, but as we are to expect, Godard is not a conventional filmmaker. This creates a certain feeling of reality; nothing seems to be left out, but for what purpose? I’ve seen quite a few Godard films, but this is on so many levels impenetrable. While a lot of the scenes with The Stones are enjoyable, you are left wondering what it is all in purpose of. I guess we have to look fairly deeply into what Godard is doing, because on the surface nothing seems to be for any purpose, but I know Godard too well, and know that he would rather hide it really well than make his films about nothing. The idea of truth is always prevalent in Godard’s films, so I would say that there certainly is an element of this in these blocks of footage of The Stones. The film in many ways redefines the long take, because they are at times painfully long and would make Tarkovsky shy away. But where Tarkovsky creates meaning within his images, there seems like there is a certain emptiness in these shots, which obviously comes from not being staged. The camera pans and tilts across the different Stones members, observing them with true patience. I really loved the observances of Brian Jones, playing acoustic guitar, but the guitar cannot be heard on the track. Quite a stark foreshadowing, I don’t even think Godard was quite aware of, but he certainly found something interesting in some of these shots. Another great moment is where Mick Jagger and some backup singers sing the vocals, but there is no instrumentation. Again, an interesting way of showing the process, but also building on the themes of sound/visuals that Godard developed in his earlier works.

I’ve talked a lot about the footage of The Stones, but there is also something else in this film. In between the shoots of The Stones, there are scenes that are in fact fiction, or at least set up. The shots of The Stones connect the film together and give it a certain feel of linearity, while these other pieces are observations and ideas presented by Godard. These scenes are like the Rolling Stones shoots shot in one take, and long takes at that. One of the segments shows us a group of black resistance fighters who load up on guns and kill young white women. Another segment depicts a young woman being berated with questions by an interviewer and his camera crew. What all these individual segments have in common is their depiction of the counter-culture movement of the 60’s. Godard himself was very political, and so we can see why he is interested in this movement and the new arising culture. In fact, he wanted to make a film with The Beatles, but for some reason it didn’t come through. With these segments the film does start to take some sort of structure, they are his examples of the new movement that is moving towards social change, while at the same time juxtaposing these with The Stones, who together with the likes of The Beatles, Bob Dylan and Jimi Hendrix symbolized these changes. I believe that Godard was commissioned to just make a documentary about The Stones, but then in his usual matter turned this into his own personal agenda. Some of these segments on their own are quite interesting though, particularly one in a fascist magazine shop where two revolutionary students are held and slapped by all the customers. The shop sells sleazy magazines, most of questionable pornography. This reminds me of Godard’s Week End (1967), a similar film where Godard takes these kinds of satirical viewpoints and hammer it over our heads. But like most things Godard do, they are done with glee; there is something indefinable novel about them.

So how does all these elements connect together to create a coherent film? With this kind of film, I think it is important that we drop all previous ideas of what a film should be, and just focus on what this film is in of itself. It is an encapsulation and look at the 60’s counter-culture, as well as prominently voicing Godard’s Marxist opinion of the world. It is fairly known that his later films of the 60’s became increasingly political, and this Stones “documentary” is no exception. But as with most Godard films, it is also a statement about reality and truth in cinema. Although this is not an idea I particularly care for, many connect the long take to reality, claiming editing obscures reality. Interesting that a filmmaker like Godard would go this way, particularly considering he popularized the jump-cut. There is an interesting duality of reality/fiction in this film. On one hand, there is the “real” recording of The Stones, but then there are the “fictitious” staged sequences. Yet these two opposites are filmed in a very similar manner, the same panning long take. Although the scenes with the black resistance fighters is staged, the performer themselves are not actors, but real members of the resistance group depicted. This is one of the films strongest points, creating this duality of fiction and reality, a theme that Godard seems to be constantly concerned with. The idea is prominently brought up in his films, but to a certain level of success in this film. Sometimes the performers or actors are aware of the camera, sometimes not. Some of the staged scenes the actors seem more aware of the camera than The Stones, again in many defying usual convention and playing with the idea of what reality is.

Although I’ve discussed the film to a certain level of depth, I still feel I haven’t unravelled it completely, although I doubt I ever will. Like with most Godard films, it probably rewards repeated viewings. The film is as fascinating as it is frustrating, but there are some themes that come clearly through, particularly Godard’s more satirizing moments. It is a film that I wouldn’t quickly recommend, but it is sure interesting, and if watched with the right mindset can be rewarding. The film feels like a progression of his career, and people who though Godard’s early films are too unconventional will probably be alienated by this. The same could be said for the average Rolling Stones fan, who I would not recommend this to. Essentially, you will know in yourself whether or not you wish to watch this film.

Performance (Donald Cammell; Nicholas Roeg, 1970)

About a year ago, I had a period where I was obsessed with the 60’s. The clothes, the music, the changing culture and politics. Now, about a year later, I have fairly left that period behind, although I still listen to The Beatles, Bob Dylan, other sorts of 60’s bands and artists, and not least of all, the Stones. Now I watched Shine a Light this summer and loved it, the Rolling Stones are still one of the best Rock ’n’ Rollers around. So I went into this film with slightly ambivalent feelings, I’m sure I would have loved it no matter what a year ago, and I still love Mick Jagger, but I was still unsure how I was going to approach this film.

The cover of the film strategically forgets to mention the actor playing the main character, James Fox. He has much more screen time than Mick Jagger, and still isn’t even mentioned on the cover. This is one thing that often irritates me, but I understand why it was done. When the film was released, The Stones were at the height of their popularity, so it makes sense in advertisement, but a release, now thirty years later you would think we would be slightly less jaded, particularly considering James Fox I great in this movie and extremely important to the narrative. This is though a fairly daring film, especially back in the days. It’s a twisted mix of violence, sex, drugs and rock. But this is not a glorified version of the 60’s, this is almost like a look back at an era already over, the Mick Jagger character is isolated and weary. It’s gritty, and this is further shown by the very interesting film techniques used throughout the film, as well as the sometimes beautiful and sometimes ugly cinematography. But it works all the way, the film balances between the realistic, the hypnotic and the psychedelic. It doesn’t cover from showing the dark sides of the hippie culture, but doesn’t condemn it either. What I like is the juxtaposition of the violence of James Fox’s character and the drug addled life of Mick Jagger’s character. When the protagonist is forced into living the world of Mick Jagger, his world slowly clashes with the psychedelic carpet of drug abuse, and I felt that as the film progressed, this result became more and more spectacular.

It’s interesting to note that the filmmakers who made this film were at the time amateurs, they had never made a film before. This impressive considering the highly experimentation with the form, but also the parts which seem fairly classical are executed very well. It’s also cut together in a fast paced and interesting way, although this technique has become way overused these days, but as the film stands it makes it better. There is a certain progression in the film, the techniques and style used changes over the course of the film, mirroring the psychological state of the protagonist. One of the slightly depressing things about the film is the way it shows how the hippie era has failed and deteriorated, already in 1968 (the year the film was actually made) they could see where this period was going, and the film encapsulates every aspect of the 60’s. The film and its meaning though might be a bit too ambiguous for some people, but I like the ambiguity, particularly towards the end. There’s also even a musical number, in which Mick Jagger sings, and I think it is probably one of the very first musical videos; it certainly looks a lot like music videos that are made today, which I found quite interesting. One thing that adds to the whole feel of the film is the architecture of the house the film takes place in for most of the time. The rooms are big, but are all designed in a very psychotic way, chaotic but beautiful at the same time, much like the film.

I liked it a lot, and if you’re interested in the 60’s, then you should absolutely check it out. Not always as a whole does it come together, but the mix of the entire psychedelic atmosphere and the unique editing and filming techniques should make it interesting for film buffs as well.