Thursday, 12 December 2013

Gravity



Gravity, Esparanto Filmoj, Heyday Films, 2013, directed by Alfonso Cuarón. Starring Sandra Bullock, George Clooney, Ed Harris.


As of today (12th December, 2013) Gravity is the frontrunner for the Golden Globes Best Picture award, the first indication of Oscar glory come next February. This is incredible: it’s sci-fi, it’s short (90 minutes! I’ve had showers that have lasted longer!) and it only has three actors, one of whom isn’t even on screen. 2001 this is not, but all this falls to the wayside because Gravity is amazing, cool and all of those things everyone has been saying.

For a start, the visuals are staggering. Alfonso Cuarón said that he built the film around an image of an astronaut adrift in space, free falling into the void of the universe and it shows. Each shot in space feels massive and terrifying. Our heroes Ryan Stone (Sandra Bullock) and Matt Kowalski (George Clooney) look both tiny and huge, the usual frame of reference for size gone as the camera pulls away and moves to within inches of their faces. Bullock's face fills the frame in one shot – in another, she’s just another dot of debris. You know that famous image of Earth from Voyager, taken billions of miles away? Remember how our entire planet is just a speck of dust and we are all just transient as we move alone through the universe? That’s how Gravity makes you feel.

Though at least us Earth-bound folks get to move alone together  

Of course, none of us will ever be quite as alone as our main character. After a series of catastrophic events, Ryan Stone has to travel 400 miles downwards to Earth before she’s safe, cut off from Houston and her fellow astronauts as she navigates wrecked space stations and abandoned escape pods. Though George Clooney is all Buzz Lightyear, Sandra Bullock as a rookie astronaut shows real emotional depth as someone who is truly having the worst day ever, dealing with no oxygen, fires in space and limited knowledge of how to fly these hunks of metal away from danger.

All this existentialism doesn’t real give you a true feel of Gravity though, which is more like Alton Towers than anything else – I’d be surprised if the DVD chapters aren’t just called Nemesis, Oblivion, Rita and Air. The camera doesn’t cut for upwards of ten minutes, giving each take and each disaster a quality of an actual roller coaster, with breathing space for character moments acting as the wait before you get onto the next ride. This means that it does kind of have the emotional depth of a roller coaster as well, the film slowing down to reveal some hidden truths about our protagonists which don’t really impinge on the story that much. But it’s nice to have a film pace itself in between massive set pieces (Michael Bay should take note) and it gives you a chance to catch your breath as well, which is nice.

It’s an unashamed thrill, and from the first five minutes it doesn’t let you go until the house lights come up. If you haven’t already, check it out on the biggest 3D screen you can; it really is as good as everyone’s saying it is. Roll on the Oscar season; it’s going to be out of this world.


Oh come on, I’m allowed one pun!

Wednesday, 20 November 2013

My Micky Mouse Degree Part 2: The Little Mermaid

The Little Mermaid, Disney, 1989. Directed by Ron Clements and John Musker. Starring Jodie Benson, Samuel E. Wright, Christopher Daniel Barnes, Pat Carroll and Kenneth Mars.


This film was my life for roughly six months whilst I did my dissertation. I watched it about 50 times, listened to the soundtrack endlessly and immersed myself so completely into the merchandising that I dreamt I was a mermaid several times. Yeah, I was not great company, to the point where my sister, who loves Disney and who’s favourite film has been The Lion King since she was two, quietly pleaded that I might, y’know, want to shut up about the damn The Little Mermaid for two seconds please (unfortunately, this was two weeks before the deadline, so that wasn’t going to happen. Sorry for that sis). But, throughout this, I didn’t even once consider that I could even find the film less than amazingly wonderfully beautiful. But I very quickly became aware that there are some who either don’t care for The Little Mermaid, or even actively dislike it. So this blog will show how they are super wrong and why this film is awesome.

First, the story is one of the tightest ones Disney has ever come up with. Human obsessed mermaid Ariel saves and falls in love with Prince Eric, and since such an action is forbidden by her own father King Triton, she runs away to make a Faustian pact with the Sea Witch Ursula so she herself can become human. This story must have been inspired by Vladimir Propp’s 1928 Morphology of the Folktale, a blueprint for all Western fairy tales. If you watch the film with Propp’s book in your hand (like I did, several times), you can tick off the plot points as they go, and not a second of film is wasted or sidetracked from the story. This is a massive improvement on the likes of Cinderella, which though gorgeous, spends a good eternity and a half messing around with mice and cats, which serves nothing expect the fact that it’s kind of cute. Which is okay, but The Little Mermaid has epic storms and a properly satisfying ending.

Though Hans Christian Andersen’s original Mermaid story is haunting and angst-ridden, it doesn’t really have much of a plot, and no villain to speak of. Somehow, everyone is passive and there isn’t very much to say about the characters – they don’t even have names, just roles they fulfil. Even the Sea Witch acts as a fair minded businessman who warns the Mermaid exactly what she’s in for; nothing is surprising and everything is heartbreaking. So Literature zealots who act as if the Disney Company slapped their grandmother because they changed things, I disagree that the changes made were for the worse; actually, they’re probably for the better. The Sea Witch has agency and causes actual conflict, King Triton has a story arc which turns him from a bigoted, scared patriarch to a caring, selfless father figure and Ariel is both victim and hero, an active character who makes mistakes (really stupid mistakes which only a teenager would think of) but is a fully developed character who earns her right to a happy ending (seriously, listen to the soundtrack). 

This isn’t to say the film is just an exercise in plotting and story development. Nope, it’s Disney’s first Broadway musical, thanks to Howard Ashman and Alan Menken. Not only did they structure the songs within the story (something which is surprisingly rare pre- Mermaid for Disney) but they gave each character their own flavour and style, making the soundtrack a varied, awesome extravaganza of what Disney mixed with Broadway could do. Ursula has the big drag queen moment in Poor Unfortunate Souls, where she gets to glam up and wig out to this massive rousing chorus, pumping up to the huge finale –watch it again, it’s really a remarkable mix of animation and music.



Sebastian is the only character who has two separate songs (though Ariel sings several times, she only sings the motif from Part of Your World) but both of them work together as their own little story arc. So Under the Sea is this showstopper of a song, which is really a desperate plea for Ariel to get back to reality and save Sebastian’s shell. Everyone’s having this great calypso time, all the fishes are loving it:

I love this bit. Look at all the fishes watching the chorus line of lobsters! 
They’re not in the show, they’re all just like, ‘hey cool, street theatre!’
 
But Ariel has her back to it, and obviously this big number isn’t working for her.

Ariel: ‘Meh, calypso oysters, seen it before, don’t care’

But, when Sebastian starts looking out for Ariel and helping her, he sings Kiss the Girl, a pop ballad which uses steel drums to connect it to the Caribbean calypso, but also uses violins and a tiny dash of electric piano (the scourge of 90’s Disney pop, but used sparingly and well here) to invoke a romantic, quiet atmosphere where true love can blossom. Sebastian’s gone from creating loud, fun but ultimately hollow set pieces to loving, thoughtful music which serves his audience of Ariel much better. Marvin Gaye wishes he was as smooth as Sebastian.

There are so many other things about The Little Mermaid which are worth serious, in-depth analysis, but there’s just one more thing I think needs clearing up. And that’s Prince Eric’s apparent blandness.


Hi guys!

 So I’ve heard many people complain that this chap is the weak link in the film and that after all Ariel goes through, she’s pinned her hopes and dreams on a guy who just seems... nice. Not interesting, but... nice. The problem with this is that it devalues Ariel’s struggle for her human freedom, making it seem like she’s given up everything and everyone for a guy who’s only merits are his castle and dog.

This is wrong though, since Eric was actually quite revolutionary in terms of Disney Princes. Snow White and Sleeping Beauty both have once scene each with their Princes, and Snow White’s guy doesn’t even have a name, he’s just Prince Charming. Cinderella's Prince isn’t even dynamic enough to search the kingdom for her himself, he just gets married to her at the end, with no thought given to his hopes and dreams at all.


'Hey, you look kind of familiar. Welp, guess that 
means we’re in love'

Not so with Eric! After he’s rescued from his ship, it’s implied that he’s spent days wandering the beaches of his kingdom, looking for the woman who saved his life. He’s made up his mind – he’s going to find her and marry her, because he’s a stupid teenager like Ariel and that’s what they do. But see how he’s actually looking for this mystery woman? And not just passing it on to his butler like he would his shopping list? He’s an active character! But not only that, he realises that the awesome woman he’s been spending all of his free time with might be better even than a mystery, life saving lady, and he falls in love with Ariel, not the elusive lady of hotness he had his heart set on. He’s actually changed his mind about marriage, based on someone else’s personality – do you know how often that happened in Disney films before The Little Mermaid? Zero times!

If you haven’t seen it since you were a kid, I’d watch The Little Mermaid again and appreciate it for the superior piece of filmmaking it is. If you still don’t like it, Well, I guess that means more merchandise and t-shirts for the sane amongst us. It’s up to you really. Take us away, Sebastian!





Sunday, 29 September 2013

My Mickey Mouse Degree Part 1: The Disney Renaissance

In your final year at Glasgow University (at least in Arts), you write your dissertation. Lengths and deadlines vary, but I was given a full year to write ten to twelve thousand words on any topic I wanted. I toyed with doing it on social change reflected in Batman movies (but that would mean watching The Dark Knight Rises again, so I wasn’t too keen), the depiction of Britishness in Aardman films (which would mean being critical of Wallace and Gromit, which I can’t do) or feminism in Disney. I went with the Disney one, but it quickly turned out that everyone has talked about feminism in Disney, and at considerable length. The idea moved onto to feminism in fairytales, to fairytale adaption and then it took its final form as a ten thousand word long fan letter to The Little Mermaid. Or, more academically speaking, an in depth look at the history, influences on and marketing of Disney’s greatest ever film (ever), The Little Mermaid.

Before I talk about the film itself and why it’s awesome, it’s important to understand where Disney animation was at this point in time. It wasn’t great. A steady decline in quality since Uncle Walt died in 1967 meant that a company which had once prided itself on innovation in technology and art was struggling to make more than one animated film every five years, and the less said about the live action department the better. Roy E Disney, Walt’s nephew and head of the company, said that it was discussed at great length that the film department should be shut down. No, seriously, that almost happened.

The thing to understand at this point is that a lot of people thought Roy E. Disney was, well, dumb. And though he wasn’t the most business savvy chap on the Disney board, he knew that getting rid of the film department would relegate the entire company to becoming a museum. He saw the executives ask each other ‘What would Walt do?’ rather than come up with new ideas themselves, therefore dragging down the quality of the entire company. Something had to change, but it wasn’t going to be shutting down the film department.

Instead, a boardroom coup led to the Ron Miller, the CEO and Walt’s son-in-law, being fired, bringing in Michael Eisner as CEO and Jeffrey Katzenberg as Head of the film department. They really changed the culture at Disney, meaning that for the first time, Disney was run by Hollywood bigwigs rather than kindly old men in cardigans. The Hollywood types fired people, tore up drawings, kicked the animators out of the Disney lot – but they also started dragging Disney films into the present day. The animators who kicked up a fuss – people like Joe Hale, who balked at the idea of editing an animated movie – were shortly fired, as were people who refused to change. Something bad had to happen from the inside wake up these people. That ‘something bad’ was The Black Cauldron. 

Even the poster is a mess...

Have you ever seen it? It makes no sense on a very profound level. If you squint, you can almost see what the filmmakers were trying to accomplish by taking seven books by Lloyd Alexander (which are quite good and were very popular) and cramming them into one film, but the main question with The Black Cauldron is ‘why’. Why was the hero Taran so whiny? Why was the mystical pig played with such a hideously irritating voice that all of the scenes it’s in are totally unwatchable? Why on earth did it cost 44 million dollars to make, when the average animated film cost around 20 million? The film is dark (literally and figuratively), dull and about as much fun as tooth decay.

It is in short, not good. It failed to make half of its budget back and was beaten at the box office by The Care Bears Movie. This was proof that Disney was no longer the only animation house in town and the budget for the next film, The Great Mouse Detective, was slashed. It was not, however, scrapped. Roy E. Disney, now head of the Animation Department, protected his workers as best he could from Eisner and Katzenberg, but he realised that he couldn’t do it alone. He hired Peter Schneider, who took a despondent and sullen department of people terrified for their jobs and made them not only work together, but work with him. The animators knew The Black Cauldron was bobbins – what Schneider and Roy E. Disney did was make them think they could do better.

The Great Mouse Detective was heralded as the return of Classic Disney, which is a stretch. It’s a cute film, but incredibly weightless. As a retelling of the Sherlock Holmes story but with mice, there’s only so much you can do with the concept before it becomes clear that the only joke is ‘Look, the mouse is wearing a Sherlock Holmes hat!’ Disney had already done this type of story before, with Robin Hood, but it was done so much better there. Robin Hood is sexy, courageous, devilish and dashing, so it makes perfect sense for him to be a fox. The reason the animal version of Sherlock  is a mouse is because.... erm.... mice are cute?

Another point is that it also looks terrible, with blocky, flat backgrounds and black outlines on all the characters. The $10 million budget, which Eisner still thought was too much, didn’t allow for the kind of artistic and technical innovation which made Walt Disney the recipient of 32 Oscars.


 Here is Sleeping Beauty, made in 1959, and The Great Mouse
 Detective, made in 1986, 27 years later. This is not what 
artistic progress looks like.

The next film, Oliver and Company, was a bit better, but whilst the artistry was there, the story and tone really wasn’t. Set in modern day New York, it’s another retelling of a classic English Victorian story, but instead of mice, it’s done with cats and dogs, and instead of Sherlock, its Oliver Twist. I can’t really top what the late Roger Ebert said when he pointed out that you don’t watch a Disney film to see a man strangled by a car window. This is totally what happens in this cute film about orphan kittens.

But, despite this, these two films made money (not a lot, but enough to keep Disney Animation afloat) they were also made within two years of each other, not, say seven and a half. Along with the rerelease of the vast Disney back-catalogue, Disney was finally back in the public eye, especially when Who Framed Roger Rabbit? came out in 1988. That film was a monster hit, winning the Disney Animation department an Oscar for the first time in decades, and, more importantly, showed how Disney was still relevant and able to push the boundaries of what could be achieved with animation. 

Live action and animation had been used before, but where Mary Poppins (for example) used it as a fun aside for its showstopping Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious sequence, Who Framed Roger Rabbit? gives the animated characters as much depth and personality as their human counterparts. You really feel that Roger and Jessica Rabbit love each other and they work as a couple in a really fun way. The villain is scary, the concept of The Dip (the only way to kill a ‘toon) is unsettling without being nasty and it’s a well constructed, deeply satisfying film made with warmth and affection.

While the Disney studio in England worked on Roger Rabbit, Katzenberg and Roy E. Disney announced that Oliver and Company would begin a new era for Disney, with a new film being released once a year, every year from that point on. Already, production was in full swing on three films at once: Oliver, a sequel to The Rescuers set in Australia and a musical version of The Little Mermaid.

At this point, Disney hadn’t made a fairy tale adaption in 30 years and the last time the company had made a full on musical was with Robin Hood. Though Disney had built up steam, they could still lose everything if The Little Mermaid failed. Rather than trying to better other animation houses, they had Roger Rabbit as the bench mark – if Mermaid failed to equal it, artistically and financially, this ‘new era’ that Katzenberg was so desperate for Disney to achieve would have failed before it began.

Enter Howard Ashman and Alan Menken.

Yay!

Ashman and Menken were Broadway partners who were approached by David Geffen, a massive player for Disney in the 80’s and 90’s and later the ‘G’ part of Dreamworks SKG, to work for Disney. Ashman, who was influenced by the classic Disney films as a boy, was desperate to work on Mermaid, and set about writing songs whilst Menken scored the film. They worked very closely with the directors, John Musker and Ron Clements, Ashman and Musker becoming producers. Whilst Clements and Musker carefully created a fairy tale adaptation (more on that next time), Ashman and Menken structured the film like a three act Broadway musical. 

The partnership worked beautifully, the atmosphere around the production of Mermaid was described as electric and the four men as geniuses. Everyone wanted to work on the film – Glen Keane,  a big guy who specialised in animating monsters and scariness, was reduced to tears when he first heard Jodie Benson record Part of Your World. He then went on to become the lead animator for Ariel, saying that it was his calling to do this. Disney were excited – very excited.

The film was a smash hit, grossing over $100 million on release in 1989. It linked the modern, Jessica Rabbit style of Disney with the beloved Disney of old, showing that Disney could be creative, could be daring and could be above all good again. Now nobody was asking each other what Walt would do, Disney was capable of being new and fresh, without losing the heart and soul which made them everyone’s favourite corporation. Disney’s Second Golden Age, its Renaissance, had begun.

Friday, 19 July 2013

The Silent Film


       
The next bit of this foolish endeavour to justify four years of top class education will focus on one of my favourite courses, Interwar Cinema, particularly on Silent Cinema. Interwar was brilliant, as it covered a lot of films that I never knew were my favourite until I watched them for the first time; The Scarlet Pimpernel, A Star is Born, Lost Horizon, Madame Bovary (that last one’s French, so you know it’s good and mental) but none were as good as the silent movies I indulged in.

Can I just take a moment to say how good silent films are? It’s like what that Norma Desmond said in Sunset Boulevard – “We didn’t need dialogue, we had faces!”


Norma was obviously the picture of reasoned argument

With a silent movie, you’re relying totally on the cinematic language to tell the story. Actors could remain an enigma, their characters barely ever even having names in the early years. They weren’t the star; the camera was, showing wonderful new things with new equipment every single day. Nickelodeons and later Picture Palaces sprang up across the globe, and new art movements were created in the blink of an eye, let alone techniques which are still used today (apparently, the montage existed before Rocky IV, which was astonishing news to me). Sunrise is one of the most life-affirming films I’ve ever seen, and that little gem starts with attempted wife murder.

Cinema really found its stride just before the 1920s, right when Thomas Edison was chasing all the early filmmakers out of New York and into Los Angeles, where the sun always shone and unions hadn’t been invented on the west coast yet, so everything was nice and cheap (if just a touch deadly). Come the 1920s, some smart people thought that what this new Hollywoodland real estate needed was a big old sign in flashing lights –


Yeah, this would do nicely

And films became less of a curious phase, and a full on glamour fest of epic proportions. The actors, once looked over like so many sultanas in a fruit salad, suddenly became the main attraction, as so many of them embodied that elusive American Dream. Rudolph Valentino for example was an Italian immigrant who came over to Hollywood in 1913, worked his way through small parts until Paramount bought his soul (contracts were harsher back in the day) and modelled him as a Great Lover in the amazingly bonkers The Sheik.

                                                 
This guy.

Oooh, The Sheik is fun. It’s about an English Rose who gets kidnapped by Arabs, only to fall in love with their leader Valentino, who boggles his eyes seductively throughout the film and turns out to be quite nice really, underneath all of his foreignness. Valentino epitomised all that was enticing about the new Hollywood system; if you worked hard and looked the part, you too could live in a fabulous mansion and be adored by millions. So what if you died young (like Valentino), had your marriage destroyed (like Mary Pickford) or flamed out so spectacularly your fall from grace is still whispered in rehab clinics across the world (like Clara Bow)? For one moment, you could be the star of a studio, you could be immortalised in lights forever.

Which is why it’s strange that so many films about Hollywood seem to really hate Hollywood. Take, if you would be so kind, The Extra Girl. Sue Graham (Mabel Normand) dreams of becoming an actress and escaping an unwanted marriage, but when she arrives in Hollywood from Pittsburgh (she was the original small town girl living in a lonely world), it turns out her picture, with which she won a competition to get a part in a movie, was switched with another woman’s photo. Her dreams of acting languish as her parents follow her to Hollywood, where they’re promptly robbed blind and Sue nearly shoots a guy. So come to Hollywood, follow your dreams, but don’t think for a moment you can be like us, good Lord no.

If Hollywood was the stuff of dreams, then European silent films, especially German films, was fast becoming the artsy (and indeed fartsy) cinema of the world. Films like The Cabinet of Dr Caligari, Un Chien Andolou (which I’ve written at length about here) and Battleship Potemkin (which you are obliged to mention in every single film essay you write) were instant, weird classics, pushing the boundaries of technology, art and sometimes taste. It wasn’t all good stuff though; one of the absolute classics, the type that critics talk about in hushed tones, The Joyless Street, is a struggle and a half to get through. 

For a start its three hours long without a single joke; nary even a flicker of a smile can be raised to alleviate the constant oppression of the noble German. Each and every single female character becomes a prostitute at some point, all of the male characters are hatefully ignorant and no one has a happy ending, apart from a baby whose parents are killed by a fire which he somehow escapes. I know there’s a place for films like this, but the horrible tragedy is so overwhelming that it becomes a self parody by the time the third lady heads to the local brothel to feed her elderly father.

However, the march of technology meant that despite many people’s misgivings, the talking picture sensation, which first came to screens in 1927 and was a cultural behemoth by 1929, put a nail in silent cinema’s mainstream appeal forever. Looking around, silent cinema seems to be restricted to short animations (the gloriously delightful Paperman being a prime example) and experimental affairs, like Silent Movie and The Artist, the former a homage to Buster Keaton and Harold Lloyd style slapstick, the latter a homage to really, really good films, told in the way which best suits their stories, sound, colour and 3D be damned.
 
And since this is my blog and my rules, I can end how I like, so here are some production stills of the King of silent Hollywood, Douglas Fairbanks, who out-Errol Flynned Errol Flynn before out-Errol Flynning Errol Flynn was even a thing.

                                                                          
Now he did have a face...