In my opinion there are two things which make a good film: a good story and good dialogue.  Preferably there will be both, but one will suffice.  Good acting helps too, but even the best actor can’t save an awful script.  I like films a lot and I’ve watched plenty, and sometimes I’ve watched the same film a dozen times.  One thing I have noticed about modern films is how awful the dialogue is compared to previous eras.  I don’t know if technology can now capture the attention of audiences such that compelling dialogue is no longer required, but it is rare I watch a film these days and think the dialogue is any good.

This isn’t true of films from a different era.  The other night I switched on the TV and found myself twenty minutes into The Maltese Falcon (1941) which I have seen many times.  I kept watching because no matter how often I hear the dialogue between Humphrey Bogart’s Sam Spade and the other characters I never get tired of it.  My favourite scene is this one:

Note the abrupt change in tone and manner when he addresses the stenographer.  This is what makes the scene for me: Spade’s beef is with the district attorney, whereas the stenographer is merely a guy doing his job, and he acknowledges that.  Of course he’s also being a complete smartarse, and his aside to the stenographer is done at the expense of the district attorney.  Note also the speed at which Bogart delivers his lines.  I doubt there is a A-list actor today who could handle that scene, which may be why they don’t even bother trying any more.

I should add that we have Dashiell Hammett to thank for both the story and the dialogue in The Maltese Falcon, both of which were virtually unchanged in the transfer from book to film.  I am trying to write a book (and making steady progress) and one of the things I am putting the most effort into is the dialogue.  Without good dialogue, I’m not even sure it would be worth writing.

Luvvie Lovers Upset

The blogroll in my sidebar links to two blogs which specialise in films, and I have found both of them useful sources when looking for obscure films which pass under the radar but I nevertheless might like.  But being arsty-types, the proprietors aren’t half precious snowflakes.

Firstly, Mostly Film:

IF, in this Year Of Our Lord 2016 you think…segment after segment after segment on the living, breathing bowl-of-dicks now a month away from owning the nuclear codes aren’t topics for a late-night comedy show, then fuck you; you weren’t going to like it anyway.

Besides, when I called out this show for praise last year, there wasn’t a bona-fide narcopathic lunatic in the White House. When Last Week Tonight returns in February, god knows there’s going to be.

Satire pretty much never changes anything, sadly, and satire certainly didn’t stop Donald Trump being elected President. But if America’s shatteringly thin-skinned President-Elect is on (lying) record as being shatteringly thin-skinned about one particular piece of satire, then as far as I’m concerned, that particular piece of satire needs to keep doing what it’s been doing, only massively more so. Staying angry is the only response. That was this year’s finale’s message – don’t put up with this. You don’t have to put up with this.

Because if there’s one person in the world who doesn’t remotely care about deeply unsexy and boring institutional injustices that invisibly ruin the lives of the disadvantaged every single day, it’s that motherfucker.

Bless.  But wait, there’s more:

It’s a thoroughly satisfying film, although in a post-Trump world, it plays far more as an anger-inducing polemic than might otherwise have been the case. The tiny gains these women fought so hard for in terms of opportunity, respect and dignity, overthrown in a two-year campaign by a tiny-handed megalomaniac and his shit-for-brains supporters.

And more:

Hello to you all from Europe’s Best Website. Usually we take this slight breather to indulge in a bit of frivolity – a joke here, a quip there, a look at what we’ve come up with, and a glance at the upcoming treats the world has in store for our eyes and our brains.

This week, however – who gives the tiniest fuck about all that? When the world youactually live in takes a gigantic step towards a global fascist dystopia by handing the reins of power to the human equivalent of a massive bag of flaming dogshit, well, being snarky about upcoming movie trailers seems slightly beside the point. The caveat to that being if there was a film out there featuring a racist, woman-hating President-Elect being relentlessly bludgeoned to death by a crack team of angry gorillas – we’d definitely link to that. But there isn’t, so we can’t.

Next is Film Babble Blog:

In the age of Trump (man, I hated typing that), a story about fighting racism is as timely as can be, but this film teaches a lesson that would be just as important for people to learn and appreciate even if our country had elected the more qualified candidate.

As the saying goes, “those who don’t know history are doomed to repeat it.” Right now, when it sure looks like we are doomed, it’s more crucial than ever that we look back at the times that we as the people of this great, but greatly flawed country actually got something right.

And again:

A blast of a spectacular yet intimate feeling big-screen musical is exactly what we need right now as there’s a strong sense that there’s bleakness on the horizon.

And again:

This film also stirs up emotions about dealing with the difficult transition involving power changing hands next month. The Obama administration was as close to Kennedy’s Camelot as I fear we’re going get again in my lifetime. Such a movie as this is a must see in these scary times as it reminds us that America has gotten through dark times before and will again. This movie makes me want to believe that, despite the scariness of what’s on the rapidly approaching horizon, Camelot lives!

There are few things more off-putting on a blog which adequately deals with a particular specialist subject when the authors start to shoehorn in their political views. It’s fair enough if it is a political blog, but when you go to a site which advertises itself as being about films in order to read about films and you find crap like this…well, at least write something that doesn’t read like a transcript taken from a high-school debating class made up of particularly wet pupils.

Brad’s Pit

Speaking of Brad Pitt, there is an actor who cut his own career off at the knees by choosing to play himself halfway through.  Granted, in one sense is career has been doing just fine and he’s an A-lister landing the best roles, but nobody is going to look back in twenty or thirty years and say he was one of Hollywood’s greats.

Which is a shame because back around the time I was in university (1996-2000) I thought he was shaping up to be a decent actor.  I first noted him when he played a murderous redneck alongside David Duchovny and Juliette Lewis in Kalifornia (1993).  Lewis stole the show as a seriously retarded and sexually active teenager whom Pitt’s character exploits, but nevertheless I thought he put in a convincing performance which showed he wasn’t just going to play the pretty-boy roles people wanted him to (e.g. Thelma and Louise, A River Runs Through It).  He showed up in a minor but memorable role in True Romance (1993), a film with more memorable roles than you can remember, as pot-head Floyd who my schoolmates at the time thought was a character to aspire to.  For some reason I missed out on seeing Interview with the Vampire (1994) but found him convincing as the young detective in Se7en (1995), one of the most highly-rated films of that era.  Next came Twelve Monkeys (1995) in which he played an ideologically-driven nutcase, which showed he was interested in complex roles that weren’t written just to make him look pretty.  Sleepers (1996) was a good film but not because of Pitt’s performance, although he was made to look like Orson Welles by the film’s lead (whose name I forgot).

Then came Fight Club (1999) which all the pot-heads in university loved and everyone still raves about it.  Me, I thought it was overrated at the time and not that clever, and recent viewings have done nothing to convince me I was wrong the first time around.  Whereas I thought Ed Norton did a great job, it took a friend of mine to point out what I found wrong with Brad Pitt in that film: he was playing himself.  Whereas everyone says how great the character of Tyler Durden is (and you have to credit the scriptwriters for coming up with it), Pitt’s portrayal consisted mainly of standing around in a buff body looking cool and relaxed while shooting off pithy one-liners (or two-liners in the case of the film’s most famous quote).  It was hardly a difficult role to pull off, at least compared to Norton’s.  But I overlooked this when I saw him in Snatch (2000) which I absolutely loved, and particularly for Pitt’s portrayal of gypsy boxing champion Mickey.  I grew up in West Wales where there is no shortage of “pikeys”, and some exaggerations aside, the characters could have been pulled from a documentary and Pitt’s accent was right on the money.

However, it appeared to all go downhill from there, and I think Ocean’s Eleven (2001) was where it started.  For whatever reason, Brad Pitt, George Clooney, and (to a lesser extent) Matt Damon decided they were going to make a film in which they play themselves: suave gents standing around in nice suits shooting off witty remarks at each other.  Pitt’s character is eating in most shots, something he apparently suggested because it would be funny.  Although not a bad movie, it is mostly a vehicle for the leading actors to mince about on a screen looking and sounding cool, and that’s rarely a good reason to make a film.  It’s fine for an actor to look and sound cool in a film, but that should not be the primary purpose of the picture.

Unfortunately, his next feature film was Troy (2004), which was probably his worst.  If in Ocean’s Eleven he looked as though he wasn’t acting, in Troy he looked as though he couldn’t even if he wanted to.  He followed this up with Ocean’s Twelve (2004) to which my comments from Ocean’s Eleven apply, then Mr & Mrs Smith (2005) which wasn’t a bad film but it was hardly a defining role.  So since Snatch in 2000 it’s largely been crap.  I wasn’t convinced by his performance in Inglourious Basterds (2009) despite being handed a half-decent character and script to work with, and everything else I’ve seen him in has failed to impress.  With him now being 53, it’s hard to see him doing anything which will make him a Hollywood legend in what remains of his career.  I expect he’ll end up a bit like his pal George Clooney, starring in films such as The American (2010) which get made seemingly only to demonstrate that the lead is still a Casanova who can bang hot, young chicks.

One could contrast Brad Pitt’s career with that of Leonardo DiCaprio, who around the time of Pitt’s peak was filling pretty-boy roles in Titanic (1997) and The Man in the Iron Mask (1998).  I’d written DiCaprio off as a serious actor until he surprised me in The Aviator (2004), followed up by mature performances in good films such as The Departed (2006), Blood Diamond (2006), Body of Lies (2008), Shutter Island (2010), and Inception (2010) to make him what is probably Hollywood’s top-billing male star.  DiCaprio is only 42 and already has a solid stable of decent films and varied performances under his belt, and has avoided the temptation thus far to play himself in fun-to-make films.  I wouldn’t say I thought The Revenant (2015) was a great film (although the cinematography was wonderful) and I didn’t think DiCaprio’s performance was brilliant.  But he tried something challenging and gave it a damned good go, and you could see the effort he put in.  If he keeps this up for another 30 years he will most likely become known as the best actor of his generation.

Brad Pitt, on the other hand, will probably be known as the fool who dumped Jennifer Aniston for that whats-‘er-name nutcase.

Brad Splitt and Angelina Lonely

So Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie are going to split up.  Frankly, I’m amazed they’ve lasted this long together.  I always thought she was a complete weirdo, wearing vials of blood around her neck and getting weird tattoos, collecting a flock of multi-coloured foreign children, and having been through two husbands already.  Sure, she was cute enough when she was in her late teens but she quickly became, in my opinion, one of those actresses who they shove onto the screen in the knowledge that everyone will marvel at how beautiful she is rather than notice she can’t act for shit.  Which is great, only if you think – as I do – that she looks more weird than pretty then you’re left wondering how she ever got through an audition.

She’s recently turned her hand to directing, something which I am sure causes Hollywood’s established directors to snigger at behind closed doors.  I couldn’t manage to get through more than the first half hour of Unbroken, saccharine-laced guff that it was, and By the Sea sounds like just the sort of self-indulgent shite you’d expect from her: it currently enjoys an IMDB rating of 5.3.

My opinion at the time was that Brad Pitt fucked up royally when he left Jennifer Aniston, who I’ve always thought was adorable.  I’m not sure if Aniston would have made a great wife, but she is one hell of a lot less weird than Jolie and appears to be ageing a lot better too.  She must be having a chuckle to herself now.

Female Role Models and Women in Films

The good folk over at Mostly Film have asked the questionPositive Role Models: Where are the Women in Film?

This question interests me on two levels.  The first is that I don’t think there are many positive role models for young women anywhere, let alone in films.  I have a habit of asking women who they would consider to be role models for young women and teenagers just to see if they have any more clue than me.  The last person I asked was my ex-pal Angela who was, as I’ve said before, a fully paid-up feminist.  Her first response was along the lines of historical figures, all worthy women: Amelia Earhart, Marie Curie, and one or two others long dead who I didn’t know.  But when I asked her to name some that are still alive she faltered.  Michelle Obama: successful only in the sense of whom she married.  Elizabeth Warren: best known for having invented a Native American ancestry in order to get into Harvard Law School under an assisted places program.  And that was about it.  Being mischievous, I asked why Condoleeza Rice wasn’t considered.  She said she didn’t know, but I did: she was a Republican, and that would never do.  The same goes for Margaret Thatcher.

In fairness to Angela, she wasn’t the only one to struggle with this question.  A lot of women (including her) don’t follow sports closely enough to know the female sports stars, such as Jessica Ennis-Hill, who could easily qualify.  Most women when pressed propose Beyoncé, at which point I show them this:

Uh-huh.  Just what you’d want your teenage daughter aspiring to.

It’s a difficult question, one that’s a lot easier to answer for boys mainly because most of them are into sports of some sort (as to why boys generally like watching sport whereas girls generally don’t is a question I’d like to have put to Angela; no doubt the answer would have included the term “social conditioning”).  When I was growing up most boys were into football or rugby, so they had the likes of Ryan Giggs and Jeremy Guscott to hang on their walls.  Failing that, there was cricket or motorsports.  Of course we looked up to rock stars too, but the good thing about having sportsmen as role models is they are (usually) in good physical shape and are famous for mastering a discipline rather than doing something outrageous.  I believe girls and young women have a much tougher time finding a decent role model, for the simple reason there are a lot fewer about.

So it’s not surprising that it is difficult to find decent female role models in films, as this is merely part of a wider issue.  But it is also part of a second wider issue: there are not many decent female role models in films because there are so few decent female roles of any kind in modern films.  The reason for this, in my opinion, is mainly due to the dumbing down of all film roles, be they male or female.

In an age where studio executives refuse to take a risk and audiences apparently need to be spoon-fed every scene, film characters have become increasingly one-dimensional to the point that they might as well walk around with labels on saying “Goody” and “Baddy”.  Every “good” character has to have at least one scene early on showing us how noble and righteous he is (usually by kissing his wife and kids, or reading them a bedtime story) followed by one showing him wearing a pained expression during a moral dilemma (Tom Hanks’ recent output has taken this to nauseating levels); every “bad” character must be shown murdering somebody in a gruesome fashion or at least kicking a dog; and each character’s appearance must distinguish which side they’re on as effectively as a football strip (the turncoat in The Matrix was the one character with a huge scar down his face: he was never going to be anything else).  Ambiguity in a character is seriously frowned upon these days, presumably because there is a danger the audience might get confused.

It wasn’t always thus.  I recently watched Hud (1963) in which Paul Newman was cast as an arrogant, violent, irresponsible ranch-hand but somehow the audience ended up viewing him as the hero, much to the surprise of the actor himself.  This was in no small part due to a slick script and some very good acting on the part of Newman and the supporting actors, but it shows that once upon a time a character could be cast with the director unsure of how the audience would receive them.  I noted early on in the film that no modern production would feature a character like Hud, let alone in the leading role.  I also doubt that any modern actor could pull off a role like that.

Rhett Butler in Gone with the Wind (1939) is another example of a man cast with dubious morals, played superbly by Clark Gable.  It’s highly unlikely such a film would even get made today without turning into an anti-slavery harangue, and a character like Rhett Butler – who not only fights for the Confederacy but is a shameless womaniser and a blockade-runner to boot – would be sanitised into fighting for the other side as a minimum.

A third example is Humphrey Bogart’s Sam Spade in The Maltese Falcon (1941), where he is as close as the story gets to having a hero yet thinks nothing of shagging his partner’s wife and doesn’t care one jot when said partner gets murdered, not to mention his misogynistic behaviour and slapping women around occasionally.  Could you see a modern detective being cast like this?  Not a chance, he’s too morally ambiguous.  In fact, all the characters in The Maltese Falcon are morally ambiguous, there’s not a single one I can recall that is particularly nice.

Now I mention these three films not just to illustrate complex and questionable characters played by men, but also because of their female leads.  In Hud, the part of Alma Brown is superbly played by Patricia Neal (Roald Dahl’s wife, as I later found out).  Her character is neither one of heroine or villain, she is simply what passes for an ordinary woman caught up in the mess that Hud makes around her.  But that doesn’t mean the character is uninteresting, by contrast she is as intriguing as the male lead with her own set of virtues and flaws, particularly her failed marriage which forces her to work as a housekeeper living in a small annex of the main ranch house.  Even though she is unquestionably a “good” person in the narrative, she ends up worse off than at the beginning through no fault of her own.  Very few, if any, of these elements would make it into a modern female film character, and they would be all the more dull because of it.  Neal’s character is so interesting because she has flaws and is ambiguous (e.g. complimenting Hud on his looks even after he tried to drunkenly rape her) – just like people are in real life.  Funny, that.

Rarely has a female character been better scripted than that of Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind, for which we can thank Margaret Mitchell.  I read the book when I lived in Nigeria, and was rather surprised to find the character an absolute bitch: she married her first husband in a fit of pique, the second one for money and security and spite, and the third (Rhett) while still pining after bloody Ashley to the point she ends up on her own and doesn’t seem to give a shit.  There is a line in the book where somebody (it might be Rhett) points out that O’Hara didn’t even bother to ask after her second husband upon hearing news that the group he was in had been attacked and some of them killed (including him, as it turns out).  But she’s a fascinating character because despite all of this she is incredibly strong and resourceful and you are always under the impression she is being forced by circumstances into taking certain actions and her heart generally lies in the right place.   What modern film would have a heroine like this?  Or modern book, for that matter?

I am sure modern actresses would kill to have had the opportunity of Vivien Leigh to play a character of such complexity as Scarlett O’Hara.  But as with the men, these characters simply don’t exist as the leads in a modern film, and the best one can hope for is a small supporting role usually as some sort of eccentric.  A female lead these days needs to be one of the following:

1. An innocent victim of some more powerful force (such as a violent husband, or asshole boss) who she eventually overcomes through perseverance and/or being much cleverer than her adversary. (A Goody)

2. A ripped, kick-ass chick straight out of comic-book fantasy who beats up Samoan extras and can throw knives through chipboard.  (Can be a Goody or a Baddy)

3. A sassy, independent, fuck-you-in-your-face, policewoman, soldier, politician, or CEO.  (A Goody)

4. A woman who saves her husband/boyfriend from his own stupidity. (A Goody)

What’s a girl to do if she wants to play Scarlett O’Hara or Alma Brown these days?  Little wonder there are few inspiring female role models in films if each character has been sanitised or exaggerated beyond all recognition of what it is to be human.

While male actors have also seen their available characters stripped down to almost cartoon levels, at least they still have one avenue of opportunity open to those who want a more interesting role: the chief villain.  It’s common to hear actors say they prefer playing villains because the characters are more interesting, and this makes sense: you can take more risks with a character that meets a sticky end (see Leonardo DiCaprio’s repulsive slaver in Django Unchained).

But what villainous roles are open to women these days?  Other than the tank-girl sidekick I mentioned at No. 2 in my list above, they don’t really have much option on that score, either.  Which is a shame, because women have starred splendidly as the villain in the past.  The character of Mary Astor in The Maltese Falcon is a great example, being fiendishly manipulative and greedy throughout and winding up being carted off to the gallows for her treachery, and played flawlessly by Brigid O’Shaughnessy.  More recently is Nicole Kidman’s superb performance as the evil weather girl in To Die For (1995), which I showed to Angela partly to demonstrate my belief that feminist-driven political correctness has over the past decade or two killed off the best roles for women in films.

The one exception I can think of is Rosamund Pike’s character of Amy Dunne in Gone Girl (2014).  That was one of the most intriguing (and disturbing) female characters I’ve seen portrayed in a long time – which is presumably why the film did so well and Pike’s performance earned her an Oscar nomination.  Women deserve better roles in films and scriptwriters should stop pandering to the grievance industry and start creating complex, morally ambiguous, flawed, and sometimes nasty female characters which are also human and therefore believable.  Maybe then we’ll see a role model or two emerge.

Thoughts on Spectre

On Sunday I went to see Spectre, the most recent James Bond and the fourth starring Daniel Craig.  I didn’t expect much, not after having been rather disappointed with Skyfall, and sure enough I thought it was pretty ordinary.

My main gripe is that the story was too damned complicated (spoilers follow).  The actors lurch from place to place on the flimsiest of pretexts, with each new location serving to raise more questions rather than advancing the plot.  We start off in Mexico, then go to London, then to Rome.  We do all this because after her death M (the Judy Dench version) had left a message for Bond telling him to kill an Italian in Mexico and then attend his funeral in Rome.  Now M died at the end of Skyfall in Bond’s childhood home in Scotland, to which they’d driven together from London.  She didn’t go there to die, so she must have recorded the message before their journey.  Rather than just mentioning it in over breakfast at the Little Chef on the A1 outside Darlington.  In fact, the whole premise of Bond going to Mexico on a rogue mission is completely unnecessary: Bond “going rogue” has been done multiple times already, and twice by Daniel Craig himself, so they’re not doing anything original.  It only serves to ask why M didn’t tell Bond about this startling new threat when she was still alive, and why she didn’t handle it in her official capacity as M.  We’re never told the answer.

But never mind that, we’re already in Rome and Bond is banging the widow of the bloke he offed in Mexico before the funeral music has died away.  Through her he finds out about a secret meeting taking place that very night in Rome between the members of a shadowy cabal which wants to hold the world in its iron grasp, or something.  We’re never quite sure what motivates these people (other than their leader) but it is implied they want to control the world’s information, and presumably make money.  But judging by the fleet of Ferraris parked up outside this meeting, they have plenty of that already.  Once again, Bond villains are motivated to spend tens of millions in order to…make money?  I’ve never been convinced that world domination offers itself up as a better alternative to fatten the wallets of those who are already multi-millionaires than investing in pork belly futures.  Jeez, even the cabal’s hired muscle drives a super-Jag.  What’s he still in it for, the final salary pension?

Anyway, this meeting is taking place because the person dispatched by Bond in Mexico was the cabal’s assassin, and they need to select a new one.  Apparently this requires the entire membership to assemble on the evening of his funeral, leaving standing room only.  Why this must be we don’t find out, because the new assassin selects himself by striding out of a back room and murdering one of his pals.  A democratic selection process there was not.  Oh, and this took place in Rome because the previous assassin just so happened to be Italian.  Either that or it’s purely a coincidence and…oh, look over there, a car chase!

Back in London, Bond finds out that a cryptic name he heard at the meeting refers to a bloke in Austria so grab your passports, we’re off again!  In some lodge in the middle of nowhere Bond catches up with a man who we saw in Casino Royale and then (so I thought) was shot and killed in the early stages of Quantum of Solace.  But I was wrong, and we learn he is alive and well dying of radiation poisoning, dealt out by the leader of this shadowy cabal we saw meeting in Rome, which we learn is SPECTRE.  SPECTRE had this chap – Mr White – poisoned because he went against their leader.  Mr White explains he was fine with the guns and drugs but not with what they were doing with “children”.  We’re never told what this refers to because the rest of the film presents SPECTRE’s main mission as controlling information, and their leader later confirms as much.  But potential plot devices upon which we must concentrate are being thrown out by the shovelful,  leaving us with no time to wonder whether the mysterious leader of SPECTRE is in fact Jimmy Saville.  Mr White has a daughter, who happens to be young, fit, and French.  I tried to figure out why she was French but couldn’t come up with anything more plausible than the actress chosen to play her was French.  Mr White fears for her life and is reluctant to divulge her whereabouts to Bond, but in return for 007 promising to keep her safe he reveals that she is working in a clinic sitting atop a mountain in Austria, and that he should ask her about L’Americain.  At this point the audience is led to believe this refers to a person, but in fact we later find L’Americain is a hotel in Tangiers with a hidden room behind the honeymoon suite set up by Mr White.  So why did Bond need to see the daughter to find this out?  Mr White could have simply told him not only the existence of this hidden room, but also the information therein – the location of SPECTRE’s hideout in the North African desert.  Yet instead, he puts his daughter’s life in considerable danger by using her as a conduit through which to transmit information which he could have passed to Bond directly.  And then he blew his own head off.

In writing this it occurs to me that the only reason Mr White tells Bond to go and see his daughter is because the scriptwriters somehow needed to shoehorn a fit, young French girl into the plot.  Looking at it this way, her actual contribution to the story as it panned out was minimal.  But the script does give us the opportunity to witness a thrilling car chase through the Austrian Alps, and then to visit Tangiers, whereupon Bond and his new bird board a pretty bog-standard African train which nevertheless features a dining car in which people eat their meals wearing tuxedos and ball gowns.  Look, I know Daniel Craig looks good in a suit, and suits look good on him, and the French chick looks good in anything (or, I suspect, nothing) but having the two of them turn up in the dining car dressed like this was preposterous.  Obviously the script called for the two to be dressed up in evening attire somewhere, and somebody thought if the plot doesn’t really allow it then let’s just shove it in anywhere.

During the dinner, SPECTRE’s assassin shows up and wrecks half the train, before inevitably dying at the hands of Bond with a little help from mademoiselle.  Now, bear in mind that when his predecessor died the entire membership of SPECTRE had to assemble in Rome in order that a replacement be picked (or rather observed murdering one of their number).  But this time?  Well, we meet half of SPECTRE the next morning and they don’t even mention it, let alone jet off to whichever city the great brute’s funeral is being held in.

Then we find that SPECTRE exists partly to control all the world’s information and partly to piss off Bond because when he was a kid he was orphaned and another family took care of him and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…sorry, where was I?  I nodded off there.  Is the Bond film still on?  Or is this a remake of Party of Five?  I think the latter, because Bond is still pining over Vesper Lynd who died 3 (three!) films ago.  Jesus, either make her death a major plot point driving Bond’s murderous desire for revenge, or have him actually move on after he’s shagged his way through a platoon of seriously fit replacements in the intervening films.  One or t’other, please!

Apparently Spectre employed no less than four scriptwriters, all working at the same time.  And it shows.  What’s that proverb about too many cooks?  That’s a major criticism I have with a lot of modern films: the plots are overly complicated, as if they are trying way too hard.  A good story does not need to be complicated, and some of the best are brutally simple.  A good film doesn’t need half a dozen false leads, red herrings, twists, and potential plot devices blasted at the audience in every other scene.  If you’re going to take up the challenge of a complicated plot, it needs to be as tightly structured as The Usual Suspects or L.A. Confidential to work, otherwise the result looks like a high-school kid trying his hand at writing his first novel.  The plot of Spectre looks as amateurish as hell, with so many plot holes and inconsistencies that I’m wondering whether its complexity was a deliberate attempt to distract the audience from its shortcomings.  But I think I’ll go with my less conspiratorial opinion that the modern plot serves merely as an excuse to flit from one set-piece to another in rapid succession in order to serve up nice cinematography.

By far the best film I’ve seen recently was Mad Max: Fury Road.  It wasn’t just the stuntwork, action, and visuals that pleased me but the conspicuous lack of storyline.  Perhaps knowing his audience well, the director chose a plot with just about enough backstory and exposition to provide an excuse for the convoy to go from one point to another, turn around, and come back the way they came.  If you’re going to rely on the action to carry the film, then it is best to keep the plot as simple as possible.  If you’re going to rely on the plot to carry the film, then you’ll need to start with a decent story, and that probably means taking one that has already been written.  The films adaptations of books sometimes don’t work, but when they do it is often because the screenwriters are working with solid source material.  Spectre didn’t do either of these, and we had entertaining albeit sometimes cartoonish action mashed together in almost three hours of torturous, nonsensical plot.

There was still plenty of life in James Bond when they rebooted the franchise with Casino Royale.  Nine years later, Spectre must surely have killed it off completely.

The Demise of Jean-Claude Van Damme

Flicking through the film listing on the flight back from Thailand a few weeks ago, I noticed they were showing a film featuring Jean-Claude Van Damme.  Does anyone remember him?  I do.  When I was a teenage boy he was one of the biggest stars around, and we all thought any film with him in was awesome.  I think I’d probably grown out of him around the time of Time Cop in 1994 and had barely heard of him since.

But a while back I did a portable hard-disk swap with a friend which contained all my old favourite Van Damme films from the late ’80s and early ’90s and so I decided to watch a few of them again when I was bored.

Somewhat unsurprisingly I found them to be utter tosh, but they are unintentionally funny.  I mean, they’re so bad that they become almost good.  Maybe that was the secret all along?  These films were rated 18, but did anyone of that age who wasn’t a complete retard actually watch them, let alone enjoy them?  I watched most of them when I was about 15, which shows you how tightly controlled the videos finding their way into a boarding school TV room was.  If the teachers hadn’t been so busy wife swapping…

Anyway, where was I?  That’s right.  Somebody obviously had it in for Van Damme’s career right from the off, somebody in the wardrobe department.  Here’s a scene from Bloodsport (1988).

He’s been decked out in cowboy boots, grey chinos which are too short, a black vest, and a cheap looking short leather jacket with the sleeves rolled up.  Who the hell rolls the sleeves up on a leather jacket?!  Were fashions really this bad in the ’80s?  Of course, the black vest came in handy in a later scene where Van Damme shows off his muscles as he smashes his fist through some bricks.

But couldn’t they have achieved this without our Belgian hero wearing his trousers like Obelix? No wonder he sunk without a trace halfway through the ’90s.

A review of 24: Season 1

Seeing that I am sitting about for 24 hours, and being decidedly grumpy about the whole thing now that the snow has stopped, the sun is shining, and there are still 2 hours to go before I was supposed to take off, I’ve decided to write a bad-tempered post.

Living as I do on Sakhalin Island, the choice of viewing on TV is pretty damned poor.  For a start, unless you fork out for cable and get 30 channels all in Russian, there are only 8 channels available – all in Russian.  Watching Russian shows are not so bad from a language perspective, but the quality of programming is awful.  With a typical evening being dominated by stuff like Dom 2 (a version of Big Brother which holds the dubious distinction of being the longest continually running reality show ever, something like 2 years and counting) and Klub Bivshikh Zhon (Ex-Wives Club: a group of dolled-up women take a recently divorced, depressed woman and make her feel better…for one episode at least) the Russian channels are best avoided.  There are a handful of good western programmes and films on the TV here, but the appalling dubbing whereby a flat-voiced Russian speaks two seconds after the actor has started with the sound all intermixed with the not-quite-intelligible English original makes them unwatchable.  So as in many an oilfield town, the sharing of TV series on DVD is a popular pastime here in Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk.  So far we have bought or borrowed all existing seasons and episodes of Lost, Desperate Housewives, and The 4400.  And they’ve been pretty good, although nothing has yet come even close to matching The Shield, which I ploughed through almost non-stop in Dubai, loving every minute.

So having finished watching those three, we got around to borrowing 24 which I had been told was brilliant, and would keep you on the edge of your seat and force you to keep watching.  24 has a rating on IMBD, a reasonably useful indicator of how good a TV series is, of 9.2 out of 10.  After watching the first season in its entirety over the last week, I’m wondering if they’re referring to something else.  I thought it was crap, so boring and predicatable that I found myself stopping to ring people up for idle conversation halfway through an episode.  For me, it failed on so many levels: implausable plot (which I can normally forgive), awful script, terrible acting, and uninteresting or weak characters.  A few examples (beware, huge spoilers follow):

1.  In the first two minutes of the very first episode we have a couple undergoing marriage problems and a moody teenage daughter who doesn’t get on with the mother, blames her for the marriage falling apart, and refuses to speak to her.  How original!  What better way to kick off a series involving thrilling attempts to thwart a terrorist plot than marriage problems and a disfunctional family.  I almost pressed the eject button right there and then.

2.  Within the first half hour or so we realise that Jack Bauer, the one having marriage problems and father of the moody teenager, was busy shagging his subordinate in the local Counter Terrorism Unit (CTU) when he was apart from his wife, which leads us to believe already that he and the unit, which he commands, are rather unprofessional.  It also leads us to believe we are about to watch 24 hours of Eastenders, only with guns.

3.  Before the first episode is out, we learn that Nina, the frumpy woman who Jack was shagging in the CTU, has a subordinate called Tony who is a young, handsome, Latino and – you’ve guessed it – has the hots for Nina and is jealous of Jack.   Aside from the fact that Tony would probably be hanging out with rather attractive young Latinos rather than pining after the middle-aged office bike, the viewer is left staring at the DVD jacket making sure this is about terrorist plots and he hasn’t picked up some love-triangle “thriller” starring Julia Roberts.

4.  The topics of conversation between Jack, Tony, Nina, and a few other characters revolve around the fact that one or other was either shagging or wants to shag another, the type of conversations I used to hear amongst the checkout girls on a slow morning when I worked part-time in Toys R Us.

5.  Now we get onto some action.  A black fella, Palmer, is running for president, and some people want him dead.  In order to do this, they want to impersonate a photographer who is due to take his picture the next day, and to this end they have put some poor bloke under plastic surgery to make him look like the photographer.  So far so good.  Problem is, they need the photographer’s security pass and he is in Europe and due to fly to LA where he will meet with Palmer.  Rather than whacking him on the head, pinching his pass, and keeping him tied up in a basement, they decide the best method will be for a girl to sit next to him on the plane, chat him up, and shag him in the toilet, nicking his pass in the process.  This she does, before donning a load of parachute equipment, leaping out of the aircraft and leaving a bomb on board which explodes, killing all on board.  A good spectacle no doubt, but not too convincing a storyline.

6.  CTU hear of the plane crash, and get hold of the passenger list.  They notice an extra person is on the plane who shouldnt be there, presumably the girl who escaped.  They decide to link this incident with a suspected hit on Palmer, but never seem to wonder why a photographer who died in the plane crash turns up to Palmer’s event the next morning as planned.  I guess they were all too busy shagging each other.

7.  Not content with enough relationship problems in Jack Bauer’s family, the producers thought they’d add a load to Palmer’s family as well.  Whereas Palmer comes across as articulate and well-educated, his son Keith comes across as the illegitimate son of a gangsta rapper.  He would be better off portrayed by a cartoon.  He has a chip on his shoulder the size of Kansas, is permanently angry at his father because “jew wasn’t der when ah needed jew”, and looks about as much like his father as I do.  When Palmer later asks his wife about a few secrets in the family’s history, he’d have done better to ask who the hell fathered her son.  Anyway, they also have a daughter whose role in the season consists in its entirety of being raped seven years ago (an event of which we see nothing) and fainting once when the family has an argument at the dinner table.  The audition for that part must have been tricky.  The chap who raped the daughter was thought to have committed suicide, but it turns out that Keith killed him instead.  Accidentally, of course.  Everyone in the family, and it seems Palmer’s entire campaign team, knew the truth years ago – except Palmer himself.  When he finds out, he gets all upset that everyone’s been deceiving him, and Keith gets even angrier saying “jew wasn’t der when ah needed jew”.  Again.  Palmer wants to cover it all up, then he wants to come clean, then he doesn’t know what he wants.  Meanwhile Keith rather improbably wants to go to the police and is ready to do hard time for killing a white boy.  Palmer’s wife is the only line of sense running through the family and she thinks everyone should just shut the fuck up and keep covering it up.  Perhaps she’d make a better president.  Palmer, who changes his mind three times per episode, is kept out of the loop by his managers and personal friends, can’t make a decision, and clearly can’t run a family let alone a country is possibly the most unsuitable presidential candidate ever seen on TV.

8.  Having been kidnapped and rescued, Jack’s wife and kid are moved to a safe house where they are then debriefed.  The one agent charged with debriefing Jack’s wife just so happens to be Nina, the woman who Jack was shagging when he left his wife.  Very suitable, doncha think?  Obviously they were short staffed that day.  Sure enough, Jack’s wife figures out that Nina was shagging her husband and some dialogue is passed which I think was written by a highschool student on their first attempt.  It is woeful.  Snore.

9.  Various Serbs turn up in the series, they being the arch criminals Jack is trying to defeat.  They speak perfect English with an American accent, until they are revealed to be Serbs, at which point they switch to perfect English with a very badly performed Slavic accent.  This would be a bit like me going undercover around Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk speaking perfect Russian to the point that everyone thought I was Russian, then when it is revealed I am in fact a Brit I revert to being completely unable to pronounce my “r”s properly and speaking like a rural Georgian.

10.  An arch criminal, badly played by Dennis Hopper, is being held in a top-secret underground detention facility with no perimiter fence on some waste ground, rather like the kind of place you walk your dog.  So secret is this facility, operated by the Department of Defence, that it doesn’t officially exist, and so secret is Dennis Hopper that he doesn’t exist either.  In fact, he’s supposed to be dead.  Anyway, this top-secret prison is guarded by about four men and a couple of janitors, so it is of little surprise that a gaggle of Serbs who spend most of their time threatening one another with knives before the assault are able to break in and get Dennis Hopper out without too much trouble.  Oddly, when our hero Jack realises an assault is imminent and tells the chap in charge, they agree to call…the Counter Terrorism Unit, who take ages to arrive and allow the terrorists to escape with Dennis Hopper.  Why they never called the Department of Defense, who own and run the facility, to come in with helicopters and tanks and a few platoons of leathernecks is anyone’s guess.  Maybe this was supposed to keep the viewer’s mind occupied, and keep him from asking why it was possible for the gang of Serbs to escape directly from the prison to the outside world via a large sewer pipe.  Somewhat of a design flaw in the prison, that.

11.  The safe house in which Jack’s wife and kid are supposedly being kept safe is compromised.  Despite two of the best CTU agents being in command of the security, a single bloke armed with a pistol is able to silently kill fours agents who are all in constant visual and radio contact with each other. We are never shown how this chap manages to kill one bloke up in the basket of a cherry-picker without the driver noticing, which is a shame because it would have been a feat worth watching.  We’re also not sure why two of the best agents in town don’t notice that the undercover agent mowing the lawn outside has left his mower abandoned in the middle of the garden for the past half an hour, and when one of them finally opens his eyes and the penny drops he gets in touch with his partner by…yelling very loudly.  To no avail.  He’s dead, along with all the other agents.  Later, the CTU realise nobody is answering from the safe house and send another agent along, utterly alone, to check it out.  We see him on his radio telling CTU that he is approaching the perimeter of the house, but after that the chaps on the other end lose interest and go for lunch so when he is killed and dumped in some bushes nobody back at base realises for an hour or so.

12.  When somebody tries to call CTU from outside, they don’t call a switchboard as you would expect.  It just goes through to some random desk where they simply ask the person answering if they can connect them to the person they actually want to speak to.  So you see Jack’s wife ringing CTU asking for Jack, but getting Tony’s phone and he is only too happy to connect her call.  For a counter terrorist unit, security seems awfully lax and phone security non-existent, not to mention the employees awfully gracious about playing telephone receptionist every five minutes.

13.  A top-secret agent is in New Orleans talking on the phone with Jack about a top-secret government mission and working on his laptop with top-secret information.  He does all this in a crowded bar, and winds up dead.  Moral of the story: if you are a top-secret agent wishing to keep your identity secret, work from home or rent an office.  Don’t conduct your business in a bar.

14.  Nina turns out to be a mole working inside CTU for the Serbian villains.  So not only does this counter terrorist unit not see anything wrong with staff shagging each other and discussing it in the middle of an important job, they don’t carry out even cursory background security checks on their employees.

You might think I’m being fussy, and I probably am.  Plot holes I can cope with, but plot holes you can drive a truck through annoy me, especially when supported by an appalling script and even worse characters.  Quite why this series is hyped so much is beyond me.  I’d have scrapped it after the first season.  But all that said, there isn’t much to do on Sakhalin and we are already about to borrow the second season.  Let’s hope it improves as it goes along.


Upon winning a Best Supporting Actor Oscar for his role in Syriana, George Clooney said:

“We are a little bit out-of-touch in Hollywood…I think that’s probably a good thing.”

Syriana is a film largely about the workings of the oil and gas industry, in particular the Middle East oil and gas industry, and as I know a thing or two about this subject, I was interested in watching it.  Having now done so, I think Clooney was understating the fact.

The points of contention are as follows.

1.  The merger between Connex and Killen will use economies of scale, and result in cheaper products for consumers.

I think they’ve whipped this line from the automotive industry or somewhere, where buying raw materials in bulk and mass producing the same item on identical production lines can result in a reduction in cost per unit built, and hence increase the margin per unit.  Unfortunately, the oil and gas industry doesn’t work like this. 

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Lord of War

Just before I went off to Korea, I went to see Lord of War at the cinema.

Nicholas Cage stars as Yuri Orlov, a Ukrainian-American from a poor family in New Brighton Brighton Beach who becomes an international arms dealer. The film follows Orlov from the beginning of his career to him becoming the world’s most prolific gun runner busting sanctions wherever they get in his way, and being chased by the authorities in the form of Ethan Hawke along the way. The character of Orlov is a composite of five real arms dealers, one of whom is almost certainly Victor Bout, and the film had several gun runners advising on the set (who were rumoured to be more helpful and efficent that the film crews themselves).

The film itself is highly entertaining, and Cage plays the part well, offering as good an insight as any into the way an international arms dealer would work. There is plenty of humour, albeit mainly of the sort which portrays Ukrainians as drunkards and bandits (I watched it with a Russian, who found it highly amusing), and the camera work is in places very impressive. The story is gripping, and makes some very good points, one of which is also made here:

Since the end of the Second World War, tens of millions of people have been killed by conventional weapons, mostly small arms such as rifles, machine guns and rocket-propelled grenade launchers. Sales of advanced weaponry — fighter jets and high-tech electronics, sophisticated long-range artillery and warships, and “weapons of mass destruction” — tend to receive the most press coverage. But these costly, sophisticated weapons have not proved as deadly as ordinary guns and grenades that are easy to buy, easy to ship and easy to use.

Low-tech, handheld weapons and explosives do the vast majority of the killing today. There are more than 550 million small arms currently in circulation, many of them fueling bloody civil strife in countries from Sri Lanka to Sierra Leone.

Which is a point worth remembering. Next time you see pictures of a massacre in Africa or Asia, take note of what kind of weapons were used to carry out the killings. Any money you like it was small arms and mortars. Which was why I was somewhat dissapointed to see that Lord of War, somewhat contradictorily, makes a further point towards the end of the film that the US sells more arms than anyone else, which in terms of sales figures, it does. And this is the charge that the opponents of the US like to hold up with glee whenever there is talk of arms sales into dodgy regimes. They may have a point that the US should not sell arms of any kind to dodgy regimes, but they might like to look at what sort of arms are being sold by whom, and which ones are doing most of the killings.

The US sales figures are largely made up of the high-tech equipment such as fighter jets mentioned in the excerpt above. You generally don’t see US-made rifles, mortars, and landmines scattered willy-nilly around warring African tribes. What you do see is Russian made rifles, mortars, and landmines scattered amongst anyone anywhere who is willing to have a fight, and right behind them you see the Chinese knock-offs of the same. (It always struck me as odd that the US supposedly armed Saddam Hussein yet his army had not a single American piece of kit and an awful lot of Russian stuff, until I realised that it was not the US that armed Saddam but the Soviet Union).

It is the Russian and Chinese weaponery that is has caused and is still causing the deaths of tens of millions of people the world over, not the US high-tech kit. Yet oddly, Russia and China are seldom vilified by the peace activists and do-gooders in the West for flogging millions of rifles and grenades to anyone who wants them, whilst at the same time protesting voiciforously when the US or Britain sells an air traffic control system to Tanzania or India. Were they to actually take into account which weapons were actually causing the mountain of misery in places like Sudan and Sierra Leone, they’d be surprised to see that it is Russian and Chinese kit doing the killing. But then again, these are the same groups who insist that the US armed Saddam Hussein with Mig aircraft, T-72 tanks, and AK-47 assault rifles so it is little wonder they’ve not got their facts straight, and even less wonder that western governments ignore them.

But back to the film, it is well worth seeing, for a number of reasons which I have listed above. And it is hard to get away from the political message in the film, which contrary to most films containing political messages is in all likelihood true: that the proliferation of small arms around the world is causing misery of biblical proportions. The film ends by pointing out that the world’s largest suppliers of arms: US, UK, France, Russia, and China are also the five permanent members of the UN Security Council, hinting at the irony that those in charge of ensuring peace in the world are the same as those who sell the tools which fuel the conflicts. I think the film missed the main point, and there is no irony in the statement. The truth is, those five nations are the permanent members of the UN Security Council precisely because they have a near monopoly on the arms trade, not despite it. There’s a lesson in there somewhere.