Category: Entertainment

Modern Book Review: The Year of Open Doors (2011)

The Year of Open Doors (2011) is an anthology of modern Scottish writing, with the input of writers from various social and cultural backgrounds, all of who make up the nation that Scotland is becoming. Each story offers a personal glimpse into the life of a modern Scottish person, although since there are so many stories, I will highlight some in particular which stand out in a unique way.

The anthology begins with a story with an open door “theme” built in – “One Year The Door Will Open” by Ryan Van Winkle – in which the narrator compares himself to a door, with which he has certain things in common. The door, he says, is painted and repainted constantly throughout its “life”, in ways that often reflect the mood of the people dwelling within, such as “argument red, family yellow, divorce brown”.

In “Omu Prin & Me” by Daibhidh Martin, a young man visiting a remote area of Scotland encounters an older man with a tragedy in his past, his wife having been swept away by a rip-tide, but who still manages to find joy in life (“I was enchanted, watching a sixty-year-old man dance so carefree. The older man has tried to come to terms with it by building a gate from pieces of debris he has found washed up on the shore – a poignant symbol of trying to bring back the spirit of his wife, and also a reflection of how things from far away places can eventually find their way to one’s home.

“Playground Rules” by Doug Johnstone (who has already become a prolific writer in Scotland) is another story tainted by tragedy; a young father takes his son to his first day at school, while coming to terms with causing the death of his wife in a car accident shortly after the son was born. Until this point he and his son had been coping, as he says that “We were in our own unburstable bubble back then”, before this day. Before long, the harsh re-integration into “society” proves too much for the father, as he realises that he can no longer shield his son from “real life”.

A clash of cultures is portrayed to provocative effect in “Colin’s Nation” by Anneliese Mackintosh, in which a white Scottish mother routinely takes her daughter to be looked after by Indian immigrants after school, with the father of the family repaying the girl’s parents with samples of their national cuisine. This time, the mother invites the Indian family over in a gesture of hospitality, only to make the faux-pas of preparing an elaborate feast for them during Ramadan. Some underlying tensions, however, emerge during the interaction between the young girl and the family’s young boy, who end up – during their innocent play – bringing up their ancestors’ shared history. Most tellingly, the topic of “Colin’s Nation” (meaning “colonisation”) serves to draw a sharp divide between children, who might have gotten along perfectly fine otherwise.

The last story in the anthology, “A Snake Drinks Water And Makes Poison, A Cow Drinks Water And Makes Milk”, by Kevin MacNeil, is a heavily impacting account of a Scot on holiday in Indonesia; incidentally, in the area which would be worst affected by the 2004 tsunami which swept right across the areas in the Indian Ocean.

This story reveals how people from any social or cultural background can find themselves in a life-or-death situation in a strange country, and the use of powerful language -“Write injuries in sand… kindnesses in marble” – shows that superficial differences between nationalities are just that, and similarities are far more common.

There are many more stories in this anthology; some from unknown writers, others from more established authors, but all of them show promise, in that if this anthology, collectively, reflects an ever-evolving nation, then it is quite certain that there will be more thought-provoking new writing to come.

Book Review: Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

Starting on the morning of their fifth wedding anniversary, Gone Girl tells the story of Nick Dunne and his wife Amy, who has mysteriously disappeared.  It looks suspicious and all the clues point to Nick, but it is not as straightforward as it seems.

I have a real concern that bookshops might unceremoniously shove Gone Girl into the genre of Chick Lit and that would be a real shame.  Chick Lit has a reputation for taking on the fluffy novels of the literary world; romcoms, light comedies, even sometimes just having a female author can relegate a book to this candyfloss world.  Not that there’s nothing wrong with chick lit – after all, who doesn’t like to sometimes be whisked away to a world where the girl marries the man of her dreams and there is always a happy ending?  Gone Girl, however, leaves the fluffy stuff well behind and delves into what happens when the ending is not quite as happy as you thought it would be.

Whilst Gone Girl tells the story of a relationship, it is certainly not a light romcom.  Through Nick’s first-hand accounts and from Amy’s diary entries we learn how they first met and how their seemingly idyllic life started to implode. You are never quite sure who you can trust while reading this book and the twists and turns leave you constantly trying to guess if Nick really is as innocent as he proclaims.  This is Gillian Flynn’s third novel and, having read this, I am definitely going to be seeking out her first two books, Sharp Objects and Dark Places, which both promise to be as dark and thought provoking as Gone Girl.

At its heart, this is a tale of relationships and how even with the best intentions they can implode.  Yes, the characters and the situation are extreme, but I think most people who have been in a failed relationship could find themselves asking the same questions that Nick asks: Who are you?  What have we done to each other?

Crime novel, thriller, chick lit, it is hard to categorise this book, but Flynn’s excellent writing and sharp observations take you down into the murky world of her characters and leave you wondering how well do we ever know the person we lie next to?

Vintage Book Review: “The Haunting of Hill House” by Shirley Jackson (1959)

Hallowe’en may be months away (unless you’re still revelling from the previous one) and the days are getting longer, well, by the day, but that shouldn’t get in the way of appreciating a classic supernatural horror story which has been acclaimed by Stephen King as the blueprint for the modern “spooky story”.

The tale begins with the rational-minded Dr Montague, who is sufficiently taken with the legend surrounding Hill House, to invite a few other people to stay with him in the house to “test his theory” that the unexplained goings-on can all be explained with science and reason.

There is Eleanor, a quiet, shy, reserved woman who becomes increasingly reluctant to participate in the stay before she even gets there; encounters with hostile local people on the journey makes her certain that there is a sinister secret surrounding the place. Soon she meets Theodora, her “cousin”, who is more outgoing but the two women stick closely together upon their meeting. Then there is Luke Sanderson, the heir to the property, but somehow among the least receptive – or cut off even – when it comes to the story behind Hill House.

Initially, everyone there is sufficiently spooked by the house itself – being a most imposing and unwelcoming place to spend any time in – only to have Dr Montague add to this by telling them the rather grisly story of the unfortunate family who first lived there. Madness, bad fortunes and suicide are recurring in the family history, and understandably no-one can bear to stay in the place for very long, but the new residents (perhaps excepting Eleanor, who anticipates the worst already) decide to give the house a chance.

However the opinion that the house is, essentially, a malignant and living thing, with a will of its own to drive out anyone who dares to live there, begins to ring all the more true. It is not long before frightening events begin to unfold – loud banging in the night, writing on the wall and destruction of property – which seem to happen to, or close to, Eleanor more than anyone else. Eventually this will result in a tragic ending, as Eleanor is killed while attempting to leave the house.

What makes this story so unsettling is that events are described in the narrative clearly enough to induce fear and unease in the reader, but also vaguely enough that a rational explanation can’t be ruled out entirely.

A subtle build-up of apprehension, combined with a disturbing back-story to overshadow the present narrative, serve to make this a story which has clearly influenced later supernatural writers, and continues to spook readers today.

Film Review: Trance

Oh Danny Boy, we know you are a national treasure after the success of the Olympic Opening Ceremony but I’m not sure your new film is going to be winning gold this year.  Okay, so some of Boyle’s past films have involved some suspension of disbelief but excellent storylines and endearing characters can help an audience forgive even the unlikeliest scenarios; unfortunately Trance has a distinct lack of both of these.

Trance, directed by Danny Boyle and starring James McAvoy, is a crime thriller that tells the story of an art heist; Simon (McAvoy) receives a blow to the head which leaves him unable to remember where he hid the stolen painting.  Desperate to find the painting and with a crime boss breathing down his neck, he seeks help from hypnotherapist Elizabeth (played by Rosario Dawson) who claims she can help him find it by taking him into a trance state.

The plot undergoes a number of twists and turns which make it hard to tell you much more about the storyline without giving too much away, but probably the most important thing to note is that your instinct about where the plot is going within the first half hour is probably right on the money.  As a cinema audience we are quite jaded and as soon as something labels itself a thriller you are immediately looking out for potential twists – unfortunately this means that all too often you see them coming a mile off.

It will not necessarily ruin a film when the twists aren’t quite as clever as the writers thought they would be; I was able to really enjoy Shutter Island despite guessing early on what the dramatic twist would be.  In this case the film was so well executed you could almost blame yourself for being just a smug viewer and seeking out clues.  With Trance you get the sense that the writers are the smug ones, thinking they have been ever so clever that even avid film watchers would miss the huge hints that are scattered throughout the film until the (un)surprising conclusion.

Trance is not an awful film, the talented Boyle givens us a visually pleasing journey, taking us through trance state and reality and exploring the notion of how far hypnotherapy can and should go.  However, despite being a fan of McAvoy I wasn’t convinced by his good boy gone bad character and Vincent Cassel does what he can with a fairly vague and unthreatening crime boss.  How many crime bosses do you think would be sympathetic to amnesia and hold your hand through hypnotherapy?

You get the impression that Boyle was trying to take us on an exploration of the mind and leave us questioning what was real and who the real criminal of the film was, but like the scene that involves a full frontal and shaved Rosario Dawson, you wonder if Boyle should have perhaps left a little more to the audiences’ imagination.

Film Review – The Man From Laramie

I hope regular readers of my musings on this website will not react with a weary roll of their eyes when they see, once again, I’ve employed that timeworn word – “classic”. Though I suppose more than this, I actually hope there are regular readers of my musings on this website. Even just one. Or perhaps two or maybe even a handful. Well, being the optimist that I am – Hi, hello, thanks y’all for stopping by.

You see, the word “classic” gets bandied about all too often in my opinion. It seems to be used as an enticing adjective for anything that isn’t particularly young. Art, architecture, furniture, clothing styles, cars, literature, music – and so on. But surely, there’s more to it than mere age – after all we don’t say “his grandfather was a classic person” or “Hadrian’s Wall is a classic defensive fortification” do we? Not usually anyway.  So what quality must be present for something to warrant the term “classic”? What does Cary Grant’s Savile Row suavity have in common with an original Jaguar E-Type? And what do they both have in common with New York’s Flatiron building? They are, after all, three things that could be described as being about as “classic” as you can get. Style and popularity? Yes and yes and certainly important. But age? Well okay, they’re all of the past but is that what defines them as classic? If the new iPhone 5 can be described as having classic styling, then surely age can be dismissed as being an influencing factor.

Perhaps all it comes down to is an initial opinion. The very first one. An opinion offered by an admirer who uses the term “classic” and the ears that hear that opinion agree and so the label sticks. I’m sure we can all summon something to our minds that has long held the “classic” monicker, something which we utterly abhor and deem totally unworthy and likewise on the other side of the coin something we hold dear that hasn’t garnered the label. If this should prove true for you, I suggest writing about it and giving it the label yourself, after all, the certification starts somewhere right? Did Khufu glance over the plans of his new pyramid and say to his chief architect, “Yes, it’s a classic design”? Maybe, maybe not.

Anyway I digress. Back to The Man From Laramie – a CLASSIC western if ever there was one. This was the last of eight collaborations between the film’s star (the wonderful James Stewart) and its director (the sublimely gifted Anthony Mann) and five of those eight were westerns. Over the years, Hollywood has churned out thousands of these horse operas and “cowboys and indians” films, many of which would blush with guilt at having to live up to being called “average”. But there are a good number of watchable ones too and of course as we reach the higher levels of excellence and artistry the number diminishes significantly just as it does in any other genre. But these five Anthony Mann westerns (and by the way, I already reviewed another one of his some months ago, see The Tin Star) can, in my opinion at least, sit right up there with all but the elite, the creamiest of the creamiest, the royalty of the genre.

Sometimes it’s hard to define, to put into words why something works so well when the same ingredients were used elsewhere less successfully. While there are plenty of things that can be said about these five westerns – Winchester ’73 (1950), Bend Of The River (1952), The Naked Spur (1953), Far Country (1954) and The Man From Laramie (1955) – they are all sums of their parts with many things working together in harmony to create that perfect “whole”. Certainly Mann and Stewart were the main factors. In productivity terms, their partnership was as harmonised as Wayne’s and Ford’s, Bogart’s and Huston’s, Eastwood’s and Leone’s or for that matter, De Niro’s and Scorcese’s . For a start Stewart’s glittering star was at its peak throughout the 50s but a quick glance at Mann’s credits suggest that his value in Hollywood during that decade was substantial as well.

But let me get to the point. The Man From Laramie tells the story of Will Lockhart (Stewart) a former captain in the U.S. Army who rides into the isolated town of Coronado to deliver supplies from Laramie. He has a personal vendetta to fulfil while there – to search for and kill whoever is responsible for selling repeating rifles to the local Apache Indians, Apaches that attacked and murdered his brother at nearby Dutch Creek.

What he finds is a town run by ailing cattle baron Alec Waggoman (Donald Crisp), his worthless and vicious son Dave (Alex Nicol) and ranch foreman Vic Hansbro (Arthur Kennedy). Plus of course a pretty woman in the guise of Barbara Waggoman (Cathy O’Donnell). Lockhart’s presence soon stirs things up like a mongoose at a snake party and it’s not long before he’s having to stand up to Dave and Vic. He’s persuaded to take a job with neighbouring rancher Kate Canady (Aline MacMahon), which he does in order to stick around and continue his investigations but again he’s soon facing the vicious Dave, who this time maims Lockhart in a most cruel way. As Lockhart begins to unearth the truth behind the sale of the rifles to the Apaches, conflict threatens to destroy the guilty party from within.

The film builds familiar themes like greed and betrayal into a tense climax however don’t for one minute think that ‘familiar’ here means average. This film has been described as a western version of King Lear and whilst that might be stretching the facts a little, it’s quite easy to see that Mann was hinting at something Shakespearean. The actors who do the most work are all terrific but the prize for audience captivation has to go to Stewart for yet another performance of brooding intensity (The Naked Spur being another fine example). An actor once said of his style, “It’s not what I say that’s important, it’s what I don’t say,” – a sentence that fits Stewart’s portrayal of Lockhart perfectly. He makes you feel what he’s going through as much by reading what’s behind his eyes as by what comes out of his mouth. He’s awesome. But then, he is James Stewart.

The Man From Laramie was adapted from a story of the same name in The Saturday Evening Post by Thomas T. Flynn in 1954. It was also one of the first westerns to be filmed in CinemaScope, a technique used for shooting wide screen movies which was popular from 1953 to 1967. It certainly helped Anthony Mann capture those sweeping vistas of scenery, which was something of a trademark in his James Stewart westerns. In this case it was the arid brown landscape of New Mexico but in The Naked Spur is was the mountainous beauty of Colorado and Lone Pine, California. Check it out. On film, you’ll never see it look better.

While there may be better examples of this most American of genres, they would be the exception rather than the rule. Anthony Mann was a director who never really garnered the praise he deserved and for all his contributions to cinema, he never won any awards. He received a few nominations, a Golden Globe for El Cid and three Directors Guild of America awards for El Cid, Men in War and The Glenn Miller Story but he was overlooked completely when it came time to hand out the Oscars. And yet, his body of work is truly solid and includes crime dramas, musicals, comedies, biopics, action adventures, historical epics and of course westerns. And he rarely failed to tell a story well. For me though, it’s his five westerns made with James Stewart that immortalises him in the pantheon of the great moviemakers for they are as “classic” as anyone else’s you’d care to mention.

Tales of Tremendous Tragicide: An Anthology

Anthologies are to literature what the all-you-can-eat-buffet is to cuisine. A varied selection of authors, styles and characters, all with a common theme. Tales of Tremendous Tragicide focuses on the balance between love and tragedy, a mix that is so often present in life. Each story is very different from the next, and while some are more expected than others, they all take the reader by surprise and offer something new to the mix. You might not like all the stories, or feel a connection with every single one, but I can guarantee at least one will speak to you. The collection features everything from the life story of a plate, to the world through the eyes of a fly, to the question of life after death, but they all offer much more than the surface story and leave you feeling both fulfilled and contemplative .

As a collection the anthology works well, although the style of each story is not always complementary of the next one and some contrast strongly. In general I prefer a collection that takes you on a journey, with each story teaching you more and adding to the basis laid out by the first one. However, perhaps Tales of Tremendous Tragicide isn’t trying to take you on a journey, but instead it is showing you the harsh realities of our world, in the natural and sometimes jarring way that they come to us. Life doesn’t offer its lessons in bitesize chunks, it throws them at you, seeing how much you can take. In a way, this is what the anthology is doing.

There are certainly some stories that made more of an impression on me than others, as is expected with so many stories in one place. I wouldn’t be able to pick a favourite, but Asia with Amy by Ruby Johnson is certainly one that I’d go back to. Telling a story through letters can often either give great insight or turn into a complete cliché, but Ruby certainly did the former here. She creates a beautiful balance between the loss of a loved one and the trauma of genocide. Although this story is one of immense pain, the changing setting and narrative style keeps this pain at a manageable and understandable level. Similarly, The Ward, by Samantha Carey, tells the story of a children’s cancer ward and by the end of it I desperately wanted someone to tell me that it is now a novel, so I could carry on reading it.

While all of these stories reached for the heights, covering some very difficult topics and including such a wide range of issues, there were some that I felt fell short of the mark. Plate, by Arthur Sharpe, offers a new twist on class distinction through the eyes of a plate and although he is making an interesting social commentary the story just doesn’t quite captivate the reader. Making your reader empathise with a plate is quite a difficult task though. However, every single story in the collection says something about the world we live in and is very well written, so overall I’d say the authors have really achieved something here.