Film Review: The Night That Panicked America

The recent spectacle of a meteor shower tracing fiery trails across many parts of the UK’s night skies brought to my mind another group of meteors crashing into Earth in that wonderful H.G.Wells story, ‘The War of The Worlds’. This in turn induced me to seek out and listen to the original radio broadcast from 1938 (isn’t the Internet an amazing resource?), when Orson Welles and The Mercury Theatre on the Air created history with their dramatisation of the story.

Now, I’m sure the majority of us have seen either the 2005 Spielberg blockbuster starring Tom Cruise or the much cooler (in my opinion) 1953 movie featuring Gene Barry. Of course, it goes without saying that neither film compares to Herbert George’s 1898 novel – for me, one of the most significant science fiction stories ever written – however, the earlier film benefits from being simpler and less overblown but no less impressive visually. It also tapped into that whole ‘red (communist) scare’ thing that was gripping America at the time of its release.

To really allow the genius of Wells’ writing to stir up your imagination though, turn off the TV, switch off your phone and lay back in a darkened room and listen to the radio broadcast that went out on CBS on the eve of Halloween almost seventy five years ago. It was such a spellbinding play that of the approximate six million who tuned in to the broadcast, over a million believed it to be a true Martian invasion and many of them actually fled from their homes in hysterical abandonment. And this brings me rather neatly to the film I’m recommending this time round – The Night That Panicked America.

Made in 1975 for the ABC Television Network this TV movie, starring Vic Morrow, Tom Bosley and Paul Shenar, recounts in docudrama style the broadcast from the point of view of Orson Welles (Shenar) and his Mercury Theatre associates as well as from several fictional groups of listeners from varying locations and social classes who all believed the broadcast to be a real Martian invasion.

The depiction of the broadcast itself makes this film worth watching just to see how radio professionals put together a show – actors in front of mics reading lines from pages of script while foley artists use the tools of their trade (and often some clever improvisation) to create the sounds to bring the story alive. To witness each and every one of them coming in right on cue is a pure joy. And once the broadcast is under way, then we get to see the poor, misguided listeners, the believers, those who had missed the broadcast’s opening line announcing the evening’s dramatisation of a novel. If they had heard this, they would have realised it was not real news bulletins they were listening to. There’s no doubt that the ‘on-the-spot’ reporting style of the radio play helped convince many that an invasion was actually happening and together with fact that in 1938, Americans were living in an atmosphere of tension and anxiety as Adolf Hitler steered the world towards its second global conflict, the play’s frightening premise simply fuelled the paranoia that was already running high in the country’s stream of consciousness. Indeed, some listeners thought the invaders were the Germans on a vanguard attack.

While this TV movie may exaggerate some of the panic (for entertainment’s sake, you understand), it’s not difficult to imagine just how wildly people might have reacted on that night. Remember, this was a time when news wasn’t as instant as it is today and with the radio being the only source of finding out what was going on in the wider world, hearing (never mind seeing) was believing. So, when we see a pair of farmers arm themselves with shotguns and head out into the surrounding countryside in search of the invaders and a wealthy household flee their dinner party with the family silver we can pretty much understand their actions even though we know they’re mistaken.

Another note of consequence – the Mercury Theatre on the Air was an unsponsored show at the time, and therefore there were no advertisement breaks during the play. The audience would have heard an uninterrupted report of a Martian invasion in real time with no clue that they were listening to a work of fiction. Naturally, it wasn’t long before the CBS studio started receiving calls from concerned listeners but the switchboard operators simply couldn’t believe that people thought that what they were hearing was real.

In the days following the broadcast, CBS was on the receiving end of a fair amount of flack over the incident with several newspapers and public figures describing the play’s ‘news-bulletin format’ as cruelly deceptive. The network was sued by many listeners claiming ‘mental anguish’ and ‘personal injury’ but all suits were dismissed save for one – a man from Massachusetts claimed for a pair of shoes he had bought to escape the Martians. Orson Welles apparently insisted the man be paid.

All in all then, this is an interesting little film made all the more remarkable for being a true story. The fact that the story revolves around one of the greatest sci-fi tales ever written, makes it, while not quite a classic, most definitely worth watching.

 

 

 

Film Review: Black Narcissus

Throughout the 1940s and ’50s, Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger produced numerous films of note, many of them rivalling anything that came out of Hollywood. Their collaborations began in 1939 with the First World War thriller The Spy in Black, which Powell directed and Pressburger wrote the screenplay for. A couple of years later they co-founded their production company The Archers and made One of Our Aircraft is Missing (1942). The two would go on to share a writer-director-producer credit until the partnership ended in 1957 and along the way they gave us such classics as A Matter of Life and Death (1946), The Red Shoes (1948) and The Battle of the River Plate (1956).

Arguably their most memorable offering was Black Narcissus (1947), a wonderful psychological drama set within a convent in an isolated Himalayan valley. The stunning Technicolor photography alone is enough to imprint this movie forever on your mind and if you’ve never seen, I urge you to do so at your nearest convenience. The use of matte paintings and scale models has rarely been used with such skill and majesty and despite the fact that the landscape is clearly fake, it is lit and coloured so magnificently, that it’s all the more awesome for being so. Costumes too, seem to take on a symbolic relevance and whether it’s the godliness of white robes, the devilishness of a red dress or the honesty and frankness of being semi-naked, there’s a depth to be found in every detail we see.

The plot revolves around a group of nuns – lead by the Sister Superior Clodagh (Deborah Kerr) – who are sent to the abandoned Palace of Mopu, near Darjeeling in the Himalayas to establish a school and hospital in order to help civilise the local community. Their mountainside convent is a former harem complete with sensual mosaics and images on its walls, and making it habitable is the nuns’ first hurdle to overcome. Sister Clodagh is forced to accept the help of local British agent Dean (David Farrar) to achieve this and Dean immediately makes a hurdle of himself but in a different way. His deep-voice and hairy-chested masculinity affects the nuns to varying degrees and seems to remind several of them that they are, after all, women and as if that wasn’t enough, Jean Simmons, in a very early role, has a memorable part as a mischievous local dancing girl, who with her flowing silks and flirtatious demeanour, presents a stark contrast to the nuns’ chaste way of life.

Dean warns Clodagh from the outset that the palace is no place for a convent and later credits the high altitude as capable of playing havoc with one’s senses. It’s not long before the isolation and the atmosphere unsettles the nuns while Dean’s bullish machismo begins to affect Sister Clodagh and Sister Ruth (Kathleen Byron). Clodagh finds herself dwelling on the failed romance that drove her into the Sisterhood several years prior while Ruth becomes pathologically jealous of Clodagh’s growing friendship with Dean. The climate, the mystique of the local culture and the nuns’ own fallibility all play a part in this story and each of these adds to the tension as it rises like the mountainous peaks that surround them.

If this might sound less than exciting, do not be fooled. This film is a masterpiece. Full of psychological suspense and sexual desire Black Narcissus is, in Michael Powell’s own view, the most erotic film he ever made. “It is all done by suggestion,” he said, “but eroticism is in every frame and image from beginning to end. It is a film full of wonderful performances and passion just below the surface, which finally, at the end of the film, erupts.”

The climax is a riveting pastiche of music and image on a truly epic scale with no dialogue, just a mesmerising operatic symphony of sound that will turn your knuckles white. An interesting note here is that the music for this scene was scored before the scene was shot which meant the actors’ motivations and movements were choreographed to the music just as they would be on a stage. Truly, truly wonderful stuff.

The film collected two Academy Awards at the 1958 Oscar’s ceremony for Best Cinematography and Best Art Direction. Deborah Kerr won the New York Film Critics Circle Award for her portrayal of Sister Clodagh.  It holds number 44 in the British Film Institute’s greatest British films of the 20th century and number 16 in Time Out’s 100 best British films list.

The 65 years that have passed since the film’s release hasn’t diminished its impact. The haunting beauty of the painted landscapes and backdrops and the film’s vivid colour simply adds to its lasting appeal. To see it once, is to never forget it.

 

 

 

Hollywood’s Uncovered Gems?

There is a rowdy queue of merits associated with the serene art of cinema; perhaps one of the strongest advantages lies in its powerful sense of evocation. For some very privileged people, cinema is able to paint more than just a pretty picture and is fully able to rip into its audience’s soul and juggle with their emotions, their thoughts and feelings. Let me throw some names at you:

Nolan. Tarantino. Spielberg.

Household names; ground-breaking directors who have caused more than a mere stir during their renowned careers and all thanks to one endearing trait: their pure love of cinema. Their contribution has helped make cinema a dominant art form, one which truly caters for everybody with its eclectic style and creative prowess. So it’s really no surprise that the deaths of Tony Scott and Michael Clarke Duncan have packed such a brutal punch.

Tony Scott lived his life in the shadow of his more-critically accepted brother, Ridley (Alien, Blade Runner) yet thankfully, the overwhelmingly positive tributes that have flooded in for the late and certainly great director have focused solely on his aesthetically pleasing body of work. Many will recall the likes of Top Gun, an undoubtedly popular addition to the macho-men volume of Hollywood cinema and far superior to the likes of Charlie Sheen’s Navy SEALS and oh, yes…Iron Eagle.

What Scott lacked in critical backing, he made up for at the box-office. However, unlike film-makers who experience similar critical contrast such as Michael Bay, Scott was a true master of his craft. His ‘on-the-fence’ reviews would usually pin-point a lack of dramatic and narrative resonance (that was attributed so highly to Ridley) yet a picture made to pure perfection. In Poker terms, he was always the Full House opposed to the Royal Flush. His knowledge and dexterous touch as well as sublime craftsmanship were second-to-none and his flicks provided audiences with endless hours of thrills and spills. A truly remarkable, yet severely underrated film-maker.

Michael Clarke Duncan was a unique screen presence. Big Mike stood at 6’ 5” and his muscular frame, imposing stature and deep, booming voice were bizarrely contrasted by his kind, caring nature; or at least that was the way he consistently came across as.

Like many others, the role I’ll always associate him with was that of the (wrongly) convicted child-murderer in Frank Darabont’s The Green Mile. Strongly considered one of the best movies made in the last 20-years or so, The Green Mile was an adaption from Stephen King’s novel of the same name. Duncan portrayed John Coffey (“like the drink, only not spelled the same”), a seemingly uneducated simpleton who had been sentenced to death after being discovered with two dead girls. As the audience learns more about the character in Darabont’s majestic and emotionally charged movie, Duncan himself is a revelation. Never looking like a fish-out-of-water next to co-star Tom Hanks, Duncan was rightly nominated for an Oscar that year for his portrayal which will be remembered for a long time to come.

The point I wish to make is one that rings a beneficial bell in terms of Hollywood. Tributes poured in from all over when the shocking announcements were first made. It quickly became apparent that though neither was considered a household name, both were respected by those who cherish the art of cinema as well as those who perhaps consider themselves casual acquaintances with their local movie theatre. I think it’s a testament to the power of movies and the much-maligned Hollywood that these two figures are being celebrated so much. Scott’s True Romance defined the hyper-stylised and violent movies of the 90s (written by Pulp Fiction’s Tarantino of course) and contemporary film fans hold recent efforts such as Unstoppable starring Chris Pine and Denzel Washington and Man On Fire, again starring Scott-favoured Washington, in such high-esteem.

Duncan also had a varied career; The Green Mile will go down as his magnum opus due to his Oscar nom, but he also starred in many a-blockbuster such as Armageddon, The Whole Nine Yards and Daredevil. He was appreciated by the industry he loved so much and by the fans who flocked to the cinema, even if they couldn’t quite recall his name.

Hollywood is damn-near impossible to break and once you’ve made it, it can knock you back down from whence you came within a matter of seconds. That’s what they say anyway but I believe the likes of Michael Clarke Duncan and Tony Scott oppose that theory. Consistent, efficient, hard-working and reliable; they weren’t stars that shone the brightest and perhaps didn’t always get the recognition they deserved but when it came down to the final haul, both got the rousing send-off they deserved and the industry has suffered a great loss. The beauty of film is that they will always be remembered through their art and cemented within the rich history of cinema forever more.

Tony Scott (21st June, 1944 – 19th August, 2012)

Michael Clarke Duncan (10th December, 1957 – 3rd September, 2012)

Remakes going too far? Croneberg’s ‘Videodrome’ next to go under the knife.

Yesterday morning, like every morning in the past five years, I put my cup of coffee on my desk, open my laptop, click simultaneously on the seven bookmarked pages that start my day and they all talk about the same thing: film. I browse the news, scroll down, then an article catches my attention and makes me spit out my coffee, out of my nose. I move from site to site, hoping that the article is just a rumour, but it’s no use. I know Empire Film Magazine would not lie to me, so I get a tissue, blow my nose, wipe the desk and stare at the article: ‘Adam Berg Hired For Videodrome Remake; Ads man will direct the new pic’. The shock is indescribable, the disappointment insurmountable. David Croneberg’s iconic ‘body-horror’ film has not just been green lit for a remake; it actually has a director, signifying that it probably has an ongoing script and a producer. As I stared in disbelief, the one question that kept running through my mind was ‘Why?’ Why remake a classic? Why remake a film that, even though did poorly commercially, is now a symbol, amongst many others, of media violence and a whistle-blower on eighties society’s apathy when it came to television programming. Why remake it now, of all times, when television itself is slowly dying, replaced by the smaller screen of our laptops and when its current programming is relying on massive budgets to keep at least a minimum amount of audience and survive the next season? All of these questions ran through my mind but then, after the emotional part of my brain calmed down, I thought that the ‘why’ I kept repeating was not only for the benefit of ‘Videodrome’. It was resonating for all remakes I could think of, good and bad. Why is Hollywood so hell-bent on remakes? The announcement of David Fincher taking over ‘The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo’, the opening of ‘Let me In’, the mess that was ‘Clash of the Titans’, all of these films have either aggravated or excited audiences, me included, but there is always that initial question of ‘why’, followed by an instant judgement on the project, either positive or negative. Thinking about it, I am guilty of always being very negative after any remake announcement and I am starting to think that I am wrong in doing so. After all, everyone deserves a second chance, even in film. Only problem is, when the first time around the film was a success and enjoys its days as a classic, why pull it out of retirement and give it a makeover? Is it only for the sake of money or is there actual artistic motivation behind it? I’d like to believe it’s the latter but sadly, it might be far from it.

If I asked any person on the street about their opinion on Hollywood remakes, I’d be lucky to get a passionate response. Most people have had, in one occasion or another, bad experiences with this type of film, either because one of their favourites was used, or because the result was that bad that they immediately deny the chance for the original to impress. The rare gems that make it past the initial stage of acceptance are always under immense pressure to be on the same level as their predecessor, so the remake seems to be the weak child that always tries to impress his parent, to little or no avail. His stepbrother, the reboot, has, at least since 2002 with the seminal film that resurrected superheroes, Sam Raimi’s ‘Spider Man’, been far more accepted. It managed to gross millions of dollars, is responsible for at least five current major franchises (Spider Man, X-Men, Batman, The Avengers, Star Trek and now Superman) and people are excited. Say reboot and everyone is all ears and no complaining. Why? Because a reboot does not necessarily mean same story, same exact characters, same universe. The reboot will take principal characters and twist them into completely different ones. Batman no longer has nipples on his suit and ridiculous enemies to fight (exit Mr. Freeze), but is dark, borderline psychotic and his enemies are gangsters, terrorists and religious fanatics. Familiar? Yes, it does symbolise modern day America within the comic book universe. A remake would’ve probably changed Batman’s costume, had different taglines and brought in the same villain again. Let’s face it; the poor remake is no match for the reboot in this day and age. When audiences are looking for something fresh, the reboot will take the original dish, keep the ingredients but make it taste like new and different. The remake gives the audience re-heated soup that will never taste as fresh as that first time.

Within the pantheon of remake titles, I can give some examples of failed attempts in trying to impress a second time, using the same material. Tim Burton’s famous flop, ‘Planet of the Apes’ (2001) proved that even though Hollywood had made giant leaps in moviemaking technology and imagery, it still could not beat that old-school feel you get when Charlton Heston swears at a monkey (ok, I mean ape) and you can see the prosthetics on the actors’ damn dirty paws. Despite Tim Roth’s relentless efforts to portray General Thade as the archetypal racist villain and Helena Bonham Carter’s Ari trying to dissolve this ape-human apartheid, Burton did not conjure up the charm of the original. This was for two reasons: number one, a common one amongst remakes that flopped, is because what started off as an alternative sequel to ‘Beneath the Planet of the Apes’ (1970) became a near 20-year battle amongst scriptwriters and 20th Century Fox, who could not agree on script, directors and actors. The end result was whatever could be salvaged of the original concept and a heavy reliance on special effects and on ‘the twist’ that enraged all geeks and fans of the franchise. Second, this is what happens when producers back a film that they do not believe in anymore! There is no charisma, no desire to create, no enthusiasm in the way this remake was done, just a feeling of ‘Let’s try and make as much money as fast as we can because this ship is sinking’. The film now lives in memory as one of the worst remakes ever made and as a warning about the heavy reliance on technology as opposed to plot and character development. The same can be said about the recent ‘Clash of the Titans’ (2010) remake, where director Louis Leterrier, a fan of the original (just like Tim Burton was a fan of the Apes franchise), wanted to bring the film to a new generation. I am the first to point out that the 1981 version was in no way perfect and that even though it is a classic in the fantasy genre, it became less accessible to later audiences and unfortunately, aged very badly.  In that instance, a remake was not without reason, however 2010 brought us 3D and as usual, Hollywood insisted on the film’s conversion to this new technology, especially after the record-breaking success of Cameron’s ‘Avatar’. Leterrier made concessions to the studio and behold the result; critics and fans booed the final product and its sequel ‘Wrath of the Titans’, I hear, is even worse.

Another instance of a failed remake is the 2006 pagan-horror film ‘The Wicker Man’ (‘Aaaahh, the bees, not the bees’). Yes, the Nicolas-Cage-goes-mad-and-hits-women film that made everyone laugh and realise how much he or she missed Christopher Lee. The original, made in 1976, was simplicity itself, including beautiful shots of the Scottish Isles, a very toned down, yet menacing, Christopher Lee, a very ambiguous hero (Sergeant Howie), resurrected folk songs, a controversial theme and, let’s all be honest, Britt Ekland’s dance scene (although to the disappointment of many men, it was later revealed that it had been a body double and not the actress herself). Beautiful and haunting, the film is described as the ‘Citizen Kane of horror’, largely because it slipped into obscurity after its release. This is the one instance where I disagree with Hollywood about remaking a film like ‘The Wicker Man’. The 2006 Nic Cage version threw out all meaning and controversy in favour of jump scares and gender reversals. If the sole reason was to lift the original film out of the shadows and to make it a nonsensical feminist promo meant for teenagers then mission very much accomplished. Acting, plot and sound were butchered in order to impress an unimpressed audience, Nicolas Cage as a laughable lead, unable to re-create the Christian stubbornness of Edward Woodward’s Howie and as much as I love Ellen Burstyn, she could not compare to the utterly chilling portrayal of Lee’s Lord Summersisle.  In an effort to attract the hip crowd, the film flopped and is now a cult rental in video stores, whereas the original still enjoys its place amongst the ranks of the greatest horror films.

I can honestly understand the concept of remake in one instance; the case of the foreign films. My father once pointed out to me ‘Some people, Ersi, do not want to read subtitles and try to understand a different culture’. Unfortunately, this does not just apply to US audiences, but many other countries too, yet the US has the monopoly on the English-language remake. It is an understandable want to remake a foreign film because the dialogue is in another language, the setting is in a wholly different country, the actors are unrecognisable and the culture does not seem familiar to other audiences and this has been a long-standing trend. Akira Kurosawa, the famed Japanese director, was fascinated by the westerns of John Ford and was so heavily influenced by the genre that he included in his films his equivalent of cowboys, the samurai, and kept Ford’s main theme, the extinction of the cowboy/samurai and the advent of industrialism that slowly pushes out all romantic notions of honour and justice. His most famous work, ‘The Seven Samurai’, was a genuine two-and-a-half-hour masterpiece in 1954, innovative, bold and now considered one of the pivotal influences of US directors Sergio Leone, Martin Scorsese, John Sturges and George Lucas. Sturges’ ‘The Magnificent Seven’ starring, amongst others, Yul Brynner and Charles Bronson, was the remake of Kurosawa’s film, done six years later, and is considered one of the most popular westerns in the history of the genre. What is fascinating is that the single US film genre was taken from its roots, taken to a country where the Americans ravaged only nine years earlier during World War II, reconstructed to fit Japanese culture and then the country that originated the concept remade its own final product later. This shows that the remake can prove to be very useful to spread an idea, a concept or a script, worldwide to audiences that would otherwise not understand. This is not just a question of reading subtitles, like my dad used to say. It’s the alien nature of the language and the culture that dissuades many people of going to the movies if a film like ‘The girl with the Dragon Tattoo’ was playing, hence Fincher’s swift remake, two years after the original. Who would have noticed a foreign film like ‘Ringu’ if Naomi Watts had not jumped on board of the remake and terrified everyone off their TV sets in ‘The Ring’. As we speak there is an ‘Old Boy’ remake in production, starring Josh Brolin, Elisabeth Olsen and Sharlto Copley, not because the original is not good and groundbreaking but because it could not be spread further than the few countries who could still either relate or appreciate it, in its original form. This goes for Kurosawa and Sturges, it goes for horror remakes like ‘The Ring’, ‘The Grudge’ or adventure like ‘Pathfinder’, or dramas like ‘The Girl with The Dragon Tattoo’, thrillers like DePalma’s upcoming ‘Passion’ and for all other future remakes of foreign films. There is that thought that maybe we have become way too lazy to even try and understand foreign films but personally I do not think it’s laziness so much as it shows that cinema is inherently and involuntarily racist thanks to widespread Hollywood involvement all over the world. It is worth pointing out though that remakes based on foreign films have not been tragically disappointing. Yes, some have failed to convey the original’s message, yet most have created successful movies either way because there is still some respect for the material (with some exceptions, *cough*Godzilla, 1998*cough*).

Okay so, trying to share a country’s filmmaking with the rest of the world through a remake, that I can jump onboard with, because it also gives the audience the choice. Would you like to stick with the original or with the ‘international’ version? There is significant enough change to make a separate movie and to add some innovation in it so it does not appear to be a completely different film. I can accept that. But what I cannot accept is remaking a movie on the sole excuse that it is old. This ageist stance that Hollywood has been developing since the mid-1990s has taken a very serious turn and has carried on till today. Whenever someone turns around and affirms that a movie has aged very badly, a probable cause being that it was not good in the first place, yes I will agree that in some cases time does not favour cinema. Not everything that is old is necessarily a classic. But why meddle in something that was not good in the first place and why not let it age and die in peace? What could go so wrong if 1924’s ‘The Wolfman’ was left silent instead of the stale 2010 version whose only merit was its retro use of prosthetics (oh, the irony).  What is so bad with leaving ‘Psycho’ to its glory as the first slasher, instead of hiring Vince Vaughn to badly emulate Anthony Perkins’ performance in a colour version? Was the black and white really that bothersome?

It is quite obvious that most of the remakes I am outraged at are the horror films, who when they became unsuccessful in their production of sequels, decided to start all over again after ruining what was left of the old horror generation. Carpenter, surprisingly enough, led the remake way with ‘The Thing’ in 1982 and showed it could be done by taking only the material and the atmosphere and re-arranging the entire mood to fit a new generation’s fears. The same thing applies for ‘The Invasion of the Body Snatchers’, which has been through about four remakes, some with different titles, trying to bring the original’s sense of paranoia to the new generations that had not lived during the height of the Cold War in the fifties. These were not made to make the film look better and more appealing to teenagers. They were made because their concept was so terrifying in nature but the context had to be slightly updated. The latest to work was Snyder’s ‘Dawn of the Dead’ in 2004 where the theme of consumerism was still a central issue, very much discussed then and today. Surprise, surprise though, it doesn’t work with every horror (or any) film, as a long string of remakes has proven from 2000 onwards. ‘Texas Chainsaw Massacre’, ‘Friday the 13th’, ‘The Omen’, ‘Halloween’, ‘Prom Night’ (who the hell cares about proms anymore, really?). These were remakes that did not scare; they mildly entertained and slipped into the video store racks faster than you can say ‘corn syrup’. This is what Hollywood is doing now, it wants to easily entertain and since it cannot solely rely on its big-budget films all year-round, it has to rely on remakes to fill in the gaps, a cheap scapegoat that is starting to age itself, very badly. It’s like introducing someone to an aunt, every year, after she has had a plastic surgery. First her nose looks a little crooked, then her forehead seems strangely triangular than by the tenth time she has been introduced, she looks like shit. That is what a horror remake has become; a cut and paste face of a film that has been through so much hacking and cutting that in the end becomes barely recognisable and quite frankly ugly to watch.

So there I am, in front of my screen, coffee getting cold, staring at the ‘Videodrome’ announcement still, pondering these facts. It is safe to say that I am not a remake fan but that does not mean I am willing to shut them out and pretend they don’t exist. I have been surprised at some recent ones like ‘The Hills have Eyes’, ‘3:10 to Yuma’, ‘True Grit’, ‘The Departed’ or ‘The Mummy’ and it is these and many others that have made me ponder which one I liked more, the original or its new shiny follower. That is rare and special! But I have come across the worst of attempts to revive a classic that was and will always be alive either way. As I scroll through a rough list of remakes bound for a cinema near you, I see names that I never thought Hollywood would dare touch again. Hitchcock’s ‘The Birds’ will pass under the knife and so will ‘The Crow’ (met by heavy opposition and production difficulties) and I still wonder. Yes, remakes can work favourably for cinema’s forgotten and foreign but not being able to cope with an aging film or just plain leaving it in its own mess seems impossible, so Hollywood hires ad-makers, video clip directors or just newcomers to the studios to try to squeeze as much dollar juice as they can with very little integrity and passion going into them. Yes some have exceeded (my) expectations but most seem to inspire apathy and a sense of ‘déjà vu’, only with more CG effects, younger actors and inexperienced directors that bore most of the audience. So in conclusion, I present to you my letter to American cinema:

Hollywood, from me to you, I have been following your career with great and unabashed interest and thanks to you, I know where my passion lies but please, do not take your most memorable and prized achievements and turn them into cash cows. You try and bring concepts and stories to a public that doesn’t understand foreign filmmaking as opposed to yours and I can get behind that, but what I cannot accept is you defacing your wall of fame and silliconing your icons for the sake of dollar bills and cheap thrills. The originality and thinking you have today comes from your past and your greatest features so don’t turn around and spit on them. They are the legacy you leave for your children, not idols of clay to re-shape whenever you feel like it.

Michael Clarke Duncan Dead at 54

The American actor Michael Clarke Duncan died yesterday (September 3rd) at a Los Angeles hospital following a heart attack at the age of 54. The star was probably best known for his performance as a death row inmate in the 1999 Tom Hanks movie The Green Mile. His portrayal of John Coffey, a convicted murderer, earned him numerous nominations, most notably for an Academy Award and a Golden Globe.

Tom Hanks has paid tribute by saying, “I am terribly saddened at the loss of Big Mike. He was the treasure we all discovered on the set of The Green Mile. He was magic. He was a big love of man and his passing leaves us stunned.”

Duncan was born in Chigaco, Illinois in 1957 and grew up in a single-parent household with his mother and sister after his father left. Football was his first love but he soon turned to acting and dreamed of becoming a famous star in Hollywood.

After high school and college, he quit his job digging ditches for a gas company in Chicago and moved out to Los Angeles where his imposing size soon got him noticed. For a while, he worked as a bodyguard for celebrities such as Will Smith and LL Cool J, while picking up bit parts mostly in TV shows, but his persistence paid off and once he got the part of Bear in the blockbuster Armageddon (1998) alongside Bruce Willis, things really started to take off for him.

It was Willis who championed Duncan for the part of Coffey in The Green Mile and following this, a string of high-profile films helped establish him as a star. Other notable films include The Whole Nine Yards, Planet of the Apes, The Scorpion King, Sin City and The Island.

His impressively deep voice was in high demand for animated films and video games as well, where his versatility as an actor was put to good use. Whether he was playing a powerful and feared crime lord or an Old English Sheepdog, his talent was unmistakable.

The director of The Green Mile, Frank Darabont described him as “one of the finest people I’ve ever had the privilege to work with or know. Michael was the gentlest of souls – an exemplar of decency, integrity and kindness.” There’s no denying that Duncan will be sadly missed not only by those who knew him personally but by his fans all around the world.

The Best Bond?

In his new book entitled Bond On Bond, Sir Roger Moore says that not only is Daniel Craig the best actor to play the world’s greatest fictional spy but that he also has the best build of any Bond to boot. Is he right? Is he wrong? Does it matter? Do we care? We are talking about an actor and an imaginary character after all and the nights will continue to draw in and our taxes won’t change depending on our verdict.

Of course, there is no real answer to the question because, like a ‘best’ meal or a ‘best’ holiday destination, everyone has a favourite based on their own individual tastes. One person’s Lobster Thermidore will be another’s cheeseburger and curly fries. Paradise for some would be relaxing on an island in the Indian Ocean while for others it would be trekking across the American northwest. It’s all relative you see. Likewise, can it truly be said that John Wayne’s portrayal of Rooster Cogburn in True Grit was better than that of Richard Burton’s King Henry VIII in Anne of the Thousand Days? Wayne did win the Academy Award that year, after all. Or was it simply two great artists doing what they do extremely well but being pointlessly compared to one another in a competition where only one can triumph?

Surely then, this is the same pointless comparison for the six actors who have so far played Bond. Each one different, each one bringing something new to the role, each one interpreting the role in their own way from their own prospective. While it’s true that some of the films are better than others, generally a result of a more rounded script, can the better films be accredited solely to the actor in the lead role? Probably not. On Her Majesty’s Secret Service is one of the strongest stories in Fleming’s series of novels but was made with a relatively inexperienced actor in the lead role and a fast-paced editing style, making for a slightly wooden Bond and a different looking movie overall. But in spite of this, with a script that leaned more towards plot than full on action while keeping remarkably true to the original story, it remains one of the more intelligent films in the franchise and a firm favourite with fans.

For me, Connery defined the role. He was tall, dark and brutally handsome. His Bond oozed masculinity, had an intrepid sense of fun and an over-stimulated libido, things that quickly became trademarks of the character. Under Cambridge alumnus Terence Young’s direction, Connery was able to portray a man who had had a university education at, among others, Eton (albeit cut short by unruly behaviour) as well as having enjoyed European adventures during his formative years. Connery’s Bond was well educated, had a certain continental exuberance and a graceful British refinement. His wardrobe was simple yet stylish, tailored perfectly to his athletic physique with an elegance no subsequent Bond has managed yet. Certainly Brosnan and Craig are well-decked out in their expensive tuxedos and assorted outfits but by comparison they are starched and look over-dressed. A case perhaps of the wardrobe department trying too hard.

There was a glamour that surrounded the character in those early ’60s films, something exotic that is no longer there. Remember, this was a time when a large majority of us had probably never been abroad (save for those servicemen and women who were stationed overseas during and after WWII) and so Jamaica, Turkey, etc would have been incredibly exciting locales to cinema-goers. Today, a much greater number of us have travelled abroad, experienced far-flung destinations like those places visited by 007 and consequently a part of the mystique of this man’s world has been removed. The same could be said of the exotic car associated with the character as well because the chances of seeing a DB5 (of which just over a thousand were built) around in the mid ’60s was much lower than catching sight of a Vanquish today. Indeed, I’ve no doubt a huge proportion of the younger (and not so younger) generation have probably even driven a Vanquish, if only via a PlayStation console. The mystery, the intrigue of the world that this most secret of men inhabits is all but gone.

The majority of us would likely admit to preferring the James Bond actor that we grew up watching. It’s that age when our minds are most fertile and impressionable and nostalgia often affects a strong influence too. Roger Moore was Bond when I grew up and as much as I enjoyed his 007 (The Spy Who Loved Me being my personal favourite of his) he never threatened to replace Connery’s face in my mind as I re-read Fleming’s novels. I loved Moore’s acting though, it was glib and humorous and highly entertaining (as it was in all he did save perhaps The Man Who Haunted Himself, which I recommend anyone to see) but his Bond didn’t seem as dangerous as Connery’s, or as real. And suddenly we get to the heart of the matter. Realism. Sure, the novels are fiction, we all know that, but they were written by a man who worked for British Naval Intelligence, a man who experienced the world of espionage and managed to translate that experience onto the pages of his novels via his writing style.  And those first two movies, Dr No and From Russia With Love, were respectfully true to the writing, hence, they retained a certain realism. Particularly From Russia With Love, which involves a somewhat low key plot that concerns the acquisition of a decoding machine and the revenge assassination of Bond. Simple stuff by today’s standards but no less entertaining and thrilling for it. As for action, the fight between Bond and Grant in the train compartment is surely one of the best choreographed punch-ups in movie history. Connery and Shaw really do struggle with each other as they smash into the wooden doors and wardrobes. And they make it look so real. By contrast, today’s Bond seems to bulldoze his way over his enemies like a Terminator, showing no emotion and barely any effort as he leaves broken necks in his wake. The editing and pace of modern movies is such that a choreographed fight is less of a scene and more of a splicing together of lots of different moves.

Something else that came to define Bond’s screen character (if not his literary one) was the dry wit, the humour, the witty one-liners. Connery started it, Moore expanded it, Dalton removed it, Brosnan resurrected it and now, Craig has totally overlooked it. But wait a minute, isn’t this humour an integral part of 007’s screen persona? Take that away and you removed a part of the man. We have come to expect Bond to deliver some daft tongue-in-cheek remark after despatching a bad guy from a rooftop. However, let’s not assume that these witticisms are easy to deliver, for it takes a certain ability, a certain (dare I say it) X-factor that an actor either has or doesn’t have and some, perhaps even most, actors just don’t have it. Sometimes a joke can be seen a mile off and come across as simply too obvious, as it did on numerous occasions in the Brosnan films. Yes, they make you chuckle but they come across as having been carefully placed into proceedings by a scriptwriter rather than a flippant off-the-cuff remark by the character himself, something Connery and Moore did so well.

When Timothy Dalton took over the reins in 1987, he said he wanted to take 007 back to the books and the grittiness of Fleming’s writing. He did this and his portrayal was a great departure from Moore’s, which was perhaps no bad thing at the time, when the series was losing momentum but he took a step too far and made Bond dull, boring, sensible, unsexy. The story lines of his two films were not necessarily at fault but in his portrayal of Bond, he lacked that certain something that made him at once deadly and yet likeable and charming.

Like Dalton, Brosnan lacked that undefinable quality to be a great James Bond although he did at least bring the fun back to the series. But by this time the films were nothing more than globe-trotting blockbusters with little of the essence of the novels in evidence, save an Aston Martin and a dry Martini. The story lines were fantastic and the stunts totally unreal simply because the cinema-going public had grown used to all of Hollywood’s heroes escaping from enormous explosions with their shirt tails on fire while riding a high-powered motorcycle one handed through a plate glass window. Nowadays, the cinematic world is full of Jason Bournes and Frank Martins, riveting audiences to their seats with high octane action. So, is James Bond still unique among contemporary movie characters?

Casino Royale was a great film and according to polls, one of the most popular Bond films to date. Again though, do we credit the lead actor with this success or the screenplay, which was pretty darn close to the original story? Daniel Craig certainly redefined the role to fit him as an actor but if we are going to attempt a pointless comparison with the previous five actors, then I think it’s a little premature to label him the best Bond ever. For my money, he completely lacks the charm, the wit and the elegance of Fleming’s creation and as I said earlier, he tends to trample his enemies like a Terminator. He’s more of a well-dressed thug than a suave secret agent and despite his tuxedo, he exudes the qualities of a man who’d prefer a beer than a Martini. Yes, he may have set female pulses racing around the world with his emergence from the ocean in a scene precariously reminiscent of Hally Berry in her orange bikini from Die Another Day, but he’s made the character a lot less likeable and consequently, less fun to watch. The films themselves have become too big, too spectacular, too fantastic and because of this, the stunts and the story lines become ever more unbelievable. How wonderful it would be for the producers to return to Fleming’s roots and give us an intelligent espionage thriller once more instead of another saving-the-world mega blockbuster that is nothing more that a series of death-defying stunts strung together by an unbelievable story line.

So, is Sir Roger merely fanning the flames of the series after the relative disappointment of Quantum Of Solace or does he have a point? Is Daniel Craig a better actor than those who preceded him in the role and does he have the best build of any of them? Being the only one to come in under six feet, he’s certainly the shortest and stockiest but the best? Personally, I think Daniel Craig needs to lighten up a little and let us see that he’s enjoying the role of the world’s coolest secret agent before he gets anywhere near Connery’s portrayal. But that’s just my opinion. And we all have one.

Skyfall will doubtless make millions of dollars and ensure that Bond returns once more but at the end of day, the difference between today’s Bond films and the early ones will be explicated by the historians. Critics and fans alike already view Dr. No, From Russia With Love and Goldfinger as ‘classic’, genre-defining moments of cinema. The rest of the titles in the series, well, however much we love them, they are less likely to garner such acclaim and will probably be spoken about in the same way as the majority of rip-roaring blockbusters that Hollywood churns out.