Tag: entertainment

Vintage Book Review: “Fahreheit 451” by Ray Bradbury (1953)

Fahrenheit 451 has become something of a classic, not only for “hard-core” fans of Ray Bradbury, but among many others who see the world going down the path of doing away with the written word, lest it offend anyone. Sixty years on, what Bradbury saw the future as being – in spirit if not in the literal sense – does not seem too far-fetched in the age of Dumbing Down.

The action begins with Guy Montag, a “fireman” on the job, which is basically to hunt down, and burn, any books that may still be in existence. The very first line is “It was a pleasure to burn”, and Bradbury evokes a strong image, saying that he “strode in a swarm of fireflies”, and when he meets an unusual, and highly inquisitive, teenage girl on the walk home (walking home, in itself, is considered a suspicious activity), Montag furthers the anti-hero image by saying ““Kerosene is nothing but perfume to me.”

But it is not long before, through the girl’s persistence, he is given pause for thought and begins to wonder just why his job is of such vital importance. The first major indication of something gone amiss is when he has to take his wife home from the hospital, after she apparently attempted suicide, but is given drugs so that she has no memory of doing so. Realising that he and his wife may be less than content in their (allegedly) idyllic book-free existence, he begins to question everything more outwardly. But it seems that Montag is the odd man out in this case, from the robot Hound that blindly follows orders (“It doesn’t think anything we don’t want it to think”) to his colleagues, who are adamant that they are performing a public service (“Don’t give them any slippery stuff like philosophy or sociology to tie things up with. That way lies melancholy.”).

When his wife, and the mysterious young girl (also allegedly) disappear without a trace, and after a traumatic job assignment in which a woman is burned along with the books she tries desperately to hold onto, Montag decides enough is enough, and goes on the run in a quest for any literary knowledge, any “texture of information”, that may remain.

Bradbury, wryly and shrewdly, depicts a not-too-unrealistic world, in which books are seen as the enemy, rather than the ally, of the moral progress of human civilisation. Written not too long since a time when much book-burning was in fact taking place, Bradbury effectively draws attention to the notion that a totalitarian approach to the censorship of knowledge may lie in wait in the not-too-distant future.

 

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.

Film Review: The Quiet Man

As far back as I can remember I’ve been a John Wayne fan. I may have been but a freckle-faced junior with grazes on my knees and dreadfully sensible sandals on my feet but there I was, sitting with my father watching those weekend matinee cowboy films on one of the three TV channels (remember those days?). I recall Dad frequently telling me not to sit so close to the screen – “You’ll make yourself cross-eyed!” Wayne’s embodiment of heroism, strength and honour was, to my young mind, as right and true as any natural law of the universe, something to aspire to so that whatever you did, wherever you went, everything would work out fine as long as you conducted yourself in the same manner. Sure, there’d be hardships along the way and battles to fight but if you’d quit bellyaching, stand firm and face your adversaries head on, you’d triumph in the end and be able to ride off into the sunset with love and righteousness by your side. (Sounds almost biblical, doesn’t it?)

Well, I’m older now (you don’t say!) and, I hope, a little wiser and a little more knowledge about some things in life but when I sit through a Wayne movie my mind just goes right back to those formative years when life seemed simpler, when love and honour seemed to truly mean everything and when a man was only as good as his word.

Hand on heart, I can say that I’ve watched pretty much all of John Wayne’s films – certainly those of which came after Stagecoach in 1939 and with equal sincerity, I can attest to having enjoyed them all. To me, he’s just so watchable. However, when it comes to truly great pictures, classic films, I have to concede that he made but a handful. And yet that’s okay because let’s face it, any artist, be they an author or a painter or an actor, if they leave even just one shining example of their craft – one book, one painting masterpiece or one performance that is unmatched or unquestionable in its brilliance, then they’ve hit the jackpot. They’ll inspire generations and live on forever. Wayne did just that – some might say with the help of a great director but as I’ve said before in these pages, sometimes in the movies, the stars in the heavens align, the talents of cast and crew come together in total harmony and perfection is created.

For Wayne this is clearly evident in The Searchers, She Wore a Yellow Ribbon and Red River. Three superb films directed by two of Hollywood’s greatest movie makers –  John Ford and Howard Hawks – with performances from the Duke that should be ranked as highly as any performance by any actor, ever! There are a few other titles that could arguably join this group – True Grit (for which Wayne won the Oscar for Best Actor), Rio Bravo and The Shootist (his last and most poignant performance) and I cannot omit The Quiet Man. If you’ve only seen Wayne wearing a gun-belt or brandishing a Winchester, then this is a bit of a departure but it is an absolute GEM. If you’ve never seen it, I urge you to do so. It’s beyond beautiful, it’s funny, moving and utterly charming. And it’s the sort of film that would not, nay, could not be made today. No matter how overused it is, the aphorism is true – they just don’t make ’em like they used to. Yes, modern cinema had gained much with its CGI, its new fangled digital cameras and lightning quick editing techniques but along the way something has been lost. If you’re into great movies, you’ll know what I mean.

Anyway – The Quiet Man. Wayne plays Sean Thornton, an Irishman by birth who returns from 1920s America to his childhood home with the intention of settling down. He’s also running away from something in his past. He meets and falls in love with the beautiful but feisty Mary Kate Danagher (played by the incredibly lovely Maureen O’Hara). Unfortunately, she happens to be the younger sister of local squire and ill-tempered bully Will Danagher (a role that suited the hulking Victor McLaglen to a tee). Sean’s attempts to court Mary Kate are met with stiff resistance from her brother however, with the help of the friendly locals – an impossibly loveable bunch of village stereotypes – the romance gets a leg up (so to speak). Sean’s romance of Mary Kate forms the main plot of the movie but there’s an intriguing undercurrent because the past that Sean was hoping to leave behind in America returns to haunt him.

The script was based on a 1933 Saturday Evening Post short story by Irish novelist Maurice Walsh.  Apparently director John Ford read the story and soon after bought the rights for $10. Republic Pictures, the studio through which the film was made, was known mostly for low budget B-movies and considered The Quiet Man to be a big risk with Wayne and Ford stepping away from their usual genre of the western. They only agreed to finance it if Wayne and O’Hara and Ford agreed to film a western with them first, which they did. Rio Grande was that western. The studio needn’t have worried though because The Quiet Man was a commercial and critical hit upon release and it went on to become the first and only time the studio received an Oscar nomination for Best Picture.

The Quiet Man would go on to win two Oscars out of seven nominations, one for Ford’s directing, the other for Winton C. Hoch’s cinematography. All of the outdoor scenes were shot in various locations around County Mayo and County Galway in Ireland throughout the early summer of 1951and Hoch used his lens to capture the vivid green beauty of the countryside like Constable used his paintbrush. It’s just lovely. Many of these locations have since become tourist attractions and the pub used in the film (though it had been a shop at the time of filming) hosts daily reruns of the film on DVD! The production employed many actors from the Irish theatre as well as extras from the surrounding countryside and the film is one of the few Hollywood movies in which the Irish Gaelic language can be heard.

Wayne’s performance as the stranger in a strange land is well judged. The little town of Innisfree, its people and their customs are a far cry from the world his Sean Thorton has left behind. Wayne doesn’t do peaceful and quiet very often in his films  so it’s great to see him in something with a gentler pace but he still bellows his authority when he has to. The chemistry he shares onscreen with Maureen O’Hara is something special too. They must have adored working together because it shows in their performances and it’s no surprise to note that they would go on to make a total of five films together. As always, O’Hara is just wonderful, portraying innocence and youth, romance and passion like few are able. The other main characters are played by some of John Ford’s regulars – Victor McLaglan, Ward Bond and Barry Fitzgerald. The latter is absolutely hilarious as the cheeky Michaeleen Oge Flynn who likes a drop o’ whiskey every now and then. The music by Victor Young compliments the picture perfectly – frequently romantic and cheerful and at times wonderfully cheeky but always keeping that Gaelic heart. At a certain point in the film, Michaeleen begins humming a catchy little melody called “The Rakes of Mallow” and if you’re anything like me, you’ll be humming the tune yourself as he credits role.

 

Guest Post by Sherri Hayes

I’ve always loved a good romance. Back when I was a pre-teen, I remember reading Sweet Dreams romances. As I got older, I graduated to Harlequins. There’s always been something about two people meeting and falling in love that draws me in, and makes me want to see them find their happily ever after.

When I started writing, someone told me to always write what you like to read, and that’s what I’ve tried to do. The hero and heroine have to be characters I can fall in love with. I don’t want them to be perfect, but I do want them to be likable enough to make me want to root for them through whatever struggles they have to go through.

Relationships are complex, which means I can have fun putting the couples through lots of twists and turns. There has to be a good story, with strong supporting characters to round things out, and keep things entertaining.

Since I don’t plot out my stories ahead of time, I rarely know what’s going to happen in one of my novels until right before I type it into the computer. It keeps things interesting, and makes writing fun. I’m not sure I could do that in another genre. Romance is about people at its heart, and I like writing about people.