Mogwai – Young Team

What Mogwai does on Young Team is that they focus on the little things. They highlight what other bands would ignore, and bring them to the surface, and make them the flux of a song. They have this ability to remove any artifice from the song, and present ideas in their purity, which is something most artists can’t do. The opener, “Yes! I Am a Long Way From Home” shows this. The opening progression feels like in a way it could be used by a simple and dull emo band to form the crux of one of their songs, yet Mogwai twist it subtly, by adding a sense of importance to the notes, and the music, and by allowing the sounds to float through your brain, before having the song build up to a conclusion which shows off their post rock sensibilities, conforming that, yes, Young Team is nothing like anything you have heard before.

And so it’s a problem for me trying to review Young Team, because I’m afraid of repeating myself when talking about the album. Young Team is simple, but so utterly unique, a band with a vision for an entirely new soundscape and then, over the course of an hour exploring ever single space of that soundscape. Nothing is like Young Team, because Young Team is music. Which sounds normal, but is so utterly rare, a band trusting their sound and using sound as a way of communicating. The best way of describing Young Team is the clip at the beginning of “Yes! I Am A Long Way From Home”, saying “music can put human beings in a trance like state…..music is bigger then words and wider then pictures”.

The sounds feel like a thick black, not dark or morbid, but deep and colourful, like the rest of the album it feels as though Mogwai is trying to destroy the preconceptions of everything people might bring to music like this, and whether you have the cover of a japanese street corner or the simple black cover seen above, it shows that off.

There are variations within Young Team. The album moves between epics which incorporate quiet/loud dynamics and post rock pedal manipulation (Like Herod, Mogwai Fear Satan), smaller songs of damp guitar lines , sometimes building to a smaller incorporation of post rock (Yes! I Am A Long Way From Home, Katrien, Summer (Priority Version)), quieter, simpler songs like R U Still Into It, Tracy, and Radar Maker. Then there’s something so starkly striking as A Cheery Wave From Stranded Youngsters, and the mind-blowing With Portfolio, which actual gives you the feeling of sound rushing through your mind, in one ear and out the other, back and forth like a ping-pong match being played through your head.

The real credit has to go to Mogwai Fear Satan. The 16 minute epic closer, There are few songs as brilliantly constructed, that use quiet/loud dynamics and the art of adding distortion and walls of sound to add more and more and allowing a song to build, as this one. There are few songs as unabashedly beautiful as this one. Emotion wells up in the heart, and everything in life becomes complete.  It’s beautiful and, in contrast with the rest of the album, joyful. Those drums contain a perfect beat to bring us in, and to make us part of this world. And it is a brilliant world. It’s nameless really. Like the rest of Young Team, you have to listen to it to understand.

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Black Swan

Comparisons to The Red Shoes were inevitable, but sort of misguided. They were simply made because The Red Shoes is one of the defining masterpieces of our generation, that it is timeless, and, most importantly, it is a ballet movie, a category which contains so few important movies. I remember the news felt odd when it first came out that Aronofsky was going to make a ballet movie, in the same way I was sort of skeptical when Fincher announced he was going to be making a movie about facebook. Ballet? Really? Leotards and jumping and prancing? Of course, this is bias, because the best ballet films get to the heart of the art, the emotional power it contains within those movements.

Whereas The Red Shoes wanted to enrapture your soul, Black Swan tries to hit you in your gut. The movie effortlessly builds tension, surreal imagery, and gut wrenching emotion until those final moments, and when the lights came up in the cinema I had that amazing feeling of my organs having been beaten, battered, and tossed around. The beginning sets up characters and story, simply and effectively, and adds little hints, Portman’s back, her bleeding fingers, etc. as the movie goes on, character development gets finished and tied up and loses its focus, and those hints are built on, the themes and mood heighten till you get those unbearably tense, imagistic, brilliant moments, Portman’s hallucinations backstage, that utterly surreal sex scene, those moments capture, and shock.

Aronofsky follows, his intense close-ups perfected after his wonderful technique on the Wrestler, but her the pain is front and center, the sort of monstrosity and hallucinations are psuhed to their full force, and hit hard. Aronosky also does a wonderful job, although credit has to be given to art direction, costume design, cinematography, et al, at bringing these ideas to life, whether the simplicity of simply creating a darker Portman, or the complexity of turning her into the black swan itself.

Portman is very good, and while she doesn’t quite deserve the awards buzz she is getting (I thought she could’ve played more scenes subtly and I get that this is camp in a way and virtuoso, but I thought she went too far.), as is Kunis, Cassell(He is fine, not great, but I enjoyed watching him), and Barbra Hershey(Who is alright, but like Cassell, not great).

Brilliant. Definitely worth seeing.

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Old Reviews

I have a couple of old reviews sitting in my computer which might be worth sharing. Granted, they are also reviews written a while ago, so they may also be, maybe not outdated opinions, but an outdated writing style. Anyways, it’s worth a read, as they are all quite short, so, here you go:

1984

When trying to critique a film, there are a couple of unwritten but universally known laws to how you should judge every film, not strict rules but rules that should be inherently obvious when you are even barely recognising the idea of observing why you like something. One, for example, is that no matter what everyone has their own opinion. Whether film is entirely subjective or not is entirely debatable, but it’s important to understand that.

Another important one is “The movie is NEVER the book” It’s hard to bring that sort of feeling when going into a film, but you have to try. It’s especially hard for something like 1984. Not only is it my favourite book of all time, but one of the things I love about it is how well Orwell is able to bring those images to life. And they are iconic images, Big Brother, Room 101, The Ministries, the city, the telescreens. A director trying to deal with making a film like this has to deal with the baggage of every single person who has read this book bringing their own imagery to the film.

What so interesting is that Michael Radford does the best job possible as a director, but as writer, also fails in a large way. First, the good things. Radford knows in some way that he won’t be able to bring this world to life in a way which will be as everyone sees them, but with some wonderful set design and a great use of shadows and composition of images by Roger Deakins (as is expected of Deakins) he is able to bring these locations and images to life in the way HE sees them as, and is able to bring them to life where even if it’s not exactly how we thought of them, it perfectly brings across the emotion we connect to these images. The imposing face of Big Brother, and the disgusting depravity of the living style. Radford, by some odd miracle, was able to bring these places and this world to life, which is amazing.

But other than the empty spaces of Oceania, Radford, in my opinion, didn’t bring the rest of the book to life, and squandered the movie in the process. The problem is that Radford didn’t want to exorcise anything out of the book, and so details which are so vividly brought to life are squandered because Radford wasn’t able to fully focus on them as he much as he needed to too fully bring them to life.

(SPOILER ALERT!!)

On great example of this is that, like the book, the movie is split into three acts, and  the event which shifts the story from the second to the third act involves Winston and Julia to be taken from their hideaway in the proletariat area to the Ministry of Love by the Thought police. in the book, Winston mentions the thought police all the time, in regards to paranoia about being caught, wondering whether Julia is a member, etc etc. But in the movie, Radford does not mention the Thought Police once until that scene. That’s perfectly fine, there’s no need for him to bring up The Thought Police as they aren’t needed in the general arc of the storyline, but just as Winston is being taken away he looks at the shopkeeper and whispers “The thought police.” and that phrase is never mentioned or explained for the rest of the movie. There’s no reason to have it there, but why is it then? (END SPOILER)

Another problem is then important plot elements are brought in hastily and then thrown away in a way where they can’t have any emotional impact. The revelation that the war has suddenly changed from being always against Eurasia to being always against Eastasia is the best example of this. The book gives it time, and shows it in a context which allows the full breadth of what the party is doing and the depression inherent in that act to sink in, but the movie simply passes over it by showing the ministry of truth working much harder then usual. The ideas aren’t communicated, and in a push to fit everything in they are stifled by a need to rush the storytelling.

This isn’t how it is for the whole movie. Radford slows down and cuts out portions in the third act about changing conditions, about how Winston moves from cell to cell, nourishment and depravity, and instead showcases a war of words between Winston and O’Brien. Hurt does a good job as Winston, the thought criminal who is on his last lifeline, but I felt as though he could have brought more to this part. It’s Richard Burton as O’Brien who steals this movie, so effortlessly and subtly inserting menace into every word. He is mesmerizing to watch as he ruthlessly pulls apart every belief Winston thought he had held. The third act, apart from some particularly awful scenes involving a chance encounter with his neighbour and the ending in the bar, is particularly wonderful to watch unfold. The only time I fully felt the emotion was the depression and pain in those dialogue scenes and the fear inherent in Room 101.

To finish off, I want to mention the music in the film. I’m wondering why the Eurythemics were picked to do the score, it feels to me as though the music was overpoweringly joyful, or at least simple and emotional, which felt like a release. It kept me outside of this world, from fully investing myself into the lives of these characters. The music should have added to the depravity, and instead pushed me away from it. In a way, that’s the problem with the film. It’s as if, in some way, no matter how wonderful the mise-en-scene is, the movie is pushing you away from the depravity as if it thinks you can’t handle it.

Twelve Monkeys

Hmmmm…..

Hmmmm…..

Talking about bananas would make as much sense as waxing rhapsodical about Gilliam’s work. Mentioning monkey outfits would seem as relevant as talking about time travel. Is this Gilliam’s genius? I think so. He makes the insane seem normal, the normal seem insane, and everyone lives in the same mass. Does this affect our lives? Like a virus? I think Gilliam has that power. But he doesn’t use it as much in other films I’ve seen by him. Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus used it, but it was working as levels of oddity more than anything else, and Time Bandits was nothing but fun (but SO much fun at that). Monty Python’s creations weren’t meant to affect your head.

Is it Twelve Monkeys which gives us this idea? I think so. After watching it, everything in life comes under question, and then the question is thrown away, leaving you to try to reconstruct reality. But reality is built from a morsel at birth, to destroy it is to destroy it forever. So, what is real Mr Gilliam? Or, maybe a better question is, does it matter whether anything else is?

It’s not just those questions which are floating in that large implement of thought I have, it’s more that in Gilliam’s world everybody is part of the same creation. It’s as if the world is constructed to fit around you, to control you or at least to conform to you. Does it? I don’t know.

Does anyone know?

Insanity and it’s sanity leaks out of every frame and word of this film. The bit of stunt casting of Willis is used to utter perfection. Working under a studio production, Gilliam gains control of one of the biggest stars under the hollywood system, and then abuses that privilege as much as possible. Willis is a character you expect to be in control, but he never is. He never knows what’s real, how to react, how to keep control of the situation, He constantly seems to be at sanity’s edge, not by what he’s saying, but by how he’s reacting to it. Willis plays Cole so perfectly it feels unreal, adding to the film.

Other delights come from a younger Brad Pitt, drafted as the clinically insane son of a virologist. It’s in these roles where Pitt excels, turning the recklessness of Tyler Durdan and combining it with the violent insanity of Jesse James (Yes, I know both of these were after Twelve Monkeys.) and then taking that character and exploding it. His twitches and turns, his yells and screams, he is truly on the edge. Is that a bad thing? Gilliam forces me to question, and I don’t know if I have an answer.

Sure Gilliam has imagery in all his movies to spare. But the symbols of monkeys, the snow swept, germ infested future world, those suits. They stick on the mind. Gilliam may not have captured the ending as well as he could have, nor did I think Madeleine Stowe brought anything interesting to her role at all. But bits and pieces don’t mean anything in the end right? Not when a movie has me gibbering on like this?

Take leave of your sanity, and maybe this film will answer questions. Keep it, and it will only plague you with thoughts, crushed by the knowledge of future events. A tough question that Gilliam forces you to ask, would you rather be insane and live peacefully, or sane and racked with the knowledge of future disasters?

Don’t Look Now

Nicholas Roeg’s masterpiece from 1973 reminds me a lot of the style of something like Deliverance. It bleeds that wonderful style employed by those artists who weren’t working at the top of the pile of The New Hollywood, of Midnight Cowboy and of Deliverance, of the grainy handheld style of those films. And like Midnight Cowboy and Deliverance, Don’t Look Now lives and breathes so freely in the confines of a particular setting. Midnight Cowboy captured the street life for two bums in New York City (?) and Deliverance meticulously traced the journey of a boat trip up a river. Don’t Look Now isn’t set in the canals of Venice, it lives it. It wraps itself around the bridge, the alleys, the water, the boats.

On top of that, Don’t Look Now has some wonderful imagery. There’s the obvious stuff, Sutherland holding his daughter on the banks of the river, The red hooded murderer wandering the streets, but even the less obvious, Of Julie Christie so beautifully trying to compose herself in the bathroom, shot in the mirror over the sink, Christie lighting candles in a church, any nighttime scene really, Sutherland hanging off a rope in the church. Roeg’ cinematography is wonderful.

All of this is to create a sense of tension in upcoming events. Even though what happens at the end isn’t the main plotline of the story, they are all created in to merge together at the end, but not nearly in the way you think they will. It’s particularly genius.

I’m trying to be as vague as possible in that regard. It’s a movie which unfolds so intricately. The pieces all unwind at a perfect pace, all are used even though you might not think so.

It’s also wonderfully constructed. Every aspect is great, from Graeme Clifford’s (awesome name) editing, Pino Donnagio’s music, Peter Davies’ sound, and Especially Anthony Richardson’s cinematography. This leads to the performances too. Julie Christie is luminous, but also so delicate of a personality, it’s devastating to watch play out. And Sutherland plays the everyman at the center of the film very well. A perfect film.

Vertigo

You know how, if you’ll be reading blurbs in those greatest movies of all time articles they have, more often then not as they get to the top, towards the stone cold classics, they will say stuff like “What more is there to be said? It’s a classic for a reason.” While I don’t doubt there’s a reason for it, it’s interesting because this act has been carried out for most classic movies for years now, and so for someone to be going into a movie fresh those thoughts and comments aren’t there. I feel like I can review Vertigo fresh, that what I say everyone understands but they communicate in a hush, a whisper and a nod, but I can talk about freely, as it has been so long since anyone has.

So what about Vertigo? Well, it seems that Vertigo, for all its insanity, seems to be less subversive then the two other big Hitchcock films I’ve seen, Rear Window and Psycho. Both of those movies tried to either make you complicit in the acts of characters and question the reason you are watching the movie in the first place, or trying to lull you into a false sensibility before tipping you upside, respectively. By those standards Vertigo is relatively straightforward. It lays out every plot point, every moment in front of you, and it’s hard not to see what is happening.

Vertigo includes some of the most brilliant work Hitchcock has ever done. Whereas before His touches would be the construction of a sequence in a way which ratchets up tension, here he is more interested not in tension but in ratcheting up the mood, by placing the viewer inside this world and yet at the same time making this world seem so strange and unreal. It’s the miniature touches that work this time, that multitude of little things which make or break a film. It’s the colours so vividly screaming at you from that first moment in Ernie’s, it’s the silhouette of a nun in the doorway, it’s the sound of the scream coming from a figure rushing past the open window, it’s every swirl of Bernard Hermann’s pitch perfect score.

The craft is hitchcockian, but the story is pure Shakespeare. Hitchcock weaves a truly grand story, one of great power, but more importantly he weaves these motifs throughout the film so perfectly, that I have to think of the virtuosity something like Macbeth has. The plotting in Vertigo is pitch perfect, down to the bone.

It was exciting, to able to watch this on a huge screen in a dark cinema, as the images washed over me, because it really allows you to highlight some of the brilliant camera and colourwork on display, but also because the movie doesn’t let up. As Mr Stewart gets more intimately engaged with Miss Novak, the construction seems to peel away bit by bit, and I feel as though things are deliberately disappearing. It’s still my contention that Miss Novak never existed in the first place, and some part of this is coming from Scotty’s head, and as the movie goes on, bar one or two scenes, this idea is supported by the generally fragmented nature of the film. By the time we get to that infamous dream sequence, the walls of filmmaking break down, and Hitchcock plays with the craft with a childlike glee, but also keeps the essence of the dream integral to the plot.

But, in the end, the thing I most attest to Vertigo is the way I felt watching it. I felt shook up, disturbed, and when I got up out of my seat at the end of the movie I was scared, shook up, I had to lie against the wall. My body was just in shock from the experience, and THAT the is the mark of a true masterpiece.

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Introductions

I will let you know now, for all those very few people who will be reading this, that all previous attempts at keeping a blog have gone horribly horribly wrong. Actually, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but there has been little success from blogs. I believe this one will be a success though, maybe cause I’m older? Wiser? More determined?

So, hello. this blog is here as a tool to sort of allow myself to write about things, and as an outline for thoughts on my mind and to allow myself some outlet for creativity and all that bio-jazz. It’s kind of a catharsis, but more it’s something I want to do because I have something to offer. I have so many areas I need to improve on in my writing. Most of all, I’m passionate. About the world, about life, every bit of it. And it’s nice to share passion.

The only things I am certain I am going to do is film and music reviews. Film is what I’m passionate about, and I’m going to try and review every single film I see on this blog. As well as that, I want to do music reviews, which will be more structured in terms of articles. I would like to review one new album I have never listened to each week, as well as reviewing a “classic” album each week, an old album I’ve listened to but would like to construct and share my thoughts on. It also helps because I have a list of my favourite 70 albums of all time, which these reviews will be taken from, with the aim of constructing a complete top 50 by the end of all this.

Other then that, It’s really just random ideas for articles or things I want to write about. I’d say more continual columns and topics will come out after time, but for now this is the gist of it.

BTW, in case you were wondering, the screenshot from Mononoke. It is my favourite movie of all time, my favourite thing of all time. Princess Mononoke encapsulates my soul, my memories, my ideas, my persona, more perfectly and vividly then I could have ever dreamed a piece of work could. It’s as perfect an introduction as any to my mind.

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