Books
As ever with me, much of my reading matter so far has been
of a fantastical nature. Before I come to that though, a quick word for Mark
Kermode, of whose books I have read two in the last few months. It’s Only a Movie, Kermode’s mostly
autobiographical book about his time in the film critic business, is a
brilliantly entertaining read, as anyone more than passingly familiar with
Kermode’s writing might expect. A particular highlight is the tale of his
hellish journey across Russia to interview the director of a film that is
looking increasingly likely to never see the light of day, in the world’s most
uncomfortable car, being a perfect showcase of Kermode’s ability to be
creatively rude about almost anything, although the details about the actual
working life of a film critic are intriguing too. This is a theme made much
more central in Hatchet Job, a more
straight-forward critical work about the role and future of the professional
film critic in today’s more open world. In fact, a major concern of the book is
the sort of blog I’m writing this for, albeit ones with a far, far wider reach.
In a world where twitter posts are deemed usable reviews for promotional
posters, what’s the point in paying someone to write about the films they’ve
just watched? It’s an interesting and valid question, with one mild drawback;
if you don’t think there’s a point to film critics, then you’re not going to
have any interest in the book. If you do think there’s a point, then chances are
you’re going to more or less automatically agree with the vast majority if not
all of Kermode’s points, which arguably makes it a fairly redundant work.
Still, Kermode has a well-deserved reputation for writing that is both
intelligent and entertaining, so it still comes recommended.
Moving onto the fiction, and I’ll begin with Scott Lynch’s
long-awaited Republic of Thieves, the
third instalment of the Gentleman
Bastards series. The previous book, Red
Seas under Red Skies, was published in 2007, leaving nearly a seven year
gap between books (which must be said, is the sort of gap George R.R. Martin
would kill to have). Expectation was therefore high even before details of the
book came out. For those unfamiliar with the series, the books are set in a
fantasy world broadly resembling Renaissance Europe, especially Venice, and the
titular Bastards are a group of highly skilled and sarcastic thieves.
Essentially, it’s Ocean’s Eleven
filtered through a low fantasy filter, and the first two books were enormous fun.
Republic of Thieves teased a reunion
and professional clash between the central character, Locke Lamora, and his
long lost love Sabetha, as they try to fix opposing sides in an election. And
not just any election. The parties involved are wizards, and they’re not the
kindly old men familiar from Tolkien; they’re given to murder, maiming, and
wiping out entire cities if not given what they feel is appropriate respect.
Two criminal masterminds with enough witty dialogue between them to put Joss
Whedon out of work trying to rig the election of a bunch of psychotic wizards?
It couldn’t fail! In practice, half the book takes place in flashback as the
thieves in training spend a summer posing as actors for some reason, while the
main plot is squandered in favour of childish if amusing pranks rather than
elaborate plots. Perhaps if there hadn’t been a seven year wait for it, it
might not have been as disappointing. As it is though, the underwhelming plot
and some rather bizarre revelations about Locke’s heritage, which are either
going to prove to be sheer genius or a complete derailing of the character,
leave it an unsatisfying read. There’s fun to be had, but not enough.
More enjoyable, or at least less disappointing, was David
Weber’s On Basilisk Station, the
first book in his Honor Harrington
series. They’re books I’ve been aware of for a while and never quite got round
to reading, but on learning that the first two can be downloaded completely
free of charge for Kindle, I decided to give them a go. The writing is solid
rather than spectacular, particularly when Weber decides to drop an infodump of
facts and figures about the setting into the middle of a chase sequence, but
overall it’s rather fun. Honor Harrington herself is a winning character, roughly
90% cunning hero with just enough depth and vulnerability to make her
relatable, while the plot is a shamelessly cheesy romp that would once have
been a classic matinee storyline, but here gets put into space. If hardcore
science-fiction puts you off, then you’ll hate the whole thing, but otherwise
it’s worth picking up.
Of a similar standard was Brandon Sanderson’s
Steelheart. You can find more detail
here, but essentially it was a fun summer blockbuster in literary rather than
cinematic form, with many of the pros and cons you might expect from that
label. There’s room for something more special in sequels though, so it’s worth
a read now.
Back on the fantasy side of things was Return of the Crimson Guard, by Ian C. Esslemont, the second in his
companion series to Steven Erikson’s Malazan
Book of the Fallen. The main series is one of my favourite reads of the
last few years, and in fact much of my reading time so far this year has been
devoted to a re-read, but Esslemont’s books haven’t quite hit the same spark. I
can’t quite put my finger on why, as all the obvious potential problems with
the books (sprawling plots, and I do mean sprawling, a wide range of
characters, the links with books in another series entirely that you may not
have read at all, and in my case read a year or so ago) were all present in the
main Malazan books too; I suspect it’s
simply a matter of Erikson being a better writer, better able to keep all the
plates spinning and memorable. Still, it was a significant improvement over the
previous book in the series, and once I settled into it rattled along
thrillingly enough. Hopefully the next book will be more satisfying.
Film
I started the year off by catching up with a few of the
Oscar big-hitters, naturally released later in the UK. 12 Years A Slave was every bit as good as you’ve heard. Chiwetel Ejiofor delivered a majestic and powerful performance
as the illegally enslaved Solomon Northrup, surrounded by equally strong
performances from Michael Fassbender and Lupita Nyong'o (particularly
impressive as a first time actress, albeit one with fairly extensive behind the
scenes experience), while the film itself was a veritable work of art; not
simply a brutal indictment of slavery, although there was plenty of that, but a
marvellous character study of an incredible individual. Perhaps most
impressively, there was a quiet beauty to the film which made the harrowing
events stand out even more starkly.
Martin Scorsese’s
The
Wolf of Wall Street was a hypnotically chaotic and revolting experience,
which in any other year would have guaranteed Leonardo DiCaprio an Oscar
(although to my mind, the award ought to have gone to Ejiofor for
12 Years a Slave, not Matthew
Mcconaughey for
Dallas Buyers Club,
as good as he was). More detail
here.
On the subject of Mcconaughey, Dallas Buyers Club was another outstanding film. A testament to
human determination and outrage in the face of (apparent) callousness, it tells
the true (or at least heavily based on truth) story of Ron Woodroof, an
all-round scoundrel living a contented life of drinks, drugs, sex and gambling hustles
until he’s diagnosed with AIDS. Determined to outlast his deadline of a month
to live, he travels the globe in search of better drugs to stave off the
effects of the disease, and in the process, becomes a better person and changes
the attitude of if not a country, then at the very least a big part of an
organisation. On paper, it’s the sort of thing that gets classed as award bait
– serious real world issues, an inspiring story of courage in the face of
tragedy and human growth. It’s even got the old classics of severely changed
appearance; Mcconaughey left himself practically emaciated to properly capture
the appearance of someone dying from AIDS, while Jared Leto is blindingly
convincing as the similarly afflicted trans woman Rayon. It’s also a textbook
example that an apparently classic story (even if you’re not familiar with the
details of Woodroof’s life, there’s little that will shock you in the film) can
be devastatingly good if executed well, and Dallas
Buyers Club was very, very good indeed.
It was certainly a hell of a lot better than the similarly
based on history
American Hustle, a
film largely notable for its impressive cast list and seventies dress sense and
hair styles. It’s perhaps unfair to criticise the story, given that any flaws
in that are presumably a result of a messy series of events in reality; pretty
much every other aspect of it can legitimately be criticised though, and if I
hadn’t already gone into detail over it
here, I would do so now.
Glossing over
Captain
America: the Winter Soldier (good but slightly disappointing, with more
detail
here), more recently there has been Darren Aronofsky’s take on the story
of
Noah. Controversial for a whole
host of reasons – for not being a simple recreation of the flood story we’re
familiar with from Sunday school, for not mentioning God in a Christian story
(a criticism which ignores the existence of dozens, perhaps hundreds of
non-Christian stories that are pretty much the same, not to mention the fact
that God explicitly exists in the film, he’s just called the Creator), and for
not addressing the clear issue of incest – it was pretty much what you might
expect from Aronofsky; baffling, unsettling and disturbing, but with moments of
great power and beauty. In particular, the creation story was awesome in the
truest sense of the word, as was the reappearance of water on the scorched,
almost post-apocalyptic Earth the film features. Russell Crowe was excellent in
the title role, but whether through the strength of his performance or lacklustre
writing/direction/editing, other characters felt thin, although all involved
acted their hearts out.
Similarly weird was Jonathan Glazer’s Under the Skin, a film that will probably forever be known as the
one in which Scarlett Johansson seduces Glaswegians before killing them. On the
one hand, such a description is a major dis-service; there’s a lot going on in
the film, and I can see it being a staple of literary and film theory classes
for years to come. Is it a critique of modern rape culture? A warped parody of
a nature documentary (Johansson has described her character as a lioness out
hunting)? Or simply a horror film without many of the more obvious trappings of
the genre? It’s certainly unsettling. The first few minutes of the film play
out rather like you imagine Stanley Kubrick’s version of the cursed videotape
from Ringu might appear, while
Johansson, in a simply outstanding performance, manages to convey a whole host
of subtle characteristics and thought processes in a person who barely speaks,
never mind emotes. The stubborn refusal to explain anything about what may or
may not be going on will doubtless frustrate some viewers, and could be just as
easily seen as a lack of thought rather than encouragement to speculate, but
for me the ambiguity helped the film; in the end, the unknown is always
scarier.
Away from the current crop of releases, I’ve been enjoying
the selection of films shown by my local Film Theatre, which brings to a small
town the kind of film that would traditionally never have come within view of
our tiny fleapit. Behind the Candelabra,
the Liberace biopic with Michael Douglas and Matt Damon, was an unexpected
treat; both actors were terrific, and the story was more interesting than I had
imagined it would be. A point was lost for Damon though, who although perfectly
good on screen was horribly miscast as a seventeen year old youth. Casting
someone more age appropriate might have been more preferable, although I’ll
concede that there would have been little the film could do from there to make
Douglas’ Liberace even remotely sympathetic, something it actually managed
surprisingly well. The Danish thriller A
Hijacking/Kapringen was a tense affair, split between the hostages on a
tanker hijacked by pirates and one of the chief executives of the company they
were employed by. Watching said executive (Soren Malling, apparently a comedian
for the most part, which makes his brooding performance here even more
impressive) try to negotiate the hostages release without paying out too much of
the companies money had me on the edge of my seat, and there were some
interesting debates to be had; was Malling’s character callous and arrogant in
his actions, or simply following recommended hostage negotiation protocol as
guardedly as he could? Could you sympathise with the pirates – none of whom
really seemed to want to be there either – or were they a motley collection of
violent psychopaths?
From the same writer (Tobias Lindholm) came Jagten/The Hunt, the tale of a nursery
assistant (Mads Mikkelson) falsely accused of sexually assaulting one of the
children. Mikkelson is clever casting. Although he portrayed Lucas’ essential
goodness excellently, he is of course mostly familiar from distinctly
villainous roles, having been a Bond villain and even the most recent
incarnation of Hannibal Lector. With that in mind, and especially reflected
against current events, it became surprisingly easy to see the viewpoint of
those who believed the accusations against him, even though the audience know
that it’s complete nonsense. A powerful examination of loyalty, doubt and the
power of word of mouth.
Moving to Spain, Blancanieves
was a wonderful new spin on a classic: a silent, black and white take on the
story of Snow White, taking place largely within the bull-fighting community.
Aside from a rather bleak twist at the end, the fact that it is based on one of
the more famous fairytales meant that it was rarely surprising, but it was
cleverly done and extremely sweet.
Wadjda will
probably be best remembered for being the first Saudi Arabian film to be
directed by a woman (Haifaa Al Mansour), but the best thing for me was the
wonderful performance from Reem Abdullah as the title character. A fairly
classic feisty young girl, it was a role which could easily have grated, but
Abdullah made her thoroughly sympathetic, bordering on adorable; I would not
have expected the story of a girl trying to obtain a bicycle to be so
affecting.
The other two standouts of their current season both
revolved around France. Le Week-End,
the story of a retired couple on a weekend break to Paris in a bid to recapture
the spark of their marriage, was hysterically funny and tragic in equal
measure, while Blue is the Warmest Colour
proved to be much more than its reputation might lead you to believe – although
yes, there is an astonishing amount of graphic sex for a mainstream release.
Overall, I’d say it was artistically
justified, as a passionate counterpoint to the bleaker second half, but more
specifically, the seven minute long sex scene in which Léa Seydoux and Adèle
Exarchopoulos contort themselves to positively Olympic standards could probably
have been trimmed a little. Make no mistake though, this is a film worth
seeing. Both actresses perfectly depict the blossoming and withering of
passionate love, and if you’re not near to tears by the end then you might want
to check the existence of your soul.
Television
Let’s get it out of the way right now; the televisual
highlight of the first few months of 2014 was without question the third series
of
Sherlock. You can find more detail
on that
here.
So what else was there? The BBC also brought us a new take
on Dumas’ The Three Musketeers, here
simply titled Musketeers. After some
initial confusion – I hadn’t quite picked up that it wasn’t supposed to be a
straight adaptation, so I was baffled when the plots started to diverge from
the original plot – I found myself rather enjoying it. In no way was it
especially sophisticated or revolutionary material, but it served its purpose
as Sunday night comfort television admirably. Peter Capaldi was the stand-out
performance, as a surprisingly multi-layered Cardinal, and the show is going to
miss him when it returns for the second series, due to his new medically
inclined commitments. This isn’t to say that the rest of the cast are in any
way bad, although I felt that Luke Pasqualino took a little while to develop
D’Artagnan much beyond impetuous youth. The show as a whole was often nonsense,
but it was entertaining nonsense, solidly executed.
Which brings me to the returning/continuing MARVEL: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. I criticised
the first ten episodes, broadcast in 2013, for…well, more or less for what I’ve
just praised Musketeers for,
actually. Perhaps the weight of expectation attached to it unfairly detracted
from what was basically a competent bit of television, or perhaps Musketeers managed a better overall
standard. Whether unfairly criticised due to hype or not, since its return the
show has been operating on a much higher standard, although nowhere near the
quality of the cinematic entries in the Marvel franchise. An increase in
urgency of the arc plot, as Agent Coulson (Clark Gregg) strives ever harder to
find out how and why he returned from the dead, and hacker Skye (Chloe Bennett)
tries to uncover the truth of her childhood, has helped immeasurably, with a
few intriguing revelations that bode well not just for the show but for the
whole of the wider franchise. In addition, there have been a few bold attempts
at actual character work, which combined with some more interesting plots have
resulted in a show which has finally achieved a standard higher than
entertaining background noise. However, there is still work to be done; if they
can keep up the improvements and build on the twists both within the show and
implicitly to come in the aftermath of Captain
America: The Winter Solder, then there might finally be a great show to be
broadcast (since writing this section, an episode has been broadcast which absolutely lives up to all the promise, by turns thrilling, shocking, funny and moving. Fingers crossed for more of the same!)
More favourably, we have also been treated to another
exemplary run of ITV’s Endeavour, a
prequel show to the classic Inspector
Morse. Although essentially a standard British detective show, with little
to mark it out on paper beyond its sixties setting and esteemed heritage, this
series – and indeed the previous series, broadcast in 2012 – has been masterful
from start to finish. There are three elements to this: the writing, which
brilliantly combines an evocative, sensitive portrayal of the time period with
intriguing and thrilling mysteries; a warm, thumpingly decent and solid father
figure in Roger Allam’s DI Fred Thursday; and, most importantly, a sensational
performance from Shaun Evans as the young Endeavour Morse. It was always going
to take something special to live up to John Thaw’s iconic performance, but
Evans has without question managed this, pitch-perfect as the slightly awkward,
too smart for his own good and achingly vulnerable young copper. Even if the
stories he features in were lacklustre, the Morse/Thursday partnership is worth
tuning in for all on its own. The final episode was almost too thrilling to
describe, and leaves the series on a simply cruel cliffhanger. In fact, while
it’s perhaps not quite the event that Sherlock
was, it runs it pretty damn close in terms of quality, and may just take the
top spot. It’s certainly a contender.
Finally, at least of this year’s broadcasts, there was W1A, the follow-up to 2012’s…2012, a show which spoofed the
bureaucracy of the London Olympics. I didn’t see that show, to my regret, but
heard such good things about it that I immediately marked the sequel as one to
watch. Following Hugh Bonneville’s fish-out-of-water Ian Fletcher as he moves
to the BBC as ‘Head of Values’, a job title almost as meaningless as it sounds,
and tries to deal with the mind-numbing managerial mindset. The first episode
was gently amusing, but by the end of the all too brief run had turned into a
sparkling gem. From the staggeringly stupid intern Will (Hugh Skinner, with a
typical line of dialogue: “Ah, yeah, no, like cool”) to the almost offensively
agreeable Simon (Jason Watkins) via Jessica Hynes as a PR consultant with
little connection to reality, characters which seemed clichéd at first soon had
me howling with laughter. It wasn’t quite the biting satire I’d expected, but
it was glorious nonetheless.