The Big Whatsit

Adolf Hitler might be one of history’s most (in)famous figures, someone who’s instantly recognisable to people far too young to have been alive when he was, yet his appearances in movies have been few and far between. We’ve had a fantasy Fuhrer (The Boys from Brazil), a look at his formative years (Max), and Hitler as a figure of fun (The Producers, Michael Sheard’s cameo in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade*), but serious fictional studies are notable by their absence. Considering the mass of war films churned out by former Allied nations, isn’t it odd that Hitler is a subject rarely covered? It’s like he’s this great taboo, as though no one really knows how to approach him. Possibly it’s the case that books and documentaries do such a good job of revealing the man behind the Chaplin moustache, there’s just no call to add anything dramatic. Then again, maybe the only country that could do justice to him is Germany, which leads to Downfall, a sober glance at the last days of the war in Europe as Hitler, his family, his closest advisers and staff await the end in their Berlin bunker.

Downfall follows Blind Spot, a German documentary that centred on the career of Traudl Junge, one of Hitler’s private secretaries who was with him until he died. Nearing death herself as the piece was filmed, Junge questioned her role in the war, wondering on the one hand what she could possibly have done at the time, whilst being aware that in some recess of her mind, she knew exactly what kind of atrocities her boss was responsible for. Some of these comments are shown at the beginning of the movie, and it is indeed from the young Junge’s perspective that the story is told. Starting briefly in 1942, as she is recruited (she gets the job thanks to being from Munich), the action quickly shifts to Hitler’s 56th birthday. It’s 1945, and the Russians are working their way steadily towards the government district of Berlin. Even from deep within the bunker, its occupants can hear the shells getting closer. Outside, a demoralised resistance slows down the Russian advance, yet there are no hardened troops but rather Hitler Youth members and raw recruits. It’s obvious what’s about to happen, even without knowing how the war ended.

The man at the centre of all this is broken down, exhausted and facing the onset of Parkinson’s Disease. With only one foot in reality, Hitler barks out orders to imaginary armies, though as the film progresses we learn this is partly due to what his aides are allowing him to know. One by one, the ‘celebrities’ of National Socialism slink away from his side. Goering makes a brief appearance, and Himmler - perceived to be the most logical thinker of the Nazi top brass - soon makes good his escape. Architect Albert Speer allows Hitler to discuss the future of the Reich’s Berlin with him, knowing full well it doesn’t have one, before pleading with Eva Braun to persuade the Fuhrer to leave. When it’s made clear that this isn’t going to happen, Speer then tells Hitler he’s been disobeying his orders for some time, and takes off. Only Dr Joseph Goebbels remains, a ghoulish, gaunt figure who is disillusioned enough to send men to their death in defence of Berlin whilst allowing his wife to bring their children to the Bunker, a decision that will have tragic consequences later.

Bruno Ganz has been a reliable and fine actor in German cinema for over 30 years, and though not the obvious choice to play Hitler, he pulls the job off remarkably. Quite simply, once Ganz wears the moustache, hairstyle and dress of the Fuhrer, he is Hitler. And this in general is one of the movie’s greatest strengths. To a person, the actors fill the shoes of their Nazi characters to convincing effect. Ulrich Noethen looks just like Heinrich Himmler. Heino Ferch does a good job of portraying the urbane Speer. Yet it’s Ganz who needs to capture his part to perfection. Without this, Downfall’s credibility would collapse, and it’s to his immense credit that he’s believable, and actually rather touching. Hitler barks and rants, but he also shows great affection to Eva, his dog Blondi, Junge, and various others. At the same time, we’re warned not to take to him too readily - in one chilling scene, Hitler explains how he is proud to have cleansed Germany of the Jews. A number of recent accounts about the Fuhrer have suggested he was much more of a puppet than we’re led to believe, but here it’s made apparent he was in control and accountable for the diabolical acts of the Holocaust. The man who, at one point dishes out kindly commendations to brave Hitler Youth members has blood on his hands.

Elsewhere, the gamine Junge watches in wide-eyed horror as things get steadily worse for the bunker dwellers. Eva tries to put a party on for those present, which comes to a literally crashing end when a bomb explodes just outside the room. People arrive with reports that are ever more ominous. Junge is told again and again to get out. Other officers simply get drunk. Christian Berkel plays Professor Schenck, who is our other point of reference in Downfall. Through his eyes, we see how things are going on the surface, and it’s his story that shows the grittiest happenings. When not watching people blow their own brains out, soldiers shooting alleged deserters, and increasing levels of chaos, Schenck is being forced to work in a makeshift hospital, amputating body parts and dumping the dismembered limbs into buckets below. Another interesting character is Himmler’s adjutant, Fegelein (Thomas Kretschmann, better known in this country as Captain Englehorn in Peter Jackson’s King Kong). Both a coward and a realist, Fegelein begs those in the bunker to evacuate before wasting little time getting the hell away. He doesn’t get very far.

You do see his point though. Those who remain have little but doom to look forward to. The occasional bright spot - Eva’s party, Goebbels’s children singing to ‘Uncle Hitler,’ Eva and Junge enjoying a cigarette outside the bunker - is soon marred by the impending surrender. Hitler marries Eva in a tiny room filled with filing cabinets, hardly the place you would imagine the leader of the Third Reich to wed. His new wife cuts a tragic figure, at all turns trying to look on the bright side whilst knowing this can only end one way. Even more horrible is the fate of Frau Goebbels, played to heartbreaking perfection by Corinna Harfouch. Magda cannot face the prospect of her six Aryan children being Russian captives, and in the film’s most terrible scene, coldly adminsters poison to each of them as they sleep. The only time she registers any emotion is when grabbing Hitler by the trouser leg and begging him tearfully to get out of the bunker. It’s never made clear whether she feels she can only leave with her children as long as it’s with the Fuhrer, or if she actually cares more about his future then that of her family.

Downfall weaves its tale quite matter of factly. For the most part, the camera is quite happy to watch events unfold, never flinching as horrible things take place before it. Spielberg could have done with watching this, and not Lawrence of Arabia, when he came to prepare for the far more stylised Schindler’s List (if only Schindler hadn’t been made a decade before Downfall, that is). In the meantime, the scenery and costume work is outstanding. Considering its €13.5m budget, Downfall looks entirely authentic, just like a wartorn city in the 1940s should.

Without doubt, it’s the best treatment of Hitler committed to celluloid, indeed it’s hard to imagine anyone doing a better job than Ganz in the part. But is it the finest World War Two film of them all? Previously, the best thing I had seen on the subject was Band of Brothers, of course not a movie but certainly cinematic in terms of its scope and ambition. That series certainly had balls, and performed wonders in showing soldiers’ lives from training camp through to VE Day. However, Band of Brothers could also be seen simply as the best in that entire ouevre of movies/series told from the victors’ perspective. Far more interesting is the point of view of the losers, the defeated party who’ve worked and suffered just as hard but without any relief at the end. Downfall tells a fascinating story. It’s bravely recounted, and played with conviction, a tale devoid of cheer concerning characters who deserve little better than what they are dealt. As such, it might not be the best Second World War movie; it could, in fact, be the finest film about any war.

Note to DVD buyers - if you’re a Philistine, like me, and didn’t keep up your German classes at school, you will have to watch this with subtitles. My edition - the UK Region 2 release - contains English subtitles for viewers who are hard of hearing only, which means that along with the dialogue you get bracketed comments explaining the sound effects, music, etc. They’re not all that annoying, but it is a little irritating to be told there’s an explosion taking place as the surround sound detonates into shrapnel fragments.

* Does anyone else who grew up watching Sheard’s fascist teacher, Mr Bronson, bellowing ‘You boy!’ in Grange Hill not find it delightfully appropriate that he took the character to a logical conclusion when he played Hitler?

Ladies and gentlemen, this next article is one that contains major spoilers. Anyone in the audience who would be irrevocably damaged by reading an article that reveals The Prestige’s ending should leave now, for when I tell you that what follows gives everything away, you will understand the seriousness of the disclosures involved.

Once again, it’s Academy Awards time, and as usual the films heavily tipped to win by no means reflect the best of the year. Take this year’s bunch - Babel, The Departed, The Queen, Letters from Iwo Jima and Little Miss Sunshine. Granted, I haven’t seen the latter pair, but I did catch the American alternative to Clint Eastwood’s Far East war flick, Flags of our Fathers, and found it to be fine on a technical level, yet lacking in terms of warmth. The Departed is some distance from Martin Scorsese’s best work, and though I enjoyed Babel it remains an incredibly worthy effort, as though every cell of it begs to be loved by those who dish out awards. That leaves Frears’ The Queen, the one I would like to see claim the award on the night, though personally I think it will be Uncle Marty’s turn to clean up. A relatively small film, The Queen is a study of HRH that gets her exactly right, from Helen Mirren’s uncannily spot on portrayal to the sense of distance her eponymous characters feels from just about everything, and everyone. Sympathetic yet heartfelt, I really enjoyed it, and suspect Liz Windsor probably approved at the same time.

For all that, I don’t think it was the best. If I could choose the high point of 2006, it would be The Prestige, Christopher Nolan’s brilliant story of two feuding magicians set in late nineteenth century London. It’s not often that a film blows me away in quite this way, where the first viewing leaves me gibbering in gobsmacked admiration, and then I have to watch it all over again to explore all the nuances I missed initially. The Matrix is one of a select few others that provoked a similar reaction.

I could ramble on for several thousand words about why I like it so much. Instead, I’d like to home in on a few select areas of strength, in the belief that those reading this will already have seen it and won’t mind having the finer points rehashed for their approval. If you haven’t, and for some reason you’re still here, wondering what I could possibly say to persuade you to catch it for yourself, STOP READING NOW. Go away, watch it, and then return to this page to see what you think of my views. I beg you, don’t ruin the movie by finding out what happens on a second-rate blog. Your viewing pleasure deserves better, trust me.

Let’s begin. Perusing the brief DVD review in Empire magazine, it seems the critic believed The Prestige’s ending to be a failing. True, it transforms a nice potboiler about warring wizards into something close to science fiction, but I think that’s a massive strength, and an incredibly bold move from Nolan. Put yourself in the mind of the first time viewer - you’re trying to guess how Robert Angier somehow pulls off a more impressive ‘Transported Man’ trick than Alfred Borden. You will not in a million years come up with the answer. It’s impossible, surely, and that’s exactly what it turns out to be, as the cloning machine of Tesla that forces Angier to kill himself again and again gives heartbreaking proof of the lengths he’s prepared to go to, the degree to which he’s willing to get his hands dirty. This revelation utterly overshadows the reality behind Borden’s own stunt, a more conventional Hollywood twist that seasoned watchers might just about see coming. Angier’s actions provoke a genuine heartstopping reaction. What sort of man would go as far as this? It’s at this point the viewer learns that Borden might not be a good bloke exactly, but in trying to be the better magician, Angier has turned himself into nothing less than a monster.

Peter Bradshaw in The Guardian accused The Prestige of being dull. It’s anything but. Over 128 minutes, via Nolan’s trademark playing around with the plot’s timeline, its twists, turns and leaks are steadily peeled away. We don’t know any more than we need to, until we need to know it, and if that means the story jumps from nearly its climactic moment to points closer to the start, then it’s all building up to the final reveal, the stunning closing scenes that are worthy of any magic trick. The Prestige successfully pulls of its own prestige, showing the audience something it couldn’t possibly have seen before. Like the aforementioned The Matrix, it works meticulously to capture our imagination throughout. Whether you’re watching the complicated relationship between Borden and his wife that the latter necessarily doesn’t understand, trying to work out whether the anonymous Fallon can possibly be more than Borden’s assistant, soaking up the texture of the London scenes and the fabulous costumes, assessing the significance of Tesla’s machine, or simply enjoying the marvellous performances, there’s easily enough to distract you from the clues building up to the film’s frankly unbelievable end. Dull? Those endless shows churned out on Sky that tell you how magicians perform their tricks are the model of tedium. This is the opposite.

Another criticism is its lack of depth, especially where the characters are concerned. This is a brilliantly acted movie. You’d expect Christian Bale to be excellent, and he is, as is the reliable Michael Caine. However Hugh Jackman is surprisingly superb as Angier. Compare his easy going young self with the broken, aged cripple who limps through the film’s last acts. He’s literally suffered for his art, and you see all that in his cynical, weary face. Somehow, a good looking man has descended into hate-filled ugliness, directed both at himself and Borden. The only weak point is Scarlett Johansson, who doesn’t have enough to do in order to flesh out her character as the duplicitous lover of both magicians. Either that, or she’s not a very good actor, but that’s a debate that no doubt runs to several thousand pages on a movie messageboard somewhere near you.

As far as I’m concerned, The Prestige is a flick that has everything. Underneath its trickery and technical excellence, it is a straightforward melodrama, and unlike, say Babel, doesn’t attempt to say too much about the human condition, unless, er, you’re a famous magician locked in a deadly rivalry of increasing odds. But then there’s nothing wrong with that. Good films are good films, no matter how deeply they try to peer into your soul, and that’s exactly what The Prestige is - damn good stuff.

To end this blog on an Oscar note, I took a look at recent winners of the Best Picture award, and matched these with movies that I thought were the best of the same years. My picks are nothing more than an opinion, of course, and I’m sure at times I’ve gone for the populist option. All the same, this comes from someone who still believes, 25 years on, that E.T. should have kicked Gandhi’s arse - after all, which one gets watched and talked about more these days? Enjoy Oscar night. I’ll be in bed, and rightly so, and not just because my tips rarely come close to winning anything, as the following table shows:

With The Boy off sick, and me caring for him, I decided to take advantage of Orange Wednesday and treat him to the local cinemaplex. Our destination was Goal! 2; the time was 12.15, and we shared the theatre with two other people. I think even by the unlofty standards of some of the flicks I’ve been to see, that’s a record low.

By all accounts though, it wasn’t an unusual turnout. G!2 has not made for good box office, much like its predecessor, and as I noted in my DVD Times review of the first instalment, the reasons why are obvious. Apart from the fact that neither film is especially good, I don’t see how a fictional drama about football can possibly replicate the highs and lows of its real life counterpart. Bend it like Beckham is an honourable exception, and in any case, Gurinder Chadha’s movie was about race rather than Pele’s beautiful game. Think of any other football film - Escape to Victory, When Saturday Comes, Hotshot, Best, heck, throw in televised drama and novels while you’re at it - and the quality falls short. And so it should. On Tuesday evening, I watched Lille v Manchester United in the Champions League. An utter dog of a game, until Ryan Giggs scored from a controversial free kick and ninety minutes of tedium threatened to ignite. After witnessing the Lille players walk off the pitch and threaten to abandon the entire match, the tie had its hook, its angle. And that was a real situation - unchoreographed, unrehearsed, and not directed. Fiction can’t possibly hope to meet the spontaneous drama of the real thing.

In G!2’s case, it doesn’t help that the movie is a notch down from part one. The middle instalment within a trilogy, the films tell the story of Santiago Munez, a gifted young footballer who rises from the slums of Los Angeles to eventually play in the World Cup. In Goal! (subtitled ‘The Dream Begins’), we saw Munez move to Newcastle, thanks to the friendly patronage of a passing agent, and score the inevitable winning goal in a match that took the Toon Army into next season’s Champions League. Woody Allen can sleep easy. Despite various pratfalls along the way, Munez was always going to wind up in this position, a star on the rise, largely because it’s the only yarn football films seem to come up with. For all its telegraphed plot, however, Goal! was good fun. Kuno Becker made for a naive and affable lead, and crucially could play a bit. The film - like the rest of the series - was part funded by FIFA itself, giving Danny Cannon and his crew exclusive access to St James Park’s facilities and players. When Munez played in the Premiership, he and several other actors were alongside genuine stars, which lent the match action an authenticity and competence that other dramas have utterly failed to achieve. The liberal use of Britrock, some good jokes and a fine turn from Marcel Iures as Newcastle’s proto-Wenger manager made Goal! a football film that was little more than eye candy, but decent eye candy at that.

The trouble with G!2 (subtitled ‘Living the Dream’ - so what’s part three going to be called? ‘Waving goodybe to the dream?’ ‘Waking up from the dream?’ ‘Dreamer, you’re nothing but a dreamer, but can you put your hands in your head, oh no?’) is that the rags to riches drama of before has ended. Munez is a star by now, and moves to Real Madrid within the first half hour of the film. What follows is the tale of a rich footballer who buys a big house, a Lamborghini, and steadily gets more spoiled and brattish as the two hours’ running time progresses. Who cares about any of that? Munez’s odyssey in G!2 is a little like reading one of those England footballers’ autobiographies that sold very few copies last year. A little like Frank Lampard and (C)Ashley Cole, it’s hard to find any degree of sympathy for someone who clearly has everything. Munez falls out with his fiance, finds his mother, breaks his foot and goes on a Tequila bender with a vampish TV presenter - er, so what? What empathy am I meant to feel with him?

If it’s the case that director, Jaume Collet-Serra, was trying to make a statement about the lot of millionaire footballers, then it doesn’t work. There could be a very good drama about exactly that subject waiting to happen. This isn’t it. For all his riches, we’re still meant to believe that, at heart, Munez is the nice kid who made good, whereas in reality he comes across just like any other pampered sports star. Other points that the film raises aren’t pushed hard enough to make it a suitable exploration of issues within the 21st century game. We get unscrupulous, oily agents, wags, terrible promotional work that make some extra coin for our favourite players, but these are only touched upon. In one telling scene, the Madrid board tell team coach, Rutger Hauer (wasted on the whole), that Munez must start in the next game, despite his misgivings. Again, this raises an interesting point about the power of money in football, and the way it can walk all over the right thing to do, but the moment soon passes and we’re off on some new tangent.

Clearly, the makers of G!2 aren’t impressed with Fabio Capello’s changing room revolution at the Bernabeu. ‘The Don’ has sold Ronaldo, snubbed Beckham, and actively tried to end the reign of the glossy yet ultimately destructive Galacticos, but none of that has happened in the movie. Ronaldo, Zidane and especially Beckham are at the heart of the club. Jettisoned foreigners like Thomas Gravesen and Jonathan Woodgate are active first teamers. It’s easy to see why G!2 has done this. Mixing Munez with the big names of last season is good for the story, and you get the impression the film was only green-lighted in the first place to see Goldenballs himself making liberal appearances. Fortunately, Beckham isn’t called on to act, and merely features on the pitch and in the dressing room.

Elsewhere, Anna Friel co-stars as Munez’s put upon fiance, and sadly proves that she is an actor of limited talent. Wayward Geordie accent aside, it’s hard to feel sorry for her as she gets in a tizz over whether to live in the big Newcastle-based mansion, or the even larger pile in Madrid. Far more fun is to be had with teammate, Gavin Harris (Alessandro Nivola). The playboy from Goal! is now an issue-driven, ageing star. At one point, he slaps on the face cream in an attempt to look younger than his advancing years. He also features in a side story where he realises he’s being usurped in the Madrid line-up by Munez, and is determined to do something about it whilst trying to maintain his friendship with the younger player.

If the tale was actually about Harris, it would be probably be an improvement. Nivola can act, for one thing, which gives him an instant advantage over the wooden Becker. This isn’t the case, though, and apart from the usual finely choreographed match action (some of which features a CGI football that isn’t realised well enough to look anything other than some slick computer work) the film is rather empty and soulless. According to the IMDb, Goal! 3 will be directed by Michael Apted, which suggests a hopeful upturn in quality. Otherwise, the trilogy amounts to $90m that is the very definition of money not well spent.

Yes, I’m still watching Monster, but as a break from endless episodes of Japanese animation (not that I want to make out it’s a bad thing) I caught Clerks II on DVD yesterday. Kevin Smith is one of the few people who can inspire me to go to HMV on the day of one of his releases and make a purchase. Actually, it’s a very long time since I waited outside the store for it to open, such was my desperation to get my hands on something, and I think that particular item was Vauxhall and I, by Morrissey. These days, being there on the first day is about as good as it gets, and is reserved for very special objects of desire - the latest edition of Football Manager, any of the four-disc The Lord of the Rings sets, and a film by Kevin Smith.

It would be fair to say that I have lived my adult years roughly alongside Smith’s output. He was born almost exactly two years before me, and Clerks was released shortly after I graduated from university, and began my true, grown up existence. It should be depressing to find that Clerks II, which traces the lives of the characters from the original classic, some twelve years on, tells the story of true slackers, people who have done very little with themselves. The film’s (anti) hero, Dante Hicks (Brian O’Halloran), is a lot like me - indecisive, waiting for the big thing to happen whilst doing nothing much to seek it out, and, dare I add… nice? Then again, I’m a bit like Randall Graves (Jeff Anderson) also - bored beyond belief, sarcastic, childish, yet capable of profundity. These are characters within whom I find it easy to identify. Considering the two movies add up to about one instalment of Peter Jackson’s Rings trilogy, you get to find out an awful lot about them. Indeed, these are fleshed out people, with backgrounds that exist, even if you don’t need to know very much about them, cast into situations that are all too easy to identify with… well, perhaps not a live show featuring bestiality, er I mean inter-species erotica, but you get the general idea.

When Clerks II was announced, Smith was slated for going back over old ground. Surely, the Viewaskewniverse had ended with Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, the 2001 riot that, if you sat through the credits, depicted God (Alanis Morissette, in this view of the world) closing the book on his cast of characters. Afterwards, Smith went on to make Jersey Girl, roundly criticised with the Bennifer (Affleck and Lopez star in the film) backlash reaching its zenith. I enjoyed it, but would agree it was as though the director was neutered, making something that came across very much like a run of the mill softcore romantic comedy. True, the familiar wit was there, but it was diluted somehow. Smith just didn’t seem that comfortable when it came to the mainstream. After a brief dalliance with an adaptation of martial arts superhero flick, Green Hornet, Smith decided to go back to his roots and do what he did best, returning to his situation comedy of yore.

Did he do it for the money, for a cheap last laugh? Was it the easy option? Quite possibly, but that doesn’t make it a bad thing, and Clerks II is very, very good. Next to the continuing saga of Dante and Randall, Smith’s other films can’t help but pale. Dogma and Jay and Silent Bob don’t have the same depth. Jersey Girl is puff pastry. Mallrats is the weakest of the lot. Chasing Amy comes close, yet even Smith’s most critically accomplished work doesn’t match up to the sheer joy of Clerks and its sequel.

The latest release finds the pair basically doing the same thing as in the original, working behind the counter in the belly of America’s vast retail beast. Instead of the Quick Stop, though (we see it burn to the ground in the opening scenes), our heroes have graduated to Mooby’s fast food restaurant. You can picture them festering there forever, but when we join them, it turns out to be Dante’s last day. He’s getting married, moving to Florida, and his dysfunctional partnership with Randall is about to end. For some time, this doesn’t seem to be an issue. It’s like any other day, as the odd couple go to work, get on with their chores, Randall endlessly bullying teenage clerk, Elias (Trevor Fehrman) whilst Dante flirts with the boss, Becky (Rosario Dawson). Even Jay (Jason Mewes) and Silent Bob (Smith) are back, loitering outside Mooby’s just like they did the late Quick Stop. Of course, there are all kinds of layers to this, reams of ‘previous’ that emerge as the story unravels. But to a degree none of that really matters. For those who love these characters, it’s enough to watch them at work and play. Smith is good enough to indulge us, serving up Randall’s witticisms, Dante’s outrage, and various stoner observations, whilst quietly in the background, the plot kicks in.

There are more hilarious moments in Clerks II than I can mention here. Randall’s comments on The Lord of the Rings is almost worth the price of the DVD alone. Jay’s homage to Silence of the Lambs isn’t far behind. There’s a fantastic dance sequence, confusion over Anne Frank, porch monkeys and the pickle fucker, and this just scratches the surface. You get what you might expect from the four veterans, but a shout please for Rosario Dawson. An effortlessly sexy woman in anything she does, here she lays aside the leathers of Sin City to put in some of the sweetest work imaginable. Her chemistry with Dante is instant. The lingering looks she sends in his direction would melt the hardest of hearts (perhaps not Randall’s, though), and when her character reaches its conclusion, there’s a feeling that Becky deserves everything she gets. And to think the part might have gone to Liv Tyler!

Clerks II isn’t for everyone. Critic Joel Siegel walked out of a press screening at the first mention of, um, inter-species erotica, and narrow minded pundits aside, the humour is coarse and largely juvenile. For everyone else, there’s plenty to enjoy, though the fans are best served, with numerous director trademarks to spot, and constant references to Smith’s previous offerings. Check out the Jesus t-shirt Jay wears in one scene, or his sweater with ‘Justice’ written on it. To those who have been there from the beginning, Clerks II is a real treat. It doesn’t put a foot wrong, and that’s not just a comment on Dawson’s dancing.

This is more like it. I’m now watching Monster at a steady rate, flicking through its 23-minute long episodes briskly and loving nearly every moment. For the time being, I’m not yet up to the point where I got bored and stopped following it a couple of years ago. Besides which, I can’t see myself losing interest this time around. Thanks to the number of instalments and its dense layers of plotting, Monster is good stuff. True, some chapters have been less exciting than others, forsaking the main thrust of the story for a slower character study, but there’s a long, long way to go, and anime series are renowned for spinning themselves out for as long as possible.

For all that, even the less essential episodes contain elements that stick in the mind. One reveals how Kenzou Tenma learns to be proficient with a firearm, a detail we don’t really need to know about, yet shows the character at his finest. Training under a tough former soldier, his charisma and overall niceness finally unites the gun commander with a little girl he has taken in. In another, he helps out a country doctor even as the local polizei close in. Again, this has little to do with the narrative arc, but reveals elements of Tenma as a person that make audiences warm to him.

Elsewhere, the yarn gathers pace. By this stage, Tenma has left his post in a hospital. Accused all but officially by Inspector Lunge of killing a number of middle-aged families and on the run, our hero is hot on the heels of the real killer, Johann. In this, he’s helped by the eponymous monster’s sister, Anna, and a young boy named Dieter who he ‘picks up’ along the way. Whilst in Frankfurt, he runs into - or rather, they run into him with a car - the Baby and his neo-fascist thugs, who aim to recruit Johann as their figurehead and new Hitler. It turns out that the Baby (a well dressed dwarf who lists The Ronettes amongst his favourite artistes) plans to burn down the Turkish district of the city, in an attempt to impress upon Johann the motives of his organisation. Tenma and Anna have to stop him, leading to a fantastically suspenseful plot that rarely lets up.

When not getting caught up in such affairs, Tenma spends his time picking up clues about his prey. Johann remains an elusive figure, someone who’s hard to pin down. We still don’t know much about where he’s coming from, though it’s made explicit he’s no one’s idea of a nice piece of work. During his youth, Johann was sent to Kinderheim 511, a childrens home in pre-unification East Germany that doubled as a testing facility. Even then, those who met him either fell in love with him, drawn like moths to a flame, or were repulsed instantly. Johann’s stay ends with him leading a revolt, almost everyone dying in the effort of fighting each other as he just watches. There’s still much to learn about Tenma’s foe, only added to by Anna’s presence. The sister of the piece is out to kill Johann also, but what she actually knows about him after years of being apart is revealed vaguely, and via a slow drip feed of information.

There’s stacks yet to be revealed, as Monster torturously peels back layers of twists and turns in the destinations of its characters. I find it very hard to imagine what a movie of this series is going to be like; how it can possibly do more than scrape the surface of Monster’s full scope. 18 episodes in, which equates to roughly six hours’ television (taking out the titles), and we’re still at the ‘more questions than answers’ stage. How can a film, even one running to the mainstream maximum of three hours, fit everything in? Unless New Line are willing to take a gamble and underwrite a trilogy, the simple answer is it can’t. It wouldn’t be the first time the studio did this, of course, but then The Lord of the Rings is a slightly better known source.

A television show would be more the answer, but this begs the question of necessity when there’s a perfectly fine anime edition already doing the rounds. I can’t help thinking there’s a fear of subtitles at play here, the concern that audiences just won’t be happy with having to read whilst watching people talk endless Japanese on the screen. Whether this is justified or not is another matter. One big headache for Josh Olsson and his writing team is where to set the action. Monster is based in Germany, and only now can we see why it’s essential for it to be so. The Cold War split is crucial to the development of the plot, yet I cannot see a major feature permitting it to be based in Germany. Otherwise, in one of those endless searches for credibility and authenticity, the movie would have to include a wealth of subtitles to cover the liberal use of German. How does the anime series get around this? Easily - it doesn’t. Place names and characters retain their German legends. The beautiful drawings are of a central European country, albeit a picture postcard one. But everyone speaks Japanese, and that’s all there is to it. No messing around, and perhaps that’s the only way a Hollywood production could hope to keep its identity.

The Monster bonanza hasn’t gone as I would have liked so far. Unfortunately, I’ve been made to work this weekend, setting up Ikea furniture in The Boy’s bedroom, and then taking him to Minis Rugby this morning, which actually turned out to be better fun - not to mention better weather - than I could have hoped for.

Still, I have seen the first five episodes, all of which were very good fare. The action has barely let up, and suggests I might be in for something of a treat if the other 69 can meet the series’s high potential.

Monster starts as a medical drama, set in the mid-1980s. I’m impressed with its terminology, the way it hasn’t even attempted to patronise me by simplifying the neurological procedures it depicts. Dr Tenma looks to be even better than Michael Hfuhruhurr at complicated brain surgery, and doesn’t have to deploy a cranial screwtop procedure to get the job done. Basically, if you’re operated on by Tenma, you’re going to be okay. Otherwise, you’d better hope you have that will written and your peace made. We get some perfunctory background on Kenzou - that he came to Dusseldorf’s Eisler Memorial from Japan on recommendation, and has made his way up the ranks to Chief Surgeon via a combination of merit and favour from Director Heinemann - and learn he’s a surgeon with morals. Ultimately, all he wants is to be a good doctor, to heal people, but in an environment that becomes more politically charged it’s clear he will either have to play ball (i.e. tend to more illustrious, attention-grabbing patients over those who might enter the hospital first) or forget his dazzling future.

Eventually, Tenma chooses the latter path, which sets up Monster’s over-arching plot. Having decided to save a small boy’s life over that of the city’s mayor, he is shunned, stripped of his chief’s role and has his engagement to the Director’s daughter, Eva, cancelled. It all seems to be going horribly wrong, and we find a bewildered, distraught Kenzou spill his heart out to the unconscious boy, Johann, the child whose surgery sparked off all his troubles. At least, he thinks Johann is sleeping. Tenma confesses that he believes Heinemann and his managers don’t deserve to live, and then goes out to do what we all might in his situation - get steaming drunk.

The following day, he learns to his hungover shock that all his enemies within the institution have been poisoned. As the one who stands to gain the most from their demise, he’s instantly singled out as a suspect by Inspector Lunge, an almost robotically clinical detective who moves his fingers like a typist’s as he hears people tell him their accounts. To add to Tenma’s worries, Johann has gone missing, as has his twin sister.

The tale of hospital politics soon recedes, replaced by a crime story when more of Kenzou’s opponents are wiped out, the noose ever tightening around his neck as Lunge begins to close in. Nine years on, and the fall of the Berlin wall has occurred. Tenma is now a successful Chief Surgeon. The events that opened the show are well in the past, or so he thinks, as a series of mysterious murders occur. One man at the centre of them all, Junkers, is brought into the hospital, who eventually leads our hero to the protagonist - none other than Johann, now grown up and a cold killer. Junkers describes him as a monster, and it’s apparent there’s more to Johann than mere psychotic tendencies. But what can Tenma do about it? And where’s Johann’s sister, Anna? What part does she have to play in it all?

At the moment, Monster is asking far more questions than it answers, which is a good thing. A labyrinthine plot surrounds Johann, his motives and just what he is, and Tenma is the unfortunate one who will have to discover them all for himself. There’s definite mileage for a wealth of chapters to follow, and it’s all wonderfully drawn also. Though viewers spoiled by Miyazaki might see something simple in Monster’s animation, it’s highly effective, featuring characters who don’t all follow the traditional anime style. Anna might have the trademark huge eyes, but elsewhere the show goes for a realistic look, and does especially well in showing the weight on Tenma’s shoulders. Already, after just five episodes you can see a young and impressionable man develop into someone altogether wearier and more cynical.

Thanks to the good people of Soldats for their efforts in making this show available, not to mention adding some excellent work with subtitles into the bargain.

Several years ago, a friend of mine introduced me to anime. I’d watched Akira and Spirited Away, and was a regular viewer on Toonami when they showed Samurai Jack (I know - not anime, but the inspirations are obvious) at family friendly times, but I didn’t know there was this entire world of Japanese animation waiting out there. Via Naruto, my schooling took me on to Monster, an adaptation of Naoki Urasawa’s legendary manga that hit hard because of its adult themes. The Boy would happily watch Naruto with me, but this long series was a different matter. Slow burning, low key and very, very dark, the first few episodes were gritty and tough going, focusing on a gamut of human issues and soul-crushing incidents.

Monster is known as seinen anime, a show targeted at older audiences. It’s no surprise. The violence isn’t overly graphic; there’s little sex or nudity on display. However, the subject matter is wholly adult in nature. Whether you’re watching a Doctor struggling to stay in control of his ethics whilst being instructed from above to ignore them, the slow moral decay of a shunned woman, or a gifted homicide detective who’s so good at his job that everything else in his life suffers, it’s clear the themes in Monster require some degree of maturity to understand and follow them.

The story is set in Germany, and focuses on Kenzo Tenma, a young, brilliant Japanese neurosurgeon who practises in Dusseldorf’s Eisler Memorial Hospital. A favourite of the Director, Tenma is engaged to Eva Heinemann, his daughter, and all seems to be going well. His future prospects are nothing but excellent. That is, until one night when a pair of orphaned twin children are brought in to the hospital. Their adoptive parents have been killed; the boy, Johann, is suffering extreme brain trauma after being shot in the head, whilst his sister, Anna, is traumatised psychologically. Tenma prepares to operate on Johann, knowing he will die otherwise. At the same time, the city’s mayor requires urgent attention, and the Director orders Tenma to concentrate on this task instead. Our hero is faced with an agonising choice - save the boy, or the politician. The hospital’s prestige will be enhanced greatly if the latter survives; Tenma knows he’s being manipulated. Too often, he’s been pulled out of crucial surgery to operate on ‘prestige cases,’ and he is growing ever more dissatisfied with the way lives are governed by politics. So he disobeys the Director, saves the child, and faces the consequences. Unfortunately, not only does he destroy his favour within the hospital, his decision to spare Johann sets in motion a chain of cataclysmic events that will change his life - and those of others - forever…

Initially, I watched something like ten episodes of the series, and then, as is often the case, moved on to other things. However, the tone and depth of Monster has always stuck me, and I now have access to all 74(!) instalments. My aim over the next few days is to watch it all, to see how it works out and then start reading the plethora of fansites and discussion topics it has provoked in the English language alone. Needless to say, this is a series with bags of potential. I can’t imagine any producer worth their money not viewing it and already mentally working out the western adaptation, and as chance would have it, New Line have bought the rights, with Josh Olsson (A History of Violence) signed up to knock out a screenplay. Whatever Olsson comes up with, and bearing in mind I thought the Viggo Mortsensen thriller was a classic, I can’t see him producing anything that has the power of the original series. Unlike in Japan, western audiences seem to perceive animation as a medium for kids, which suggests a live action version that brush strokes over the main points whilst being set in dark lit locations and featuring moody music will be the order of the day. I might be wrong, but I can already see Clive Owen putting in a cynical, weary performance as some alternative Tenma that entirely misses the point of the character. We’ll see.

In the meantime, check back here as I provide updates on my viewing progress at random intervals over the weekend and into the days beyond. This is no Empire viewing marathon. I’m not going to subject myself to 24 hours of Monster, describing my growing tiredness, but I do intend to consume it in large dollops of top drawer eastern animation. Spoilers will no doubt ensue, and I’ll try to throw in warnings where applicable.

Thus it’s armed with Lucky Strike and glass of gin and slimline that I approach episode one. Cue the opening excerpts from Revelations…

A Pig’s got to Fly

At Christmas, I was lucky enough to receive several Studio Ghibli DVDs from mine ever-perceptive wife. These were added to the volumes I already own, a collection that is shy a few volumes, but is beginning to build up nicely. Some of these movies I’ve seen before - the obvious ones, really. The others are first time viewings. Each week, I aim to take a peek at one film (in completely random order) and report on my findings here. This time, it’s the turn of Hayao Miyazaki’s 1992 potboiler, Kurenai no buta, or as we know it, Porco Rosso.

You can tell you’re in Miyazaki territory - as opposed to one of his ‘acolytes’ - via a number of neat little animation touches, ‘pushing the envelope’ (I hate that cliche) moments that other directors just don’t seem to get. It’s in the sudden depth and texture of a Mediterranean shot, or the way a plane’s tailfin riddled with bullet holes disintegrates, bits of wood and frame flying off into the sky. Even fifteen years ago, he could produce an effect we rarely got to see in Disney movies of the era. It’s worth noting that around the same time as this was released, we were being made to worship at the altar of Beauty and the Beast, a clear sign that the late Walt’s animation department was firing on all cylinders once more. That’s as may be, but for all the jaw-dropping technique that went into producing the layered ballroom scene, Disney were in reality experimenting to ever more competent degrees with computer animation, whilst the likes of Porco is hand drawn. Check both movies out now, and I would imagine it’s Miyazaki’s effort that comes out on top.

Then again, that may be because it’s adult-themed, nor does it contain a raft of bloody, bloody, bloody songs because it’s presumed audiences want nothing more than a good, old-fashioned singalong to plug the gaps between a wafer-thin plot. Another Miyazaki giveaway is the quirky plot, the setting that few other movie makers would care to bother with. We’re in Italy between the wars. The Fascists are in power, but that doesn’t stop the skies from being at the mercy of pirate pilots. Only one man can foil them, and he isn’t a man at all. Marco ‘Porco’ Rosso is a top pilot, a World War One flying ace, and at some point wound up with the features of a pig. He’s still good at what he does. Even his appearance at a pirate raid can turn proceedings into a panicked rout, so fearsome is his reputation. But he isn’t happy. The authorities are after him, wanting ultimately to recruit him back into the state air force - it’s made pretty explicit that in Mussolini’s Italy, you didn’t say no. There’s a complex relationship going on with the aristocratic Gina that looks in no danger of being resolved. The pirates, led by Manma Aiutto, are getting sick of being shot down and generally made fools of, and look for payback. Donald Curtis is an opportunistic American pilot, modelling himself on Errol Flynn, who feels he can gain fame and fortune by claiming the plane, if not the life, of Porco. And finally, he’s a pig! Though he’s come to terms with his existence, and happily mingles in public places, there’s no doubt that being a man-pig hybrid wears heavily on his soul.

By the time we join the action, it’s clear our hero cuts a weary, cynical figure. He doesnt shoot down pirates out of any sense of moral duty. It’s his job, a bounty hunter’s lot, and Porco is bad-tempered and irascible about his porcine prospects. He’s a more complicated character than you’d expect, and the entanglements keep on coming when he needs to take a trip to Milan. Curtis has shot him down after his plane suffered an engine failure, and Porco risks his snout in visiting Grandpa Piccolo’s workshop, the only one who can get him back in the sky in the style to which he has become accustomed. Whilst there, he meets teenage engineer Fio, a gifted plane designer, who persuades him to let her get the job done. She does, and after a frantic chase out of the city with the authorities closing in, Porco jets off, Fio in the gunseat, to take on the pirates, Curtis, Gina, and whatever else fate throws in his direction.

On one level, Porco Rosso is a straightforward action adventure, and as such it works. There are daring aerial dogfights, car chases, fisticuffs, and its 94 minutes fly by. But there’s an awful lot more to it than that. It’s hinted at, yet never explained with Disney directness, why Marco has become Porco. He’s very obviously disgusted with humanity, and himself to a degree - a pre-transformation photo of him has been mutilated, we learn by none other than Porco himself. The one ’spiritual’ scene in the movie, where he witnesses what happens to WWI pilots who have died in the skies, offers more clues, yet no answers, and we’re left with another visually ravishing but elusive moment to consider. Even at the end, there are no easy conclusions. What happens to Porco and his mates is left dangling, despite Fio’s narrative epilogue. Does he find redemption, love, etc? Who really knows? It’s a daring finish, the unwillingness to wrap things up neatly that you just wouldn’t get from a Disney animation, or indeed most western films, where a proper climax is considered mandatory.

Though the idea of a central character being transformed into something/someone else is nothing new in Miyazaki’s world, there’s a lot about Porco Rosso that veers away from the usual fare. Magic is notable by its absence. Apart from the idea behind Marco Rosso’s change, which is obviously allegorical, spirits, wizards and witches never appear, the narrative running along altogether earthier lines. Unlike Kiki’s Delivery Service, My Neighbour Totoro and Spirited Away, this isn’t really a movie for or about kids. Adult themes are covered, and Porco lives very much in a grown up world. The complexities of his character, the fact he’s a grouch yet charms the ladies into submission, is something children might not understand, yet is all too familiar to adults. This isn’t to say younger viewers won’t enjoy it. There’s plenty for everyone - dazzling visuals (which aren’t diminished by age and advancing techniques), a rollicking storyline, and credible characters.

Normally, any Ghibli movie - or at least, those I’ve seen so far - would never score below 7/10, so I’m having to be tough on myself when rating them against each other. All the same, Porco Rosso gets a solid 8/10. I was entertained, moved and left wanting more, which is about as high a recommendation as I can make.