Terry and I worship an unconventional deity
No cinema visits this week.
Downfall (2004)
At the cinema, the film’s impact was considerably lessened as there seemed to be only one speaker working behind the screen, or maybe a couple for limited stereo. At home in 5.1 DTS, the oppressive nature of the film’s sound design becomes a substantial character in its own right, as the Russians inexorably close in on Berlin and Hitler’s bunker, pounding both the end of the Nazi regime and the viewer with artillery round after artillery round. In Britain, channel Five has become the Home of Hitler, packing the schedules with unending Führer documentaries, and the standard view of Hitler is that he was some kind of demon or monster. What Downfall does, I think, is very reasonably point out that Hitler was one of us, a human being with our own vanities and weaknesses. I think terms like evil, demon and monster when applied to very human criminals are deceptively unhelpful. They position the monstrosity of the acts of these people on an almost supernatural plane, and remove them from everyday reality. When what we know from what took place in the Balkans a mere 10 years ago is that the line between civilisation and barbarity is very thin indeed.
A Bridge Too Far (1977)
William Goldman, originator of the title of this blog, is still rightfully pissed that the only country where this film failed at the box office is America, where no critic was prepared to believe the events of the narrative, despite every single one of them actually having occurred in Holland in 1944. One thing the DVD gets right where VHS failed is to illuminate the photography of Geoffrey Unsworth, one of the great British cinematographers, whose love for soft focus, filters and natural light only ever registered as grainy noise on videotape. The most disconcerting element of the film is its galaxy of big movie stars, at once the reason the film got made and perhaps another reason why it failed for American film critics. Films about failure are always more interesting than films about success.
No Direction Home: Bob Dylan (2005)
Having just read Chronicle Volume One, I wanted me some more Dylan, and this nattily assembled documentary from Bob’s childhood to the famed (not faked but most convenient) motorcycle crash in 1966 that took him away from the live stage for eight years and into infamy. Very clearly, there’s still something troubling about the transition from Robert Zimmerman to Bob Dylan that gets the old boy’s goat even after all these years, and neither he nor anyone else is able to provide anything resembling any reason for it, apart from the obvious implication that Dylan wanted no part of his Jewish heritage, and it might have been stopping him and his local bands from getting gigs. This isn’t the only thing that gets glossed over. What is represented quite brilliantly is how vastly important Dylan was in the culture of the time, and how magnetic he was as a live performer. After the crash of ‘66, all of that went away and Dylan set off on the long slow journey into night that continues to this day, his talent diminished and his influence ebbing away with every cruddy concert appearance and mediocre record, all of this despite any brief flare of brilliance being acclaimed as a sign of messianic hope for the faithful, soon to be dashed by yet another officially endorsed Krusty the Clown style disaster – Dylan jukebox musical, anyone?
A Mighty Wind (2003)
The folk scene in the New York of the early 1960s chronicled so earnestly in No Direction Home is here gently satirised by the combined forces of the Christopher Guest improv troop. The primary idea, which is a doozy, is that the three groups presented in the film were all middle class folk singers who “Never Did No Wanderin” and were merely pretending to be hobos and drifters and authentic. (Rather like Bob Dylan, in fact!) Greeted on its release as the slightest of the Guest films (a position since reoccupied by For Your Consideration (2006)), A Mighty Wind has become reassuringly funnier on each viewing. Few scenes in cinema have as much hilarious impact as the precise nature of the religion the leaders of The New Main Street Singers are currently following.
War of the Worlds (2005)
In which special effects reached such a level of verisimiltude that it was as if there has been a real alien invasion, and Spielberg’s cameras just happened to be around to capture it. This film does nothing to counter my opinion that Spielberg is currently on the hottest streak of his filmmaking career, which has run since Jurassic Park (1993), the only minor blip being the last third of Amistad (1997). Every film is more surprising, more varied, more interesting, more adult, more engaging than the one that preceded it. This may all come to an end with Indiana Jones 4 (2008) of course, but I wouldn’t bet on it. I wouldn’t bet on it at all.