The Hurt Locker: An alternative view

It’s too hot on this Island, and I’m in a mood where if I go out and spend my money on something then I just know it’s not going to make me happy, so y’all get the benefit of reading my views on The Hurt Locker. I planned to restrict myself to 500 words with strict self-editing, but to be honest I’m not looking for any literary awards, I just wanted to do something to pass the time and rambling on in wordy, meandering sentences which take forever to reach their conclusion is as good a way as any.

So The Hurt Locker cleaned up at the BAFTAs and James Cameron’s Avatar was shunned. I expected the tables to be turned at the Oscars, but it turned out not to be the case. Cameron got his rewards at the box office, but it would seem that the Academy is being more cautious about welcoming his view of cinematic future.

I’m not opposed to seeing Avatar receive modest success; I thought little of the movie and go to the cinema to see real actors on real sets through real cameras, not to get a headache. Having said that, Hurt Locker’s trophy haul seems like a remarkably harsh kick in the teeth. Personally I respect its cinematography and direction much more than Avatar, but I would rate it fairly low on my list of top films this year.

My problem with The Hurt Locker was that I had seen it all before in a stunning BBC production called Occupation a couple of years ago. This was a three-parter shown over the course of one week following the lives of four British Army soldiers facing the prospect of returning from a tour of duty in Iraq. As the drama progressed over the week, the personal stories of these friends wove in and out of each other to form an intricate tapestry exploring the camaraderie, horrors and heartbreak of war, and how it can affect a person. It dealt with addiction, loss, dedication, bravery, greed and power; a worthy tribute to our troops without ever painting them as perfect.

It seems like The Hurt Locker wanted to pull off the same trick, but wasn’t brave enough to see it through. Bigelow felt the story “had to be told”, whatever that means. Her story follows a squad of bomb disarming experts as they welcome a new team leader, William James, into their midst. James instantly comes across as a maverick, endangering his squad with no apparent appreciation of the risks he exposes them (and himself) to.

James’ addictive character is driven home with little subtlety. He craves risk like he craves the cigarettes we always see him smoking; when he’s faced with a bomb and he has wire cutters at hand his urge to feel that adrenaline rush from disarming it will outweigh any common sense, even when the area has been evacuated and his team are risking their lives so that he can remain in the field.

I agree that this a story worthy of being told, but the film seems to get hung up on it, driving the point home to a patronising degree and then going out of its way to demonstrate that James also exhibits leadership qualities and a caring nature which make him worthy of our admiration and sympathy. By the end he’s almost painted as brave, but is a man who doesn’t feel fear really brave?

Occupation dealt with the same issues in a gritty and horrifically real manner. It also exposed a lot of what is happening in Iraq with private security companies doing more harm than good and the local communities struggling to feed themselves and treat their wounded while Western greed and corruption spread like an infection. It left me shocked and saddened. I felt for all of the characters, and came away respecting the fact that they made the best decisions they could in situations much worse than I will ever know. That’s a story worth telling.

The Hurt Locker wanted to leave me in a state of admiration for its character (for it is really one man’s tale), and to feel upbeat about the fact that he’s out there fighting for a good cause. Personally I don’t find such blatant jingoism nearly as worthy.

2010
03/09
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Another night at The Rex

Thursday night is fast becoming cinema night. I go on my own, and the staff are getting to know me, but tonight I bumped into my Dad’s business partner, his wife, and a woman who sails with him. It was nice to actually recognise someone rather than be recognised!

The film was Nowhere Boy which tells the tale of the teenage years of John Lennon. I came away with mixed feelings; my heart-strings had been played to satisfaction, but the film itself left me cold.

I didn’t think much of the central performances. Aaron Johnson’s Lennon lacked any subtlety. Brash and loutish ninety percent of the time, the ten percent of the performance which was meant to put this behaviour into the context of a boy dealing with losses he struggles to understand just left me cold. The McCartney character didn’t leave any impression at all. Clearly the director reveled in the “John meet Paul” moment;  from then on he just popped up whenever it was time to drive home the point that, look, there was this young kid called Paul and he could keep John in check better than anyone.

The heart of the movie was further stunted by the soundtrack, which to me felt far too polished for a “humble beginnings” story. It sounded right for recordings from the era, and to their credit the actors actually learned to sing any play their intruments. It just would have been nice to see them play live on camera, rather than miming along to pre-recorded tracks which were too perfect and ruining any sense of immersion for me.

Some have complained that the likenesses of the cast weren’t good enough. How can they believe in a Lennon with blue eyes? Others have claimed that they portray the mannerisms and voices of The Quarrymen perfectly. I don’t care either way, not being familiar enough with the source material to judge. I just know that I couldn’t believe in the characters they were playing.

Thank god, then, for Kristin Scott-Thomas and Anne-Marie Duff who played Lennon’s recently widowed aunt and apparently biploar mother respectively. They were the real stars of the film, and their stories were the ones to drag me in. Thomas stole every scene she was in with minimal animation. Playing Aunt Mimi – John’s guardian from the age of 5 who clearly struggled with expressing emotion – her dialogue was tight and her physical demeanor stiff. Nonetheless, her love for Lennon could never be doubted and the subtlest raising of the lips could melt my heart.

Anne-Marie Duff was just as convincing as Julia Lennon, portraying her manic episodes completely believably. It’s during one of these that John finds her, and the rest of the film is really about discovering how it came to be that she didn’t remain a part of his life and the mending of the myseterious rift that seems to exist between these two sisters. It’s beautifully done, and if the youngsters’ stories could have been scripted with the same finesse instead of throwing big “A-Ha!” moments in our faces all the time then I’m sure the cast could have risen to the challenge. As it stands, we’re left  with half a good film.

2010
02/14
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My Week in Film (part 2)

So what was the other film I saw in my week of cinema-going when I reviewed Avatar?

It was An Education, a small British film about Jenny, a middle-class girl growing up in the 60s. Jenny’s rebellion against her pushy father leads her to quench her thirst for life with an older bachelor who drives her home from an orchestra practice one day and soon invites her into his world of culture and money.

The greenest grass is usually grown with pesticides, and the audience spots the cracks in the facade faster than Jenny, who has lessons to learn the hard way. Carey Mulligan (who previously starred in the best Doctor Who episode of its new run, “Blink”), played Jenny brilliantly. The script and direction may be guilty of placing her on a pedestal, but ultimately this is her story.

To coin a phrase, this is a slice-of-life film; my favorite kind. I just love films which take small, inconsequential stories and play with them in an organic manner. Quiet City, Once, The Squid and the Whale, Before Sunset… I could list many great examples, maybe you’ve seen one of them. None of these stories have far-reaching consequences and they don’t feel like they are working methodically to a predicatble final denouement. They develop and a natural pace and affect the central characters in some way, and then we leave them to get on with their lives as we contemplate our own. An Education joins this group and its an illustrious one. It’s earned its plaudits pile upon it by much more eminent critics.

My experience of watching this film was what I most wanted to write about. It didn’t get a wide release and I ended up waiting several months to see it at my local cinema, The Rex. I enjoyed the film with a drink in my hand and revelled in the quaint atmosphere of the place. I talked to people after the film about how great it was and walked home with a spring in my step.

This week I decided to share the experience with my Dad and we went to see A Serious Man, the latest movie from The Coen Brothers. It’s a dark comedy and another very personal story, although it definitely doesn’t develop at a natural pace and has some pretty far-reaching consequences! It was another brilliant film and I haven’t laughed so much in ages.

My enjoyment was once again enhanced by the atmosphere. I was made very welcome when I entered and by the end I felt as if I actually belonged there. Please, please support your local cinema as this is definitely the way to enjoy films. This week they are one of the few venues in the country showing A White Ribbon. I can’t wait!

2010
01/31
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500 Words
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What’s this? A rational point of view on Channel 4?

I was channel hopping at dinner in search of something to keep me amused and stumbled upon The Bible: A History on Channel 4. Given an hour long slot right before Celebrity Big Brother, I didn’t have high hopes for it. It was a pleasant surprise, then, to see the presenter – novelist Howard Jacobson – opening the program on a distinctly agnostic note.

How could Channel 4 possibly put its ridiculous spin on reasonable doubt? I waited and waited, but the glossy shock tactics never came into play. Jacobson started by querying when the Jews’ belief in a single creator was first documented. He concluded that the Jews wrote Genesis several centuries after the life of Moses, as a way of coming to terms with the trials and tribulations they faced. A single creator of everything would be capable of punishing them for their sins, explaining the torrid bad luck they always seemed to be subjected to. The myth was formed to fit their reality.

Having at least laid on the table that he doesn’t believe in a literal six day creation, Jacobson met with several groups who hold this view sacred. He was gentle but direct in his questioning, expressing vague pity in his voice-over but never disputing their right to hold and take comfort from their personal beliefs. He even hinted at a smidgeon of jealousy at their ability to hold such blind faith.

In fact, the only time Jacobson ever showed any degree of annoyance was when he slammed Dawkins and the “new atheist” movement for their hypocrital denouncement of all things faithful. I agree wholeheartedly with him but it’s a shame that, in favouring reasoned contemplation over shock tactics, Channel 4 has come up with something almost too timid.

Jacobson extolled the brilliant reasoning of science and the beautiful storytelling of the bible and said that they both had their place, but never committed to his point of view. He went to great lengths to demonstrate that science doesn’t contradict religion and vice versa. This is a fair point and one that I think a majority religious folk actually adhere to, but it’s refreshing to see it broadcast on television where everything usually has to be hard-hitting and extreme. I was just willing him to use the word “agnostic” but he always stopped short of declaring himself definitely in doubt.

Ultimately it all boiled down to an hour of not-very-much. It was not a wholly satisfying documentary by any stretch of the imagination, but maybe that’s just my view because none of it was new ground for me. On the other hand, it was a nice big slice of common sense in a reasonable timeslot on a Sunday evening and I have to applaud Channel 4 for trying.

2010
01/25
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500 Words
philosophy
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My Week in Film (part 1)

Avatar PosterI’ve been to the cinema twice this week, starting on Sunday when I saw Avatar in all its three dimensions.

I tried not to expect much, hoping that I couldn’t then be disappointed. That’s a silly attitude to assume, I know. It’s basically saying that I have an “open mind”, but I’ll only let in what I want to let in. It was my first 3D cinema experience and I also knew this was James Cameron’s epic which he’s had planned for years but has lacked the technology to make.

As my first 3D cinema experience, it was a struggle. I donned the silly glasses and the screen started breaking into separate planes, some were close to me, some were far away; some were in sharp focus, some were blurred; all of them looked flat and 2D to me, just layered. I recently watched A Scanner Darkly, a beautifully rendered film shot in live action and then drawn over by a team of animators, layering up their work to form sets, characters, and props all dancing independently of each other across the screen to form a cohesive whole. 3D cinema made the action seem like that, only less harmonious.

I couldn’t relax into the effect. The camera(s?) were focused on the actors, but my subconscious was convinced that it should be able to focus on the blurry layers floating in the foreground. My eyes wouldn’t give up trying to get more information from the blurred, doubled up pixels on the screen than they could possibly deliver, and I just ended up with a headache. Worse, the glasses reduced the vibrant colours of the amazing CGI environments to a palette akin to a rainy day in winter, like looking out of the window at the moment.

Still, in spite of this I could appreciate the beauty of the CGI on display. The artists have created an amazing planet and portray it with care the likes of which I haven’t seen since Riven brought the books on D’ni to life so convincingly. I just think I would have been even more blown away if I’d gone to the 2D showing. Which I would do, if the story warranted a repeat viewing.

It doesn’t. Considering it’s been in the pipeline for so many years, it’s incredibly formulaic. It had no original idea to call its own, and I’d divined all of the major plot points in the first twenty minutes.

And yet, though the 3D annoyed me and the plot passed me by without bothering the grey matter, I found myself completely drawn in. I did get the “wow” feeling, and I did fall in love with the world. I wont sit through it again on the big screen, but I am looking forward to the DVD release. It’s a cliche, but while so much of Avatar annoyed me it turned out to be much better than the sum of its parts. Well, I guess $500 million can gloss over a lot of faults!

2010
01/16
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500 Words
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Voices

In an attempt to deny responsibility for fixing my own life, I’ve been having pointless yearnings to be a character in a fiction where everything works out in the end. It sparked a memory of a film I watched years ago called “Stranger Than Fiction”. Indulge me and allow me to transcend to a plane of pure wistfulness.

From what I remeber of the film, it involved a man who suddenly started hearing a voice in his head; what can I say? I empathise. This voice happens to be that of Emma Thompson; well, we all have our bizarre fantasies…

It soon transpires, however, that Emma Thompson is an author writing our protagonist into a novel. Bizzarreness sets in as the poor fellow (who happens to be played by Will Ferrell) attempts to track down this author whose intentions for him he quickly begins to fear.

I won’t spoil the film for anybody, the truth is that my memory of it is incredibly vague. Along the way, however, there is a love interest in the guise of a lovely baker who owns a local cookie store. There’s the usual love story where our protagonist starts out on the wrong foot or something and then it all works oout well in the end. I don’t know the details; but then again I do, and so do you. Fiction’s so predictable, and that’s why I love it; it’s neat and orderly and I can trust it.

Life’s not like that. Where’s my Emma Thompson, writing me a path to a happy resolution via an exposition, troublesome conflict, predictable climax and a neat falling action to tie up the loose ends? I can’t trust life to work out alright, I need to find my own path and there’s no guarantee of a happy ending if my navigation’s a bit screwed up. I wish like hell that I could trust the voices in my head to write me a decent story, but there’s nobody I’d trust less.

In my yearning reverie I looked up the closing quote of the move:

“As Harold took a bite of Bavarian sugar cookie, he finally felt as if everything was going to be ok. Sometimes, when we lose ourselves in fear and despair, in routine and constancy, in hopelessness and tragedy, we can thank God for Bavarian sugar cookies. And, fortunately, when there aren’t any cookies, we can still find reassurance in a familiar hand on our skin, or a kind and loving gesture, or subtle encouragement, or a loving embrace, or an offer of comfort, not to mention hospital gurneys and nose plugs, an uneaten Danish, soft-spoken secrets, and Fender Stratocasters, and maybe the occasional piece of fiction. And we must remember that all these things, the nuances, the anomalies, the subtleties, which we assume only accessorize our days, are effective for a much larger and nobler cause. They are here to save our lives. I know the idea seems strange, but I also know that it just so happens to be true. And, so it was, a wristwatch saved Harold Crick.”

I have to track this movie down and watch it again. Partly as an excuse to indulge in some pure escapism and revel in a depressive cycle for a while, and partly because I really want to know what the damn wristwatch has to do with it…

2010
01/15
CATEGORY
anorexia nervosa
DVD
film
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Observations

The build-up to Christmas has been manic, and I haven’t had a chance to update this. In lieu of a proper post, I’m just going to post a few observations on things that have transpired over the last couple of weeks including finishing the Harry Potter books, sitting in traffic, Copenhagen, Christmas number ones and Christmas shopping.

  • The Harry Potter series reached its peak at book three, which was a prime example of a well thought out, delightfully told story. It turned into the tales of an angst-ridden teenager taking on convoluted plot arcs way too big for him or the pages of the tomes, and had the the cheek to end the whole mess with the words “All is well.”
  • I have two responses to Queues Likely signs: “What queue? Where’s the point in that?” and “I know I’m in a queue, I’ve been looking at this sign for ten minutes. Where’s the point in that?” They serve no purpose.
  • Western economies plough millions into China, importing all their cheaply produced goods on cargo ships which pollute more that a whole country of cars and then blame China for all our pollution problems. Climate change is all about cause and effect.
  • Rage Against is Christmas number one, which only goes to prove that facebook and the internet is a bigger and more evil machine than Simon Cowell, who ultimately profits from the sales of both singles anyway. Good work.
  • Any predicament involving underwear comes with an inbuilt propensity for embarrassment. At no point will Spongebob Squarepants characters help with this situation.
2009
12/23
CATEGORY
Uncategorized
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The man and his daemon

I was thinking to myself just now about nothing in particular, and I remembered a time I’d spent in my room on holiday in Lesvos when I was feeling a bit down. I remembered that I had felt compelled to commit some thoughts to paper, but I couldn’t for the life of me recall what those thoughts were.

Curious, I tracked down the piece of paper and found a roughly scrawled story written in a single paragraph. The original text was horridly formed shorthand, but I got the gist of it and it interested me. I can’t quite work out what I was thinking at the time, but I think there’s a moral to the story I wrote somewhere. I wonder what I was trying to tell myself…

I’ve adapted the story into a form as it might appear in an illustrated children’s book (Where the WildThings Are is released on Friday, woohoo!). Maybe one day I’ll build it into something more concise and lucid and actually illustrate it…

Many years ago, there lived a man in a house on a hill with his daemon.

They did everything together. Every day they would play atop the hill, gambol in the sun.

When the man ate, then so would his daemon.

At the end of each day they slept together, contented.

In the town at the bottom of the hill the man had many friends.

All of them loved the daemon, but sometimes it would get overexcited.

Nobody minded, but the man started to become embarrassed by his daemon. He was scared that it might hurt somebody in its excitement.

One day this fear overcame the man, and he tied his daemon to a tree on top of his hill and walked into town on his own.

The man’s friends welcomed him, but wondered where his daemon was.

When they asked politely, the man ignored them. He was too busy thinking about his daemon, worrying that it might escape.

The walk back up the hill that night was a long one for the man.

When he got half way up he could hear his daemon howling.

When he was almost at the top he saw his daemon growling at him, trying to break free of the tree.

This scared the man even more. It didn’t feel safe to let the daemon go again while it was so angry, but if he left it alone then it might escape.

The man decided that his only solution was to sit and watch the daemon until it settled down and he knew it wouldn’t escape.

He watched it for a week, but the daemon didn’t settle.

Months passed, and the daemon did settle down, but the man’s fear still growled strong.

Years passed, and the daemon all but gave up. Something died in its eyes. The man didn’t know what he was scared of anymore, but he knew he felt safe while the daemon was tied up.

When he had lost count of the years, the man started to think about the life he used to have. It made him sad. He sympathised with the daemon because the daemon looked sad too.

When enough was enough, the man hobbled to the tree to set his daemon free.

It took a long time, for the man was now old and frail, but when it was done the daemon ran off with glee.

The man watched him for as long as he could, but soon the daemon was out of sight.

The man thought he had lost his daemon forever, and he was sad, but at least his daemon was happy.

The man went to bed.

In the morning, the man awoke and went outside.

His daemon had returned! But something was different.

It no longer played with the man, ate with him or slept with him. It no longer greeted his friends.

From that day on, although it was free, the man’s daemon just remained beside its tree.

I think the message is not to stifle yourself by living a half life, dedicated to suppressing your natural urges. Let them run free while they are still able to.

The original scrap was about the man and his “beast”. I changed it to daemon in what I hope is a respectful homage to Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials in which there are universes where people’s souls manifest themselves physically as animal forms, bound to their human embodiment by an invisible bond.

2009
12/01
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Who are we?

ED Support group was a social catch-up this week, rather than any formal support. It’s a good idea really, it’s a chance to see a bit of the people for who they really are or could be, instead of what their unhealthy relationship with food makes them.

Unfortunately not many guys go to the support group, and none showed up to the social. Testosterone levels were notably low (my depleted supply did little to help), and I found myself lost in a sea of uncomfortable subject matters, largely revolving around celebrity culture.

The conversation I actually found most difficult was the one about Katie Price and Peter Andre. People in the group were making moral statements about how they felt Katie Price was wrong to go on “I’m a Celebrity” while her son was ill with swine flu, how she was a hypocrite for walking out of a book signing when her son had been ill but then flying out to Australia a week later, or how they thought that Peter Andre was actually a really good Dad to be looked up to. They talked as if they knew these people, and as if the actions they were making judgments upon had been the choices of those involved.

I don’t believe they were. Fully. If Katie Price chose all her life choices for herself over the past year then, fair enough, I feel sorry that she’s found herself in a position where her personal life is reported on so publicly. However, I suspect more sinister twists are at play. The media don’t just report the facts, they seek out stories and choose the slant to put on it. We all love a nice slice of escapism, alternative lives to get engrossed in besides our own. The media know a love story between “Peter and Katie” is going to be lapped up, but they also know that it will grow old and stale quickly if it’s a happily ever after one. “Katie and Peter: Still together, nothing to report” doesn’t sell many tabloids. The story needs soap opera drama, twists and turns to quench our thirsts for escapism and keep us paying for updates.

So celebrity culture has become an industry tailored towards delivering these popcorn dramas with exaggerated personalities and black and white morality tales. But how many of the celebrity stars in these dramas are willing participants and how many are just unfortunate souls who sought fame and fortune and got both, but found it cost them control of their own lives? Did Katie Price choose to leave Peter? Choose how to bring up her kid? Choose which shows to be filmed on or which cosmetic surgery options to take? Or is there a gamut of industry insiders in her ear, employed as publicists or PAs, who know what keeps the papers selling and direct her life accordingly? If you’re going to write a soap opera, at least have the decency to employ actors to play out your scripts; don’t mess with real peoples’ lives. That’s sick.

I’m sure some celebrities know the game. They find themselves playing it and they pick up the rules and play along. Jade Goody, bless her, wasn’t born at a particular advantage. She saw a chance to better herself in a program called Big Brother, where she was made a laughing stock, proved a ratings hit and was subsequently taken advantage of. I’m sure in the beginning she knew no better. She was happy to leave that ghastly house to be greeted by plenty of industry insider types waving cheques in her face.

By the end, she knew the game. Over the years she’d learned the rules, she knew herself what sold and probably felt like she’d found something she was actually good at. Maybe in an alternative universe those talents could have been turned to something productive? Who knows? As it turns out, when she was diagnosed with terminal cancer the only way she coped was by playing the game she’d been playing way too long. She wrenched at heart-strings the world over with her story of wanting only to raise money so that her kids could be comfortable after she was gone. She sold her story brilliantly and wrote her own soap opera ending on her own terms. What a horrible shame that this was all she knew. What was she feeling in those last few weeks? Did she keep anything private, or did she see the whole thing, like the rest of the world, through the lense of the media? I mourned her death, and I mourned the life she probably missed out on living for herself.

Of course, not all tacky entertainment is bad. Sometimes it can be relatively harmless, and when the conversation turned to X-Factor then I was happy enough to join in. The performers themselves are yet to be tarred too heavily with the media’s ugly brush, and instead we see people we can relate to stand up on stage every week growing stronger and stronger. As for the judges, they’re all the best of friends. Simon Cowell masterminds the whole thing and the world knows it. The judges play their pantomime roles with aplomb and the press lap it up readily. I’ve no doubt that it’s written into Louis’ contract that he’s to play the villain and the fool, and I’m sure he’s payed accordingly. I’m sure when Simon and Cheryl fight on stage and “behind the scenes” on camera then they laugh about it as soon as they go “behind the scenes” off camera. Nobody on the show is under any illusions, everybody knows that they’re just providing a bit of weekend pantomime. Disbelief can be suspended, safe in the knowledge that nobody is getting hurt. Except for maybe John and Edward. Somebody should punch them.

And then there was that other uncomfortable subject matter, the “Twilight” movies. I’ve never seen them myself, neither have I read the books, so I can’t comment on their merit. My discomfort was caused purely by the fact that here is a phenomenon that can keep girls chatting for hours straight and I have no entry into the conversation. Our tastes in cinema and literature are just worlds apart. I have nothing against these films in principal, for many they satisfy that same desire for escapism as celebrity gossip, with less seedy undertones. They’re probably rather shallow, representing an idealistic view of life with faux angsty teenage romance, occasional “mild peril” and a happy ending, but I’m sure they’re perfectly harmless.

I just can’t bring myself to enter the phenomenon. Why? Because the reviewers I read and respect scorn them, and tell me I should get my vampire kicks from “Let the right one in”, and that I should appreciate the cinematography in “Moon” or shed tears to “Hunger”. So I do. I read books for their literary merit and my enjoyment of music is inversely proportional to how well known the band is; because that’s how the alternative press would have me act. If the exact same Twilight films had been released by a small independant studio and based on an inspired series of shorts from a little known author then who’s to say I wouldn’t be revelling in their compelling take on a tale of chastity? So what am I, myself, other than a stooge to be moulded by the media? Is my identity any more my own than Katie “Jordan” Price?

I have lots more to write on the subject of identity, it plays on my mind a lot, but that’s a story for another post, when it’s not 1am and I don’t have work in 7 hours. For now I’ll just hit “publish” without proof reading this and hope it’s somewhat coherent when I look at it again!

2009
11/26
CATEGORY
Uncategorized
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This isn’t a birthday wish…

He’s
Apparently
Prohibiting
People
Yielding
Birthday
Indulgences?
Really
That’s
Horrendously
Doltish…
And
Yet
Fiscally
Elicits
Little
Indisposition!
Xxx

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2009
02/27
CATEGORY
general
literature
randomness
vanity
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