Wednesday

Some people like to know the whole plot and point of a movie before they see it. I don't. I like to know as little as possible. What are the reasons for these differences? I am not silly enough to say that my way is better. Knowing the whole plot leaves you open to appreciate technique, but I just can't deal with that. I like to be engrossed in a film. I need to be there from the first credits to the last. I need to see the title of the movie, and the director's name. Yesterday, when I missed them in The Number 23, I was perturbed. I got over it, but still have this niggling feeling of having missed something. I've known some people who look at the last line of a book before reading it, or flick through and read random passages. I simply can't do this. It's from the beginning to the end, or not at all. Perhaps I am the one with the problem? Perhaps. There is a website for those of you who want to know everything about a film: The Movie Spoiler. I think the title alone gives away the real significance: movie 'spoiler'.

Tuesday

I missed the first few minutes of The Number 23. I had, once again, misread the cinema times for The Good Shepherd, and so ended up running across Shaftesbury Avenue in order to make it on time to see The Number 23. Maybe someone who sees it can tells me what happens. I don't think I missed much, and it was actually fun to try to guess what had occurred. Anyway, was it a good film? That's what you're all here to find out. I was hooked on the concept from the trailer, but have to say the movie was a little disappointing. I like Jim Carrey, and he does add a bit of humanity to what might otherwise have been an austere film, but he's not really stretched here, seems to be 'performing' rather than 'acting'. I wasn't as engrossed as I thought I would be. At times I was, at times I wasn't. I suppose I was wanting more from the film than was there - paralleling, perhaps, the character's fixation with a number. It could have been better, I guess is my overall verdict. There was too much narration, too many flashes into the narrative of the book he's reading, the psychological breakdown wasn't convincing enough, and the plot never really got as dark as I was hoping it would. I didn't see the final twist in the end coming, and was shocked, but somehow I wasn't satisfied. This is a miss hit, I think, though I should mention the cinematography was very good.

Monday

There is an IMDb of car chases: Varaces. It is an event peculiarly cinematic. As Eddie Izzard once hypothesised, you don't have car chases in books. Yet most of them, to me, are very dull. It does take quite a lot of talent to make them interesting. I saw part of Escape to Athena on Sunday, and within that is an excellent motorbike chase through the narrow streets of a Greek village. They really do go incredibly fast. I believe it was Orson Welles in Touch of Evil who first developed the on-board camera, but have no proof of this. Incidentally, in researching Touch of Evil I found out that Welles wasn't hired to direct it, but ended up doing so by accident because
Charlton Heston thought he was, and then demanded that he did. Anyway, back to car chases. I think the key things are to keep them as real as possible, and to have no music. I believe the one in The Bourne Identity is good too. Varaces at least give it 8.83. What a very odd website.

Sunday

The first half an hour of Point Break is excellent, and the last few minutes are good (I've been thinking the ending of a film is essential for the impression especially of cinema goers, defining that important walk from the theatre to the tube station). When I was younger, this film was very cool. I was far too underage to watch it, but somehow we managed. Girls (I'm thinking mainly of my sister) loved Keanu Reeves (the perfect role for him), and guys wanted to be him, the music was good (with even a role for Anthony Kiedis), there were naked women, and guns, and of course surfing. The movie does quite excitingly capture a culture, a time and a place. I was reminded of it recently by the references in Hot Fuzz, and so decided to watch it tonight. As I say, it starts very well, with sharp dialogue, and with another of those great minor-role performances from John C. McGinley (Doctor Cox in Scrubs). Then, however, it deteriorates into pretty average stuff - routine chases and love scenes. It's not as glossy as some movies, and does begin to scratch the surface of the cop undercover/buddy cop genre, but only that. It never goes deep enough. The ending is satisfyingly grim and uncertain, with again a hint towards the psychology of the two main characters. Overall, after those first thirty minutes, I felt let down and disappointed. This is a strange movie, incidentally by a rare female director (Kathryn Bigelow), and owes most of its success to its era rather than its art.

Saturday

The quote by Jean Renoir, above, seemed when I first heard it to confirm everything I ever thought. Now, however, I am beginning to doubt its consistency. When applied to some filmmakers it appears true. For example, you could say Woody Allen made one good film, Annie Hall, and has been remaking it again and again since then. We wait to see if someone like Wes Anderson can break free of The Royal Tennenbaums (I don't think he quite did with The Life Aquatic). It might seem like Kubrick broke new ground with every movie. He covered almost every major genre, but the stylistics were the same throughout. And whilst Spielberg's movies are very different throughout his career, there is a continuity of sentiment. What, then, does Renoir mean? He obviously means something beyond the simple and obvious, and this points to sentiment and stylistics. But I think there is always something else which escapes this. I think great filmmmakers, like Kubrick and Spielberg, never make the same film twice. I even think, perhaps, that Woody Allen too escapes. There is always some slippage, some fissure, which undermines the 'one film for life' principle Renoir espouses.

Friday

Is the cinema turning into the theatre? This is a random postulation since I went to the theatre last night, to see Charley's Aunt, and thus didn't see a film. What struck me is that when we go to the theatre most of the time we expect to see a 'classic' - a play that was originally written over fifty years ago. Very rarely do most people go to see a new, contemporary play. I have done it, of course, as have you, and there are a great many of them out there but many theatres aim at presenting mostly, or only, classic drama. It is a sign, perhaps, of the fading interest in theatre. Now, are there not a lot of remakes going on in cinema at the moment? Could this be compared to the predominance of classics on in theatres. Most obviously, no, not at all. The two art forms are wildly different. A remake of a film involves a lot more creative input than a re-presentation of a play, but then a play is performed everyday for a week, and normally much longer. But is it a sign that cinema is beginning to turn inwards on itself. There are filmmakers making extraordinary films, as their are similar playwrights, but what I'm talking about is general trends and impressions. Maybe your impression is entirely different? Cinema, after all, began by making almost entirely remakes of plays, then slowly expanded its creativity. You could say, the remake has been a part of Hollywood since its inception. Perhaps.

Thursday

The problem with Mike Yanagita. Is there one? I have to admit, first off, that I had not fully comprehended the dimension Alex points out. However, is the very fact that I didn't notice it important? Richard Kelly (the director of Donnie Darko) spoke on Radio 4 about Fargo and a full transcript of the interview is available here. He says "So the Mike Yanagita scene is actually really, really important on a character level. On a plot level, it’s superfluous and it’s just the Coen Bros. just being weird or self-indulgent maybe". In a way then, Alex and I agree. He was thinking of character, I of plot. But I remember in this viewing of the film thinking 'why is Marge going back to see Jerry?'. I couldn't figure out why. Now it makes sense. But is this sense far to formulaic? Is it overly contrived? My very inability to figure it out points to that conclusion, for me. It's not obvious to the audience. It alienates them. The scene with Mike seems strange and out of place. When people criticise my writing for certain things I sometimes say 'well I meant to do that', and they reply 'it doesn't matter if you meant to do it or not, it's bad'. Is this the case here? I think so. I think it is a very clever moment. Marge realises she can't trust people and so goes back to Jerry. But that is an internal reaction and we are given no indication of it. I don't think it would've taken much to give us some help here. This could've been done much better, I think.

Also, Alex asked a question which he didn't answer: 'But will the changes in her appreciation of others affect her much more over the course of her life even though everything seems the same at the end?'. I think the answer is no. I think this is the importance of the line about stamps that I mentioned. She tidies things up, but never really realises anything herself.