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Well, since you gave it a shot and persevered till the end, I just want to paraphrase what you said after I (re)watched it as I dived into the full Star Wars saga for the very first time:
What was the last film you watched?
- Thread starter Mel O'Drama
- Start date
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Well, since you gave it a shot and persevered till the end, I just want to paraphrase what you said after I (re)watched it as I dived into the full Star Wars saga for the very first time:
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My third and last assignment was A Star Is Born, an extremely popular story that has created a fanbase for each incarnation.
The mention of Judy Garland in previous comments made the choice very easy but still I had no idea what I was going to watch.
It's amazing that this very simple story, which could have been one of several plotlines in Valley Of The Dolls, doesn't outstay its impressive 3 hours running time.
Naturally, quite a bit is covered by musical numbers but these are also very watchable. The slow ballads are less enjoyable because without the cowbell and horn of, say, John Barrymore, these songs don't go anywhere (imo).
I guess it's only proper that the main attraction in A Star Is Born are the stars themselves, Judy Garland and James Mason, and I could easily have watched an additional hour of their on-screen drama.
The internet says this was sort of a comeback for Judy and I think it also has the hallmarks of a comeback: the feel of a "greatest hits" and the bravery of criticising the star's beauty flaws before she's catapulted into showbiz heaven. Demolition before the re-building, no one does that at the beginning of a career.
There's also the novelty of film being replaced with still images because some parts of the film are permanently lost.
Not only have I enjoyed this film very much, I'm curious to see what the other versions have to offer.
The mention of Judy Garland in previous comments made the choice very easy but still I had no idea what I was going to watch.
It's amazing that this very simple story, which could have been one of several plotlines in Valley Of The Dolls, doesn't outstay its impressive 3 hours running time.
Naturally, quite a bit is covered by musical numbers but these are also very watchable. The slow ballads are less enjoyable because without the cowbell and horn of, say, John Barrymore, these songs don't go anywhere (imo).
I guess it's only proper that the main attraction in A Star Is Born are the stars themselves, Judy Garland and James Mason, and I could easily have watched an additional hour of their on-screen drama.
The internet says this was sort of a comeback for Judy and I think it also has the hallmarks of a comeback: the feel of a "greatest hits" and the bravery of criticising the star's beauty flaws before she's catapulted into showbiz heaven. Demolition before the re-building, no one does that at the beginning of a career.
There's also the novelty of film being replaced with still images because some parts of the film are permanently lost.
Not only have I enjoyed this film very much, I'm curious to see what the other versions have to offer.
Last edited:
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Wallace & Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl (2024)
It's mind-boggling to think that, despite their 35 years on-screen, this is only the duo's second full-length feature.
While a new W&G film is always highly anticipated, I began watching with some trepidation knowing that this is the first proper film since Peter Sallis's death back in 2019. His voice is very distinctive, but Ben Whitehead does an admirable job of replicating his familiar tones. It's a while since I've watched any W&G, so I'm not sure if it would stand up to direct, back-to-back comparison, but the recast works perfectly in isolation. And it's certainly a far preferable solution to any lazy AI-type replication.
There are lots of familiar voices such as Peter Kay (a returnee) and series newcomers Diane Morgan and Reece Shearsmith (not that he's easily recognisable here). But it's the clay that's the star, which is why the show is well and truly stolen by two familiar non-speaking characters: Feathers McGraw and Gromit. Both are a testament to the skill of Aardman's animators, with Gromit in particular so wonderfully expressive (it's all in the eyes, eyebrows and ears) it's easy to forget he doesn't speak a word. As always, it's through his eyes that we see much of the story, and he continues to be the most intelligent, resilient and resourceful character present.
The in-jokes and visual gags are present and gave me many a little chortle. Gromit reads a book (A Bone Of One's Own, if memory serves) by Virginia Woof, and - in a gag that wouldn't work with subtitles - an announcer hands us over to a newscaster named "Anton Dec", moments before we see his name on screen.
The instalment's Achilles' heel for me is its modernity. The world of Wallace & Gromit has always felt as though it was set in the mid-Twentieth century. Nick Park has alluded to 1950s Wigan, and it's also been likened to vintage Beanotown. This instalment has (for me) noticeably more contemporary speech-patterns at times with a couple of newer expressions, and one character (the young Asian policewoman) ending a sentence with "right?" as though she's a California teen. In addition, the locale has become far more ethnically diverse. Overnight. This is a consequence of the length between instalments. It's over a decade and a half since the last proper W&G, and I feel that if watching the series back-to-back, this one would leap out as being "the one with mid-Twenties sensibilities" rather than a timeless period piece. And since timelessness is this series' main appeal, that's a shame. It's made in collaboration with Netflix, so perhaps this film has suffered from American studio interference. It later emerged that this was the case with The Curse Of The Were-Rabbit (with Dreamworks), but in spite of everything, that film still retained its timeless appeal in a way that this one doesn't.
Still, the beating Aardman heart is still here. I chortled quite a lot, which is no mean feat. There's plenty of familiarity and the vast majority of sequences work well. It may be a flawed gem, but it's still a gem. And a very rewatchable one, at that.
It's mind-boggling to think that, despite their 35 years on-screen, this is only the duo's second full-length feature.
While a new W&G film is always highly anticipated, I began watching with some trepidation knowing that this is the first proper film since Peter Sallis's death back in 2019. His voice is very distinctive, but Ben Whitehead does an admirable job of replicating his familiar tones. It's a while since I've watched any W&G, so I'm not sure if it would stand up to direct, back-to-back comparison, but the recast works perfectly in isolation. And it's certainly a far preferable solution to any lazy AI-type replication.
There are lots of familiar voices such as Peter Kay (a returnee) and series newcomers Diane Morgan and Reece Shearsmith (not that he's easily recognisable here). But it's the clay that's the star, which is why the show is well and truly stolen by two familiar non-speaking characters: Feathers McGraw and Gromit. Both are a testament to the skill of Aardman's animators, with Gromit in particular so wonderfully expressive (it's all in the eyes, eyebrows and ears) it's easy to forget he doesn't speak a word. As always, it's through his eyes that we see much of the story, and he continues to be the most intelligent, resilient and resourceful character present.
The in-jokes and visual gags are present and gave me many a little chortle. Gromit reads a book (A Bone Of One's Own, if memory serves) by Virginia Woof, and - in a gag that wouldn't work with subtitles - an announcer hands us over to a newscaster named "Anton Dec", moments before we see his name on screen.
The instalment's Achilles' heel for me is its modernity. The world of Wallace & Gromit has always felt as though it was set in the mid-Twentieth century. Nick Park has alluded to 1950s Wigan, and it's also been likened to vintage Beanotown. This instalment has (for me) noticeably more contemporary speech-patterns at times with a couple of newer expressions, and one character (the young Asian policewoman) ending a sentence with "right?" as though she's a California teen. In addition, the locale has become far more ethnically diverse. Overnight. This is a consequence of the length between instalments. It's over a decade and a half since the last proper W&G, and I feel that if watching the series back-to-back, this one would leap out as being "the one with mid-Twenties sensibilities" rather than a timeless period piece. And since timelessness is this series' main appeal, that's a shame. It's made in collaboration with Netflix, so perhaps this film has suffered from American studio interference. It later emerged that this was the case with The Curse Of The Were-Rabbit (with Dreamworks), but in spite of everything, that film still retained its timeless appeal in a way that this one doesn't.
Still, the beating Aardman heart is still here. I chortled quite a lot, which is no mean feat. There's plenty of familiarity and the vast majority of sequences work well. It may be a flawed gem, but it's still a gem. And a very rewatchable one, at that.
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I also had a quadruple helping of Raymond Briggs.
The Snowman (1982) / Father Christmas (1991) / The Bear (1998) / The Snowman and The Snowdog (2012)
I think The Bear is new to me, and I probably haven't watched Father Christmas since around the time of its original airing.
I watched in chronological order by film (but not book, since Father Christmas was published years before The Snowman) and this gratified with a few little crossovers. In The Bear, the family watched The Snowman. During The Snowman and The Snowdog, I think we spotted the broken gate at the park, damaged by the titular bear in the earlier film. Father Christmas had, of course, already appeared in The Snowman, and in his own film we see the snowman and the boy from the earlier film. I was completely on board with this crossover until some dialogue suggested that this wasn't actually the same night as seen in The Snowman, but another later date. Which took away the poignant power of The Snowman's ending.
This is, in fact, my biggest gripe with all the later films. Both Father Christmas and The Snowdog dilute The Snowman's strong ending, while The Bear recognises The Snowman as a work of fiction, and so is meta in a bad way. The Bear and The Snowdog also feel like a retelling of the same story already seen in The Snowman. The Bear does it more effectively, while The Snowdog feels like a lazy cash-in. It even has the same ending, but with a 21st Century twist that softens the blow.
But that's just being pernickety. The fact is that each of these films looks beautiful and tells a magical story that captivates. Father Christmas feels like the odd one out since it's dialogue-heavy and has more of a comical tone, but it's none the worse for it and this gives it a USP. It's incredibly refreshing not only to have him named Father Christmas ("Santa" would have sounded very alien to British ears forty years ago, and I can hear my parents drawing their breath at the Americanisation of our nation's version of Saint Nicholas), but also that he's portrayed as a grouchy old bugger, weary at the whole Christmas business which, as he says, arrives earlier each year. Mel Smith does the voice, but I did wonder as I watched if it was Warren Mitchell as he was very Alf Garnett in tone.
The Bear is a touching little film, that has a worthy ecological message. The titular polar bear has been taken from his family and placed in a zoo, and it took me back to visiting zoos when I was young and registering on some level how sad and tired the polar bears appeared in their concrete pit. Interestingly, a similar message was in last night's Wallace & Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl, where the "gag" was that Feathers McGraw's prison turned out to be a zoo.
The Snowdog might be The Snowman Redux, but there are still rewards from watching as it subtly touches on overdevelopment of precious green spaces (which is the only really interesting aspect of this film for me). In the original film, the boy lives in a house that is clearly isolated and surrounded by land and fields. The Snowdog sees a new family move into the same distinctive house, only this time it's simply one house surrounded by others on a housing development. I also liked the idea of the new boy finding the snowman's hat and scarf under the floorboards, along with a photo that prompted him to do the same thing. Somehow the main character borrowing someone else's idea went a little way towards excusing the film's creators doing the same thing. It must be said, though, that the pop music section are horribly jarring, and the diction is so poor that the lyrics are quite indistinguishable, which makes for quite an unpleasant contrast to Peter Auty's crisp, clear, traditional rendition of Walking In The Air. Adding insult to injury, thesinger affects an American accent, further detracting from the film's British charm. The Snowdog looks very nice and cosy and it's a well-made film. Really, though, it adds very little to the original.
In almost all things, it's true that the original is always best. The Snowman isn't perfect (it actually felt longer than its 26 minute running time, and could have done with being 5-10 minutes shorter in my opinion), but on reflection it certainly feels perfect. The version I watched on Channel 4's player included a live introduction from David Bowie playing a grown-up version of the boy, which I felt bad for not remembering... until I read it was shot for the American audience.
The Snowman (1982) / Father Christmas (1991) / The Bear (1998) / The Snowman and The Snowdog (2012)
I think The Bear is new to me, and I probably haven't watched Father Christmas since around the time of its original airing.
I watched in chronological order by film (but not book, since Father Christmas was published years before The Snowman) and this gratified with a few little crossovers. In The Bear, the family watched The Snowman. During The Snowman and The Snowdog, I think we spotted the broken gate at the park, damaged by the titular bear in the earlier film. Father Christmas had, of course, already appeared in The Snowman, and in his own film we see the snowman and the boy from the earlier film. I was completely on board with this crossover until some dialogue suggested that this wasn't actually the same night as seen in The Snowman, but another later date. Which took away the poignant power of The Snowman's ending.
This is, in fact, my biggest gripe with all the later films. Both Father Christmas and The Snowdog dilute The Snowman's strong ending, while The Bear recognises The Snowman as a work of fiction, and so is meta in a bad way. The Bear and The Snowdog also feel like a retelling of the same story already seen in The Snowman. The Bear does it more effectively, while The Snowdog feels like a lazy cash-in. It even has the same ending, but with a 21st Century twist that softens the blow.
But that's just being pernickety. The fact is that each of these films looks beautiful and tells a magical story that captivates. Father Christmas feels like the odd one out since it's dialogue-heavy and has more of a comical tone, but it's none the worse for it and this gives it a USP. It's incredibly refreshing not only to have him named Father Christmas ("Santa" would have sounded very alien to British ears forty years ago, and I can hear my parents drawing their breath at the Americanisation of our nation's version of Saint Nicholas), but also that he's portrayed as a grouchy old bugger, weary at the whole Christmas business which, as he says, arrives earlier each year. Mel Smith does the voice, but I did wonder as I watched if it was Warren Mitchell as he was very Alf Garnett in tone.
The Bear is a touching little film, that has a worthy ecological message. The titular polar bear has been taken from his family and placed in a zoo, and it took me back to visiting zoos when I was young and registering on some level how sad and tired the polar bears appeared in their concrete pit. Interestingly, a similar message was in last night's Wallace & Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl, where the "gag" was that Feathers McGraw's prison turned out to be a zoo.
The Snowdog might be The Snowman Redux, but there are still rewards from watching as it subtly touches on overdevelopment of precious green spaces (which is the only really interesting aspect of this film for me). In the original film, the boy lives in a house that is clearly isolated and surrounded by land and fields. The Snowdog sees a new family move into the same distinctive house, only this time it's simply one house surrounded by others on a housing development. I also liked the idea of the new boy finding the snowman's hat and scarf under the floorboards, along with a photo that prompted him to do the same thing. Somehow the main character borrowing someone else's idea went a little way towards excusing the film's creators doing the same thing. It must be said, though, that the pop music section are horribly jarring, and the diction is so poor that the lyrics are quite indistinguishable, which makes for quite an unpleasant contrast to Peter Auty's crisp, clear, traditional rendition of Walking In The Air. Adding insult to injury, thesinger affects an American accent, further detracting from the film's British charm. The Snowdog looks very nice and cosy and it's a well-made film. Really, though, it adds very little to the original.
In almost all things, it's true that the original is always best. The Snowman isn't perfect (it actually felt longer than its 26 minute running time, and could have done with being 5-10 minutes shorter in my opinion), but on reflection it certainly feels perfect. The version I watched on Channel 4's player included a live introduction from David Bowie playing a grown-up version of the boy, which I felt bad for not remembering... until I read it was shot for the American audience.
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A HAUNTING IN VENICE (2023)
No spoilers in this post.
Let's start with the good: the satisfying conclusion.
But to get there...oh boy!
Personally, I think these eventful whodunits get the best results with a healthy dose of exaggeration, humour, flamboyance and bitchiness.
Haunting does the opposite.
The characters are almost uniform in looks and performance: the serious-whispery speech delivery, hair and makeup, wardrobe, and anything else that could give a character a distinctive place in the story.
This results in a bland pap to look at, but it also affects the story because it made me realise almost from the very beginning that there would be little excitement in the big reveal because all these characters are kind of interchangeable.
You'd think that a place like Venice adds a lot of atmosphere - it doesn't.
"Going gothic" doesn't mean that darkness needs to obscure all sense of place. It happens in a big house but I couldn't see where-was-what, therefore the alibi thing doesn't work here at all.
The camera work does not help to enhance this film, in fact it's pretty bad.
I usually love strange angles but not when it happens with a lot of movement simultaneously. Presumably it is done to create a disorientating effect, but the "dis" part only works when there's a sense of orientation to begin with.
Furthermore, instead of beautiful mise en scène full-room shots almost all dialogue is shot in close-up. I love to watch actors who are not the focus in a scene to stay in character, but there's none of that here.
If the film had a score then I haven't noticed it.
I find A Haunting In Venice shockingly bad.
The only interesting thing that happens has more to do with this forum. Marley Drama was thinking of Gone With The Wind while I was watching it.
This film mentions Meet Me In St. Louis and the Trolley Song, and for a very short moment I was seriously entertained.
No spoilers in this post.
Let's start with the good: the satisfying conclusion.
But to get there...oh boy!
Personally, I think these eventful whodunits get the best results with a healthy dose of exaggeration, humour, flamboyance and bitchiness.
Haunting does the opposite.
The characters are almost uniform in looks and performance: the serious-whispery speech delivery, hair and makeup, wardrobe, and anything else that could give a character a distinctive place in the story.
This results in a bland pap to look at, but it also affects the story because it made me realise almost from the very beginning that there would be little excitement in the big reveal because all these characters are kind of interchangeable.
You'd think that a place like Venice adds a lot of atmosphere - it doesn't.
"Going gothic" doesn't mean that darkness needs to obscure all sense of place. It happens in a big house but I couldn't see where-was-what, therefore the alibi thing doesn't work here at all.
The camera work does not help to enhance this film, in fact it's pretty bad.
I usually love strange angles but not when it happens with a lot of movement simultaneously. Presumably it is done to create a disorientating effect, but the "dis" part only works when there's a sense of orientation to begin with.
Furthermore, instead of beautiful mise en scène full-room shots almost all dialogue is shot in close-up. I love to watch actors who are not the focus in a scene to stay in character, but there's none of that here.
If the film had a score then I haven't noticed it.
I find A Haunting In Venice shockingly bad.
The only interesting thing that happens has more to do with this forum. Marley Drama was thinking of Gone With The Wind while I was watching it.
This film mentions Meet Me In St. Louis and the Trolley Song, and for a very short moment I was seriously entertained.
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This could be a new criterion for film enjoyment: how does it connect to the forum? Or Six Degrees Of Telly Talk.
From the sound of it, the only thing spooky about the film was this coincidence.
- Awards
- 27
INSIDE MAN (2006)
All the star power that was sorely lacking in A Hauning In Venice (still hating it) is ensembled in this peculiar heist/hostage movie.
Denzel Washington, Jodie Foster, Christopher Plummer, Willem Dafoe - and Clive Owen but I didn't recognise him. According to his IMDB profile he's been in everything I've never watched.
The narrative is constructed in an intricately way with flashforwards and stuff and this gives the viewer some reveals about the outcome and at the same time it raises some doubts.
The story isn't that great and the police procedures look downright bizarre, but they've managed to make it look good on film. And sometimes that's the only thing that matters.
All the star power that was sorely lacking in A Hauning In Venice (still hating it) is ensembled in this peculiar heist/hostage movie.
Denzel Washington, Jodie Foster, Christopher Plummer, Willem Dafoe - and Clive Owen but I didn't recognise him. According to his IMDB profile he's been in everything I've never watched.
The narrative is constructed in an intricately way with flashforwards and stuff and this gives the viewer some reveals about the outcome and at the same time it raises some doubts.
The story isn't that great and the police procedures look downright bizarre, but they've managed to make it look good on film. And sometimes that's the only thing that matters.
- Awards
- 5
My favourite quote of the week.
- Awards
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Yesterdays matinée was:
Ethel & Ernest (2016)
I was unaware this film existed until shortly before watching. Off the back of the four Raymond Briggs shorts I watched the day before yesterday I'd did a little searching to see if there were any other films of his material. This one stood out firstly for being the only feature-length film, secondly for being based on a graphic novel rather than a book, and finally for being biographical (well, autobiographical really, since we learn a lot about Raymond himself and he is a character in it).
As Briggs himself explains in his introduction to the film:
Ethel & Ernest (2016)
I was unaware this film existed until shortly before watching. Off the back of the four Raymond Briggs shorts I watched the day before yesterday I'd did a little searching to see if there were any other films of his material. This one stood out firstly for being the only feature-length film, secondly for being based on a graphic novel rather than a book, and finally for being biographical (well, autobiographical really, since we learn a lot about Raymond himself and he is a character in it).
As Briggs himself explains in his introduction to the film:
Raymond Briggs said:
This is exactly why the film is so wonderful. It's simple and it's very human. You could call it kitchen sink drama, or soap opera, but it only has these elements because such is life. Ethel and Ernest met in 1928 in a sequence that reminded me of Upstairs, Downstairs (Ethel was a lady's maid), before living through the Second World War in observational scenes which made me think of Victoria Wood's portrayal of Nella Last in Housewife, 49. There's a great sequence of a doodlebug attack on the very allotments where Ernest and Raymond are spending father/son time, and what really grabbed me was the silence as the doodlebug glided immediately overhead before hitting the ground. This was used to good effect in another scene shortly afterwards, where just hearing the sound cut out, we knew another was about to land.
We see Raymond evacuated to Dorset. His parents' horrified reactions to him dropping out of grammar school to become an art student. Then comes his National Service. And his wife...
The film perfectly captures the changing eras. The wartime announcements. Television. The Telephone. Motor cars. The freer Sixties. Along with that comes ageing with its ailments and the realisation that life is short.
There's something very factual about the film that means there's never any question of indulgence on the part of the author. He is simply telling a truthful story. That lack of manipulation is exactly why it carries such power. I came away realising that Raymond himself had quite a tragic life in many ways (and some of this only became really clear after reading up on his life, and particularly his first marriage).
Ultimately, its humanity is what makes this film very touching. It helps that it looks beautiful, is nicely performed (Brenda Blethyn and Jim Broadbent are always reliable and note-perfect) and has a very nice score. It would take a very hard heart not to be moved by the story of this ordinary couple simply living a life and doing the best they can.
It's up there with the best of the films I've watched this year.
- Awards
- 20
Easter Parade is one of my traditions. I should find the time to bookend it with this one at Christmas.
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And the evening film was...
Appointment With Death (1988)
Since I remember owning a boxset of Ustinov's Poirot films I feel reasonably sure I've watched this before. Typically, I can't remember watching it at all. Blessed as I am with a terrible memory for films, I can endlessly re-watch and re-read most Agatha Christie mysteries without knowing whodunnit (for obvious reasons, Murder On The Orient Express is the main exception, though it's still nothing but enjoyable to re-watch).
Poirot seems to be a character who translates to American adaptions far better than others (unlike poor Jane Marple). I'm sure the globe-trotting nature helps, and this one looks wonderfully glossy and expansive. As always in these films, the cast helps, packed to the rafters as it is with big names. At this point, David Suchet is so indelibly associated with the role it's always a little strange to see anyone else playing Hercule Poirot. Ustinov's portrayal loses a lot of the character's preciseness and quirkiness, but is so easy and enjoyable to watch that it's no hardship to simply view this as a non-canon, alternative universe adventure.
There's really little to say about this. It does exactly what is required and it does so in an accessible and charming way.
Incidentally, the poster is very spoiler-ish.
Appointment With Death (1988)
Since I remember owning a boxset of Ustinov's Poirot films I feel reasonably sure I've watched this before. Typically, I can't remember watching it at all. Blessed as I am with a terrible memory for films, I can endlessly re-watch and re-read most Agatha Christie mysteries without knowing whodunnit (for obvious reasons, Murder On The Orient Express is the main exception, though it's still nothing but enjoyable to re-watch).
Poirot seems to be a character who translates to American adaptions far better than others (unlike poor Jane Marple). I'm sure the globe-trotting nature helps, and this one looks wonderfully glossy and expansive. As always in these films, the cast helps, packed to the rafters as it is with big names. At this point, David Suchet is so indelibly associated with the role it's always a little strange to see anyone else playing Hercule Poirot. Ustinov's portrayal loses a lot of the character's preciseness and quirkiness, but is so easy and enjoyable to watch that it's no hardship to simply view this as a non-canon, alternative universe adventure.
There's really little to say about this. It does exactly what is required and it does so in an accessible and charming way.
Incidentally, the poster is very spoiler-ish.
- Awards
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That's good to know because there have been moments I wanted to watch it and then bailed out because of the many negative reviews, and also because it was made in 1988 instead of 1978 or any year from the gloriously cinematic 1970s. Even Evil Under The Sun felt a bit like a step down although I think the murder mystery itself is better than the one from Death On The Nile.
Either way, it's back on my to-watch list and this time nothing's going to stop me.
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Oh, was it poorly received? I thought it was fine, in a non-challenging kind of way (but I wasn't expecting art, mind you).
Until I looked up afterwards I hadn't realised it was filmed so late in the Eighties. When watching I'd mentally placed it somewhere around 1980 or 81.
I don't know whether or not you'll like it, but I can promise that it will provide a welcome contrast to many of the things you didn't enjoy in the Kenneth Branagh film, like the darkness and the nauseating camera movements.
And it will tick off an item or two from your murder-mystery wishlist. Like this one:
- Awards
- 44
The Last Bus (2021)
From the art and the brief description I read, this struck me as something heartwarming, British and intimate. And it ticked all three boxes.
Some of the story is told in flashback throughout, but there are no real revelations because the audience mentally puts the pieces together long before they're even given to us. Still, that predictability only adds to the cosy familiarity of this film.
It serves as a kind of love letter to Britain: its regions and its people, but it's not a picture postcard. Despite passing some landmarks, much of the time the character's bus journey takes him into areas that are unloved and a bit scary. But he finds the best of human nature in the little kindnesses shown, and that's what really resonates.
The only element I didn't care for were the vocal tracks, sung by a young woman in the currently-trendy worldly-but-weary, omniscient-but-drowsy ickle-girl voice that makes me think of John Lewis Christmas adverts. They weren't a good fit for any of the stories told here, and threatened to take me out of the film.
There are some nice performances throughout (even Sandra from Brookside shows up at one point). None less so than Timothy Spall who brings a frailty to the lead character that is almost frightening. So increasingly confused and unsteady was he that I found myself on edge, hoping he wouldn't hurt himself. There's a desperation that drives this and makes it feel all the more important.
It's not a great or a classic, but it's certainly a sweet little film. And at a nicely brisk 85 minutes, it never outstays its welcome.
From the art and the brief description I read, this struck me as something heartwarming, British and intimate. And it ticked all three boxes.
Some of the story is told in flashback throughout, but there are no real revelations because the audience mentally puts the pieces together long before they're even given to us. Still, that predictability only adds to the cosy familiarity of this film.
It serves as a kind of love letter to Britain: its regions and its people, but it's not a picture postcard. Despite passing some landmarks, much of the time the character's bus journey takes him into areas that are unloved and a bit scary. But he finds the best of human nature in the little kindnesses shown, and that's what really resonates.
The only element I didn't care for were the vocal tracks, sung by a young woman in the currently-trendy worldly-but-weary, omniscient-but-drowsy ickle-girl voice that makes me think of John Lewis Christmas adverts. They weren't a good fit for any of the stories told here, and threatened to take me out of the film.
There are some nice performances throughout (even Sandra from Brookside shows up at one point). None less so than Timothy Spall who brings a frailty to the lead character that is almost frightening. So increasingly confused and unsteady was he that I found myself on edge, hoping he wouldn't hurt himself. There's a desperation that drives this and makes it feel all the more important.
It's not a great or a classic, but it's certainly a sweet little film. And at a nicely brisk 85 minutes, it never outstays its welcome.
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- 27
I liked it, especially because I had not expected to see a true villainess in a bookshop story.
- Awards
- 44
Brief Encounter (1945)
The jury is out on whether or not I've watched this before. I thought not - and there's no evidence to suggest otherwise in either this thread or the Nöel Coward one - but my partner is convinced we've previously watched it together ( back in 2017 we did watch the Tonight At 8:30 version with Joan Collins donning a grey wig and thick glasses to play the café owner, so perhaps it's all getting mixed up).
Having watched, I'm still feeling uncertain about having previously seen it. There is much that feels familiar but such is the case with Coward's work where rhythms and speech patterns and all that stiff upper lipped stuff recurs, and of course this particular film is so very well-known that one doesn't need to have watched it to recognise certain imagery, especially when it's been homaged (and lampooned) again and again.
I suppose the subject matter is rather risqué for 1945 (and no less so for the mid-Thirties when the play was first performed), but this is Coward's forte, and there's something almost comforting about it. The way the story is told, too, strikes me as quite innovative for the time. We begin almost at the end, and not only is the story in flashback, the narration is also essentially an inner soliloquy, as Laura thinks the confession she doesn't have the courage to say out loud to her husband.
Naturally, it's very poetic. Coward's trademark wit is quite restrained here (until it comes to the eccentric supporting players, that is, where there are some familiar-ish faces), but there's no lack of his human observation. Coward captures well how people operate, with juxtapositions between the visuals and what Laura is saying (more often than not "I didn't give it another thought") to create ambiguity around her assessment of the situation. Is she truly in denial of her own part in beginning and continuing the affair, or is she reframing things for her "confession" to convince her husband that she was a poor, naïve victim, pursued by a lecherous wolf? The latter is more likely, but even then there would be doubt around her full reasoning for doing so. Would it be (as she suggests) to spare her husband's feelings, or is it simply to absolve her of responsibility? I have my own ideas, but it's somewhat open to interpretation.
The use of Rachmaninoff throughout is wonderful, though at times I found myself distracted, with the Moderato section (Movement I) making me think of The Seven Year Itch (its use in that film becoming clear to me from Brief Encounter), and the Adagio section Movement II constantly reminding me of Eric Carmen's All By Myself (listening to it here, I realise just how much of it Carmen used). And how plebeian both those associations make me feel.
The film looks great. There are nice shots of Regents Park and Buckinghamshire high streets doubling for Kent, and the indoor sets are great too, but the best scenes are those filmed outdoors at Carnforth Station for night shoots where the brickwork in the darkened underpass or the steam adding an almost gothic edge to the shadowy aesthetics create such atmosphere. The fashions are lovely: this is from a time when people still wore natty hats and got dressed up to leave the house (and sometimes to stay in it). And it's nice to be privy to the people-watching at the station from a time before everyone was glued to electronic devices. The traditional British (mis?)pronunciation of Nestlé made me a little nostalgic, as well. It's more than just a period piece, though. In all the right ways it felt quite contemporary.
The jury is out on whether or not I've watched this before. I thought not - and there's no evidence to suggest otherwise in either this thread or the Nöel Coward one - but my partner is convinced we've previously watched it together ( back in 2017 we did watch the Tonight At 8:30 version with Joan Collins donning a grey wig and thick glasses to play the café owner, so perhaps it's all getting mixed up).
Having watched, I'm still feeling uncertain about having previously seen it. There is much that feels familiar but such is the case with Coward's work where rhythms and speech patterns and all that stiff upper lipped stuff recurs, and of course this particular film is so very well-known that one doesn't need to have watched it to recognise certain imagery, especially when it's been homaged (and lampooned) again and again.
I suppose the subject matter is rather risqué for 1945 (and no less so for the mid-Thirties when the play was first performed), but this is Coward's forte, and there's something almost comforting about it. The way the story is told, too, strikes me as quite innovative for the time. We begin almost at the end, and not only is the story in flashback, the narration is also essentially an inner soliloquy, as Laura thinks the confession she doesn't have the courage to say out loud to her husband.
Naturally, it's very poetic. Coward's trademark wit is quite restrained here (until it comes to the eccentric supporting players, that is, where there are some familiar-ish faces), but there's no lack of his human observation. Coward captures well how people operate, with juxtapositions between the visuals and what Laura is saying (more often than not "I didn't give it another thought") to create ambiguity around her assessment of the situation. Is she truly in denial of her own part in beginning and continuing the affair, or is she reframing things for her "confession" to convince her husband that she was a poor, naïve victim, pursued by a lecherous wolf? The latter is more likely, but even then there would be doubt around her full reasoning for doing so. Would it be (as she suggests) to spare her husband's feelings, or is it simply to absolve her of responsibility? I have my own ideas, but it's somewhat open to interpretation.
The use of Rachmaninoff throughout is wonderful, though at times I found myself distracted, with the Moderato section (Movement I) making me think of The Seven Year Itch (its use in that film becoming clear to me from Brief Encounter), and the Adagio section Movement II constantly reminding me of Eric Carmen's All By Myself (listening to it here, I realise just how much of it Carmen used). And how plebeian both those associations make me feel.
The film looks great. There are nice shots of Regents Park and Buckinghamshire high streets doubling for Kent, and the indoor sets are great too, but the best scenes are those filmed outdoors at Carnforth Station for night shoots where the brickwork in the darkened underpass or the steam adding an almost gothic edge to the shadowy aesthetics create such atmosphere. The fashions are lovely: this is from a time when people still wore natty hats and got dressed up to leave the house (and sometimes to stay in it). And it's nice to be privy to the people-watching at the station from a time before everyone was glued to electronic devices. The traditional British (mis?)pronunciation of Nestlé made me a little nostalgic, as well. It's more than just a period piece, though. In all the right ways it felt quite contemporary.
- Awards
- 44
The Steamie (1988)
This is one I hadn't heard of, so clearly slipped by me back in 1988. Since I'm not in Scotland, perhaps it wasn't even shown in my area. Even last night I watched it on the STV app, but there's no sign of it on the national ITV site.
This one grabbed me partly because it's been featured on the STV home page, and it's easy to see why since it's set on Hogmanay 1950. The period setting of the image grabbed me , and I was also intrigued to see Eileen McCallum present, since she's perhaps Take The High Road's most familiar face (being on the series beginning to end as she was).
I think I expected something quite whimsical and nostalgic and, while there is a little vein of both, whimsy isn't the film's main characteristic. It's not as fuzzy as I'd expected, but it does have a forthright, direct Glaswegian charm.
I must confess the accents meant I had to listen carefully to the dialogue, and I'm sure there were still a couple of lines and references that went over my head. It also was a slow-burner, being a dialogue-heavy piece in which nothing out of the ordinary happened. But it's good dialogue, and I enjoyed the fact that I could still feel its origins as a stage play. And once eased into the rhythms of the piece, it all started working. The standout scene for me - the one that made me laugh the most - was actually a really drawn out scene in which the same story was told (badly) several times while other characters became more perplexed and annoyed.
Surprisingly, the film's tone reminded me somewhat of Prisoner (as in Cell Block H, not The Village) This was due was the drab, laundry setting, the abundance of strong character actresses and the repartee which reminded me of the banter between the prisoners as they worked. And once seen I couldn't unsee it. There's also more than a little Victoria Wood in there, if I think of her early films such as Talent. Like those vehicles, this one occasionally cut to the occasional song, and even a couple of monologues. This one was a cracker:
This is one I hadn't heard of, so clearly slipped by me back in 1988. Since I'm not in Scotland, perhaps it wasn't even shown in my area. Even last night I watched it on the STV app, but there's no sign of it on the national ITV site.
This one grabbed me partly because it's been featured on the STV home page, and it's easy to see why since it's set on Hogmanay 1950. The period setting of the image grabbed me , and I was also intrigued to see Eileen McCallum present, since she's perhaps Take The High Road's most familiar face (being on the series beginning to end as she was).
I think I expected something quite whimsical and nostalgic and, while there is a little vein of both, whimsy isn't the film's main characteristic. It's not as fuzzy as I'd expected, but it does have a forthright, direct Glaswegian charm.
I must confess the accents meant I had to listen carefully to the dialogue, and I'm sure there were still a couple of lines and references that went over my head. It also was a slow-burner, being a dialogue-heavy piece in which nothing out of the ordinary happened. But it's good dialogue, and I enjoyed the fact that I could still feel its origins as a stage play. And once eased into the rhythms of the piece, it all started working. The standout scene for me - the one that made me laugh the most - was actually a really drawn out scene in which the same story was told (badly) several times while other characters became more perplexed and annoyed.
Surprisingly, the film's tone reminded me somewhat of Prisoner (as in Cell Block H, not The Village) This was due was the drab, laundry setting, the abundance of strong character actresses and the repartee which reminded me of the banter between the prisoners as they worked. And once seen I couldn't unsee it. There's also more than a little Victoria Wood in there, if I think of her early films such as Talent. Like those vehicles, this one occasionally cut to the occasional song, and even a couple of monologues. This one was a cracker:
- Awards
- 9
The original GLADIATOR ranks high among my favorite films, so perhaps it's inevitable that the long-delayed sequel would disappoint. I was prepared for mediocrity, but not a chaotic bore. The lead actor here is so dull I found myself forgetting about him even while he was on screen. I realized I was mindlessly turning the volume down lower and lower as I was paying less and less attention, until I turned it off at about the 75% mark.
- Awards
- 27