Marital Arts Madness: A Buried Genre Unearthed

Turn your minds back to the 1970s for one second. The film zeitgeist has evolved into something so perpendicular to everything that had come before it. Studios were taking a more cost-effective approach, leading to the rise of indie film makers and foreign ventures gaining a more worldwide attention. And one part of the world that benefitted from such a societal shift was that of East Asia.

It’s humorous to think of now, what with Japanese and South Korean media having become quite normalised in Western society. But it was the films of China, Hong Kong and Taiwan that had taken the world by storm back then, back when the film output of said countries were so overlooked. The genre that exploded onto the scene was that of the martial arts and kung fu niche. Bruce Lee heralded this era with his tendency to mix real-life fighting with acting, ingraining East Asia’s pride into the arts as it had been for decades before, now told to those so oblivious.

My own knowledge of the genre has been rather miniscule. I was inspired to write an article on my recent experience with these once-normalised films after watching the kung fu comedy Half a Loaf of Kung Fu. The film isn’t exactly a shining example of the genre, but it it did leave me lamenting how films like this appear to have faded away into obscurity as they once were. Even Quentin Tarantino’s homage Kill Bill is more than twenty years old, being the last seamless replication of the era.

So, with this article I wanted to highlight just a handful of films that were spurred by this casual, sudden thought. This is less a guide to the world of kung fu films, and more a chronicle of one man’s journey through his hardly-treaded regions. I wanted to go with more obscure choices, so no Enter the Dragon or Police Story. These aren’t all winners: some are, in this humble writer’s opinion, quintessential viewing, some are pretty awful, and some are a little more…we’ll say, adventurous. Enjoy my little ka-powwow.

The Good

Before the kung fu craze of the seventies had hit, the Shaw brothers had crafted a film company dedicated to making some of the greatest martial arts outputs. It was the sixties where they truly came to explode onto the scene, and one of their most prominent works was 1966’s Come Drink with Me. A film that broke tradition and dared to place a strong female into the role typically reserved for men.

Saying this, Pei-Pei Cheng’s Chang Hsuan-yen is not exactly the main character. It starts out with an immediate kidnapping, that of Hsuan-yen’s brother. The lone female warrior poses as a man, fending off any attempt on her life. She eventually runs into the drunkard Fan Ta-p’i (Hua Yueh), whom has his own quarrels with the criminal organisation that kidnapped Hsuan-yen’s brother. Though seemingly led by Ting Chung-yu (Hung-Lieh Chen), this shadowy organisation has a much stronger master behind it who shares a past with our drunken warrior.

Far from being my first foray into the genre, Come Drink with Me did manage to garner some perspective on what the genre entails. What you have here are actors who are not only dedicating themselves to the artform of performance, but also those of whom are blending their naturally-learnt kung fu skills into something symbiotic. This film, and all others going forward, is at its best when the action takes over and the performers become one with the combat. Brutality intervenes with bloody repercussions that aren’t gratuitous and rather serve to highlight just how intense the action is.

What struck me as most exciting was how director King Hu pushed a woman to the forefront. Many, many years before Hollywood clamoured for representation, King had found a way to make such a thing feel natural and empowering. Couple that with the time-honoured tradition of a drunken fool revealed to be a secret master of the fist, and you get this unique blend of deconstructed stereotypes. This, put up against memorable villains and even more memorable stunt work, and you have a film that need not be enjoyed only by those who love the genre, but by everyone.

Come Drink with Me is simple in so many ways, as are all the films that make up this article. But there’s a memorability here that is cast in a blanket of cathartic action that very few films today could replicate. One could speak of how Bruce Lee truly inspired the genre, but that would be better saved for another day, another article.

To continue on this path, the Shaw brothers gave us a slew of iconic kung fu films. I, being that one person that thinks it better to find the more obscure choices, went for Chen Chang’s 1980 film The Flag of Iron. Brothers is more than an apt word to use for this film, as the director explores the meaning of brotherhood, even that of unrelated kinship.

We are introduced to a clan that watches over the village they live in. Dealing with a plague of gambling and prostitution, two of the ‘brothers’, Tsao Feng (Feng Lu) and Yun Liang (Sheng Chiang) put a stop to the debauchery. But this upsets rival clans, causing their master to be assassinated. The eldest ‘brother’ Lo Hsin (Phillip Chung-Fung Wok) takes the throne, while Tsao Feng feels responsible for not stopping the assassination and exiles himself. Time moves on, but Tsao Feng finds that he isn’t able to live a life of isolation for long, having to deal with assassins. Yun Liang informs him that their eldest brother has brought back the illegal businesses, and a white clad assassin offers aid in usurping their former brother.

Familial vengeance is a running theme in these types of films, even when the characters aren’t truly related. China has always believed in this idea of respect and upholding tradition. Damaging as the effects have been in modern society, there is something admirable about that dedication. This is what makes the journey of our lead so endearing. Mix that in with these feelings of regret and low self-esteem, and you suddenly have this shockingly investigative tale of honour and pride.

As was said with the previous film, you’re mainly here for the action. All of this emotional weight is well and good, but we need to see people being brutally killed in intense and satisfying ways. Chang wastes no time on this front, practically throwing assassins onto the screen and letting them die in creatively obtuse ways-ever expect an abacus to be used as a weapon? It’s given a more realistic flourish by how all of the actors seen here came from a troupe of performers, ones that utilised both kung fu and acrobatics in their routines. There’s no movie magic here, the flips and leaping are all naturally honed.

Without spoiling the ending, you’ll find the journey satisfyingly wrapped up. Something that bares mentioning is how these types of films are typically packed with exciting and intense climaxes. It also serves as an opportunity for more creative clashes. I promise you that you’ll be more than satisfied. Never more has a flag carried so much power.

Both film I’ve mentioned so far have been prime examples of how the genre can be done right. But this Asian equivalent to the big action movies of the Western world also come with more than their fair share of duds…

The Bad

At the start I mentioned one particular film that inspired me to write such an article. See, I’m not too privy to the earlier works of Jackie Chan. His output for my-Millennial-generation comes from the Western kung fu comedies like Rush Hour and the obscure cartoon show Jackie Chan Adventures. Chi-Hwa Chen’s Half a Loaf of Kung Fu from 1978, was chosen purely at random. I had guessed that this would be more comical compared to Chan’s other works; I wasn’t expecting it to be as bad as it was.

Chan plays a buffoon of a man whose kung fu skills are subpar, to say the least. This ‘Jiang’ as he is named just so happens to come upon a fierce battle where a man known as the ‘Whip King’ is able to kill a criminal, only to be subdued himself. Jiang decides to take the whip for himself and is incorrectly labelled as the true Whip King-not that he protests. He eventually finds himself in the company of a genuine kung fu master who offers to train him in the way of useful skills, but most of Jiang’s victories are by pure coincidence. Jiang now faces the various clans that once went for the real Whip King, and must protect the household that has taken him in.

Calling this bad may not be entirely true. It certainly suffers from cringe-inducing humour and the easy fall-back of making silly faces, but there is much to enjoy. Even when purposely holding back for the sake of the character’s abilities, Jackie Chan still brings his all, carefully telegraphing each punch and kick so that it only hits went the script demands it. To be a talented and competent fighter is a huge accomplishment, but it takes true skill to hold yourself back to the point of mild skill. And when we do see Chan unleash his natural abilities, it’s as satisfying to watch as you might expect.

But all this balletic choreography is overshadowed by a weak sense of humour and a plot that forgets to set itself up properly. Before you even realise what’s going on, Jiang is suddenly on this path towards fighting a great evil and his various henchman, all with their own gimmick. The first half is entirely nonsensical, with events happening with little to no reason. The second half is overstuffed with characters and attempts at jokes, some crude, some that only a small child will find amusing. All this with a wacky soundtrack and even wackier sound effects. I really can’t fathom what this movie wants to be.

This isn’t something I’m going to recommend, even from a more comedic point of view. I sometimes wonder if this is simply down to cultural differences and our own penchant for what constitutes comedy, or perhaps it’s the change in time. Whatever the case, it’s not my basis for future Chan-ventures. But enough bashing one legendary actor: time for another.

I don’t think it’s too bold to say that Jet Li is somewhat of a poor man’s Jackie Chan. Of course, he has managed to craft an identity of his own, but much of his success came from the explosion of Jackie Chan’s Western popularity. Apparently Tsui Hark, who had more than a great share of successes, decided to capitalise off this phenomenon with the 1992 film The Master. A name that certainly sounds generic-especially next to the other titles I’ve mentioned-but has a fair weight to it.

Jet Li plays…Jet, a Chinese student who travelled to the States to find his master Tak (Wah Yuen). Problem is that Tak’s herbal shop, which he runs after having retired as a martial artist, is attacked by an American practitioner of the same kung fu. Johnny (Jerry Trimble) is intent on ending Tak’s life, but the former master has found refuge in the home of a young martial arts student Anna (Anne Rickets). The Chinese tourist looks for his master, is almost robbed by a group of Latinos, who want to be trained by him, and tries to stop his master’s store from being closed. All the while, he must take down the villainous Johnny.

The plot synopsis screams B-movie shlock. I wouldn’t blame you for thinking so; that’s exactly what it is. Given the predatory nature of this film’s inception, the way it shamelessly reaps away elements of Jackie Chan’s more successful films throws this into knockoff territory. There isn’t much to it that other B-movie kung fu flicks of the time didn’t already have. But there is a shockingly layered subtext to this that is only made so by how ‘cheap’ a lot of this feels.

Tsui Hark had a great reputation at this point in his career with films like Peking Opera Blues and Once Upon a Time in China. So there is a certain auteur aspect to him that gives him credit above other directors I’ve mentioned. This film perpetuates a point about how foreigners feel in America, and not just the Asian community. Frequently throughout the film, Asian characters acknowledge the struggle of fitting into the American mould. There’s criticisms of how America has commercialised East Asian martial arts. We even get some not-so-subtle imagery of how Latino people struggle to co-exist. This is not to say that the subtext is particularly good, but the effort is commendable.

The story is by and far the weakest aspect the film has to it. The action is what maintains the film. Li’s punches and kicks are encouraged by a some of the most satisfying sound effects. Barely any wirework was used, allowing the natural agility of the actors to speak for itself. Unlike other films that I’ve mentioned, it’s very much a one-man show. There are plenty of characters and tons of action to go around. But it’s Jet Li that takes over completely. It distracts from the paper-thin plot and uncomfortable stereotypes that contradict so much of the message.

This one comes under pretty forgettable territory. There’s not a lot that The Master does that couldn’t be done elsewhere. If you want a cheesy, serviceable kung fu movie then I’m sure there are worse choices. It feels wrong to harken on Li when I know he can do so much more. That nicely leads me to…

The Weird

I sat in deep concentration over what constituted weird. The kung fu genre has been laden with fantastical and mystical entries that go far above the standard, choregraphed fights mixed with the overbearing presence of gangs and sects. The films that go above this add a weightlessness-quite literally-to the action; films like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and even John Carpenter’s homage Big Trouble in Little China. But one is too obvious and the other is merely inspired. That’s where Zhang Yimou’s 2002 film Hero comes in.

Hero is not too dissimilar from Akira Kurosawa’s classic Rashomon. We meet a nameless warrior (Jet Li), who recounts his story of how he brought an end to the three warriors that make up the regions of Ancient China. The story is not so straightforward, as the hero speaks of the event from three different perspectives. Each carry the same characters, with the hero meeting Broken Sword (Tony Leung Chiu-wai), a warrior that chooses to end his battles through affection, and Flying Snow (Maggie Cheung), his star-crossed lover that cares more for vengeance and bloodshed. Moon (Ziyi Zhang), has fallen for Broken Sword, doomed to live a tragic third-wheel existence. Then there is Sky (Donnie Yen), whom marks the end of our hero’s journey.

If the names of the characters aren’t enough to clue you in on the film’s more fantastical approach, the mythology-soaked subtext will. Each story, all from the perspective of different characters, provides a different outlook on how important war really is. Given that China was founded off the backs of fallen soldiers, Yimou’s perspective has been bred through his own teachings. Amidst the flashy kung fu moves and literal flying manoeuvres, there’s quite a nuanced view of the world’s need for conflict.

That non-linear structure is what gives the film its identity. The three stories become progressively more subdued, but the characters remain the same. We see a deadly war full of betrayal and bloodshed, a singular tale of revenge vs benevolence, and a battle of love overcoming anger. Each retelling has the same heartache. There’s something so beautiful about a film that offers all sides of the argument without skewing from the idea of affection.

Again, it was difficult to call this weird. But with its unusual structure and tendency for characters to take flight and run on water, the word is quite appropriate. The action is still exhilarating, but there’s a subtlety to it you won’t see in the other films I’ve mentioned. As much as Li is the main character, it’s Leung and Cheung that elevate the film into being something truly masterful. It’s probably the only film on this list that will make you step back and look at your own morals and ponder the opposite side of things.

This is all well and good, but you’re really here for a truly weird film, right? Do I have the film for you.

In 1987, Masahiko Takajo created a manga by the name of Riki-Oh. Like most Japanese manga, this comic was known for its graphic nature and ridiculous premise. Apparently, an independent film company in Hong Kong was bold enough to try their hand at a live action adaptation. In 1991, we received Ricky-Oh: The Story of Ricky, directed by Ngai Choi Lam. If you were expecting a more grounded take, given how difficult it can be to directly adapt such wild material into live action, you’d be sorely mistaken. Ricky-Oh is everything you could want it to be.

The titular Ricky (Siu-Wong Fan) is sent to prison for killing the men responsible for the death of his girlfriend. It doesn’t take long for Ricky to cause some havoc, as the abusive prison guards try to attack Ricky, only to find he has a near-indestructability. While there, Ricky finds that all the prison guards, as well as the warden (Ka-Kui Ho) are completely corrupt, killing prisoners and allowing the more violent ones to run amok. Ricky no longer stands for this, and takes it upon himself to put an end to these violent sycophants.

Ricky-Oh is a treat like no other. For those avid readers, you may be disappointed to see the film make use of a more liminal space than the more open-world nature of the manga. Somewhat like the manga, however, there is a near-post-apocalyptic setting. The budgetary constraint of having this set in a single location honestly aids it. We get a playground of bloody, gory fun that is sure to satisfy the masochists out there.

I make no exaggeration when I say this film is gory. Pulling in the most degraded of violence from the manga, we get pools and pools of death, some seeming like they were ripped out of a Saw film, just with a far more comical feel. The main character is this superhero-like figure that can take more than his fair share of stabs to the stomach, and it’s all loosely explained away by a single flashback of him being trained. But you need to throw logic out the window, because it hardly matters. You’re here for the insanity, and to expect anything more is foolish.

The story is something you shouldn’t spend too much time worrying about. The more dramatic and emotional moments often reach an underwhelming thud, often strewn with misplaced sentiment. The reason for why Ricky is there hardly matters and anything else that happens is all in service to the chaos that is the fight sequences. Paper mache heads and rubber body parts are aplenty, given the charm that can only be achieved by a low budget.

And that was my shortened, abridged journey through the world of kung fu films. In time, I’m going to watch many more-possibly returning to make a second part-as I feel there’s untapped potential for more interesting writings. But for now, I walk away with a more insightful idea of what made this genre so once beloved.

It is a shame that this genre doesn’t quite have the grab it once did on Western culture. Films like John Wick and The Raid certainly have their audience, but these are splayed across various years instead of the barrage that once dominated the seventies and eighties. I have plans to further explore one particular martial artist, a certain dragon with a fiery fist of fury. But that is a story for another day.

Written by Conor Johnson.

My All-Time (20) Favourite Movies: 200th Special

It’s here! After almost five years (ignoring my failed attempt at starting a film blog in 2015) of writing articles, film reviews and other little ventures that didn’t quite pan out, I’ve reached my two-hundredth written article-just as long as we only include the articles situated on this particular blog.

Typically, whenever I’ve reached a fiftieth article milestone, I like to revisit a Tim Burton film, following in the vein of my first 2019 review, Ed Wood. I had a very different approach to revisiting older films when I started this, trying to find a balance of obscurities and beloved classics. But I’ve evolved quite a bit since then, preferring the hidden gems that lie beneath the crust of the casual moviegoer. But I still wanted to do something special for this landmark article; everybody enjoys a list.

Listed here are the twenty movies I consider to be my favourite films of all time. These are the films that managed to either strike a particular chord with me or are so closely linked to a personal experience or mentality that I can’t compare it to any other. Some of these I simply enjoy for just how thoroughly entertaining and rewatchable they are. My personal picks can change from time to time, but this is about as concrete as I can get. From lowest to highest, this is my top twenty films of all time.

20. Taste of Cherry (1997)

We’re starting off on a very grim tone here with Abbas Kiarostami’s Iranian gem. My experience with South Asian cinema is very minimal, but the allure of Taste of Cherry is something that breaks barriers.

With the film being centred around a man (Homayoun Ershadi) ready to commit suicide, you can expect the film to have a sombre atmosphere all throughout. But what’s most interesting about this is that the tone is mostly very flat. This man meets a revolving door of different people who he asks to help bury him alive, three of them with different outlooks and of different generations. Each conversation, bountiful in length, offers us varying views of mortality and mental health. In a country where suicide is such a reviled thing, condemned through religious belief, it asks the question of how justified one’s emotions can be in the face of everything you’ve been taught.

What appeals to me most about this film is how earnestly it tackles the debate. We’ve all experienced our own bouts of depression, even getting to that point of weighing up your options, ready to bite the bullet. Unless you’ve experienced those feelings, it’s difficult to describe just how empty you feel. It’s usually not a torrent of tears or a deep pleading for someone to help you: you’ve made your mind up. We know very little of why Badiei wants to kill himself; we’re witnessing a man at the end of his rope, trying to place responsibility on others as a subtle cry for help.

The beauty of this film is how it doesn’t necessarily put blame on to one particular figure. Even the first two people Badiei meets-a younger man who wants nothing to do with this and a middle-aged man who couldn’t care less-are not evil for not trying to help him. There is a criticism of religious teachings, acknowledging the problems with certain parts of them, but it’s also offering a helping hand to those in need. So much of that emotion, heavily veiled as it is, is something that permeated onto me. It doesn’t lay the message on thick, treating the viewer as a friend in need more than anything.

I’ve adored this film since the first watch. It’s hard to find films that so perfectly encapsulate many of my own anxieties this way. I haven’t ranked it any higher because I don’t think enough time has passed for me to fully fall in love with it. That said, it’s a film that tackles a regurgitated idea with a nicely sombre and still approach that will have you hooked to every word, encouraging your own feelings on such a sensitive subject. The taste of cherry is a sweet sensation, but there’s always a rock-like core at the bottom.

19. Before Sunrise (1995)

Subtle existentialism may be a running theme, considering the unmatchable exploration of life itself in Richard Linklater’s distinct trilogy starter, Before Sunrise. I spoke of the entire trilogy in a seperate analysis, being, what I consider, to be up there as the near enough the greatest film trilogy of all time. And it’s that first film that I’ve revisited so many times.

This film isn’t adorned in action set-pieces or any particular excitement: it’s an exploration of two ocean-splayed lovers that spend a single day together. Jesse (Ethan Hawke) and Celine (Julie Delpy) meet on a train bound for Vienna. Jesse is doing a European trip and Celine is simply trying to get home. This single meeting on a train leads to an emotional journey that invites us into the confines of an intimate relationship being birthed. From train to tram to simply walking about the streets of Vienna, the little musings on life and our ultimate reasoning for existence leaves you contemplating the same things.

I typically don’t gel with tired romance stories, but Before Sunrise is something else. It sticks quite closely to what you might expect from the genre, but it also allows us to deconstruct the essence of what a relationship is: what significance does it have in the grand scheme of things and why is it so beautiful? Hearing these two enigmatic figures speak about their aspirations, their failed relationships, even the state of the world, political or otherwise, is painstakingly explored. And it’s all done in a very naturalistic way. Boredom never sets in; you feel like a participant in one of the most salient, continuous conversations.

While not immediately accessible to those who look for a bit more action in their films, Before Sunrise and its almost equally superb sequels deserve the fullest of attention. Whether it’s through Hawke and Delpy’s playfulness or the little pitstops they make, you see the relationship grow organically. Walk through the streets of these European cities, experience the day-to-day life of those we rarely see, and simply exist as a spectator in the budding formation of two perfect lovers.

18. Fargo (1996)

Who doesn’t like to dabble in the macabre arts? No more prominent are directors in this style of storytelling than Ethan and Joel Coen. The brothers have given us many thriller-comedies over the years, sometimes leaning more on one side than the other, but one of the most significant for me is their chipper dark comedy, Fargo. The show that spun off from this years later may have overshadowed it, but there is something special about that classic Minnesotan kidnapper story that gets the toes a-burning.

The heart of the movie is Frances McDormand’s ever-optimistic, and heavily pregnant, Marge, sent out to investigate a mysterious murder and uncover an elaborate scheme to kidnap someone. McDormand’s peppy kindness makes even the most grisly of murders feel like a slight inconvenience, and we learn just as much about her as the plot instigator, Jerry (William H. Macy). Rarely ever trying to explore emotional themes or deconstructing specific quirks, the film is a rather straightforward contrast of Minnesota kindness meeting grim reality.

There’s not much weight to this one, especially when you stack it up against my previous two picks. What makes it stick out is just how thoroughly entertaining it manages to remain. The criminals that botch this attempted kidnapping are some of the most incompetent figures, powered by Steve Buscemi in one of his greatest roles. Even in spite of their incompetence, a wild card of uncertainty manages to take over.

Fargo is one of those films I think back to whenever I want something a little lighter. Sure, the whole kidnapping scheme, fully orchestrated by Jerry, certainly ventures down some darker avenues, but the juxtaposition is what you sink your teeth into. A situation of hilarity that builds and builds and builds until you reach a climax you never thought they’d go as far as to portray, it’s one of the most important films the Coen brothers have ever made. It’ll leave you chuckling in your boots, y’betcha.

17. Hot Fuzz (2007)

Believe it or not, there are films outside of the nineties that have managed to tickle the ivories. Case in point: the most quintessential British film out there. I could probably comprise an entire list of films directed by Edgar Wright, but the one that sticks out to me-undoubtedly everyone else as well-is the middle of Wright’s famed Cornetto trilogy. Quoted to nauseum, packed full of clever call-backs and foreshadowing, and presenting an editing style that should be studied in every film class, it’s certainly one my more obvious picks.

The adventures of Nicolas Angel (Simon Pegg) are fondly retold by anybody who has seen this film. His journey to a small village as a police officer sees him butting heads with more simple and passive people. Not the least of which is his police partner Danny (Nick Frost), a buffoon who only got the job because his dad is the sergeant. All of you know where this goes from here: murders start arising in this quaint town. A masterclass in action satire, Wright and Pegg specifically set out to make the most action-cliched film they possibly could. And yet, it still manages to keep its heart close to the screen.

It’s undeniable that Hot Fuzz has had such an impact on British culture, but many look towards the simpler presentation of the film. Deep down, there’s so much ingenuity that Wright has poured into the world and the atmosphere. Characters appear as simple caricatures, but it’s always done with a sly intent that audiences will overlook. There are call-backs to iconic action films, reaffirming that this is more of a tribute than a blatant parody. Each character is as memorable as the last, with Timothy Dalton hamming it up as a wonderfully sketchy character that the film telegraphs us to believe is the true villain behind it all. The twist is so much more shocking.

In the early days of my film-loving experiences, I aspired to be a film maker. This was far too ambitious for my abilities, but I knew that if I ever did become one, Edgar Wright would be the template. Now that my mind is more geared towards writing, I can still see myself utilising his ingenious structure. Hot Fuzz may be one of the most iconic films on this list, but any overbearing praise doesn’t ruin the subjective want of my mind. Anybody who has stepped behind a piece editing software could only strive to emulate the cut-throat pace of Wright’s vision. If you’re looking for any of Wright’s other films on this list, I’m afraid it’s just the one, actually.

16. Moonrise Kingdom (2012)

Can you believe that a film buff, such as myself, would place a Wes Anderson movie on a list like this? While not exactly surprising, many Anderson fans may be shocked to see this take precedence over films like Fantastic Mr. Fox or The Grand Budapest Hotel. Both are undeniable gems, but they, and Wes’ other films, have never reached the same personal allure that Moonrise Kingdom has. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of symmetry to go around.

In the wrong hands, a story of two children falling in love and running away together could fall apart due to the shoddy acting of its leads. Sam (Jared Gilman) and Suzy (Kara Haywood) never feel misrepresented. Anderson has a knack for switching up age dynamics in his characters, and it’s evident here with how Sam and Suzy, behaving like adults that already have their lives figured out, manage to outshine their adult counterparts. A boy-scout falls in love with a dancer; they run into the wilderness and simply enjoy each others’ company. The adults that chase them down simply don’t understand how children can so easily believe in love.

It is shocking how much this film managed to reach me on a personal level. As we grow into adults, we forget how good the feeling of a childhood crush can be. Even if these two characters never end up with each other in the future, it hardly matters. Yes, they behave more maturely than their adult chasers, but they still lack the foresight of what’s to come. It’s quite amazing how Wes has managed to recapture that innocence, giving us a contrasting side story with the adults, like with how Bruce Willis and Frances McDormand try to maintain an affair, or how Edward Norton’s camp leader wants to put a stop to all of this childish romance.

Wes Anderson’s films tend to have this uniformity to them that not everyone is going to vibe with. I have criticised films in the past for being too samey, but Anderson always manages to get around this problem. His style is comfortable and warm. Moonrise Kingdom isn’t all that distinct from his other works, but where it chooses to place the focus is what makes it stand apart. You still have all that wonderful cinematography and quirky dialogue and classic rock-tunes, so Anderson fans will get what they want. But the core of the film will always be the relationship the two leads share and the continuous development of said relationship. Childhood memories have never felt this visceral.

15. Logan (2017)

I’ve never been shy to show my distaste with the overexposure of superhero movies. Despite this, I’ll always have a soft spot for them. But just as anyone might, I tend to judge superhero flicks in a different realm from how I judge other films. The genre is so malnourished; so regurgitative that you have to look at them in the scope of how they compare to others of their kind. Then there’s James Mangold’s Logan. Say what you want about Fox’s superhero affair, they can sometimes dish out some creative and risky outliers in the genre. So much so that this film exceeds past that invisible box I have created.

Hugh Jackman delivers what was supposed to be his final bow as famed X-Men character Wolverine (aka Logan) in this dark, violent ode to what many, including myself, admire about the character. We see Logan on his last legs, in an age where mutants have reached near-extinction, only being accompanied by Patrick Stewart’s Professor Xavier and now a clone daughter in Laura (Dafne Keen). Taking inspiration from similar near-apocalyptic stories like Mad Max, the film is a grittier, more western-geared take on the colourfully vicious mutant hero.

The X-Men characters, comics and movies have always been very close to my heart, so it meant a lot to see the ideal vision of a standalone Wolverine movie come to life. After the first two botched attempts, to see Mangold tap into the core of Logan’s character-the bloodthirsty meeting the emotionally distraught tragedy-was more than pleasing. It’s contained in this beautiful tale of emotional breakage, powered by a brilliant trio of characters. When a superhero movie can do more than provide a thoroughly entertaining experience, you begin to stack it up against those films that have reached your favourites.

Though not incredibly deep and will probably mean more to the long-dedicated fans of the franchise than anyone else, there’s so much love and care put into crafting, at the time, the perfect swansong to a beloved character. But it also manages to be a fascinating character study that doesn’t shy away from the brutality. It’s the perfect example of what superhero films could be if studios were willing to take more risks. Excelling in extremity, excitingly entertaining; it’s an exceptional piece.

14. Raising Arizona (1987)

I never made any sort of vow to avoid double-dipping into the same directors’ works, and while I debated that decision for quite some time, to not have the Coen brothers’ Raising Arizona-or the aforementioned Fargo-would be a cardinal sin. One of the most comedy-centric films the brothers ever touched, that macabre sense of humour lends itself to what may be the greatest, or one of the greatest, direct comedies ever made.

Nicolas Cage, an actor I have not stopped defending and was long supportive of his renaissance, plays the lead role opposite Holly Hunter’s Ed as they kidnap a baby from a wealthy couple. Seeing as Ed can’t have children, they believe this is the only way. Cage plays a former criminal, Hunter being a former cop. The hijinks that ensue recapture the Coens’ knack for erratically climbing comedy in the most superb ways. This baby, of the wealthy Arizona family mentioned in the title, becomes this unstoppable force of love and care. Even criminals coo at the child’s existence.

Even less so than Fargo, many would not place this film above other, more iconic Coen films. Objectively, it’s not their best. But with how heartily and gut-crushingly I laughed, it’s difficult not to give this more credit. Cage and Hunter provide powerhouse performances, with Cage being his typical eccentric and Hunter elevating the already great material by playing certain scenes as straight as ever. The brief plot summary is not enough to explain why these characters are still likeable and sympathetic; you do get some genuinely depressing moments that make the characters’ journey feel more warranted. Add a couple of memorable villains-John Goodman being a particular highlight, and an ambiguous bounty hunter-and we get one of the most creatively bizarre films the brothers have made.

Bizarre is certainly the word to describe it. Raising Arizona may appear quite grounded, but the way characters enter and exit the movie is similar to a rotating door of misfits. Characters lose all sense of motivation when they meet the young infant and will try to adopt him into their routines. Much like Fargo, there isn’t any deep of intrinsic reason for why I love this film: it’s simply fun. If nothing else, you have to enjoy Cage’s commitment to being just as much of a lunatic as the characters on screen.

13. Grave of the Fireflies (1988)

I’ve never really resonated with anime the same way some of my friends did. It’s quite enlightening to see the genre become so normalised within the younger generations, considering you were almost bully fodder when I entered high school. That said, I have managed to expose myself to more anime over the last few years, and it all started with Studio Ghibli. The Japanese animation studio has dominated the market since their first true film, Nausicaa. And while Spirited Away sat comfortably on my list for some time, I couldn’t deny the film that impacted me more.

A depressing story set during World War II, Isao Takahata centres the narrative on a teenage boy and his younger sister as they set out into the world after the death of their parents. We are left to watch as these two children try to survive in a village that is consistently carpet bombed and where dead bodies keep turning up. Worst of all, the sister becomes sick. Takahata denied to the day he died that this film was specifically anti-war. While I certainly see what he means, being a story that centres on the loss of innocence, the stark imagery is undeniable, invoking the very real fear that Japanese people had during these times.

This film deals with heavy themes. While the studio’s other outputs haven’t been shy on exploring more adult themes, never has it felt more heart-breaking. The two siblings are such enigmatic figures. Trying to understand their pain and trauma, a concept that even they don’t quite understand, is almost impossible to do. The film can be so wrapped up in beautiful observations of the environment and the older brother teaching his sister about how to deal with such sadness, only to take a sudden shift into horrifying revelations. It doesn’t matter that these characters hide behind the shroud of animation. The horror and emotions are visceral.

I have a deep admiration for animation, even if there aren’t too many on this list, so it’s only natural to praise the visuals. Takahata takes advantage of the medium, using it to illustrate the intensity of the bombings and showing the gradual degradation of the kids as they try to survive. But it’s not the animation that pushes this into being in my personal list. It’s hard-hitting, never holding back and doing all it can within the limits of being family-friendly. The fact that this was released the same day as the studio’s more infamous My Neighbour Totoro is jarring. This isn’t a film you want to put on for your kids as an introduction to the studio, but it is something that needs to be viewed. Culturally important and ceaselessly tear-jerking, it makes you appreciate every bit of light left in the world.

12. The Blues Brothers (1980)

People who know me well won’t even bat an eye at something as ridiculous and, frankly, simplistic as John Landis’s jukebox musical/comedy. For those completely unaware of my usual film tastes, you may question why such a film lives amongst the echelon of movies like Moonrise Kingdom and Before Sunrise. The answer is as simple as the appeal of the film: it’s endlessly entertaining.

We all have that one film we can’t help but run to whenever we’re suffering a bad day or need a lighter film to break up the tension of a string of heavy-hitters. Dan Aykroyd and John Belushi lead a comedy caper that sees the two brothers looking to put their old band together to raise money for the orphanage they grew up in, only to cause havoc, get chased by the cops and suffer the near-death experiences at the hand of a bizarrely bloodthirsty Carrie Fisher. The fact that this was spun off from an SNL sketch explains the surprising sense of surrealism, and with Landis at the helm, the dry wit elevates it.

I’ve found myself loving this film with every watch. The style of comedy is perfectly levelled as to not take away from the central conflict, and the gags build and build to the point that you care little about logistics. Belushi and Aykroyd are consistently funny, making the most out of their straight reactions and delivering one-liners with a perfectly disinterested cadence. Rocket launcher-toting psychos, a vengeful group of country singers and even Nazis chase the brothers down, and it all just makes sense. Mix in some colourful and soul-popping cameos from famous musicians and you get a joyride you never want to leave.

This film is inextricably linked to my identity as a film critic. I first “attempted” to start this blog back in 2015 with a review of this film, but it largely failed and lacked the voice I have today. Even still, I always keep it there to remind me of how far I’ve come. I think about this film regularly; it’s burrowed into my mind. But I wouldn’t feel comfortable placing it any higher. This is one blues ballad that’ll leave you happier than ever.

11. Rosemary’s Baby (1968)

Horror movies are supposed to invoke fear. What a statement, right? I feel this is a necessary point to emphasise as very few horror films today manage to leave me with that same anxiety-ridden state of being that many older films have. The sixties are particularly unique for the genre, as many of them rely more on environmental terror and using the power of implication. Both are so very true of Roman Polanski’s beloved Rosemary’s Baby. It utilises those two key elements while also relying on the old faithful: religious guilt.

Mia Farrow delivers am inspired performance as the titular Rosemary, having moved into a new apartment with her boyfriend, Guy (John Cassavetes). It’s not long before their elderly neighbours start becoming friendly. But then, Rosemary has a devilish dream and soon becomes pregnant. But the pregnancy seems to be moving at a rather inconsistent rate. Rosemary starts to believe that her neighbours, and her boyfriend, may be part of some satanic cult. Why should she jump to that conclusion? They seem to know something of Rosemary’s supposed dream, and her boyfriend is overly keen in their involvement.

Rosemary’s Baby is a film that immediately has you grasping the edges of your sofa. Even just a simple scene of the couple walking around their new apartment carries with it an air of sinister intent. The use of empty space and shadowy corners have subconsciously morphed each scene into something unknowingly dangerous. Once the film kicks in to its main plot, you’re left questioning the reality that Rosemary faces. Nothing is clear; we don’t know how much is truly happening or if it’s simply the hallucinations of a pregnant woman. Themes of motherly anxiety, guilt over having a child out of wedlock and that need to protect yourself are so prevalent.

This is one of those horror flicks that many will acknowledge for its ability to stand out from it contemporaries but isn’t quite considered a comparable classic. It came out in the late sixties, when films were evolving into more experimental pieces, and that meant so much for the horror genre. Never has a film consistently left me grasping for shreds of light, always on edge and begging for the safety of the main character. Mia Farrow dominates every second of screen time she has, cementing the classic horror heroine long before the slasher genre became commonplace.

There are very few horror films that would come as close to everything else on my list, but Rosemary’s Baby is too important not to let in. Just how willing are you to possibly harness the Antichrist?

10. Ed Wood (1994)

Taking another trip down memory lane, Tim Burton’s ode to legendary ‘so-bad-it’s-good’ director Ed Wood-director of Plan 9 from Outer Space fame-this fascinating biopic was the first film I reviewed back in 2019, the year I began doing these reviews regularly. I had only just seen the film at the time, instantly falling for it. And time and constant re-watches have solidified it as one of my favourite films ever made. With Tim Burton no longer having the same powerhouse capabilities as a director that he once had, it’s a little bittersweet to speak such high appraisal for a film that defines his unique voice.

For those unaware, Ed Wood had gained a cult status for his terrible films. The reason you see such a niche community of the so-bad-it’s-good genre of film is because of him. He had a cheap and cost-effective approach to film making, lacking the funds and learned storytelling, but filled with ambition. Johnny Depp plays the eponymous director as the film recounts Wood’s journey from B-movie director to…slightly more known B-movie director. Most importantly, it delves into the relationship Wood formed with classic movie actor, Bela Lugosi (Martin Landau). The Dracula star saw a new life in Wood’s foolhardy films, but also struggled with feelings of insecurity and drug addiction. Their friendship is the heart of the film.

This is a film for the aspiring film maker; the outcasts that try all they can to get a foot in the door. Despite Burton’s presence, the film is so unique from anything else he’s done. A large part of this is because it lacks the usual gothic, abstract designs we identify Burton with. You can tell it’s labour of love. It’s a film that Burton sees so much of himself in, turning a social outcast into the perfect analogy for his own insecurities. Film is, above all, a transformative media that speak to the people behind their creation. Anyone who has experience making a film can relate to the struggles Wood goes through.

This film offers so much. The core friendship between Wood and Lugosi is powerful, and you really get the sense that they’re helping each other not because they think it will further their careers, but because they genuinely care about each other. Even Lugosi is given the same admiration; appropriate, considering that he is far more infamous than the obscure director. But there’s also much love in the way Wood makes his films and all the charming little mistakes he makes. We see movies today like The Room and Fateful Findings and you underestimate how much of that came from Wood. Burton doesn’t want us to forget about it.

Ed Wood will always remain a film I so closely attach to myself. The wide-eyed optimism of Wood is something I can’t help but admire. And while I don’t quite have the ambition to direct movies, that drive to keep making something, even if only a few people appreciate it, is continuously inspiring. The Blues Brothers may have been my first attempt, but it’s Ed Wood that got me to the point I’m at today…It just doesn’t quite beat out the films further in the list.

9. Banshees of Inisherin (2022)

It’s a tremendous for a film of the last few years to make it to my personal list. That’s not to say that there hasn’t been more than a heft of phenomenal films in those years, but none have quite scratched that personal itch quite like Martin McDonagh’s exploratory piece on leaving a mark on the world and whether that should be at the expense of alienating those closest to you. As someone who has lost friends, missed friends and wanted the best of both worlds, I’ve hardly found a film that resonates with me this powerfully.

The film centres around two friends living in the rural area of Inisherin, Ireland-a place that doesn’t actually exist-in the early twentieth century. Padraic (Colin Farrell) finds that his closest friend Colm (Brendan Gleeson) has stopped talking to him, seemingly out of nowhere. He soon finds out that Colm has reached a level of existentialism, worrying that he’s never going to make it as successful fiddle player if he keeps hanging around his layabout friend. Padraic doesn’t see it that way, holding on to the pintless conversations and enjoying the simplicity of life. Colm tells Padraic that if he keeps hounding him, he’ll start taking drastic measures.

We’ve all been in that state of questioning; deep questioning of what’s there at the end of our lives. Some find purpose in religion or their family, others look towards their work efforts. Many others, like myself, depend on their creative voice. Colm is very relatable, wanting to leave some sort of impact on the world before he eventually dies, but his method in doing so is destructive. That’s where the relatability of Padraic comes in. Like Padraic, I treasure the needless bits of conversation. Though they may be aimless and lack introspection, small talk and long conversation feels so powerful and enriching. As someone who pertains simple habits, I latch on to those moments of mindless chatter.

Whether you side with Padraic or Colm is unimportant. It’s about seeing both sides of the story and seeing the bad as well as the good. Other characters that come in and out of their lives, whether it’s Padraic’s sister Siobhan (Kerry Condon) or the village idiot Dominic (Barry Keoghan), their outlooks on life add an extra layer of conversation to the debate. Ultimately, your value is just as much as you perceive it. Kindness and good will towards others is something I carry with me as much as I can, but I also aspire to develop my writing into something more impactful. With the film being able to pick out every bit of me, I couldn’t help but fall in love with it (it also helps that the film is set in Ireland).

I think about this film constantly. There’s emotional moments that left me in tears and comical scenes that found me in a darkly jovial mood. You’ll find yourself screaming at both characters to see the other side of things, and what you get out of it and how you interpret it is totally up to you. I hold much of what the film says close to my heart, caring for both characters. Allow yourself to be open with others, don’t let that dream go.

8. Requiem for a Dream (2000)

Let’s get the obvious opinion out of the way: no, I do not believe Darren Aronofsky directly ripped off Perfect Blue. Did he take inspiration, despite pretending he never saw the film? Almost definitely. But I feel this cautionary drug tale has a voice of its own.

I have never experienced any sort of recreational drug, so I cannot speak for how accurately Requiem for a Dream captures the eventual downfall of such hard substances. But even so, there’s little reason not to appreciate Aronofsky’s warped and defamatory view of such a constant problem. Anyone who has seen the director’s other works knows that he brings a brutality to every single film he makes that leaves you reaching for the proverbial trigger. And in this early success, we may have his most sadistic commentary.

Exploring the damaging effects that drugs like heroin can have on a person, it mainly keeps the focus on three central characters, Harry (Jared Leto), his girlfriend Marion (Jennifer Connelly) and their friend, Tyrone (Marlon Wayans). Dealing with the culture, they slowly divulge into individual problems, from the decaying of an arm to being used as a whore to being total failures in the memories of those who raised them. Them there’s Harry’s mum (Ellen Burstyn), who starting taking these weight loss drugs so she can appear on her favourite reality TV show. She too, begins a downward spiral.

Some will toss their heads back at a film that loudly shouts its message, but sometimes we need something like that. While much of the drug crisis has been exaggerated by politicians and PSAs, you can’t deny the very real life-damaging effects they’ve had. Making the central characters young adults whom will do anything to get their fix makes the story that much more gut-wrenching. Though a lot of the decisions were wholly made by them, Aronofsky understands that the source of their problem comes from how society treats them. Even the elderly Sara-Harry’s mum-is influenced by weight standards.

The film is a continuous nightmare; never ceasing and getting worse and worse as the film goes on. This isn’t the type of story you can so easily sit down and enjoy in a more horror-centric way. Though heavily exaggerated, it works grisly wonders at making you squirm and reaffirms this idea that drugs simply aren’t worth the torture. Never have I felt so desperately pained for a cast of characters than this source of inherent nightmares. I will never forget the story of how a friend of mine watched this with his girlfriend, not knowing what the film entailed, and how utterly traumatised they both were. This is one for those with a strong stomach and can bare to have the words “ass to ass” give you the most uncomfortable feeling you’ll ever endure.

7. Mulholland Drive (2001)

On the subject of unnerving film makers, David Lynch isn’t exactly short of manic displays of his subconscious. That said, Mulholland Drive is one of his most comprehensible pieces. Tackling a subject I hold near and dear to my heart-the disillusionment of Hollywood-This biting commentary can get lost in the typical Lynchian absurdity. And while the director is known for never letting on the true purpose and subtext of his films, one doesn’t have to look to far to understand what’s being said.

While the film does start in a peculiar and surprising way, with what appears to be an actress left on the run with no memory of who she is, the film gives us a pretty solid story of an aspiring actress, named Betty (Naomi Watts), taking up residence in the Hollywood hills. There, she meets the amnesiac Rita (Laura Harring), and tries to uncover the mystery of who she once was. The two form a bond, with the wide-eyed Betty still hopeful towards her future career in the industry. But this industry is always relentless, and she’s pushed into doing uncomfortable things she naively accepts. And despite Betty’s recent arrival, she seems to share a lot more in common with Rita than either would’ve expected.

For fans of mystery novels and amnesia storylines, Mulholland Drive does fit perfectly into that mould. We all enjoy a good head-scratcher, so to have one of the vaguest and most nonsensical directors to hit the industry make such a film feels like a perfect pairing. There’s enough there for you to make your own assessment, putting the pieces together through interactions and small hints of Rita’s past. But then the typical Lynch-wildness comes in, and everything you thought you knew veers off into a bizarre realm that feels dreamlike. So much of it doesn’t make any sense, but you don’t care because you know that there’s a hidden story underneath it all that becomes apparent the more you analyse.

I’m a man of subtext. A great film is often defined by the intent, and while Lynch is purposely vague about this, the film does appear to criticise Hollywood and its damaging effects on actresses. Movies like Sunset Boulevard and All About Eve are paid tribute to, invoking the same sentiment that those two films championed. Women in the industry are quickly thrown to the side once they’ve served their purpose or have aged out of the roles they get. The next young, pretty face takes over. Lynch uses his name recognition to make, what I consider, to be the greatest critique of the system, providing a supporting voice for those who can’t speak up.

While Lynch’s library is full of more joyously ridiculous films than this, Mulholland Drive manages to hit every note I could want from a film of this ilk. The more bizarre stuff is never overindulgent and the characters are easy to like and root for. Part disturbing, part erotic, entirely transformative. It’s a film that’s perfectly Lynch.

6. The Shining (1980)

My journey with horror films has always been an odd one. I’ve already spoken an eternity’s worth of praise for Rosemary’s Baby. But when it comes to this genre that I once had a skittishness towards, only to find myself indulging in as many iconic films as possible, no film has done it better than Stanley Kubrick’s iconic classic. This adaptation of Stephen King’s novel may annoy hardcore fans, and King himself, but it’s undeniably one of Kubrick’s greatest achievements. And in the mind of this writer, it’s his best.

You all know the story; it’s ingrained in the public consciousness, even if you’ve never seen the film. Writer Jack Torrance (Jack Nicholson) takes his wife Wendy (Shelley Duvall) and son Danny (Danny Lloyd) to a remote hotel known as the Overlook. Taking a job as caretaker, strange things begin to happen in the hotel, and we learn that it has a history of murder and dismay. The groundskeeper (Scatman Crothers) seems to have a strange psychic connection to Danny known as the shining. This hotel has a power, and Jack finds himself becoming victim to it as he grows more and more unhinged.

The Shining has been picked apart and analysed to death in the forty-plus years since its release, so in a lot of ways, it almost feels too cliché to add it to a ‘top’ list of any kind. But its undeniable accomplishments are simply that special that I can’t help but feel entranced by it all. You feel as though you’re there with the family, experiencing and embracing every shocking oddity that comes through those walls or out of that lift. Nicholson and Duvall both deliver memorably tense performances, showing the effect insanity can have on both the recipient and those around them. Everything is unsure, everything tense and tinged with a subtle hint of implication. It’s immaculate.

Kubrick was know for his meticulous eye when it came to crafting his films. This one is the shining example. Not a single second is wasted, bathed in a frequent sense of mastery and intimate care. The hotel comes alive more and more, and as such, Jack becomes a slowly-building threat. We value family as our comfort zone or our safety nets, so to have them lose their sanity and gain a certain manic nature is such a terrifying concept. There are ghostly images and phenomena that make up the film’s grisly atmosphere. But what really solidifies this as a horror classic is just how realistic that human terror feels. Shelley Duvall has received more than her fair share of flack over the years, but I absolutely love this performance, similarly with Danny Lloyd’s overachieving ability to make the ghostly threats that much more malevolent.

It’s been said again and again, and I doubt I could add anything more to the conversation, but The Shining simply is a masterpiece. Everything else I’ve spoken about before this has had its shortcomings-small as they may be-but it’s hard to find fault in this. This is one of the first horror films I truly fell for and I still think about it frequently and have my own interpretations of the deeper meaning behind it all. 2001 and A Clockwork Orange are certainly up there, but nothing shines quite as overwhelmingly as this instant classic.

5. Paris, Texas (1984)

We humans are fallible. Not exactly a controversial statement, but it’s always important to remember that we can make mistakes, some worse than others. Wim Wenders has directed many films that explore the nature of human imperfections, but none quite as succinctly and emotionally as Paris, Texas. The title appears quite odd-there is an actual place in Texas called Paris-and that oddity takes form in a rather slow rise of realism from the brink of abnormality. It’s rare to find a film that taps into such a personal mentality of mine that it leaves me in a state of tearful reflection.

Harry Dean Stanton, a man who crafted his career playing minor to supporting roles, finally finds his footing as a lead man as the rather ambiguous Travis Henderson. Found roaming the desert, dirty and haggard, by his brother Walt (Dean Stockwell), Travis is brought to Walt’s home. We find out that four years prior, Travis and his younger wife, Jane (Natassja Kinski) had suddenly disappeared, leaving their infant son in the care of his brother and his wife. Travis, not knowing where his wife went, and not letting the audience in on why they’re left, tries to reconnect with his son, but he hardly recognises him and doesn’t want that connection. As the film progresses, we slowly learn of Travis’s history, and our perception begins to shift.

The exact points that entail the story of the film is not what I relate to, but there is an idea of facing your past mistakes and vowing to improve that I find myself projecting onto very instinctively. Without telling you of what exactly happens through the course of the film, that altered perception I alluded to is what really solidified my love for the film. Stanton already plays the role in a very innocently naïve way, and his efforts to reconnect with his son is never short of charm and sentiment. We know so little of Travis’s history, but what we do know is that he’s deserved of some sort of resolution. There’s an endearing quality to Travis that makes the coldness his son has so heart-breaking, but you never question why or despise the kid for doing so.

Without going into too much detail of my own life, there was a lot I could connect to in regards to Travis’s son. Having my own personal history of not knowing my own father, suddenly having him become part of my life, that sense of unsure feeling is so powerful. Even though my story didn’t find its conclusion till I was an adult, there’s a universal, ageless trepidation that never washes away. Getting to how that affects the father helps to contextualise it from a different perspective.

While there is much to admire about the film throughout its entire course, the final act is what confirmed to me just how much I admire it. The where and why of Jane’s disappearance is delivered to us in one of the most insanely human ways possible. In one of the longest and most intimate monologues put to film, we aren’t left with much else to do but sit down and come to terms with everything we’ve known about Travis being thrown in the opposite direction. A man pouring his soul out and admitting he’s made awful, terrible mistakes; it has you reflecting on your own humanity and maturity. I always strive to improve on my inadequacies, so it’s hard not to tear up. The ending only brought the tears back.

Paris, Texas isn’t going to be for everyone, but it sure as hell managed to tap into my subconscious. With the themes of self-improvement and feelings of abandonment, there were two major nerves within me that were pricked. With a brutal honesty that never wavers, there’s so much to adore about this film. If you aren’t a blubbering mess by the end, you probably need a lesson in self-awareness.

4. Anomalisa (2015)

If we’re going to sit on the subject of existentialism and questioning our own states of existence, then no creative has done that better than Charlie Kaufman. The writer/director had already flexed his writing hand with films like Being John Malkovich and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. His work has been something of an inspiration for me when writing about films. That openness that I displayed in those last couple of paragraphs is something I carry with me in my day-to-day life. Kaufman’s sentiments reached quite the apex in this co-directing gig with Duke Johnson in a stop-motion film like no other.

Anomalisa is as much of an anomaly as the title implies. We so often strive to stand out in society, looking for inklings of individuality. So much so that it can lead to a destructive path. Here, we meet Michael Stone (David Thewlis), an executive in the world of retail who’s attending a conference to talk about his blasé job and his book on how to succeed. Problem is, Michael seems to hate his existence, seeing the people around him as identically-faced figures with the same monotonous voice. Then Lisa (Jennifer Jason Leigh) appears, sporting a birth mark on her face and with a frumpy body. Michael falls in love with her because of how she stands out from the rest. The two begin an intimate relationship, but even Lisa begins to take on the same form he so despises.

Like any other film Kaufman has written, what you interpret from the film can be unique to you. That said, I think there is a specific vision that Kaufman had in mind. As I said, we often strive for individuality. Monotonous work can often lead to a decayed view of the world, and we begin to hate our own existences for making those choices. Michael is relatable to a point, bathed in his own frustration. But his actions and history of using people for his own benefit is where that connection severs. The exploration of Michael and Lisa’s relationship is where you really feel like you’re living in the world Kaufman and Johnson have-quite literally-created.

The stop-motion animation touts a realistic look to it which feels foreign to the medium. Characters are given detailed designs, but are also prominent with imperfections. The seams you see in the faces of the characters are more than simple mistakes: they serve a noticeable purpose during a later scene. That realism only strengthens the two leads, making them feel so organic. For a moment in time, we become part of this world, intoxicated in the fantasy Michael has finally realised. Then, when the film takes a sudden heel turn, you begin questioning everything.

I so admire the film’s entire point. The reason for why it climbed so high in my list comes down to my own feelings of inadequacy. As I write this, I am making a concerned effort in improving my aspirations, questioning how much time I’ll have to really get my foot off the ground. When a film like this explores that extreme anxiety so closely, the mind will latch onto it without letting go. There’s much to appreciate about the technical aspects, especially with how mesmerising the animation and muted art-style is. But above all, it’s the organic nature of the characters that allures me. Before you fall to pieces, glue your mind to a bit of introspection.

3. American Psycho (2000)

Don’t worry, I’m not the type to take Patrick Bateman and make it my entire personality. But I do feel as if the film has received quite the tarnished legacy. Before the incels began using this film as a basis for their entire lifestyle choices, Mary Harron’s adaptation of American Psycho was viewed as an instant classic and a clever deconstruction of everything wrong with upper-class America. The ingenuity of such a film is laden within a cookpot of various different ingredients, made up with the vaguest of hints towards what is real and what is the delusion of a psychologically damaged man.

This is another one of those films where you probably understand the basic plot through frequent talk. Christian Bale gives us a psychotic turn as wealthy businessman Patrick Bateman. He lives a luxurious life: nice apartment, expensive clothes and a slew of women at his beckon call. But deep within the recesses of his mind lies that of a killer; a man that will happily murder somebody he deems unworthy, killing hoboes and hookers. Life for Patrick takes a turn when he kills fellow businessman Paul Allen (Jared Leto), and he starts using his apartment for all his future killings.

On the surface, this appears to be nothing more than a sadistic fantasy for some repressed writer, but as I mentioned before, it’s a clever criticism of everything wrong with capitalist America. Bateman is the shining example of the one-percent. Always living life without care and knowing he can get away with even the most heinous crimes. His divulgence into the darkest depths of this life takes such sudden and horrifying turns. Bale’s performance is memorably sadistic, and it’s hard not to be entranced by his continuous glee over what he does-not to say what he does is at all understandable.

There’s a satirical and surreal edge to this film that has always stuck with me. Even minor things like characters never noticing Patrick’s sudden outrageous comments or how no-one can seem to realise that Paul Allen is dead give this film a humorous direction. The film brilliantly blends together horror with comedy and thriller, every element working seamlessly. You’re horrified and mesmerised all the same, and then you find yourself laughing at even the grislier moments. There really isn’t anything that feels comparable.

I really enjoy a good deconstruction of upper-class society. Though I rarely spread my political reviews, I have shown dismay for those of whom stand above us, while we working-class struggle so much. Like the best of films that wear this message proudly on their sleeve, American Psycho is able to pick apart this problem in intricate and entertaining ways. But other films don’t attach scenes of someone getting bludgeoned by an axe while Huey Lewis and the News plays or Christian Bale running through an apartment complex naked holding a chainsaw. And yet, we still don’t understand how much of this is true.

A tribute to the slashers that came before it, but making an identity for itself, this film will leave you scratching your head and afraid to use a cash machine. Don’t pick that cat up.

2. Birdman: or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance) (2014)

Thinking about my favourite film, I realise how little it changes. Coming up with the nineteen others has always proven more difficult. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I could think of ten. But since 2019, Birdman had sat in the number one spot…until around three years ago. And while it may no longer claim my top spot, Alejandro G. Inarritu’s ode to the career of Michael Keaton has always stuck very closely to me. Providing a double dose of specific niches that weigh on my mind, Birdman deserves to be at the top of everyone’s list.

Michael Keaton is more than the star of the film: it’s almost entirely about him. Not exactly true, Keaton plays Riggan Thomas, a once successful actor famed for his role as a superhero Birdman-the parallels are already blatant. Now much older, he wants to be taken seriously as an artist, and puts on a play. Problem is that many theatre critics see him as an imposter of sorts, not fit to enter the world of theatre. We also see Riggan’s life working with his co-stars. He finds a relationship with the younger Laura (Andrea Riseborough), despite the waning of his ex-wife. Lesley (Naomi Watts) is cautious of Riggan’s behaviour, but grows furious with him after the hiring of a former lover and method actor, Mike (Edward Norton, also playing an allegorical version of himself). Then there’s Riggan’s daughter Sam (Emma Stone), who works on the play but can’t stand her father’s negligence. Riggan is now left to balance his aspirations with his personal life.

Birdman is more than a simple allegory for Keaton’s career. The whole film is indicative of what many actors suffer from: typecasting. Keaton, at this point in his career, had gone through quite the quiet period. In so many ways, Keaton was the perfect surrogate for this type of story. Having Riggan known for playing a superhero-the obvious connection of Keaton’s stint as Batman-really excels that point. There are a fair few jabs at the state of superhero movies and how they overshadow smaller works like this. Even in 2014, the market had become saturated, but very few were confident enough to call studios out on it. Keaton’s animosity and desire to be taken seriously as an actor is so poignant. Riggan also has these powers that may or may not be real. We see a progressive insanity as Riggan tries to impress those who have already dismissed him.

The exploration of the character is also just as fascinating. Riggan isn’t lauded as this perfect being that has been shot down by the industry. He has let the fame he once had dictate his entire life, with the people around him only working with him because of their admiration. Even this new girlfriend of his is more in love with the mythology of the man than his actual kindness. It’s also seen in Stone’s character, showing a deep disappointment in her father. It would’ve been so easy for the film to play victim, but it makes sure that the blame isn’t always on the industry. Even actors like Norton, being the overly involved method actor, are slammed in a bizarrely respectable way.

The film is also rich in technical quirks. Another film that tries the whole ‘made to look like one shot’ approach, this may be one of the greatest examples of it. Even if there are clever little editing tricks, the fact that so much of it was meticulously choreographed and planned out to a pinpoint perfection is still admirable. The soundtrack being all drums is something you may not immediately notice, but the drummer is literally there, reminding you of how minimalist the soundtrack is.

With every aspect in mind, blended together in a whirlwind of distinctions, you find yourself latching on from start to finish. It remains a powerful commentary on the state of film making as well as how uncaring a cruel the world can be to veteran actors, while also a deep exploration of turning yourself around and making the right choices. How far must one go to impress the crowd?

1. Adaptation (2003)

There are certain forms of media that you look at, read or play and you feel this immediate click. You don’t initially know why, but you enjoy that click, hold onto it. And as that thing you’re engaging in progresses, suddenly everything makes sense, and your life changes. You realise that what you have may be the closest a form of media has gotten to recapturing aspects of your life. I’ve spoken about how certain films in this list have managed to convey specific emotions or thoughts that are close to me, but none have done it exactly.

The mind of Charlie Kaufman rears its head, here being partnered with Spike Jonze, the two having worked on Being John Malkovich prior. Though Kaufman is only writing this one, the film is entirely him-quite literally. To those who have no idea of this film but know me well, my further explanation should tell you everything as to why I consider this to be my all-time favourite.

What started out as a literal adaptation of non-fiction book written by Susan Orlean called The Orchid Thie,. Kaufman suffered with severe writer’s block when adapting it. But from that came a new idea: to make the film about Kaufman adapting the book. Nicolas Cage plays Charlie Kaufman in this film, but also a completely original twin brother by the name of Donald. With Charlie not knowing how to adapt the book, he becomes frustrated and begins continuously putting it off. Meanwhile, Donald is finding success making mindless Hollywood drivel. Charlie continues to beat himself up, complaining about the lack of imagination the studios have, and wanting to make artful explorations. Charlie’s love-life isn’t going so great either, and he begins to worry about his future, worried that he’ll die alone.

On the side of this, we get a look into the backstory of Susan Orlean (played here by Merly Streep). Living a cushy lifestyle, she finds interest in writing about a bizarre man who finds plants from other countries and keeps them in his swamp. John Laroche (Chris Cooper) is our orchid thief, and despite his drastically different lifestyle, Susan begins falling in love with him-an aspect that is totally fictitious.

It’s rare that writers will be as blunt about their own perception within the films they write. Kaufman has a habit of putting himself in the films he writes, but simply in fragments. With him literally inserting himself into the story, we see everything thrown on the table. Kaufman comes across as slightly neurotic, highlighting his inadequacies and using the fictional Donald as a way to represent everything he hates about the system. The years have affected me in a way that has seen me stepping further and further from those big-budget fests in such a similar manner. Though I’m no professional writer, my choice to focus on smaller films within my film lookback section comes from my frustration with the current landscape. But it’s not just the writer aspects that appeal to me most.

Kaufman’s constant sense of self-criticism and worry for the future is something I wholeheartedly understand. It’s hard not to judge every step you make in life, analysing the worst-case scenarios. Though obviously very damaging, we all fall victim to that hard-to-escape trap. Allowing the writing aspect to interject, there’ve been so many instances where I find myself losing confidence in a review I wanted to write, or how I let go of ideas for books. Writer’s block can hit you so hard you feel depressed and start questioning your abilities. Then there’s Kaufman’s love-life. The fact that he is so open about his loneliness is such an admirable thing. So many struggle to make those moves and overthink the eventuality. Without going too much into that side of me, it is something that weighs on my own mind, even when I explore previous relationships, with that questioning always being a factor.

Even the side story surrounding the book’s author and her subject provides a fitting allegory for Kaufman’s need to make something more personal; more artistic. In a quite a bold move, Kaufman crafts his own narrative as to why Susan Orlean may have written her book. This sordid love affair, with its contrasting walks of life, is just as intoxicating for us as it is for Streep’s Susan. We prefer the obscene and unusual. And how that story connects with Kaufman’s own journey is powerfully satisfying.

I could speak of the mastery that is Adaptation for hours and hours, but I have spoken in depth of it in the past. Rarely do I come across a film that speaks so accurately to my own character, and even rarer does it manage to provide me with the most unique experience any film has. The more I revisit it, lament on it and pick apart each second, the more it reaffirms to me that no other film will come close to being my favourite film of all time. The gap between Birdman and Adaptation is a wide one. I implore anyone whom has never heard of this film to explore it, love it, adapt to it.

Written by Conor Johnson.

2023 Movie Catch-Up

2023 was yet another year for the loud and independent voices in cinema to be overshadowed by the typical Hollywood affair. That said, it appears that the usual slew of superhero flicks and personality-less remakes and sequels to older films are starting to wear thin. People just don’t seem to want these emotionless, cynical cash-grabs anymore.

That last point is worth the focus. While many are starting to grow tired of the industry, these same people will also complain about the lack of more inspired work. But I assure you that these films are very much out there; you just have to look a little harder. Sadly, the reality is that the world is suffering through quite the recession, and this writer has also struggled to section which films are worth visiting. Some notable choices are missing like Saltburn and Killers of the Flower Moon, while others have seen more detailed reviews-which you can find on this very blog.

For this list, I wanted to showcase a few of the films I never got around to reviewing last year. There will be a fair mixture of smaller films and the usual extravagant products, but the reviews won’t be as long as my more extensive pieces. With a mixture of plastic dolls, plasticine figures and plastic noses, here are just a handful of films I missed out on or didn’t feel I could review at the time, ordered from worst to best. Here’s hoping for a more eventful year of movie watching…

Renfield

We all know the story of Dracula by now. No horror icon can come as close to matching the universal knowledge of the vampiric count. And with countless reimaginations of Bram Stoker’s original novel, you may feel that the well of creativity would’ve been heartily rummaged at this point. Sadly, that statement feels correct in the face of Chris McKay’s Renfield. A film that takes two of the more recognisable characters from said novel and brings them into the modern day with a more comedic and satirical approach. While not the most unique idea, the potential for this to be entertaining was right there, especially with Nicolas Cage helming the role of our favourite count.

Obviously, the film isn’t so much about Count Dracula as it is his psychotic, mind-controlled slave, Renfield (Nicholas Hoult), who has served his master through two centuries. Renfield finds unwitting victims, brings them to the count and has them brutally harvested. But Renfield has had enough, joining a support group for people in abusive relationships. Finally putting aside his controlling abuser, things seem to be going alright. That is, until Dracula catches on to this, and employs the help of local gangster, Lobo (Ben Schwartz). Renfield then teams up with police officer Rebecca (Awkwafina), who has a score to settle with the Lobo family for the death of her father. It’s about as entertaining as a buddy-cop movie can be, just without any of that vampiric edge you could want from a Dracula movie.

It is worth noting that while the concept isn’t executed all too poorly, it feels as though it veers away too much from the main appeal: the relationship between Dracula and Renfield. What this film should’ve kept the focus on was Renfield being abused and gaslighted by Cage’s wonderfully hammy count. Renfield’s decision to leave Dracula’s side happens too briskly, and we’re left subject to a rather flat dynamic with the ever-irritating Awkwafina (and actress of which has had only one good role behind her-figure that one out for yourself).

While there is a fair amount of entertaining gags and an excessive amount of gore that fits the film nicely, it never takes full advantage of the novelty of this allegorical abusive relationship dynamic. The gang stuff is horribly forgettable and makes the film feel needlessly cluttered. If you are going to go down the root of having an odd couple story about Dracula and Renfield, you should really commit to the idea. For every solid joke there’s another equally bad one that rips away the fun that could’ve been had. It sucks every bit of excitement out of you.

Maestro

Leonard Bernstein was a revolutionary composer. A man who may not be instantly recognisable to the average person, but one of whom has composed some of the classic musicals of the earlier days of cinema. Films like On the Town and West Side Story simply wouldn’t exist the way they had if it weren’t for his immaculate compositions. So a biopic in the same vein as those we have been so drowned in would only make perfect sense. Bradley Cooper, still riding the high of his A Star is Born remake, directs what is mostly a cry for an Oscar. Skimming along the surface, this Netflix original is pretty forgettable.

Cooper stars as the eponymous Maestro, wearing a prosthetic nose that many complained was anti-Semitic. Trust me when I say that Cooper’s fake nose is the least of the film’s problems. It charts the composer’s life from the first crowded concert he performed, of which he only did because the original composer was unavailable. It shows the turbulent life of Bernstein from his theatre compositions to his Hollywood fame, while also detailing his life with his wife Felicia Montealegre (Carey Mulligan) and his frequent affairs with other men. You better believe this is hitting all the standard biopic beats.

Most may be enticed to believe this would be a biopic of a different calibre. Leonard Bernstein is not exactly a Freddie Mercury or Elvis Presley, so some fine tuning could stop it from falling into those expectations. The problem is that Cooper plays it very safe. There is a certain artistic merit to this one. The pacing is rather seamless and the more important events in Bernstein’s life are given those moments to breathe. It never glorifies Bernstein to the point of trying to excuse every little behaviour quirk, but it does celebrate the genuine achievements the musician accomplished.

What really elevates this film is Bernstein’s relationship with Felicia. Carey Mulligan continuing to prove herself as one of the greatest modern actresses really steals the show. You feel every bit of conflict going on in her brain; her need to keep a hold of her husband without denying his homosexual instincts. Even that aspect is handled delicately and rather matter-of-fact. But it’s the relationship between the two that the film is relying on. The problems arise whenever Cooper feels the need to fall back into those obvious clichés of the innocent guy corrupted by his own fame; his struggling rise to his eventual fall; his damaging lifestyle. Everything is so formulaic that it becomes too bland to watch.

While certainly not a bad film, Maestro feels too soulless to really judge it in any unique way that couldn’t be applied to other films like it. It does have some fun moments of flourish like the choice to film in black and white during the earlier years, then transition to colour to show the evolution of where cinema was going. But it also suffers from bizarre editing choices, like the constant freeze-framing that made me think my internet was lagging. With some moments of composed bliss, Maestro suffers from a tenor too high for its own good.

Ferrari

Unless you have dedicated much of your life to NASCAR and its various contributors, I doubt many have genuinely pondered the life of Enzo Ferrari, the man who created the car company synonymous with the sport. That said, there is still much to unearth. Well, Michael Mann, who has brought us sly successes during the eighties and nineties, felt it appropriate to bring to life just a fraction of Ferrari’s life. And while the Collateral director does manage to skew away from the typical biopic formula, it still feels just as barren and uncreative as anything else.

While we do get a snippet of the young Enzo Ferrari’s (Adam Driver) life, the film is mostly centred around a troubled event in 1957. We see the aged mogul preparing himself for the Mille Miglia, a racing event across Italy. But Ferrari’s history of drivers who have lost their lives to faults in his cars’ manufacturing has led his reputation down a diminishing path. We also peer into Ferrari’s personal life, with his bitter marriage to his wife, Laura (Penelope Cruz), put into question after Ferrari suffers possible bankruptcy, a company of which Laura has stock in. We also see that Ferrari has been juggling a second life, secretly having fathered a child with Lina Lardi (Shailene Woodley). The affair distracts Ferrari from the death of his first son, but the charade can only persist for so long.

So often have I, and many, complained about biopics feeling too derivative. With the musician biopic in particular starting to peter out, we’ve seen a rise in corporate biopics like Tetris and Blackberry. Ferrari is no different from those, in essence. It’s admirable to see Mann divert from the encompassing career; a choice to not spend too much time on the less interesting parts of Ferrari’s life. But unless you really know your history with the man, there feels like a gaping hole missing in the plot.

Driver and Cruz give us excellent performances, something that one would expect from such esteemed actors. But even this is not enough to forgive the lack of context for most things. The drama starts to feel monotonous and the family tensions are only so intriguing. The focus on Ferrari’s professional and personal life are nicely split, with some great examples of intense driving and compelling domestic drama. But that only goes so far, with little done to really develop these “characters.” You get those pretty visuals and Mann’s trademark penchant for contrasting visual representation, but there’s too much lacking in the plot department.

Ferrari is too forgettable for me to rank any higher. It has its moments, but there’s such a stock feeling to it. Michael Mann has given us more than enough films to really employ some faith in him, but this is not one of those films. Adam Driver is drifting this movie through an acceptable territory.

Chicken Run: Dawn of the Nugget

Who asked for a sequel to Chicken Run? I mean, seriously, did people really want them to make a sequel to what is ultimately a very enjoyable but singular movie from twenty-three years ago? Aardman’s feature debut has certainly stood the test of time, wreathing in charming animation and jokes that toe the line of being overtly sadistic. The studio has evolved so much since then that a sequel just felt unnecessary. Well, that wouldn’t stop Sam Fell from bringing us back to the world of these escaped chickens.

While the first film was largely a fun little take on The Great Escape with chickens, this one opts for a more Mission: Impossibleesque tone. Years after the fowls flew from their farm, Ginger (now played by Thandiwe Newton) and Rocky (now played by Zachary Levi) have settled on an island with the other chickens-and Fowler-away from any harm. But Ginger and Rocky’s daughter, Molly (Bella Ramsey) wants to explore the rest of the world. She does, but is caught up in a heavily guarded chicken farm that seems like heaven for the poultry. But far more sinister forces seem to be lurking. It’s up to the rest of the crew to save Molly.

Complaining about the repetitive nature that many kid’s sequels go through, what with the offspring of the first film’s character wanting to rebel and go off on their own, only to find danger, is pretty pointless. As tired as the concept is, you can certainly have fun with it. And while it certainly isn’t as entertaining or as memorable as the first film, Dawn of the Nugget does still manage to be pretty fun. The stakes are upped, with a fun reverse of the first film, where the chickens are now breaking in. The film also doesn’t try to replicate the jokes of the first, allowing these new set-pieces to thrive on their own, and to let Molly be just as enjoyable as the veterans.

I suppose there’s not much to the film. There are some neat little unexpected moments that were somewhat ruined by the trailer, and that darker, more sadistic edge is still here, though it does feel more underwhelming. Even in comparison to Aardman’s other feature films, this just feels very generic. There’s plenty of good gags, and the quintessential Britishness of the studio is present as ever, but it feels so bottom of the barrel. The animation style is still stunning all these years later, with the style hardly changing outside of a few modern technical improvements and a charm that reminds us of what Aardman is. I just wish it had more personality than its feather-light plot beckons.

Asteroid City

Wes Anderson makes another movie that feels like every other movie he’s made…but this one’s actually not that great. The director has managed to craft a specific niche that very few directors have been able to replicate. Some have come damn close, but they always fail to capture the perfection of Anderson’s pinpoint symmetry. This latest film, only two years after the overlooked The French Dispatch, sadly takes the spot for what I consider to be his weakest one yet.

Like any other Wes Anderson film in the last ten years, this oddly quirky film boasts an all-star cast in an outlandish idea. Narrated by Bryan Cranston, he introduces us to a in-universe play written by Conrad Earp (Edward Norton). At the centre of this is Anderson regular Jason Schwartzman as Augie Steenbeck, who is taking his kids across the desert after the death of his wife. While staying at a motel, Augie meets several characters. Midge (Scarlett Johansson) is a talented actress looking for her next role; June (Maya Hawke) is a teacher taking her students through all the usual teachings of the world; J.J. Kellogg (Liev Schreiber) is dealing with his always daring child. This plethora of characters is subject to a major area lockdown after the arrival of a strange, stop-motion alien.

You can’t very well judge this film without the weight of Anderson’s previous films. With great classics like The Grand Budapest Hotel and more underrated gems like Moonrise Kingdom, the man has an identity that would feel repetitive anywhere else, but is handled with such care each time that you feel like each experience is as much a treat as the last. Asteroid City is an example of how this style Anderson has so carefully nurtured can veer too far off the opposite end. Yes, it’s beautifully shot and edited, and the characters are pretty memorable with their own distinct conflicts. But much of this is overshadowed by the ludicrousness of the atmosphere.

The play within a film is a nice idea. You don’t really question the whole legitimacy of it because of how already fantastical the tone is. It captures this fifties setting, using the alien panic of the time, and contextualises it into a analogue for our own lockdown crisis. There’s plenty of obvious parallels to the pandemic, with each set of characters reacting to this lockdown in different ways, from sheer panic to complete rebellion. As fun as all that is, the characters suffer as a result. It’s hard to care about the characters outside of their few quirks when none of them feel fully realised.

This film really feels like an endurance test for those who can’t quite get into Anderson’s films. There were a lot of elements I thoroughly enjoyed, but they were almost all stylistic choices. It tiptoes too heavily in the direction of weirdness that it makes it feel more like a parody of a Wes Anderson movie than anything. Though hardcore fans may enjoy this, casuals are going to feel alienated.

The Old Oak

One of my greatest regrets is never getting the chance to review this when it came out. Ken Loach’s final film is here. After nearly sixty years of film making, the British director is hanging his hat with one last furious bow. The Old Oak is also the last of a thematic trilogy of films, after I, Daniel Blake and Sorry We Missed You, centred around Loach’s despising of the Tory government. It feels appropriate to follow up a political film with another. A director that puts a spotlight on the northern part of England, one that typically struggles the most, this one also tackles the issue of Syrian immigration.

This third tale of woe follows that of TJ Ballantyne (Dave Turner), the owner of the titular pub. The Old Oak is on its last legs, only raking in the regular patrons. But TJ’s life is suddenly flipped upon the arrival of Syrian refugees, housed in estates next to those of the English-bred. Naturally, the refugees suffer terrible racism, but one particular refugee, Yara (Ebla Mari), stands up to the abuse. The kindly TJ decides to help her, trying to promote a more friendly environment. After Yara’s camera is broken, the two bond over their respective pasts, TJ being brought up to fight for his rights, Yara immigrating from a war-torn country where her father is imprisoned. The patrons of the pub don’t like this, seeing TJ as betraying his own kind. TJ, with the help of kinder residents, decides to put on a charitable event for the whole village, welcoming all walks of life.

If you’ve ever seen a Ken Loach film, or simply just the aforementioned preceding two before this, then you know that subtlety is not his forte. That overt anger and frustration can sometimes be grating in a film handled by anyone else, but Loach’s passion for what he believes in is so strongly conveyed that you’re willing to throw subtlety out of the window. England still has a racism problem. We can pretend there isn’t, but you see this same issue every time a new set of immigrants makes their way to the country. Loach is trying to unite us, not to villainise those who are ignorant.

The film gives us a very simple and honest message of banding together in the face of recession. We see this in TJ, one of the few residents of this village that still believes in the idea of unity. Even when his pub is that close from suffering closure, he still keeps his head high and tries not to let those frustrations bleed out into unnecessary hate. His connection to Yara is powerfully shown, with the two being the heart of the film. The oppression and hardships the two overcome, in spite of how horribly transparent much of it is, is so gratifying to watch.

The way the film handles its message can be a little too comical. Characters can act overtly and cartoonish-ly racist, never conveying that same reserved attitude most Brits have when confronting a race they don’t care for. That said, racist bigots like this, who speak before they think, do exist, and many of the comments are quite true to what you might hear in more xenophobic communities. There is a certain silliness to much of the film, with dialogue that feels like it was written on a first draft-Ken Loach venting in the form of mad scribblings. But the tiredness is there. Not a bad, lazy tiredness. But a fed-up tiredness.

What keeps this film raised on its legs is the overall point being put across. The Tory government, regardless of where you sit on the fence, has made several mistakes in regards to both immigration and how it treats its own people. This is a man that has shouted time and time again about his frustrations. And since 2016, when this film is set and when I, Daniel Blake came out, nothing has changed. It’s that feeling of unity that this film portrays that makes this such a strong film. Don’t fall into the habit of racism; we need to stand united.

El Conde

We’ve talked about vampires and we’ve talked about real-life figures. So why not combine the two? Well, apparently director Pablo Larrain couldn’t help but combine these two things in a not-so-subtle jab at the controversial Chilean dictator known as Augusto Pinochet. This strange foreign language film is not your simple biopic, instead opting to use the mythology of vampires to add a comical twist on the usual biopic formula. Larrain previously directed other, more genuine biopics with Jackie and Spencer (based on Jackie Kennedy and Princess Diana respectively), but this one is far more fantastical.

Set during the final days of the Chilean dictator (played here by Jaime Vadell), we learn that Pinochet has actually lived his life as an immortal vampire. Now, however, Pinochet is ready to die, with the possibility that he will leave a fortune to his various, selfish children. Pinochet’s wife, Lucia (Gloria Munchmeyer), has never been given the luxury of the same immortality, and so desperately wants that life. But Pinochet has other plans. When he meets the nun sent to make his final moments peaceful-Carmencita (Paula Luchsinger)-he suddenly finds a new lease on life. Carmencita’s goal is to destroy the vamp, but to also end his bloodline.

El Conde is one of the more bizarre films. To us non-Chileans, the figure depicted isn’t exactly in our consciousness. To Larrain-a Chilean himself-I can imagine that much of this comes from a long-standing resentment. The vampiric angle is what sets this apart. It isn’t simply done to provide a fun little novelty, but instead works to symbolise how many Chilean people felt about Pinochet. We have this narration that spells out Pinochet’s long, insufferable life. The revelation of who that narrator is will surely make a certain subset of viewers cheer in hysterics. From a political angle, you can enjoy the jovial jabbing, even if you don’t understand the person behind the film.

Seperating the film from its political identity is when you start to see the cracks. While the story surrounding the nun sent to kill Pinochet is enjoyable, going in a direction I wouldn’t have expected, everything surrounding Pinochet’s family is rather bland. It’s fun to see Larrain tear apart everyone in the Pinochet family, but many of them simply don’t have an interesting enough personality for one to care. The film is honestly at its best when it becomes a mindless slasher-the kills of which are wonderfully beautiful.

The film certainly feels on the nose with its political statement, and sometimes it loses itself in the violence. But the film is still pretty enjoyable. It’s worth the watch simply for how unique it feels. It sure was a better vampire movie than Renfield.

Barbie

If you had told me even a year ago that a movie about Barbie coming to life, based on one of the most successful brands, would end up being an amazing film about female empowerment, I would’ve probably…hoped so. Because I’ve been anticipating this since the announcement that Greta Gerwig would be taking the helm. We’re so used to the presence of this film now that it’s easy to forget that, at one point, many were ready to brush this off as a corporate product with no substance. But with the creative mind behind Lady Bird being able to turn this into a meta commentary on not only Barbie but modern society as a whole, you know there’s something special about this one.

Gerwig’s vision for Barbie is just as meta as you might expect. Set in the dreamscape that is Barbieland, where every Barbie is called Barbie and every Ken is called Ken, one particular Barbie (Margot Robbie) begins to question her existence. The world very much operates on toy logic, with everything being made of plastic. The main Ken of the movie (Ryan Gosling) desperately wants Barbie’s affection, but she’s stuck in an existential crisis. Upon the advice of Weird Barbie (Kate McKinnon), Barbie (and Ken) decide to travel to the real world, where they meet the head of Mattel and one of their key workers (America Ferrara). Barbie discovers her reputation in the real world, and Ken discovers the joys of the patriarchy.

I should start by talking about the discourse this film has had. The hilarious fact that so many insecure men have been complaining that the Barbie film is woke propaganda will never not be humorous. The film is very tongue-in-cheek, understanding that it was made with a cynical mindset and even jokes about Hollywood’s obsession with cleansing everything. Mattel and Warner Bros. happily accept a handful of jabs, with one of the villains literally being the head of Mattel. But it doesn’t shy away from addressing those insecurities so many men feel. Ken is not supposed to be this terrible person, and he’s not any more airheaded than Barbie. The idea is that these are characters who are so easily influenced by the outside world and how people perceive them that they go down their own paths of destructive behaviour.

Even aside from whatever socio-political message the film is putting across, it ultimately remains an entertaining and expertly-crafted film that always manages to get some hearty laughs out of its audience. The way each Barbie and Ken follow their roles to a tee, only being good at one thing, is such an entertaining concept. We get an array of doll-accurate costumes and sets that any kid who grew up with a Barbie is sure to get a little high from that glorious nostalgia. It’s difficult not to love a film that is so intent on trying to be everything but a corporate product. And it almost entirely never feels like such a thing.

Though not everything about it works, with the real-world mother and daughter that come along for the ride just not being very interesting, and some jokes feeling a little too immature for my liking, Barbie still manages to be a thoroughly entertaining meta piece about the state of society. That sentence doesn’t feel right attached to a Barbie film, but it sure as hell applies.

Passages

Love is love, no matter what way you define it. In this age of constant progression, with the eve of inclusivity being more integrated in societal norm, it’s pretty expected for movie studios to want to make more LGBTQ+-friendly material. But this compelling romantic drama is not one of those cynical attempts at trying to come across as allied. Ira Sachs understands that those fears and blatant xenophobia haven’t gone away completely. With Sachs’ latest film, Passages, he opts to flip the perspective on its head in one of the most poignant pieces about discovering yourself in the storm of change.

A seemingly happy marriage between film director Tomas (Franz Rogowski) and artist Martin (Ben Whishaw) is thrown in to dismay when Tomas meets a young woman and teacher, Agathe (Adele Exarchopoulos). The very feminine Tomas, who has never experienced a sexual relationship with a woman, finds himself slowly falling in love with the passionate teacher. Tomas abandons Martin, leaving behind their loving relationship with little care. As Martin moves on, finding a new romantic partner, and Tomas has gotten Agathe pregnant, he starts to yearn for his old lover. Without even a second thought, he barges his way back in. And as much as Martin knows he has to let Tomas go, he can’t help but fall under his spell.

Typically, those of us who live in the majority of heterosexual existence will turn our heads at the idea of a gay relationship. It isn’t strictly homophobic; we simply aren’t used to it. Ira Sachs understands that and tries to contextualise it through the guise of a heterosexual affair. It’s a testament to Rogowski and Whishaw’s performances that they tell such a compelling romance from the first ten minutes. There’s tension there, for sure, but you understand they have had a long and (supposedly) loving relationship. When Agathe comes into play, it disrupts everything. Suddenly, the idea of a gay man hooking up with a woman feels entirely taboo. In a moment of recognition, you start to realise Sachs’ intent.

The homosexual angle isn’t all the film is. It’s largely a tale of egoism and manipulation. It’s a destructive path caused by one man who only wants happiness for himself. Tomas is so wonderfully arrogant, only seeing his two lovers as a means for his self-satisfaction. This isn’t going against Sachs’ intention, it’s simply elevating the story to being something more than just a gay romance story. Whether it’s through a romantic strife or just a relationship that’s been held down by a single person, many can relate to the idea of someone you care about so much destroying your life. It’s a far more nuanced approach that I can’t help but admire.

Passages doesn’t care for modesty. To be exposed to other walks of life is so important for us. But whereas a major film studio may do this with cynical methods, Sachs gives us an intimate and passionate voyeurism. The sex in the movie, both from a straight and gay angle, is presented graphically. Done in such a way that forces you to accept what’s going on, that gung-ho attitude is simply a part of life. It’s a universal language that speaks to the varied cultures that are represented: from French to British to German.

Passages has had quite the divisive reaction. The film has generally been well-accepted, but others have felt that the film does more damage than good. As someone who ticks the typical cis-gendered box, it’s difficult for me to fully understand that perspective. But from what I took away, I found this to be deeply fascinating and enjoyable. It’s sadistic, charming and passionate all the same, and I think the passage of time will only be kinder to it.

Past Lives

I lamented last year the fact that I hadn’t seen as many films as I wanted to. There were many universally beloved films that I simply didn’t have the time for, whether it was because of work, my recent studies or the depressing fact that cinema prices have become way more expensive. But I knew that there was one film I would be forever mad with myself for not seeing: Past Lives.

We’ve all sat there one fine day, thinking about those big choices we’ve made in life, wondering how different our world would be if we had chosen a different path. In some cases, there never was a choice, and we ponder what would’ve happened if life hadn’t steered us in that direction. For director Celine Song, her path in life will be forever immortalised in this directorial debut. A story of being ripped from her homeland in South Korea, whisked away to Canada then America, her past catches up with her.

In this semi-autobiographical film, we follow Nora (Greta Lee), a Korean woman who is taken away to America after her parents secure immigration. But for the young Nora, she’s leaving behind a childhood sweetheart right before they have the chance to be together. Advancing twelve years, we see Nora studying at university in New York. Meanwhile, her childhood friend, Hae Sung (Teo Yoo), remains in Korea, finding new love and joining the army. The two reconnect through social media, communicating frequently through Skype. But after the frustration of not being able to physically see each other, they stop talking.

Another twelve years advance, and Hae Sung is finally travelling to New York. While there, he arranges to meet with Nora, who is now happily married. Old wounds are opened and Nora questions what her life might’ve been like had she stayed in Korea.

We can’t help but turn our heads back to the past, ruminating on ‘what if’ scenarios. What I loved about Celine Song’s approach is just how emotionally exact most of Past Lives is. Seeing these two characters at different points of their lives really drives the point home. We see these monumental marks in their lives take hold, and we want to see them evolve into the best versions of themselves. But we also feel this well of sadness fill up as we think about how strong their connection is. The film invokes the strongest feelings of melancholy, knowing that no matter how hard these two try to stay connected, distance, career and ultimately life is going to tear them apart. That is so heart-breaking in of itself.

The relationship between Nora and Hae Sung is both sweet and purposely distanced. In a lot of ways, they’re perfect for each other, but the differences in culture and life paths makes the outcome feel more agreeable. Even Nora’s husband acknowledges the chemistry the two share, feeling insecure but never cruel. It’s powerfully conveyed by simple conversation and small signs of body language that indicate a deeper thought process. It requires the audience’s undivided attention and rewards it with such powerful emotion.

I think the core reason this film has been so well-received is how undeniably organic much of it feels. As much as we tell ourselves not to revisit the past, our minds will always wander back. The idea of having someone just waltz back into your life after years of no contact is a frightening thought, but one that I have had myself. It leaves your mind racing; you’re filled with all these different emotions fighting for dominance. You mostly can’t make sense of how to feel, and the answer is often not clear. That struggle and restrained indifference Nora feels was so poignant. Our minds are so fragile, so something like this can leave you in a protective cocoon.

I’m a story-centred person. Nice visuals and stylistic choices have made up many of the films leading up to this one. But a narrative will always take precedence. Past Lives is a dialogue-heavy reflection on life and the choices we make to get to the point we’re at. It’s important not to live life with regret and embrace the decisions that narrate our lives, good and bad. I’m at a point in my life where a film like this perfectly reflects how I feel. While perhaps not being the objectively best film to come out of last year, it was the one that spoke to me the most. There is no clear path for life, you simply have to enjoy the one you have, in spite of the broken branches that you may have trodden on.

Written by Conor Johnson.

Bute Street: The Independent Voice of Film in Luton

This isn’t my usual shtick. No, I’m not referring to any film in particular, but the very place I experienced such a film is also getting its spotlight. More recently, I retraced my steps quite contently with a need for academic improvement. Picking up a course in Freelance Journalism, I felt I could combine that with my undying love of all things cinematic. You see, I live in a maligned town by the name of Luton. This rather large town just north of London has had an endless amount of vitriol thrown at it. But what many often overlook is just how passionate its many creatives are. From the theatre-focused Next Generation Youth Theatre, which gives young people the chance to express themselves on stage, to the Step Forward Luton movement that highlights different events around the town, to the subject of today’s article: Bute Street Film Festival.

This company was founded by a group of young and talented creatives some years back, they have brought to light independent film makers from across the globe. And while we have yet to see their next festival, Bute Street has also provided us with widely inclusive film nights. This was something that I saw as an honour to take part in and, quite honestly, I wouldn’t have been alerted to had I not done my course. This isn’t so much a complete overview as it is just a small slice of what I experienced.

The key founder of this group is a man by the name of Benjamin Cyrus-Clark. Cyrus-Clark isn’t Luton-born, but he clearly has a passion for this town that I’ve sparsely seen in my own kin. We all had this dream of escaping what we are told to believe is a cesspool. But there’s always something that draws us back to it. Benjamin was able to find a small group of creative minds around Luton-some of which I was already familiar with-who all aim to spread the word of this gravely misunderstood town. With a host of film premieres and even a recent BIFA status, Bute Street Film Festival is deserved of its attention. But even with these accomplishments, I couldn’t help but feel that the studio was missing the crowd it so rightly deserved.

Part of my coursework involved finding somebody interesting within my preferred field that I could interview. My mind immediately turned to that of the Luton arts scene. Daily, I pass by Luton’s claim to fame: The Hat Factory. Named after the trade that put the town on the map, our milliner heritage slowly drifted away. What was once a bustling town of hat factories has now turned into something far more nuanced. The Hat Factory is now a space for creatives to meet and produce something they could be truly proud of. I reached out to two of the creative minds behind such scenes, pleasantly interviewing both.

For Benjamin Cyrus-Clark, this opportunity came in the form of a film discussion night; being something that I’d been looking for in the brief time I lived in Leighton Buzzard. As my four years of writing about films have no doubt shown, I love to talk about films. So when I discovered that Bute Street was holding a night talking about how important film is in maintaining our heritage, and the prospect of watching a short film by the name of Reflection, I couldn’t wait to get involved. The interview was only a brief, special consultation for me. But what I got out of that night was an introspective and rather informative view of how the minds of creatives, Benjamin and co-founder Megan Hoang, truly worked and how they viewed the creative world.

Entering the Hat Factory one evening, I was immediately greeted by the calm and inviting demeanour of our impassioned host. Benjamin greeted me with a handshake and proceeded to finish setting up. Not long after, Megan walked in with an enthusiastic wave, not even knowing what I was there for other than simply to watch the short film. What proceeded was a rather insightful look into how history and heritage is often immortalised in film. While I will say that the presentation could’ve used a bit of fine tuning and some extra time, it opened up the perfect discussion. There weren’t many attendees, but just about everyone contributed to the topic. I went in with the silent observer mindset, but I would eventually throw in my own straw hat.

Benjamin also showed us a project he had worked on in Mexico. This visual ad provided an insight into a piece of heritage we Brits may not typically think of. Using examples of films that capture points in time and specific cultures from around the world, we were able to discuss the importance of how film can maintain the heritage we so often forget about or wish that we had preserved. It left me thinking of my own experiences and the pieces of work I completed in my college days more than ten years ago. Reminiscing of the times spent finding my passion for films and the friendships I had. Knowing that the building we once studied in had now been torn down in favour of a more lavish structure left me feeling a little melancholic and nostalgic all the same. Benjamin knew exactly how to invoke these discussions all through the power of film.

After this discussion, we all diverted into a short break, where I was able to speak directly to the man who made these events possible. In this conversation, I was able to truly unravel the passionate creator behind the shining logo of a mysterious figure with the words, ‘Bute Street’ making up the follicle details of his face. Benjamin revealed how he has worked closely on creating adverts for different places and in different countries. We spoke of his feature debut, Brick City, a film he rushed into with an ambition far greater than any form education could teach you. We talked about his joy in being BIFA-rewarded and how he views the current state of cinema. Just like myself, there’s this need for more independent voices to be heard. I even had a chance to reminisce on old college-mates that we both knew through different means. But the most admirable thing I learned was how quick to put down the idea that Luton is a ‘bad town’ he was. One member of the audience was quite sure of his negative outlook on the town, but Benjamin very assertively disagreed.

The short film we watched was named Reflection, which tells the tale of a man who visits the diner of a single mum struggling with her rather troubled son. This man seems to know quite a bit about these troubles, but his relationship to these two is better left unexplained. It’s a great short that manages to make us think about how much we often fixate on our past mistakes. Everyone has made some bad choices in their lives, but we can’t do much else but learn from them. In a way, those mistakes are very important in shaping the better person we become. It resonated with a past version of myself. As the film is titled, it really makes you reflect.

This night proved to be an enlightening experience. Speaking briefly again with both Benjamin and Megan, you could really see the excitement in both of them. Yet, there was also a longing for these nights to be more occupied. I can’t pretend that I wasn’t a little miffed to see a lack of attendees. It could be down to a number of things, whether it be a lack of interest for independent cinema from the general public, Luton’s reputation, or even the struggle to get people off their sofas and make their way to something far more interactive. Whatever the case, my own experience was bountiful. Though this was spurred on by a regimented course, I knew I wanted to come back, if only to keep supporting this medium I adore so much.

Our River…Our Sky

The following week, I decided to take part in one of the occasional film nights that flutter between the weeks. The film pictured and titled above, Our River…Our Sky was an Arabic film released in 2021 and directed by Maysoon Pachachi. Having very little experience with South Asian cinema myself, and with the lack of independent representation in major chains like Cineworld, I was quite excited to see this award-winning film. Completely foreign to me (in more ways than one), there was certainly a draw to it.

Centred on a close-knit community in Baghdad during the 2006 war, we get a glimpse of life amidst the turmoil. Darina Al Joundi plays the doting mother who tries to support her family, but the increasing dangers of the destruction around her leave her in a desperate plea to escape. We see glimpses of others’ lives. A couple who is expecting a baby, a paraplegic looking for romance online, and a boy being manipulated into taking part in these atrocities. Being more of a lens into the life of the innocents caught up in the conflict, the story is very loosely tied together.

That final point is worth highlighting. While the film can be very emotionally gripping, it’s difficult to get past the severe lack of narrative. The film is almost like a series of vignettes, but not told in any sort of collection of short stories format. Had the film perhaps cut the stories into fifteen to twenty minute sections each, I think it would’ve been a lot easier to follow what was going on. The film meanders around far too much that it lead me to forget which characters were which and what relationship they shared with the central character.

Seperate from the narrative is the strong characterisation of specific players. Each character is defined by rather recognisable and organic caricatures of South Asian culture. Many fellow Lutoners will recognise the personalities portrayed through our increased exposure to these communities that make up the bustling and multicultural town. I was especially drawn to husband of the pregnant woman, who panics over the prospects of being a father, even though he already has a child. There’s a great scene where a rebellious young woman proudly walks about the street without a hijab to rebel against the older man who is too set in his own ways. This a humorous spark that electrifies its way through the mist; but that doesn’t go unchecked either.

When the film wants to hit you with that emotional baton, it can really sting. There’s a horrifying reality that washes over the film through the streets of the city. Explosions go off unexpectedly with little reaction. We see a moment where two teens come across a dead body and try to ignore it. There’s this moment where someone is almost recruited to join a cause, but he sways him off because of how scared he feels. To us, it sinks our stomach into a cold abyss. But to those who have lived through this country during this period of time, it’s a reality they were forced to accept. When the film wants you to feel that emotion, it does so in such a churningly sickening way, but with the safety of a ’12A’ rating.

I’m very conflicted with this film. It does a lot in the way of seeping the most damning emotions out of us, but its narrative is distractingly weak. I’m somebody who appreciates a strong, tightly-wound narrative that isn’t afraid to diverge when need be. It’s hard to fully appreciate these characters outside of their little quirks, and while there’s plenty to like about the visual presentation, it ends up feeling like a messy bag of tricks. Not exactly rife with subtlety, it does manage to salvage itself with its important message. Our rivers all run separately, but our sky is very much the same.

With my slightly mixed review of the film shown, you may wonder why I bothered to include it in an article where I want to speak so highly of Bute Street. It’s quite simple: their out there to give people an experience that many would hardly think to have. My aim with my own reviews has always been to get people to look at films through the eye of somebody who treats this medium with the respect it deserves. In both Benjamin and Megan, I can see that same passion. They take it one step further by promoting those very films.

Our social film landscape is falling to the wayside in favour of big budget extravaganzas that have hardly any depth. People might complain that there aren’t any original ideas anymore, but I argue that they’re very much still here, and right on your doorstep as well. While I may not have completely enjoyed the film, just getting the chance to watch something I never would’ve thought of is such a great experience. We need to open ourselves up taking risks once again. The people at the Bute Street Film Festival are trying to do just that.

Take some time to really search for these things. Speak to the people that know more and can give you advice on where to follow them. I know I’ll continue to visit these nights for as long as they continue, and you should certainly do the same. Independent cinema is out there, and Bute Street’s got you covered.

Special thanks to Benjamin and Megan for taking the time to help me in my studies.

Written by Conor Johnson.

The Silent Era: An Art Lost in Sound

I can hear the collective moans of a thousand souls around the world. Some young tool trying to talk about an artform that is long since dead. Indeed, the Silent Era is a time that many, including the more dedicated of film connoisseurs, look down upon as something better left where it was. We’ve had the odd Silent film made in tribute to this infantile era, like Mel Brooks’ screwball Comedy Silent Movie. Or we have the more appraising The Artist. These films may have that spark that many audiences have loved, but the era itself is so waved off you can’t help but feel a little remorseful.

That’s why I wanted to highlight some major films of this bygone era. Just last week, I looked back at the documentary film, Dawson City: Frozen Time. This film, that delved into the finding of lost films from the Silent Era, enticed me to visit this subject sooner than I had planned. This era started as early as film first came to fruition, and it remained silent through the ’10s and ’20s. The thirties brought about a more ‘Talkie’ reliant market, but there was still some wiggle room for such a honed craft. Watching these actors rely on theatre techniques and almost entire mimetic behaviour to tell a story is so admirable. There’s a universal language spoken through mere movement. I personally find the Silent Era to be endless treasure trove of forgotten gems. Some of these films have left echoes throughout the ages, and some are a little harder to find.

Here are some of the major highlights I’ve encountered during my time delving into this pool of mercurial majesties. Grab your loafers, step into some oversized coat tails and bring all the moxie you can for this trip back through time.

Broken Blossoms (1919)

The name of one D.W. Griffith does not exactly carry with it the fondest of associations. His 1915 racist blunder, The Birth of a Nation, was something I already talked about. If it isn’t that film people remember, there’s hardly anything else this man has been immortalised in. It’s very often forgotten that Griffith was one of the first notoriety directors in America, however. His short films of the 1910s would only be superseded by his feature career. One film that I think has more than earned its fair share of attention is Broken Blossoms.

This film unites the Eastern-Asian world with that of the West in a rather heart wrenching tale of a Chinese immigrant (performed uncomfortably in yellow-face by Richard Barthelmess) who falls in love with a young English girl (Lillian Gish). The girl is often abused by her drunken and xenophobic father, but she keeps a hopeful outlook and a forlorn grin. After a step gone too far, young Lucy is found in the care of the Chinese man. Though she may not feel the same way, the two form a strong bond.

Some will be quick to lambaste the use of yellow-face, and from a man who promoted racial segregation just four years prior, and I wouldn’t blame you. But beneath all this uncomfortable bigotry lies a film that heralds a love story worthy of competing against the more well-known types. The connection these two characters share is strong and almost fairy-tale-like. Despite the unfortunate face-colouring practices of the time, the message of fighting against bigotry has outlasted any of the director’s true colours. Above all, the film is just a very sad tale. Gish, who was a regular in Griffith’s films and considered one of the first major film stars, manages to bring to life a troubled and sympathetic character. No dialogue is necessary, and even title cards don’t need to say much. You see the abuse she suffers from her father first-hand, and in a way that’s done with the restrictions of what could be shown.

This isn’t an easy film to find. I had to get a copy from a third-party company that deals with restoring ancient films. If you can get the chance to find this one, I do recommend it. It transcends the passage of time, making you forget the over one-hundred years of history. Though Griffith is probably best remembered as a horribly racist bigot, he was able to make something truly artful. With enough care and a tad bit of trepidation, this blossom will bloom into something fascinating.

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920)

Only a year later, we get one of the most influential films of all time. Hailing from Germany, Robert Wiene’s Horror classic did more than simply contribute to the genre: it practically invented it. Horror was a barely explored medium during this time. Novels and theatre plays did enough with the grim and gruesome of spine-chilling storytelling, but the film medium was still fresh, still barely exploring other genres for the first time. The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari not only drew from these literary pieces, but also brought about a world of the most abstract imagery you could’ve seen in a film of the time.

This story starts from the perspective of a man named Franzis (Friedrich Feher), who seems to be visiting his sickly fiance in a mental institute of sorts. Telling the story of how he got here to a doctor, the rest of the film is told in flashback. The jagged, expressionist world comes to life in a style that could be described as cartoonish. Franzis and Jane (Lil Dagover) live the lives of young lovers, but that’s about to get disrupted upon the arrival of Dr. Caligari (Werner Krauss), a carnival hypnotist who makes use of somnambulist by the name of Cesare (Conrad Veidt.) When Cesare is awoken, he can predict the future. During this, murders are happening all across the town and may be linked to our mysterious doctor.

This film has all the hallmarks of a compelling Horror. From the mysterious and gruesome murders to the strange, monstrous entity to the psychological terror that washes over this small town. Much of what we know about the genre evolved from here. And even with all of that imitation numbing our minds to the clichés, Caligari still remains a memorable experience. Horror is drawn from the natural uncanniness that makes up our two villains. The bizarre set designs create an otherworldly and uncannily unnatural world. The murders are handled with a specificity that feels both terrifying and allusive. Add an extra ounce of scepticism and you have a ghastly film that still persists. You can tell how much of impact this film left on directors like Tim Burton and David Lynch.

There are many classic films I was able to acquire through Eureka! A company based around restoring old films that have almost been lost to time. I was able to get my hands on this through their repeated service. It’s something you should definitely watch, even with the mindset of what’s come since. For all you Horror buffs out there, this is a quintessential addition to your collection. It’s a cabinet certainly worth opening.

The Kid (1921)

We can’t very well talk about the Silent Era without addressing one of the great masters. Charlie Chaplin had already made a career for himself in this adoptive America on stage, and in films helmed by other directors. But Chaplin wanted to stretch his ever-exuberant legs in this directorial debut. Comedy may go through different motions, but one subsect of it will always remain timeless: physicality. The Kid is a prime example of what made Chaplin such a performing force. Combining fast-paced slapstick with heart and emotion, as well as Comedy’s greatest companion, sadness.

Chaplin steps into his all-too-familiar shoes of The Tramp: a character he brought to life through the stage. The Tramp is minding his own business when he encounters a baby left abandoned by his young and struggling mother. Though he initially tries to flog the baby off to unwitting people, he eventually takes the child in and raises him as his own. Years pass and the boy (Jackie Coogan) is now five and causing as much mischief as his impoverished father. Most of the film plays out as a day in the life story, but the frequent mishaps of the hapless Tramp lead to authorities questioning the man’s true relationship to the boy. With window-smashing hijinks, alleyway brawls and an intense chase that sees Chaplin flaunting his natural athleticism, The Kid is still a treat all these decades later.

I’ve not quite had the same exposure to Chaplin that many comedy and film enthusiasts alike have, but from little I have, I fully understand the claim of ingenuity this man proudly wore. Physical stunt work is pushed to the forefront. This was back in the day when studios didn’t feel the need to shell out money on stunt people and could rely on their performers to do the heavy lifting. Chaplin saunters through these elaborate set pieces like a cartoon character. Heightening this is the common technique of speeding up footage by recording at a faster framerate to make the whole world feel like it’s on an adrenaline rush. Even the young Jackie Coogan, being around the same age as the character, manages to stack up to the totem of Chaplin’s reputation. He delivers a performance that many child actors could never match. Top these hilarious scenarios off with a staunch portrayal of poverty trying to overcome its oppressors and you have a wonderful film that will continue to defy its age.

The Kid is available on Criterion, so if you’re willing to pay out that extra bit of cash, you’ll find yourself a proud owner of Chaplin’s beginning as a film maker. I’ve always been fascinated by Chaplin’s career, and I’ve still a long way to go before I can hold a specific film up as his best. The Kid is a phenomenal Comedy that doesn’t need terrible one-liners or false improvisation. It’s handled with precise care and a physicality no one could hope to match. That said…

Safety Last! (1923)

If we’re going to sit here and talk about comedy legends, it’s important to bring up Harold Lloyd. He may not have had the same longevity as someone like Chaplin or Buster Keaton, but his iconography has led to some iconic imagery. The picture above has no doubt caused some sort of familial recognition in you. The imagery of Lloyd hanging off the clock has been paid homage to in numerous films. Most recognisably would be the Sci-Fi classic, Back to the Future. But to go back and see the very thing that inspired it is truly a treat. Directors, Fred C. Newmeyer and Sam Taylor were the ones to give Lloyd the time of day.

Harold Lloyd plays a young man who has travelled to New York with his girlfriend (Mildred Davis) with the prospect of getting a prestigious job at a fancy clothes store. Convincing her that he’s the CEO of the company, Lloyd is thrown into a series of antics that sees him shifting places with his true boss in an effort to avoid exposing the truth. His antics eventually lead him to an idea that could see the store gaining quite a reputation. He his pal (Bill Strother) arrange for him to climb up the building the store is located. Things don’t exactly go to plan.

It’s no bold assumption that most people will only recognise this movie for the iconic clock scene, but what many may not realise is that there is a masterclass of physical comedy going on underneath. Lloyd throws himself into his physicality with us much passion as Chaplin or Keaton ever did. Small jokes like Lloyd hanging off the coat of a man, or his little bait-and-switch with the store manager are incredible to look at. You can tell that everything is treated with meticulous detail. The scenario is one imitated by many comedies after, but they all miss the intricacy of the execution. The eventual climb up the building may not have been as impressive in real life as it appears on film, but you still get this anxious knot in your stomach. What makes this faux climb feel more real is Lloyd’s eccentric reactions. It’s more a product of the times: the overreacting and ghostly white makeup, but it’s still effective all this time later. Brimming with childish glee and retro spectacle, this film will forever stand the test of time.

Just like The Kid, I was able to get this on Criterion. Both are worth the double purchase and provide a nice compliment to one another. If you want to uncover more of that ancient age of film comedy, then this one-hundred-year-old palooza is sure to have you hanging on the edge of your seats.

Battleship Potemkin (1925)

It’s controversial to write anything positive about Russia in this day and age; who can blame anyone? In the midst of this terrible conflict, looking back to such a “pure” time in cinema may not give you that comfort you desire. Battleship Potemkin was a piece of Russian Socialist propaganda from the mind of Sergei Eisenstein, a director who would only go on to amass more fame with his later films. What sets this apart from the various war-hungry films from England, America and Germany is just how harshly it gets across its point. This isn’t a rousing piece about getting soldiers to do their part, or to endlessly praise a particular politician. This is a film that tells you just how awful the world really is.

Not content with making a documentary, this fictional film centres around a navy group that are poorly treated by their commandeer. Being abused and fed rotten meat, the crewmembers eventually retaliate after a group of them are sentenced to death for simply voicing their opinions. They form a mutiny and dock themselves back home. The leader of this revolt is killed for his actions, which leads to the people of Russia joining in in the rebellion. It’s the innocent citizens and passionate infantrymen against the political forces. All they want is to be treated as equals.

Propaganda being pumped into films is always a tetchy subject. It also doesn’t help that political viewpoints, no matter which country, will shift frequently. At this point in time, the USSR was still very much alive. This film clearly peddles a Communist ideal, and while I don’t completely agree with it, you have to admire the direction it takes. It does a great job at enticing you in with the universal disdain for abuse of power. The abuse is simple but effective. Once characters start rising up against this, you can’t help but cheer them on. This goes in a very unsubtle direction as the film goes on, and no more is that prevalent in the town massacre scene. For a film of this period to show such gratuitous violence is shocking. It never holds back either, going for even the smallest target. This whole film is bathed in tension and anxiety. There’s a sequence late in the film that feels like a panic attack brought to life.

You can find this film within the slate of BFI restorations. Much of this Russian classic was almost lost to time, but preservation has kept it afloat. It’s one of those films worth showing in history classes. There’s much to appreciate even if you don’t agree with the political stance. It’s worth sailing these seas. Just make sure you bring something good food with you.

Metropolis (1927)

Speaking of politically-charged films, one may not look at this Sci-Fi forefather as all that political. German director Fritz Lang may have grabbed the world by storm with his Peter Lorre-led thriller, M, but his first real success was Metropolis. Perhaps you’ve seen the poster emblazoned along the wall of a college class, or maybe you’ve seen the robot (pictured above) somewhere you can’t put your finger on. This has often been considered the epitome of classic Sci-Fi. While not being the first in the genre (even in film), it inspired many films from Star Wars to Blade Runner. Mixing in some not-so-subtle allegories for anti-capitalism, we get a film that was far more prophetic in more ways than one.

Set in a distant future, we see this metropolitan world through the lens of an elite member of society, Freder Fredersen (Gustav Frohlich), the son of the wealthy business owner to keeps the city running. After meeting the beautiful Maria (Bridgitte Helm), who comes to this lavish and futuristic city with the plea for help for the children of the lower society, Freder decides to follow her. Freder makes the startling discovery that the people of the slums are running the city through pure manual labour, and are working themselves to the bone. Standing up to his father, Freder tries what he can to help the poverty-stricken people. Discovering their devout passion for the now extinct belief in God, he and Maria are troubled by the people of the upper Metropolis who want to put a stop to it.

What makes Metropolis so powerful all these decades later is how observational it is. While the film was positively received when it came out, looking back at in retrospect has given it a humble reflection. This sprawling metropolis is painted with cardboard backgrounds and traditional map paintings, but it’s admirable to see how much effort was put in to making this feel more genuine. Both sides of the world are punctuated through contrasting aesthetics and performances. The crushing weight of Capitalism bares heavy on the working-people, providing a brutal telling of totalitarianism. There’s scenes of prisoners being marched into a fiery furnace; it’s shockingly prophetic with the ensuing war long to come. Even aside from the political elements, you can see how it inspired well-known Sci-Fi flicks-the robot has an uncanny resemblance to Star Wars’ C-3PO. While the film does suffer with some outdated storytelling and a few plodding moments, it remains a fascinating reflection of things to (then) come.

Much like with Dr. Caligari, I was able to find this film through Eureka!’s line of restorations. Much of this film had been lost over time, but they’ve managed to restore it through whatever means they could. It’s something that bares appreciation. Head into some retro futurism that’s so retro it’s almost archaic.

Silent Runnings!

I’ll admit that this has been my most debated article yet. As in, me debating myself. I understand that many casual filmgoers simply do not want to watch a film that could be over a centaury old; quite literally. And what’s especially off-putting is the whole silent part. It’s definitely a tricky thing to overcome, but I promise you that there’s gold in that worn-out and eroded lake.

These were just a handful of Silent films I felt were worthy to stand up to the pantheon of revolutionary films today. What’s so fun about this era is just how many innovative films there were. We’ve come a very, very long way from these days, but there is a sense of deep reflection I think we can all appreciate. There’s a physical language that crossed oceans and borders alike. There were actors who dominated the screen and were sadly torn down by the eve of the Talkie, started by The Jazz Singer. There were directors that found their footing and would go on to become more honed as the decades passed. To appreciate this era is to appreciate the skeleton of modern film making. A history so deafening that people can’t seem to hear it anymore.

Written by Conor Johnson.

Movie Fatigue? Cinema Is Thriving

Cinema is dead! Or at least, that’s how many casual movie-goers view the current landscape. I’m no stranger to similar sentiments myself, what with theatres being too afraid to release anything other than a simple popcorn flick of little substance. We often beg for something more distinct and less repetitious. Have you ever caught yourself lamenting for the past, when films were varied and packed full of depth? What if I told you that these films are still out there? That there are still pieces of art circulating theatres and other services that people simply aren’t looking at.

My fellow film buffs will know of these films. It certainly pays to have an eye on the independent market. My own outrage at how major cinemas like Cineworld and Odeon refuse to diversify their selection of films led me to seeking out those unique outliers. To an extent, I can understand their choice not to release such films. With the prices of tickets rising more and more, and streaming services dominating peoples’ lives, the audience wants know what they’re buying into. But then these same people can often complain that cinemas aren’t what they used to be. I wanted to use this article to give my more causal readers some bits of insight into what you’re missing out on.

I have picked a selection of independent and/or foreign language films from the last few years that I feel are sure to enlighten your movie-watching experience. We’re sitting on the precipice of cinemas collapsing. But one day, we’ll see a resurgence of theatre culture rising back into the stratosphere. Perhaps what these companies need is a revaluation of what audiences are looking for. These are the films that defy the sameness of studio-made movies and speak to the individuals’ voices. Allow me retrace my own steps so I can open you up to a world of studio-defying art. Open your minds and open your hearts.

The Banshees of Inisherin

I’m starting off with a film you’ve most likely heard of. Since it’s now under Disney’s umbrella after the Fox purchase along with their independent studio, Fox Searchlight, this film has been splayed along the front pages of Disney+ for a short period of time. I almost wasn’t going to include this one for that very reason, but a couple of conversations with co-workers brought to my attentions a lack of awareness for the film. Releasing only last year, quite frankly, I was perplexed. Banshees of Inisherin is a film like no other, and it’s snub for Best Picture at the Oscars still hurts.

It primarily centres on two (former) friends, Colm (Brendan Gleeson) and Padriac (Colin Farrell) on an obscure little island in Ireland, we see Padriac absolutely shattered and confused over the sudden coldness of Colm. Colm has decided that he no longer has time for Padriac’s blandness, questioning his purpose in life. He decides he wants to refine his fiddle playing, leaving Padriac to wane in sadness in the comfort of his sister and oddball, Dominic. But even with a clear, threatening message of distancing himself from Colm, Padriac can’t help but try his hardest to sway his former friend.

The director of this film is Martin McDonagh, known for cult favourites like Seven Psychopaths and In Bruges. Known for his darker, twisted sense of humour in the midst of genuine drama, you very much get the same results here. What makes this one stand out however is it’s kempt emotional authenticity. There are few films in this world that I feel have accurately portrayed the sadness of losing friends over the years. It’s not a thing to be generalised. The way Padriac desperately clings to one of his only true friends and can do nothing to convince him to stay with him is heart-breaking. You understand why Colm wants to seperate himself, as Padriac doesn’t offer much in the way of constructive existence, but with how extremely he fends him off: it’s painful.

If you’ve ever had friends walk away from you with little explanation, or have had to do the same thing yourself in fear of being dragged down by those people, it’s never an easy thing to deal with. I’ve lost friends over the years and have made poor choices in my own social life, so I can fully relate to both characters. If you’ve ever been driven to succeed but feel that there’s someone in your life holding you back, you know the conflict of deciding what you value most. It’s not an easy question to answer, and the film presents that in the most open way possible.

It’s a film that induced me to tears at several intervals, but it also provides many moments of dark humour to keep your spirits up. Add a very poignantly Irish atmosphere and you have a film that stands out from many others. This has slowly risen from being my favourite film of last year to be one of my favourite films in general.

Tar

2022 really was a year for independent films. I have to be a bit more choosey over which ones are worth talking about, but I knew for sure I wanted Todd Field’s Tar to get a spotlight. I had the pleasure of seeing this film in the Barbican Theatre in London, surrounded by like-minded film enthusiasts. One thing that movie-goers will complain about with theatres today is the conditions of the screens and lack of etiquette from other audience members. If you’re looking for a more immersive experience, I encourage you to really explore other theatres (you probably won’t have a choice in the matter). Tar was a perfect film to choose for this very reason.

Cate Blanchett steps into the role of composer, Lydia Tar. Driven by her own talents and success, she’s truly an expert in her craft. And while on the surface she appears a deeply admirable figure, her personal life and personality present a far more despicable figure. Willing to shut people out of her life for the sake of her own success, she steps on people, tells others they are wrong for having a difference of opinion and even drives a former student of hers to suicide due to some alleged sexual manipulation. A talented person with a terrible ethic? Sounds familiar.

It’s important to note how monumental this is in the current cultural landscape. The film addresses the argument over whether we should seperate the art from the artist. With the more relevant controversies surrounding people in the entertainment industry being labelled as predators or the infamous transphobia of J.K. Rowling, it’s very difficult to justify seeing their artforms in a more objective way. Field throws in his two cents as he tells the audience quite plainly that terrible people should not be given credit just because they’ve made something with artistic merit.

EO

2022 can be cemented as a year for great creatives. I wanted to highlight the other corners of the world that many in our British and American subsections don’t pay attention to. Foreign films are often overshadowed by the titans of the film industry, but with the success of Asian cinema being more recognised thanks to the surprise Best Picture win of Parasite in 2019 I think it’s time casual audiences turn their attention to our nearer relatives. Polish director, Jerzy Skolimowski gives us a small-scale tale of the animal cruelty that still pervades the world.

A simple title for an adventurous donkey, EO centres on a circus donkey (played by various different donkeys) that is sold and traded off to various owners. Leaving behind the owner that once dedicated her life to it, EO finds itself in the midst of farmers, drunken sports fans, abusive drunks and bares witness to the nuances of life.

EO almost feels like something Disney would spin into a charming little animated tale about a talking donkey, with an important message attached to it. But Skolimowski’s view of the situation and how it places and animal into the lead doesn’t mince viewpoints. There is a sort of twisted charm to it with how likeable and downright wholesome certain moments with EO are. It presents a viewpoint of human life through the ideas of animal and eliminates this belief that animals are emotionless, let alone apathetic. It’s not an easy watch for those who truly love animals, but that’s the point. It’s encouraging us to get out there and go that extra step for what we believe in.

EO is nothing short of an invocative piece that isn’t afraid to put those who disregard animals on a stand. It’s absent of any unnecessary CGI, preferring to utilise actual donkeys to really personify the problem. If you’re looking for a challenging look at a very consistent problem society has dealt with for years, EO is quit the emotional trip.

Marcel the Shell with Shoes On

For those who adore independent cinema, no studio today is more synonymous with that label than A24. I could probably write an entire list on this magnificent voice for the smaller creative alone, but I wanted to showcase so many other films out there. But the film I’m talking about here is so different from what we’ve come to expect from the studio. released in 2021, Marcel the Shell with Shoes On (a title longer than the runtime) is an animation/live action hybrid targeted at just about everybody. This is a studio known for producing mature films, especially Horror. And despite how far out from its comfort zone it appears, it’s unbelievably fresh.

Filmed in a Mockumentary style, film maker, Dean (Dean Fleischer Camp) takes us into the hidden world of Marcel (Jenny Slate), a living seashell who lives with his grandma, Connie (Isabella Rossellini). Living in the little crevices of a house once owned by a couple, they have long lost their family upon their split. Marcel desperately wants to find his family, but we also get little slices of Marcel’s life and his care for his ailing grandmother. Small bits of introspection into Dean’s life also emerge. Perhaps the two will find comfort in each other.

It’s a sad reality that this type of medium is rarely explored these days. I’m not talking about the general animation/live action hybrid, but rather stop-motion and its place in the medium. In the classic days of cinema, before CGI, stop-motion was considered a suitable substitute for bringing ungodly creations to life. Marcel is a film that brings back the medium, refusing to rely on technical achievements and showcase how far the medium has come when we haven’t been looking. Marcel feels like a very real, organic character. The Mockumentary style certainly helps this, with the director taking his own lead as one of the central characters. It’s charming and reminds us of how important human connection is. Even outside of the novelty of having something different from A24, it’s just so vehemently unique that it earns its audience.

This is probably the most accessible movie I’ll attach to this list. It’s so very charming and heartfelt, and it carries a message that both kids and adults can appreciate. I found myself wanting to live in this world that Camp has created, even though it’s essentially the same one with a little fantasy sprinkled in.

Parallel Mothers

Hollywood has been in a cynical mood for the last few years. With major studios trying to push this idea that they are very inclusive by forcing a female to the forefront, touting them as nothing more than blank slates for representation, it leaves the mind wondering if this can be done in a far more natural way. Perhaps I can provide you with a film from the more exotic Spain. I turn your investigative minds towards Pedro Almodovar’s 2021 film, Parallel Mothers. The story of female strength in the midst of a male-dominated world, the infamous director has managed to show us he still has a knack for telling tales of strong female characters.

Two mothers give birth at the same time: Janis (Penelope Cruz), an older woman with strong ambition, and Ana (Milena Smit), a younger woman left with an accidental pregnancy. The two bond over their shared time together, and eventually go their seperate lives. But a tragedy happens that brings these two women back into each other’s trajectory. A shocking revelation leads Janis to question her morality, and her bond with Ana grows into something more.

Not short of the type of melodrama one would expect from the country that gave us the telenovela, this is one that will leave you in a classic, visceral state of shock at every turn. Almodovar has been making films since the eighties, many of which focused on women, but he always manages to explore different avenues. This film delves into a unity only women can understand. It’s hard for me to speak about the psychologiical implications of this film without absolutely spoiling this film. It’s one of the more exciting entries in my list, but that’s not to say it’s without its artistic merits. The way these characters feel is so genuine, and gets the mind racing over how you would react if you were placed in the same situations.

Even if you’re like me, a man, there’s still much you can take away from it. Without even trying, Almodovar has given us a film that explores a very real pain that women have to go through, albeit in a way that is very worst-case scenario. To feel such raw sadness is always an accomplishment and should be spoken as a testament to the director’s outlook on life.

What’s the Outcome?

If I could list every single film in the last few years I thought was worth watching, this article would never end. I did consider putting the controversial Horror film, Men on here, but the reaction has been very negative, contradicting my personal exception. Japanese Drama, Drive My Car was also heavily considered, but I wanted to stray away from Asian cinema, as I feel it’s gained a bit of a following. I think the films I have chosen are well worth the time out of your day.

My greatest hope is not for major cinemas to die; I still very much enjoy the odd popcorn flick. What I want is for people to see the films that are out there. To silence the naysayers who claim that there aren’t any good films out there anymore or there aren’t any great actors anymore. Film is such a beautiful spectrum of colour, emotion, language and can be viewed in infinite ways. These films are merely a taste of what you can expect. So go out there and broaden your minds.

The French New Wave: Modernising Cinema

In my last review a couple weeks ago, I wrote of Bernard Bertolucci’s more obscure love letter to the French New Wave, The Dreamers. I look at this as a sort of ‘part II’ to that review. To many film lovers and film makers everywhere, The French New Wave is well-known for being the defining moment in cinematic history that opened the floodgates for independent film makers to fight against the studio-led products and provide something deeply personal. It started in the late fifties, with films like Le Beau Serge and The 400 Blows. Directors such as Francois Truffaut and Jean-Luc Godard were able to find a place within the echelon of the French film makers that very much inspired them, and would go on to inspire others.

This Wave would continue on into the late sixties, though no-one can determine when it petered out. Much of modern cinema all across the world has continued the traditions of The French New Wave, from the storytelling to the editing to the poetic narration. Much of what we see in films today are only the way they are because of this movement. It’s why we saw so much experimentation during the seventies, and why, when watching these older films, there’s a constant sense of familiarity, even if you haven’t seen anything else from this era.

I had briefly explored this movement during my college years some ten years ago, but outside of some very iconic imagery, I was never given the chance to watch anything from this seminal point in time. It’s only in the last year or so that I’ve become absolutely obsessed with this pocket-space of cinematic poetry. I still have a lot of exploring to do, but I wanted to highlight just a handful of my favourites so far. French cinema is something so utterly unique from what we Brits and Americans are used to, and feel far more timeless than our own contemporaries of the time.

For those who have never experienced the French cinema of this era, I can only hope that my poured adoration can convince you to seek these out. Beauty and class coincide with one another in these very distinct pieces of artistry. laissez-vous guider par le cinéma.

The 400 Blows (1959)

I spoke of two major films that marked the beginning of this era. I have yet to watch Le Beau Serge, as it has been very difficult to find legitimately, but I’ve had Truffaut’s directorial debut sitting upon my shelf for more than few months before I finally decided to watch it. Even before I started this wave of French New Wave appreciation, The 400 Blows was always one of those films that I simply knew about by its title alone. It’s no wonder why this film became such a seminal moment in film history: it’s as independent and personal as one of these films has ever been.

Truffaut gives us an near-perfect autobiographical recount of his childhood through the guise of a young pre-adolescent by the name of Antoine, who finds himself subject to ridicule from both his parents and his teachers. He’s like any child: one who enjoys the good in his life, but often ends up in trouble. HIs mother seems to detest him, and his stepfather begins to take his own frustrations out on him. The film is very melancholy, but it does have those moments of sunlight buried within, occasionally shining through the antics of Antoine and his friend.

There’s a unique voice to this film that could never be matched by anyone else. Truffaut is putting his troubled childhood to the screen, shamelessly criticising his parents for their, frankly, terrible parenting. There’s a sense of bitterness that Truffaut is personifying on screen. You’ll hardly find a film from that era that was so willing to speak out against the obligatory respect we’re expecting to give our parents, no matter how incompetent some of their choices can be. You feel every hardship that the young Antoine goes through. We’re subject to cold, seeded spite from his mother, and none of it is truly warranted.

This film is a coming-of-age story. It isn’t necessarily excusing rebellious behaviour, but it is trying to give other parents a little more perspective. Antoine is not perfect, and he does misbehave, steal and come up with excuses; some more terrible than others. But it’s far more harmless than what his parents perceive. Children can cause trouble, and to immediately label them as a delinquent can be emotionally damaging for them. What we see portrayed here is a raw and honest recounting of a single person’s experience, but it can apply to anyone. It’s only fitting that one of the first major films of The French New Wave would be something that stands up to authority. It would set the tone for the coming years.

Hiroshima Mon Amour (1959)

Speaking so fondly of directorial debuts, here’s a more recent watch for myself. The title immediately provides a culture shock. We mix together a famed Japanese city with the alluring class of the French language and it creates this whirlwind of questionable emotion. Director, Alain Resnais ventures into lands so foreign to Westerners that there is hardly anything to match it from the time. His first film reflects on the aftershock left behind by World War II, and especially on how the Japanese had been effected. This culture clash is more an entangling of different societies united in sorrow.

The film is largely focused on two star-crossed lovers: a French actress who has travelled to Hiroshima for a small role in an important piece about the city, and a Japanese man who has fallen madly in love with her. They have what the woman wants to be a brief affair, but this soon turns into a story of opening up to a new life of self-reflection and the ability to confront the past. Working as both a poignant apology letter to Japan and a greater message of moving past trauma, this film will give you something to reflect no matter the context.

I’ve spoken quite frequently of my love for Japanese cinema in the past. It’s also quite funny that we as a culture know more of this side of the world more than that of the French today. It’s interesting to look at this film from the perspective of years and years of hatred that was earned through the second war. Resnais finally looks back on the terrible Hiroshima bombing with a sense of sadness and accountability, even if France had little effect on such an event. There’s a constant sadness and eloquence to the film, where the two coincide just as much as our two protagonists. We’re given the facts of the event up front, with uncomfortable real-life imagery, post-explosion. One can’t help but feel the deepest of emotions. With Brits and Americans refusing to acknowledge the harm and tragedy they caused, Hiroshima Mon Amour kicks it into us.

Even aside from the blatant criticism of such an awful act, the film has this understanding of tragedy. One of the earliest criticisms I’ve seen of the war, it makes a point that everyone is affected no matter what side you stood on. Intercut with this beautiful, yet struggling romance of cultural inception, we are made witness to two different mentalities trying to win each over. I loved the progressive exploration Elle’s trauma, and her evasiveness for another romantic connection. It’s gorgeous and serene and intermit in ways that only that French sensibility can muster.

This is perhaps one of the more “artistic” films in the list, and I understand it won’t be for everybody. But if you’re in to dialogue-driven romance pieces, it does provide something distinct from many others in the genre. I spoke in the past of Richard Linklater’s Before Trilogy, and this film is similar to those. It’s a stunning display of human fragility.

Breathless (1960)

Probably the most recognisable film in The French New Wave, Jean-Luc Godard gave his own debut with this poignant story of self-criticism. That’s not to say that Godard is criticising himself, but opening others to the possibility of looking at themselves more objectively. Godard has easily become my favourite director from this era, as he’s often very critical and honest about many of the things I myself have been. In the case of this film, I was able to relate much to that struggle to make changes and correct the mistakes I have made; obviously not to this exact extent.

It’s a story centred on criminal, Lazlo Kovacs (though this is merely an alias) as he finds himself wrapped in various petty crimes involving gangs. He lives his life rather haphazardly, but he does have a deep-seeded love of an American woman, Patricia. Patricia has her life quite set, and while she loves Lazlo, she can’t envision a future with him. Lazlo continues to run from his responsibilities, preferring to live in immaturity. But this path he leads causes him a great downfall.

I will say that amongst the other films I’ve chosen to list, Breathless may be my least favourite. I still very much enjoy it, but it feels a little half-realised. That said, there are some very strong themes that make this film stand above your typical character study. I loved that exploration of Lazlo’s personality. While he tries to tote this tough guy image, aggressive and nonchalant towards the advancements of Patricia, he’s really a very insecure person. He stops himself from ever truly growing, refusing to look at himself from the perspective of others. I think this is such an important lesson for anyone to learn. Regardless of whether you see yourself as an objectively good person, there’s always some sort of flaw that bares improving.

Godard is different from the two directors I mentioned before. His more recognisable style has yet to come into realisation, and he would revisit these same themes later with more ferocity. For me, it isn’t quite an immediate swing-and-a-hit. There is still much to admire about the film, and it still stands as something quite unique, but there’s so much more artistry in his later works, as you will inevitably see.

Jules and Jim (1962)

Francois Truffaut started off an extremely high note, but he would continue to deliver countless art works across the proceeding years. His second most notable film in my eyes in Jules and Jim. The title is a tad misleading, as it’s more of a three-piece story; a love triangle of disproportionate colours with characters that are dictated by a singular entity. It’s a surprisingly nuanced view of love and this how idea of chasing somebody who is so different to you can often lead to some great downfall. A country known for its romance, this is more about mutual and unconditional love outside of romance.

The title refers to two friends. Jules is an Austrian that has lived in France most of his life. Jim is natural-born Frenchman. The two have a seemingly unbreakable bond, but that is soon tested with the introduction of the free-spirited Catherine. Both are drawn to her, beginning a three-way friendship that will inevitably lead them into a complicated love triangle. Both men are sent to war, fighting on opposite sides, but they still ultimately find themselves dedicated to one another. Jules marries Catherine, but the romance isn’t as perfect as they make it seem, and Jim can’t help but fall in love with her. What continues is a strangely symbiotic relationship.

Jules and Jim is not one of those conventional romance films. This isn’t your typical love triangle, and is guaranteed to cause some confusion. In a way, it strips apart our perception of relationships and what exactly defines ‘romance.’ It destroys this idea that opposites attract due to how different Catherine is from the other two. Both are more committed to a more idealistic family, but Catherine is far more lucid. You do sort of feel sorry for her as she is pressured into a love life she never asked for. But her manipulative behaviour soon dismantles whatever sympathy you may have left.

It’s difficult to separate Truffaut’s own experiences with this film, the same way we look at The 400 Blows. That lack of loving support Truffaut had when he was younger probably effected his own ideas of romance and relationships. Seeing as his parents had a very miserable and dishonest life together, I can understand this slight cynicism. Above all, the film is pushing the reality that a unconditional bond will always be far stronger, and that no romantic partner should ever get in the way of that. It’s a film that will have you questioning a lot of your own outlook on life. With my own experiences of losing friends (not to any woman), I understand completely the value of having these types of people in your life.

Pierrot Le Fou (1965)

Returning to the works of the great Jean-Luc Godard, we see an open critique of American culture in a way that personifies the almost-protesting movement of The French New Wave. Godard also used the backdrop of the newly started Vietnam War as the basis for America’s obsession with patriotism and blood-hungry violence. Unlike Breathless, this film better displays Godard’s eye for the uncanny: the oddly grounded surrealism that has no doubt had an impact on later surrealist films from other directors. Not the least of which can be seen in Godard’s amazing Weekend.

The titular character if Pierrot tries to reinvent himself as a man named Ferdinand. He’s had enough of being surrounded by people obsessed with shallow film making and wants to live the life of a creative spirit. He abandons his family in favour of an old love. The two take to the road, committing crimes while Marianne’s (the girlfriend) past begins to catch up with her. Gangsters and murderers have some sort of score to settle with Marianne, and Pierrot gets caught up in the middle of it all. Pierrot soon realises that he and Marianne are far more different than he would’ve liked. He enjoys the beauty of the naturalness of life, while she is far more interested in simple and exciting things.

I started this entire article explaining what The French New Wave was even started on. It was the basis of counter-culture fighting off against the typical studio-led narrative and film making techniques in favour of a more independent voice. Pierrot Le Fou is an open criticism of that very studio sentimentality. The film is packed with a lot of excitement, with thrilling chases and suspense and mystery, but it’s all shadowed by a satirical edge. Pierrot acts as the one, true artist amongst these thrill-chasing figures, where even this source of his fascination, Marianne, is the very epitome of that system he despises.

The film also takes more than a several few shots at American culture. There’s plenty of humour that’s derived from this point, like the scene where the two leads re-enact a confrontation between and American soldier and a Vietnamese woman. It’s done in a purposely offensive way as to highlight the audacity that America derives pleasure from such actions. American cinema had always been obsessed with entertaining their audience up to this point, with the smaller, independent films being pushed to the wayside. Godard is essentially venting his frustrations at this. If Godard was alive today, no doubt that he would furiously object to the state of modern cinema.

Pierrot Le Fou is an essential film for those who are tired of the cynical studio films that dominate movie theatres everywhere. It’s something I entirely relate to, even if I still get a good kick out of those mindless action films. But for the struggling audience that wants something more artistic, this film still speaks volumes today. It also helps that the film has a very entertaining a slightly surreal atmosphere.

Belle de Jour (1967)

Luis Bunuel is a notable director for this article due to his Italian background. Many Italian directors were some of the first cross-continental film makers to take inspiration from The French New Wave. Bunuel had been directing films for many years before the sixties, but this decade saw him reinvented in the world of the New Wave artist. Living in France at the time, Bunuel wished to explore the romanticism of the country, while also looking at the eroticism of romance in a way that prevented older films from doing so. I’m a big fan of Bunuel’s work, and one film that stood above many of his others was the erotic, surrealist drama of Belle de Jour.

A young, married woman by name of Severine is shown to be living a rather frigid sex life. Struggling to give in to her husbands needs, he patiently allows her to find herself. In need of a new career, the virginal Severine finds herself in the midst of a whorehouse. Suddenly the rather conservative wife begins to open up through her numerous sexual affairs and finds solace in the various sex workers she comes to see as friends. She does all of this with her husband being none the wiser, and still viciously frigid around him. Bit as the opening suggests, her secrecy may not last too long…or maybe it will.

The opening of the film seemingly gives us the finale of Severine’s story, as it opens with the husband torturing her in the woods. But as the film goes on, we begin to understand that Bunuel has a slightly surreal outlook of the world. It’s hard to decipher what’s reality and what’s the mere daydreaming of our lead. One thing does feel certain however, and that’s that Severine is very much intoxicated in the world of sex workers. It becomes an outlet for her promiscuity, one that’s far too supressed within the confines of a normal family life. Bunuel is presenting a sex-positive message, that women don’t have to be tied to matrimony. When a man sleeps around, he’s often congratulated, while a woman is shamed and called a whore. Bunuel is criticising this double-standard.

I think this film carries a lot of weight in modern culture. Any film from the earlier ages of cinema that promotes such a strong feminist message tend to age with a lot of finesse. The film doubles as an encouraging, supportive story as well as a simply erotic tale. There’s an off-kilter surrealism that is not quite to the extent of Godard, but it’s hypnotic enough to leave a strange impression. It’s one I can recommend to just about anybody.

Le Samourai (1967)

The cultural entanglement of Hiroshima Mon Amour would echo through the later ages, but usually through more subtle, genre-bending faucets. Jean-Pierre Melville took this idea of mixing French culture with that of the Japanese and added a sprinkle of American gangster to make this hybrid of distinction: Le Samourai. Not being strictly tied to one genre or culture, the film manages to work in a way where I couldn’t find any suitable comparison. This will be the last film on my list that I talk about, and it’s quite a lot more simple than the previous films I’ve talked about, but there’s still so much to appreciate.

The titular samurai is a mysterious, almost robotic, man by the name of Jef Costello (or at least that’s how we know him). Costello works as a gangster doing odd jobs for different people, building working relationships with his clients. But one job goes too far and Jef is left to deal with the bloodthirsty gangsters coming after him. During this time, it appears he’s falling in love with a jazz musician that works at a gang boss’s club. We don’t know what Costello is feeling, or have inclination of what’s really going on in his head. What we do know is that this man is good at what he does, and we want to see this journey all the way to the end.

The plot summary is rather standard for a lot of gangster-crime thriller, but what fits it nicely into The French New Wave is how delicately it blends together these different cultures. Having the word ‘Samurai’ in the title immediately elicits a desire for some sort of desire for a Kurosawa-style swordsman film, but it more uses the basis of a Samurai’s morals than the obvious visual indicators. There’s a mysticism emanating from Costello, and he toes this fine line of moral greyness. Like the great American gangster films, Costello lives in a darker, yet lustrous world. We’re drawn to these criminal characters more than any other because of their deeply flawed lifestyle. To complete this multicultural dish, we have the French class that radiates the film’s setting.

I look more at this film for its stylish intent. It’s not always the most layered film, but it does give us a unique spin on two very different, yet also very similar, genres. It’s like a modest come-down from the era of deeper, introspective pieces that made up the individual directors’ lives. Le Samourai is memorable as well as stylish, but not in the way that American cinema has tailored us to believe.

The French New Wave has become a deep fascination of mine in the last few months. The country has revolutionised so much in the way of modern cinema that we often take it for granted. I wanted nothing more than to share with you just a few of my favourite films during this period, but there are many more I’d like to talk about in the future. I avoided films like Weekend and Playtime, as I really want them to have their own more extensive reviews.

This Wave brought about the voices of so many repressed and passionate people that it melted over into the protests of ’68. This was like the epilogue to the entire era, when film making became more than a quick source of entertainment and the entirety of France banded together for the sake of independent expression. I implore every single person who reads this to venture outside their comfort zone and look upon the films that inspired so many of our own. amuse-toi bien!

Written by Conor Johnson.

Carry On Reviewing: or, The Carry On Movies Watched by a Fragile Millennial

I never thought I’d be talking about these films. The term ‘films’ might not even seem appropriate. The Carry On movies are far more ingrained into the zeitgeist of British culture, and it’s difficult to understand that without actually watching them. They started back in the late fifties, with the commandeering captain being a man named Gerald Thomas. From the first film, Carry On Sergeant, to the lacklustre thud of Carry On Emmanuelle in the late seventies, these films have stayed so much more important to our British culture than we may think. It brought about the rise of famed British actors like Sidney James and Barbara Windsor, and refused to cease, even with multiple films being released in the same year.

These films were known for their raunchy humour, racial stereotypes and no-bars take on political incorrectness. This is where my generation comes in. We live in an era where the subjective nature of comedy has drastically altered. I’ve often remarked that Comedy is one of the worst genres when it comes to time. Even in the more progressive sixties, controversial and politically incorrect humour was still prevalent; even more so in the UK than in America. We’ve become more sensitised over these decades, so these films are going to carry with them the weight of inevitable scrutiny. My own sense of humour has changed over the years. Growing up in the 2000’s, edgy humour was a constant, and I was never afraid to take pot-shots at minority groups. None of it was genuine, but as I grew into my adult years, I began to wince at the mere glimpse of my past.

After nearly marathoning the entire series after a curious purchase, it had me thinking about my own capacity for certain jokes, These films have always fluttered about in my mind, so to finally watch them has been somewhat relieving. I wanted to share my opinions on the more prevalent aspects of these films and how I, a millennial, view them. I’ve found that there is far more complexity to simply disliking all of one particular aspect. Will I become a “fragile snowflake of the woke agenda” or will I actually provide some criticisms with actual depth? The latter is far more pretentious than is needed for these films(?)

Carry On Perverting

I couldn’t very well start anywhere else than with the film’s most prominent feature: it’s excessive horniness. The basis was inspired so heavily by raunchy comedic postcards, brief with double-entendre. Even the first film, Carry On Sergeant, while nowhere near as perverse as the later films, is packed with innuendo. A lot of this innuendo was just about all the writers could do without challenging the sensors. Once the ever-changing sixties came in, the Carry On films consistently pushed boundaries before they would ever reach the brink of a higher age rating. Carry On Camping would be the first entry to feature full-frontal nudity, and the series would only continue to find ways to integrate it.

To be honest, the nudity isn’t even the most egregious thing. The various innuendos can often feel far more shocking than any brief nip-slip. Some lines can be more overt than others, but it’s always done in a way that would get a dark chuckle out of even your grandparents. It was this never-ending slew of one-liners that appealed to me the most, and I really enjoyed the lines that dared to toe the line of mispronunciation. Even the very early Carry On Teacher has a character named Miss Allcock, or a later film putting a lot of emphasis on the word ‘count.’ Even some of the more leery moments, like in Carry On Camping, have a sort of twisted, cheeky charm to them.

By a certain point in watching these films almost back-to-back, you begin to accept the fact these films are unapologetically sexual. That sexual depravity is just part of a lot of British culture because of how stiff the people in charge were. In a sort of counter-culture way, these films are overtly telling the upper class to stuff it. That does not excuse some of the more…uncomfortable parts.

Before I highlight the actors, I wanted to talk briefly about Sidney James. He is considered to be the poster boy for the franchise, appearing in a large number of the films, starting with Carry On Constable. At a certain point, his schtick became the lustful old man that would flirt, and sometime be rewarded, with the much younger women. Many fans would cheer this on, being a typical male fantasy, but this aspect has aged very poorly now. Personally, I enjoy James most when he’s paired up with actors like Hattie Jacques or Joan Sims. Even when he’s actively trying to cheat on them, it leads to some hilarious moments of James getting punished. But then you get a film like Carry On Camping, where James is leering over various schoolgirls (played by adults), or Carry On Girls, where he’s forcing himself on Barbara Windsor, and it all feels creepy. I could stomach things like Carry On Henry and Carry On Loving because it fits those films thematically. But the others just churn my stomach too much.

These sexual jokes are always at their best when they’re not-so-covertly written, so when a film like Carry On Emmanuelle comes along and gives us these sexual jokes upfront, it ruins the entire charm of the series. It’s funny to me how much I complained about the last two films in the franchise being too overt with these jokes when you consider my disgust of the image of Sid James leaping on younger women. There’s just something so wrong about a Carry On film telling us upfront. Carry On Cleo is probably the best example of this sexual innuendo done right, constantly teasing the audience with a promise of something more tantalising, but continuously blocking our view. These films are walking innuendos, and it’s best to just sit back and accept the nature of them. But this doesn’t distract from the more uncomfortable, arguably more incorrect racism.

Carry On Brownface

The comedies of the sixties and seventies were wild. America may have faded out the uncomfortable tradition of blackface performances, but Britain held onto this for a while. It’s in our British nature to poke fun of everyone, even ourselves, but the Carry On films do push this to slight extremes. I’m not necessarily saying this was always done poorly. Hell, I’d even say some of this is downright hilarious.

Carry On Follow That Camel and Carry On Up the Khyber are infamous examples of the cast playing ethnic characters. Both films feature white actors donning stereotypical Asian garb, and putting on exaggerated accents. Bernard Bresslaw was often the go-to for this, but Williams had his fair share of moments in the latter film I mentioned. Carry On Cowboy throws a good few punches at Native Americans as well. And as uncomfortable as I could feel, I did find myself laughing hysterically at points. What elevates this being more than an excuse to be horribly racist is that it’s clear how satirical it all is. For every jab at other cultures there is, the writers are sure to throw several jabs at themselves. A British tradition that never fails to remain is our self-deprecating humour. We aren’t nearly as patriotic as our flag-saluting families over in America.

There are definitely moments of flat-out racism that can ruin certain scenes, and we never really had a minority actor amongst the regulars. There is a part of me that really wants to flog the creators for their insensitivity, but I can’t help but look past it. One film that doesn’t do this particularly well is Carry On Up the Jungle, which feels far more racist than humorous. With so many black extras, they chose to don Bresslaw in black makeup and have him speak in a offensive made-up language. It doesn’t feel particularly funny, with the joke surmounting to someone making fun of someone else’s culture because it’s different.

These films aren’t all offensive strands of humour. I don’t even think the biggest problem should be that, because it’s the general approach to comedy that I found to have fluctuated from film to film. In a lot of ways, it’s the more base-level humour that has aged the worst.

Carry On Inconsistently

The thing that frustrated me more than anything was the varying quality of these films. The first batch of movies that I call the tame batch often fell into a pattern of every odd-numbered films being good, while the even ones were rather standard. None of them were particularly amazing, and I think that’s down to how much the structure of comedy has changed. There’s a lot of slowness to much of the timing, and the deliveries are often very stretched out. With so many comedians fighting for the screen, you get a bit of a messy pool of different styles. This ended up rounding out more in the later films, with no particular actor outshining another.

The further you venture into these films, the more you feel that decline that so many complain about. I did find myself going easier on some of the more disliked entries, but there’s no denying that the homely atmosphere of those earlier films gets lost in the need for more outrageous content. Those local locations turned into period pieces and direct film parodies. Carry On Spying may very well be the first James Bond parody, and I can’t say I was overly joyed about this sudden redirection. Carry On Cleo (a parody of Cleopatra) showed far more promise and was far funnier than I would’ve expected. Honestly, as much as I admire the grounded locations of those earlier films, it’s the elaborate, historical locations that most appealed to me. Something as completely outlandish as Carry On Screaming was a unique treat. But only in the context of the franchise.

I can’t say that any of these films were particular contenders for some of my favourite comedies of all time. Even my personal favourites like Carry On Regardless and Carry On Up the Khyber were only funny an a base-level. I love traditional British comedy as much as the next person, but my humour has shifted dramatically over the years. There is a sense of timelessness that these films have, but I can’t see them as anything more than charming little fillers.

Carry On Laughing

When you sit through these films as I did, you begin to grow very attached to the cast. Many actors made the rounds, but there were a handful of mainstays that kept this franchise alive. I’ve already mentioned Sidney James. And while it seemed like I was harping on the man himself, I actually find him to be the heart and soul of the entire picture. His natural, rather basic acting style only made him more relatable, like watching somebody’s lad-like uncle going on various misadventures.

I was particularly drawn to Charles Hawtrey. His camp behaviour always managed to bring a huge smile out of me. He was at his best when he was thrown into ridiculous situations with a careless smile. Kenneth Williams absolutely embodied much of the innuendo of the films. His often asexual characters were forcibly placed into a world of lust, and it would often lead to some hilarious scenarios. I was a big fan of Kenneth Connor, who appeared quite frequently in the early films, then disappeared, then became a regular in the late films. His varied performance could stand apart from the others actors that simply played themselves. Bernard Bresslaw was a great later addition, often playing the loveable dimwit.

Hattie Jacques was an absolute delight, playing up her weight in ways that never felt insulting but important to this overall piece of satire. She commonly played a Matron character, but I always preferred when she played the doting, vindictive wife characters like in Carry On Cabby or Carry On Loving. Joan Sims was my preferred leading lady. She had a sense of humour that made her feel like one of the guys, destroying this stereotype that women couldn’t be funny. Barbara Windsor is a fan favourite, and I did enjoy her. But I do feel she was underutilised as playing the dumb blonde far too much.

There’s far too many regular actors to list, but all of them bring a different quality that made these films feel so comfortable. The films that lack many of these heavy-hitters feel the most barren, like the awful Carry On England. Following their personal lives suddenly adds this strange weight to all the characters they played.

Carry On Watching

It’s amazing to see how much of the series’ humour has made up a lot of what we find funny today. It’s easy to brush this off as a product of its time(s), but there is something there that you can tell others have emulated. Every generation seems to find themselves going back to these films, even if it’s in smaller quantities each time. I do think there’s worth to these films, but you have to understand that there is a satirical nature to them that not everyone will get.

I can cringe at certain parts, and I was even downright outraged at the blatant one-sided nature of Carry On at Your Convenience. But my ultimate takeaway was that I enjoyed these quite a bit. I would feel a sense of elation whenever I saw the names of the actors in each film, wondering who would return. With a cautious foot to the wind, I would recommend that others of my generation watch these if only for their historical significance.

Written by Conor Johnson.

Racism in Film History, and It’s Importance

The image that you see above is not from any sort of Ku Klux Klan rally, nor is it some sort of off-colour joke at the expense of such vile creatures. What you instead see is a (degraded) screenshot from D.W. Griffith’s 1915 film, The Birth of a Nation. One might think that this would be some sort of damning piece that criticises this horrid community, to call upon a hero to tear down their tyranny. The harsh reality is far more shocking than our sanitised minds could conjure up. Griffith’s film celebrates this radicalised group as heroes. Packed full of horribly racist sentiment, white actors in blackface and an overall message of white supremacy, it’s hard to believe this film is still studied in film classes today.

I was first brought to the film’s attention through my own studies, when studying censorship and ‘banned cinema.’ Even for the time, this was consider incredibly obscene, with the film even starting with the foresight of possible censorship, and an incredibly insecure note of ‘I’m not afraid of you’ from the director himself. It is so shocking to think a film like this was considered releasable in any form, even with the times being as they were. A moral complexion came about when I took into consideration we were still talking and studying about it nearly one hundred years later. Understanding its historical context was important, but I was ultimately left with a feeling of appreciation for the fact that we had long outlived the idea of white supremacy, at least, to a much lesser degree.

So why even talk about it now? I never would’ve thought, back when I started writing in 2019, that I would ever give a spotlight to such a ghastly display of ignorance. But times have changed dramatically, and we have since raised the topic of censoring our history. There are many films, books, etc. out there that are being buried, and it always leaves me in a state of the oddest of feelings. Yes. This history is a grimy part of our culture, but to pretend like it never happened feels far more dangerous to me. This entire article is not strictly about The Birth of a Nation; it’s more a starting off point for the ever-controversial matter of censorship. Compare this film to one that was subject to controversy nearly two years ago.

Gone With the Wind is a film more fondly remembered in the mainstream air of cinematic culture. The 1939 film packs more than twenty full years of progressive attitudes that Griffith could never have countered, but it still carries with it the problem of horribly outdated racism. These film are so comparable, not just in the controversy surrounding them, but also the narrative surrounding the Civil War. Gone With the Wind came under heavy discussion a couple years back when debate arose over whether the film should still be re-released, given its racist overtones, especially in regards to Hattie McDaniel’s Mammy character. Despite the endless praise she got for her performance, (even being the first black actor to win an academy award) her character was nothing more than a mere stereotype.

Having watched both this and Birth of a Nation, my mind turned to the controversy of both films. As much as I implore for more inclusivity, and to avoid any sort of sinister racism, I still feel both of these films need to be studied. Both films present racist portrayals of the black community in America. But while Birth of a Nation is entirely focus on the “threat” of the African people, Gone with the Wind merely uses them to raise a point of how “evil” the North was.

Both films use the Civil War as a backdrop for their political views. Both heavily side with the Confederacy, and portray the North as being these warmongers that want nothing more than to ruin the foundations of American history. It’s humorous to think that much of the controversy surrounding these films today almost perfectly parallels the subject matter presented, just with more support to the opposite side. Both film present the idea that slavery is good thing if you treat your slaves with a certain respect. The amount of propaganda that spews into the films’ agenda is nothing short of horrifying. Gone with the Wind is far more palatable in this sense. Both films have their own ‘Mammy’ stereotype, but the former film portrays the character in blackface. When we get into the second halves of both films, the similarities diverge, with Birth of a Nation making a point of how race-mixing and equality will be the so-called downfall of America, while Gone With the Wind doubles down on how “awful” the North were, and how it ruined America. That said, it keeps the narrative focus on the main characters and their own internal affairs.

The reason I wanted to talk about these films is to address their significance to the history of film making. As much as it pains me to say it: The Birth of a Nation paved the roads that would be cinema today. D.W. Griffith is often considered to be the first real director; or at least the first of note. This three-hour racist tirade did manage to appeal to a wide audience of the time, and reflected a sentiment still felt, even long after slavery was abolished. Though the film did stir up controversy and was banned, President Woodrow Wilson greatly admired the film. It was also the first film to be screened in the White House. As shocking as the film is today, there weren’t too many that batted an eye at it. Celebrated by the KKK themselves, this film impacted the world in such terrible ways. This film is still something that should be shown to modern, aspiring film makers. It represents a point in history that effected every medium, even that of the rather infantile state of cinema at the time.

Gone With the Wind is more talked about today than the former film, despite the comparison being far less frightening. Gone With the Wind has some very uncomfortable imagery, and horribly veiled racism, but it doesn’t have that same sense of white supremacy that the former film had. We don’t get a blaring celebration of the KKK in this one. Looking at the central plot, the film is genuinely brilliant, but one cannot ignore the awful undertones. I didn’t watch Gone With the Wind till after the whole controversy of it getting pulled from shelves. The irony of this outrage is just that: it encourages more people to want to see it for themselves. Typically, the controversy far outweighs the actual severity of the film. Much like Birth of a Nation, I do think this film bares watching and studying. Watching these back-to-back would allow the watcher to see how slowly the world was progressing, while also showing how much of this problematic sentiment was still lingering.

To pretend either of these films did not exist is incredibly counter-intuitive. So much outrage has been made about how society in general tends to ignore the racist history that makes up our Western culture today. Tearing down a statue is perfectly fine, as we shouldn’t celebrate these people. But it is important to acknowledge the fact that we living off the backs of mistreated slaves. People will cause an uproar about how modern History lessons are telling us a very sanitised version of events. And we should rightfully be outraged at this, but these same people also try to remove pieces of media that portray such racism. I’m not saying this in support of these views, but I do think it’s important we keep this films widely available as a way to show the very real history of how people felt during the times. The ability to appreciate how far we’ve come is something we can treasure, and to also gain the ability to avoid repeating these mistakes is one of the most important lessons we can learn. Film transcends being more than simple entertainment, and like any part of history, it carries a hefty toll of hatefulness.

There probably aren’t many people, outside of the avid film fanatics, like myself, who know what the very first sound film was. Alan Crosland’s 1927 film, The Jazz Singer was that very film. It is interesting to point out that the film is trying to promote the idea of not judging somebody for their heritage, focusing on a young Jewish man who is trying to make it in the entertainment industry as a jazz singer. The picture you are currently drawing your eyes to is that of the star, Al Johnson, performing a musical number in blackface. The imagery naturally creates a sense of pure discomfort. But once you desensitise yourself to it, you remember that the film’s entire point is to spread a message of inclusivity. The irony in this almost feels satirical.

My original idea for this article was imply to make a comparison piece between The Birth of a Nation and Gone With the Wind, but my mind kept turning back to The Jazz Singer and how important that film was to the history of cinema. People don’t talk about this one anymore, and the few that do will bash the film entirely for this single scene. It is incredibly racist and counter-productive. The greatest satire couldn’t have portrayed something so tone-deaf. But the film did bring about the very first Talkie. Every sound film since is following the path set out by this film. It’s creation also inspired Walt Disney to create Mickey Mouse.

I think about this film every now and then. Even outside of the racist imagery, the film isn’t too narratively strong. It sets itself up quite spectacularly, but it lost me with how easily the main character gives in to his family’s demands. But with all its problems, there is a great level of intrigue that draws you in. During a time when silent films were all they could create, and how Talkies would be seen as a fad (hilarious in hindsight), there is an old charm to it. There’s also a very real part of history that the film portrays: that being blackface performances. These were more common in the ’20s, and many cartoon characters at that time gained their designs from these types of performers. Not the the least of which are the iconic looks of Mickey Mouse or Bugs Bunny.

If I were to list the thousands of racist films that made up the early age of cinema, I would be here far longer than you’d feel comfortable with. I won’t talk much about the infamous censorship of the Looney Tunes cartoons, as many of these have been talked about to death. But what I will bring up is how Warner Bros. has handled these cartoons. While there are some that have never been re-released due to being far too racist, there is still a number of offensive cartoons that have seen modern digital releases. Warner Bros. attached a cautionary notice to these particular films. And it’s this particular method that I think is best to go forward with.

We can’t erase the history that makes up our society today. Trying to get rid of the media that personified much of the uncomfortable sentiments of the time is only going to limit future generations’ knowledge. The same people that demand that schools tell their children the real history are also the same people that are trying to erase these films, or get rid of books that have even the slightest piece of offensive material. I am on the side of inclusivity, and I deplore any form of hateful speech. But I can also acknowledge that there was a time when this way of thinking was minimal. These films are important. We don’t have to like these films, but we can’t pretend they never happened.

Written by Conor Johnson.

Conor’s Cinematic Contemplation: The Dark Decline of Dracula

Dracula. It’s a name so cemented in our public consciousness that I doubt the character himself needs explaining. But when you think of vampiric count, you normally associate him with outdated clichés and tired tropes that we have long since evolved from. Not too long ago, I finished reading the original Bram Stoker novel that birthed this caricature that we know so well, and so long after having seen the five most iconic adaptations of the ancient story. I hadn’t planned to talk about Dracula at any point when writing these articles, but I felt more inclined to do so the more I thought of how faded the actual storytelling behind Dracula had become; he is now nothing more than a public domain icon that has been altered, one way or the other, over the years.

I’m a very versatile film fanatic. I don’t tend to gravitate towards any particular genre, and tend to be open to many different decades. When talking about the classic monsters of old horror, none have cemented themselves more than the most infamous of vampires. But where characters like Frankenstein’s Monster and The Invisible Man have seen newer appreciation through sympathy and modernised reinventions respectively, Dracula has been waved off as terribly outdated. I’m not one of those classic horror fanatics, but there is something very fascinating about Dracula and his cinematic history. While Dracula is not my favourite of the classic monsters, I do have an admiration for what made the character so special for the time. My problem here is a theory that some may disagree with: Dracula is no longer timeless, and any future adaptation is mere folly. I’m here to look at the four most noteworthy films in the history of Dracula, and maybe discover why this character has been treated as a joke in the modern zeitgeist. But before that, I wanted to talk about that original book.

Welcome to my house. Enter freely. Go safely.

The Irish author, Bram Stoker, brought the iconic vampire to our public consciousness in 1897, heavily inspired by the real life warlord, Vlad the Impaler, this Gothic Horror swept the world into a ferocious tornado of supernatural fear. One could argue that time has not been the kindest to this book. Indeed, a piece of literature from the 19th century (late as it may be) is going to be subject to the ever-changing passage of time.

I had read the book with the knowledge of several films within my mind. Even if I hadn’t seen any particular adaptation, I felt I had known the story too well. A tale of a man come to the dark, gloomy manor that sits atop a mountain above Transylvania to sell some estate in London, we are met by the mysterious Count his slight eccentricities. Our protagonist, John Harker, begins noticing the strange, supernatural mysteries behind Dracula, told from the perspective of diary entries. The book is entirely told through various diary entries and letters, adding an unconventional writing format to a wholly recognisable tale. The ghastly Count eventually makes his way to London, leaving Harker at the expense of his three vampiric mistresses. Crossing his path is Mina, the girlfriend of Harker, and her friend Lucy, who is fawned over by three different men.

The iconography of Dracula is mostly rooted in that original novel: his eternal life, the need to feast on the blood of others, his ability to transform into other creatures-primarily a bat, his rivalry with the rather passionate doctor, Van Helsing, his aversion to religious items and garlic, etc. But through all of this, what remains the greatest part of the book-the very thing that turned that character into such an icon-was his general terror.

I can’t say the book is as timeless as others have toted it to be. The general fear and uncomfortableness is very prevalent, even in a time when our capacity for horror has changed dramatically, but it does suffer from dragging dialogue and uncomfortable gender stereotypes. If you’re not one for traditional romance, it can definitely impact your experience, as it is essentially a Horror-Romance story. I still thoroughly enjoyed this book, with the Count being still so terrifying. The structure of the story is so appealing, giving it an identity akin to those ‘Found Footage’ films that started with The Blair Witch Project.

With all that said, I think it’s safe to say that what people remember most about Dracula did not come from the book. There have been countless interpretations of the character over the years, but there are four that have gained an infamy that echoes through modern cinema. I wanted to highlight these four for how they try to reinterpret the story in an attempt to modernise it. The most fascinating thing is that each time, the film speaks to the era. The problem with this is that no matter how hard they try, no film will ever remain as timeless and, in my opinion, I don’t think there’s a way to make this character as terrifying as he once was.

I am going far away to the land of robbers and ghosts.

I could speak about 1922’s Nosferatu forever. The first adaptation of the book was not so long after the book’s release; so much so that it was considered an unofficial adaptation, not being able to gain the rights. As this was from the Silent Era of cinema, the film relies more on visuals to invoke the horror of the original story. Within these limitations, however, I believe they had created something artistically distinct in the modern world.

Despite the name change, many of the book’s more prominent features are on display. Count Orlock (for this film) carries with him an almost exact description of the book’s version of the character. That slender, white figure with pointed ears and protruding fangs is ripped right from the pages, only missing his tuft of white hair. It’s almost hilarious that we often look down on visual horrors, with modern movies relying too much on visual shock than psychological scares, when this film relies on the exact same thing. The difference here is how Murnau uses shadows and dark backgrounds to accentuate the Count’s ghastly appearance. The mere image of Orlock standing at a window from far away brings with it a natural repulsion.

The more romantic elements are still there, with John Harker (named Hutter in this version) being the perfect avatar for the fear audiences were expected to feel at the time. More emphasis was put on the Count’s fascination with Mina (Ellen in this version); something that would echo in future adaptations. It cuts a lot of the fat surrounding Lucy and her suitors. So much emphasis is placed on the gothic stylings of the original book; something I’m sure the more modern goths will appreciate.

I did point out that these film are not as timeless as they ought to be, and while I did praise the film for having a modern relevance, I’m more referring to the atmosphere of film connoisseurs and whatever pretentious label you want to place on us. Modern audiences have little tolerance for black-and-white cinema, or silent cinema, and that’s not to be insulting. This film is over one hundred years old at this point, so many of the horror elements that we know are mostly barren here.

The biggest problem this film has suffered from is the drastic shift in horror capacity. It’s very difficult to place your mind in the set of something that came out one hundred years ago. Many would laugh or simply feel bored by the film’s presentation today. I think for the sake of something that shifts away from that caped, widow-peaked look of Dracula, it can be interesting, but it does carry with it the baggage of outdated subjectivism. For my own two cents, I consider this to be far greater than the next two films.

The strength of the vampire is that people will not believe in him.

There is no more an iconic adaptation of Stoker’s novel than Universal’s 1931 classic. The first Horror film in sound, it brought with it an extra advantage over the previous film. That said, you can tell there’s a little bit of reluctance within this new realm. In a way, however, this reluctance provides the greatest strength of the film. Atmosphere is what makes this film click, as well as the strength of the titular character.

What we know of Dracula today is down solely to the performance of Bela Lugosi. It was with this reinvented look that we gained the iconography of the character. Lugosi sports a cape and a pale complexion. His hair is slicked back and he speak with his natural, Hungarian accent. As tirelessly imitated as this version of Dracula is, you can’t deny the haunting performance. Lugosi demands the screen, speaking in sultry tones and conveying body language that capture his monstrous persona. This was the first version of Dracula to bring with him a charming identity, one that could lure in his victims with a simple endearment that could never be done in Nosferatu.

When you step away from Lugosi, you begin to see the cracks in the story. While we can fully celebrate the gloomy sets and gothic architecture, it doesn’t distract from how minimal the other characters are. John Harker and Mina are reduced to overly-punctuated romantics, and other characters take on more cliched roles. Some subplots, like Lucy’s transformation, are barely given time to focus on. Suspense is often thrown out the window for the sake of getting those scares in early. Renfield, a character who played a recurring role as Dracula’s entrapped minion in the book, is given more prominence here, but pushed to overly hammy lengths. There’s also a bit more comic relief shoved in to give the audience a bit of comfort; something that the book did without much effort.

I think out of all these adaptations that I speak about, this one may have aged the worst. I was intoxicated in the atmosphere and Lugosi’s performance, but the rest of the film suffers with slogging narrative beats and unintentionally comical moments. I doubt many people will be able to watch this film now without thinking of the numerous parodies. Overexposure is this film’s greatest enemy, but it is easy enough to appreciate the impact this film had on cultures as a whole. I compare this to Frankenstein, which came out only a year after. That film still holds up incredibly well, probably more so. We’re in an age where we now sympathise with the lonely monster, and the nature of a corpse being reanimated is far more universally terrifying than a vampire simply existing and doing what we expect him to do. How could you possibly alter the character to feel more ageless.

Count Dracula the propagator of this unspeakable evil has disappeared. He must be found and destroyed!

The answer to that question, my fine audience, is the attempt to inject everything you can from the time period you release the film in, while also making drastic alterations to the story for the sake of keeping the audience on their toes. The 50’s brought with it a much darker, grislier interpretation of Stoker’s story. If Lugosi isn’t the first person you think of, it’s most likely Christopher Lee’s defining performance.

I have very mixed opinions on the Hammer version. The Hammer company treated themselves like a reinvention of those classic Universal monsters that, at the time, had lost much of their popularity with the rise of Sci-Fi films and the threat of a very real nuclear war. To really make the fear more prominent in people’s minds, Dracula was shown as much more sadistic fellow than his previous counterparts. Full of excessive amounts of blood (for the time) and more sexuality than you would get in a major studio film, this version of Dracula was the walking embodiment of bombastic…for the time.

It is admirable to see how hard this film tried to reinvent these characters for the audience of the time, and it certainly worked. Nowadays, I feel this has fallen so graciously into comical excess that it left me more confused than anything else. Lee’s performance is nice because he plays the role rather plainly; a huge compliment when you take into account Lee’s natural charisma. He doesn’t ham it up in an attempt to imitate Lugosi, but you can tell that was the main source of inspiration. Peter Cushing also steals the show with what is possibly the greatest interpretation of Van Helsing, even if it is different from the original book.

That’s the biggest point of all: this has little resemblance to the source material. I’m not speaking of the excessiveness, per se, but more on the story. Major characters are killed off or omitted entirely in favour of making something more contained. Dracula’s lust for Mina is made more prominent, and Van Helsing takes over as the true main character. These changes aren’t too bad, and I think it’s a nice way to subvert the audience’s expectations, but that’s all the film is. There isn’t much I get out of this aside from an attempt to set itself apart from other versions of the story. It’s so incredibly 50’s that it doesn’t fit too well in the modern day. I wish I could’ve enjoyed the excessive nature of the film, but there’s been so much change on that front within cinema that it just comes across as something that tries to hard.

I know many people have an affinity towards this one, mainly because of how frequently it was rerun on TV for years, but coming in off the back of far more entertaining films of the later eras of cinema, my vision on this was skewed. Of course, the idea of Dracula being pushed to extreme lengths can still work very well…

I am the monster that breathing men would kill. I am Dracula.

During my college years, I was tasked with doing a research project on Francis Ford Coppola. One of my great regrets during this was, in the midst of watching myriad of his films, I never touched this infamous adaptation. It was only last year that I gave it a proper watch, and I was absolutely enthralled. Though I stick to my opinion that Dracula will continue to age to the point of public obscurity, the ’92 version brings with it a glimmer of prospect.

It what is possibly the most book accurate adaptation, this version also picks apart elements from other film versions of the character, including the three I mentioned. The obscene architecture of Nosferatu, the suave gentlemanly presence of the ’31 version, and even the eroticism and violence of the ’58 version; there’s much going on here. You can tell that Coppola set out to make the definitive Dracula film, but with all the bombastic nature of a Hollywood film he could produce. It works both as some sort of corny tribute, as well as haunting portrayal of a more sympathetic creature. Coppola ingested some of the real-world inspiration of Vlad the Impaler, and then turned that into a tragic tale of a love-torn monster. That sympathy people have felt for Frankenstein’s Monster is almost completely replicated here.

Oldman’s performance as Dracula varies, taking on various shapes and ages. He has an almost-chameleon approach to the world around him, managing to work well as the insane-looking count, as well as the most charming of gentlemen. Even the other characters that make up his aura bring a certain uniqueness that was sorely missing in previous adaptations. It has my favourite interpretation of Mina and Jonathan, even if Keanu Reeves’ acting is pretty terrible. Even the core elements of Lucy’s story are kept in tact, played up with a comedic eroticism that made up the humour of her original story.

This is by far the greatest version of Dracula put to screen, in my opinion, and even, in some ways, outweighs the original book. The problem that comes from this is just how one-and-done the entire thing feels. This almost feels like the final chapter on the Dracula adaptations, dooming any future versions. It also suffers with the same problem that the others’ have gone through: that it feels more of its time. With this having been released in 1992, it still feels rather fresh in the public eye. Time will tell if people will look at this with the same enjoyment they once did, but I do think this is the last real hurrah for the Count.

There is a reason why all things are as they are.

I feel there aren’t many classic horror fans out there anymore. We know Dracula and the other Universal Monsters that make up the foundation bricks of horror cinema, but we don’t bat more than a single eye at them. Sometimes I catch myself in contemplation over how you could do a modern, but timeless interpretation of Dracula, but I struggle to see one. To me, the character has served his purpose, and even the original book version of the character is not of too much creative potential outside of what we already have.

There’s something I can enjoy about these four interpretations, and most prominently, it is the performance of the titular character. Each one brings something new and distinct to the table, often being the sole reason these films can remain as enjoyable as they are. But without them, you get products that are so specific to the time they came out. I would love to see something that proves me wrong entirely, but until then, I don’t see much of a future for ol’ Dracula.

Written by Conor Johnson.