Books, Movies and Random Thoughts

It’s over a week since I saw Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, and I really haven’t felt inspired to write anything about it.

Yes, I enjoyed it. No, I won’t be buying the DVD, or even bothering to see it a second time. Yes, I thought it was better than the first two, and probably about on par with the third. I thought they did a great job of trimming the excess material from the plot, and the casting was good. But like all the other Harry Potter films (and the more recent books) it didn’t really have the kind of magic that makes me want to go back to it again and again.

I think the Asking the Wrong Questions blog makes an excellent point when it says “These films haven’t been made because a director or a screenwriter was burning to bring a beloved world to the screen. They were made because this is what Hollywood does with successful books, and it shows in the final product.”

All four films have been eminently competent works of cinema, and it’s been not uninteresting to see how different directors, working with the same source material and the same screenplay writer, have produced such different films. But one of the reasons I like seeing films made from books is that it gives me an insight into how other people see the book – sometimes this makes me adjust my own opinions, more often it doesn’t, but it’s usually interesting. But even the first three Harry Potter films (i.e. the ones from books I really like in the series) haven’t given me different perspectives, or made me question my own assumptions, or even inspired me to re-read them immediately. Of course, it’s arguable that this is because the source material doesn’t stand up to this type of scrutiny, but I don’t think that’s really the problem. I think it’s that, although the films are well crafted, they are basically a bit uninspired, and therefore uninspiring.

Terry Gilliam has an incredible visual imagination. When this is allied to a strong script with interesting characters, he’s produced some amazing films – e.g. Brazil and Twelve Monkeys. But with a weak script and boring characters, the result feels very unbalanced. And because I’m not really a visual person I find this type of film very unrewarding – visuals on their own aren’t enough to make a film worthwhile to me.

The Brothers Grimm definitely falls into the latter category. I found the plot dull and the characters pretty bland. So all this time and effort had been put into the “look” of the film, but there was nothing to make me actually care about what happened in it.

The other thing that annoyed me rather was the fairy tale references. The film was full of them, but they didn’t mean anything. It was like they were just there so the audience could say “oh, I recognise that – how cute”. While that was okay in, for example, Shrek, I would have hoped for something a bit more sophisticated in this film. In fact, Shrek did occasionally play with and subvert the fairy tales, whereas Brothers Grim mostly just put them up on screen and then took them away without doing anything interesting with them.

It took me a while to get into The Constant Gardener. I found the handheld camera work distancing rather than engaging, and possibly that was why I couldn’t get really interested in any of the characters. Eventually I got caught up in the story, but not as much as I would have liked. On At the Movies, David and Margaret both admired the “combination of the love story and the political thing”. The two sides of the film are certainly well meshed, but ultimately I didn’t find either of them quite fulfilling.

I’ve only actually read one Le Carre book – The Spy Who Came in From the Cold. It was when I was doing the Pulp Fiction course at uni – it was the last book on the course, and I felt this incredible sense of Le Carre being on a whole different literary level from the other authors. It didn’t inspire me to read his other books – Spy Who Came in From the Cold was a bit too depressing for my taste – but it did give me a level of respect for what he was doing in the genre. The political thriller side of The Constant Gardener film seemed to lack the the depths and subtleties of Spy Who Came in From the Cold (which may or may not have been in the book of Constant Gardener) but at the same time it was too dark to be enjoyable in the same way as, say, the film of The Bourne Identity. So it just didn’t, quite, work for me.

I liked the idea of the love story taking place after her death, as his increasing knowledge of him makes him understand and love her more. But because it took me so long to get engaged with the characters, it didn’t quite work either.

I really enjoyed Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. I thought it was funny and clever, but not so impressed with its own cleverness that it lost its appeal (which can sometimes be a problem with films like this). The dialogue was great, and Val Kilmer and Robert Downey Jnr’s delivery was spot-on.

It’s very influenced by Raymond Chandler – all the chapter titles are the titles of Chandler books/short stories – but it could not be more different from the other Chandler-influenced movie I have seen recently, Sin City (see my comments on it). The two films may have come from some of the same places, but they found totally different things in those places, and then took them in completely different directions.

I was not as moved by Gallipoli as Margaret Pomerantz clearly was, but I nevertheless thought it was a very powerful documentary. I think the technique of using voiceover readings from actual letters is perhaps the strongest method of conveying what things were really like. The visuals used to complement this were also very successful – the still images and contemporary film footage were supplemented very effectively with modern re-creations. I think much of the modern footage may have had the colour pulled back, to blend in more subtly with the archival material, and I also liked the way the modern stuff never focused on the faces of the actors (and, more often than not, didn’t actually use actors – just scenery, guns, trenches and flies on food).

The letters from the two Australian brothers were certainly the most poignant. However, the character I found most gripping was Guy Nightingale (British officer). His letters were written in an almost Boys Own Adventure style: describing truly horrific events in a completely matter-of-fact and impersonal – even jokey – manner. It hardly seems possible that he could be so completely untouched by what was happening – and some of the later letters begin to suggest that he wasn’t – but if that was the case, how could he write about them in such a way? Or, if he was trying to protect his family, why even mention some of the things he did? I just couldn’t get my head around what he must have been thinking and feeling. Right at the end, when it said that he survived the war, I heard someone sitting near me whisper “bastard” to her friend. But then it went on to say how he ultimately killed himself. There must have been huge amounts of stuff happening with him underneath, that simply didn’t show in the letters. It was really thought-provoking.

It was interesting that there was a huge amount of criticism of the decisions made by the Allied high command, but almost nothing about policy decisions made on the Turkish side. Maybe their leaders weren’t so culpable, or maybe there are fewer decisions made when you are defending rather than attacking, or maybe there just isn’t as much information available. But it still felt just a bit unbalanced. For instance, there was a night when the Turks just attacked and attacked, and were shot down in their thousands – but nothing about why this attack was ordered, and what kind of intelligence it was based on, and whether the decision makers had actually referred to the recommendations of the intelligence officers. But with the original Allied landings, and at least one of their attacks, quite a lot of time was spent on the assumptions made by the decision makers, and the intelligence reports that they simply appeared to ignore.

There was a mix of Australian and UK historians, but, oddly enough, only one Turkish expert. There was also a much greater range of letters from Allied soldiers (though that is probably explained by the fact that there was only about 5% literacy within the Turkish army). But this all seemed to come down to giving a greater emphasis to the Allied perspective (which most Australians would already be at least somewhat familiar with), and less than I had expected showing the other side of the story.

A powerful film, and an important one. But for some reason, although it moved me, it somehow wasn’t quite as distressing as it should have been.

Michael being overseas for a while, I had a chance to catch up with Look Both Ways, which he didn’t want to see. I’m so glad I managed to get to it.

I particularly loved the way most people were a bit inarticulate, especially when it came to expressing emotions: Meryl distancing herself by making (rather lame) jokes, Nick not knowing how to tell his mother he has cancer, and Phil’s awkwardness with Nick. What do you say when someone tells you they have cancer? Probably completely the wrong thing.

I thought the film made a fantastic use of scenes without dialogue, or where the dialogue merely heightened what was not being said. Without any voice over or anything, you still knew exactly what the characters were thinking and going through. And the subplots of the train driver and the girlfriend were just extraordinary. Not a word spoken, but the stories unfolding with perfect clarity. So when they finally spoke right at the end it was incredibly powerful and moving – even though the actual words were banal in the extreme. On the one hand, it showed that there are times when words are simply inadequate; and on the other, it showed that they can also be unnecessary. Without either character laying bare their emotions, they nevertheless were able to connect and understand each other, and to offer and receive comfort.

For me, the animated sequences worked really well. They showed the characters thoughts so much more clearly and succinctly than a voice over could have – and how many of us really think those sort of thoughts in words, anyway? And I loved the contrast between Meryl thinking in hand drawn animation, and Nick thinking in photo-montage or CGI – it fitted so well with their personalities.

Normally I have trouble with films that have a large cast with different, interconnecting stories, but not this time. I had no difficulty remembering who was who, and what was happening with them. From the major players through to the most peripheral bit parts, there were so many different versions of “I hate my life”, and so many different ways of working through it – it felt like a rich (and intensely Australian) tapestry. And I really cared about all the characters.

The reason Michael didn’t want to see this film is that he thought it would be depressing. Which it kind of was. But at the same time I found it uplifting. It wasn’t one of those suburban dramas where everything is horrible, and the characters have no way of escaping, and everything they do only makes things worse and more inescapable. It felt much more like it was about real people with real problems – some larger than others – that they were ultimately able to deal with. Probably it was a bit unrealistic that everybody came to terms with what was happening to them – in real life, many people do fall by the wayside. And, of course, things could have gone very differently for Meryl and Nick, regardless of how well they coped at an emotional level. But the sense I got out of the film was that, no matter what life throws at you, you just go on – and there’s a good chance things may work out in the end.

[Warning – really, really long, and with numerous spoilers.]

Well, of course, the big question is Why? The BBC production of Pride and Prejudice is only ten years old: while not perfect, it was in many ways excellent, and for vast numbers of people it’s the definitive film/TV version of Austen’s novel.

I wasn’t actually looking forward to the new film of Pride and Prejudice, as I’d heard a number of things I didn’t like the sound of, and I thought the trailer for it was awful. In fact, not unlike Elizabeth with Darcy, I was determined to dislike it. Well, although I didn’t have the complete turnaround of Elizabeth, I’m forced to admit I enjoyed it far more than I had anticipated.

This production was supposed to be more “realistic” than earlier versions – which I take to mean less “chocolate box” in look. Not a totally new idea: it’s also the approach that was taken with the 1995 Persuasion. Some of the ideas (such as showing the Bennet household as being a bit run-down) were quite nice, though at times I think they took it a bit far. I know the estate includes a farm, but I wouldn’t have thought it would be quite so close to the house. I also couldn’t make up my mind about whether or not I liked the crush of people, and very loud music, of the Meryton Assembly: it felt over the top, but, for all I know, it could have been spot-on accurate. My knowledge of How Things Worked at that time is gleaned almost exclusively from fiction, rather than from reading actual historical descriptions.

The other aspect of “realism” was mud and bad weather. Obviously, part of this is straight from the book, and an important plot point (Jane riding through the rain, and Elizabeth walking through the mud), so is hardly innovative. But I thought having Darcy’s first proposal outside, in a raging storm, was completely unnecessary, added nothing, and, frankly, pretty much spoiled the scene for me.

For all the vaunted “realism” there were numerous occasions of appalling historical insensitivity: as Sandra Hall said in today’s Sydney Morning Herald review, the director is “careless with the customs and conventions that were part of the fabric of Austen’s world”. Generally, this seems to have been done to make things less subtle, and more “accessible” to the 21st Century viewer (or, occasionally, for a cheap laugh), and so meant ignoring the rules of propriety. There was an article by Natasha Walter in The Guardian (reprinted in the Sun Herald of 9 October, but there doesn’t appear to be any online version available) which made the excellent point that:

Once you start to lose the fence of decorum around the characters’ desires, you run the risk of losing the tension of the novels, the tension between outward convention and inner emotion that gives them their energy.

There was, of course, one glaring example of this in the 1995 BBC production: the infamous lake scene. This kind-of, sort-of worked, in that I can believe that Darcy might go swimming in his own lake, on his own grounds, although I find it rather less believable that he would then casually stroll up to the house, given that it is open to visitors. However, it did work to heighten the embarrasment and sexual tension of the meeting with Elizabeth: very unsubtle, but most effective.

In the new film, however, there were far more breaches of decorum, ranging from minor technical inaccuracies (e.g. a footman announcing “Miss Bennet, Miss Bennet and Miss Bennet”, and Miss Bingley commenting on the mud on Elizabeth’s dress but not mentioning that her hair is down) to much more serious changes. In my opinion (remember: my knowledge comes from fiction rather than history books) some of the worst offences were:

• Wickham and Elizabeth sitting under a tree together with, apparently, nobody else for miles around.
• Darcy just walking through the door of the Collins’ house (after dark, and without even ringing the bell) to give Elizabeth his letter.
• Elizabeth getting separated from the Gardiners and the housekeeper at Pemberley (and the Gardiners leaving without her!), and then listening through a door to Georgiana’s playing.
• Lady Catherine arriving at the Bennets’ late at night, when everyone has gone to bed.
• Darcy’s final proposal scene occurring because Elizabeth (unable to sleep) has gone out for an early morning walk Most Improperly Dressed, and bumped into Darcy – also unable to sleep, and also Improperly Dressed. (One also has to ask with this scene where they actually were – still within the Bennet property, or halfway between Longbourn and Netherfield? One or both of them had walked an awfully long way, particularly considering their casual attire!) And it would have been nice if Darcy could have gone home to change before seeing Mr Bennet.

My reactions to these errors varied. In some cases, I felt the change was completely unnecessary (e.g. the Lady Catherine scene and Darcy giving the letter) or could have been easily modified (e.g. in the Wickham scene by showing Kitty and Lydia nearby, but out of earshot). The actual performances in all of these scenes were very good, but I just couldn’t surrender to them because part of my brain was screaming out about how wrong the setting was.

Then there were scenes that were wrong, but there did at least seem to be a point to them. The best example of this is Pemberley. I thought Elizabeth listening at the door was very wrong (though an ongoing theme in the film!), but seeing Darcy and Georgiana when they think they are unobserved was a very effective way of shortcutting the scenes in the book that show the “human” side of Darcy. I also really loved the bit afterwards, when Elizabeth and Darcy are completely unable to say what they are feeling, so they fall back on the standard social niceties. Probably there would have been a way to present this in a more appropriate setting, but at least there was some reason for the change.

And then there was the scene that intellectually I loathed, but emotionally I responded to 100%: Darcy’s final proposal. It was like Austen dialogue (well, some Austen dialogue) in a Bronte setting. It was in every way wrong, it was unnecessary, it was unsubtle … but in spite of all this I was completely sucked in by it. I’m angry because I think the scene would have worked just as well in the correct setting (due to fine performances by both actors), but I would be lying if I said that the change spoiled it for me.

Ignoring anachronisms, and ignoring the fact that they chopped up the Austen dialogue something horrible, I thought most of the alterations made to the plot were reasonable compromises to get the film down to a sensible length. A fair amount of subtlety was lost, but that was pretty much bound to happen. One change I didn’t much like, though, was Elizabeth not telling Jane about Darcy’s proposal, but then almost telling her about how her feelings have changed. And I really didn’t like the whole family overhearing the full conversation between Elizabeth and Lady Catherine.

In terms of characters and performances, I hated Mr Bennet: he was far too old, and he seemed a bit slimy. In the book I think you’re meant to like him, even as you recognise that he isn’t a very good father, but something about Donald Sutherland’s performance just creeped me out. I thought Bingley was a bit too much of a dork, and even thicker than he is in the book (which is quite an achievement, really!), although I loved the longshot scene between him and Darcy just before he proposes to Jane.

Jane, on the other hand, was quite good; and Mary, Kitty and Lydia, though very minor parts, still had their moments. I thought Mrs Bennet was much better than in the 1995 BBC production, and Wickham was great – he was actually good looking (if a bit of an Orlando Bloom wannabe) but in a completely different style from Darcy, and he didn’t seem to have “I am a lying cad” tattooed on his forehead. It was quite believable that Elizabeth would fall for him, and it’s a pity his part was one of those largely sacrificed in the interest of getting through all of the plot. Georgiana was a completely different character from in the book, but given that she had about a minute of screen time, I think it was an acceptable and necessary change.

But, of course, the key roles are Elizabeth and Darcy – if they’re not right, then there’s just no point.

Keira Knightley was better than I’d expected, though she can’t top Jennifer Ehle. Her performance had a lot of the liveliness of Pirates of the Caribbean, though naturally it was much less over the top. But she was just far too pretty for the role. There is absolutely no way you would say Jane was the beauty of the family: at best, she and Elizabeth were equivalent. And I think maybe Keira Knightley was a bit too modern looking. She had a way of scrunching up her nose when she smiled that just didn’t look quite right (though I’m not sure why – people had the same facial muscles 200 years ago, and she only did it when she was with family members and close friends, not in Society). She also giggled rather a lot: sometimes this worked in showing Elizabeth’s personality (and youth!), but at times it jarred a bit. On the other hand, she certainly has “fine eyes”, and I think she moved better in the period dress than, for example, Frances O’Connor in Mansfield Park (who strode around as if she was more accustomed to wearing jeans).

Matthew MacFadyen’s performance was interesting. In At the Movies, David Stratton said he liked the vulnerability MacFadyen gave to Darcy. I can’t disagree that the vulnerability made him an appealing character, but I tend to think maybe it shouldn’t have been so visible in the early scenes – probably not until the first proposal, in fact. And with Keira Knightley being too beautiful for Elizabeth, I think the film really needed someone more physically striking as Darcy. Because what I think was lost was the sense of exclusivity about Darcy. At the start, he’s unpleasant, but he’s also special and out of reach, so ultimately there’s a real sense of how amazing it is that Elizabeth is the one woman to break through his reserve and humanise him. Of all Austen’s heroes, he’s probably the one most like a fairy tale prince. But in this film, you could see the humanity right from the start – he seemed awkward rather than aloof, depressed rather than haughty, and at times almost shy and uncertain rather than standoffish and confident. And because his looks didn’t make him stand out among the other men to the same extent that hers made her stand out among the other women, well, he just didn’t seem quite special enough.

This makes it sound like I didn’t enjoy his performance, but I really did. It’s just … it wasn’t Darcy as I see him. I think I would have absolutely loved the performance if I hadn’t read the book. As it was, I only mostly loved it.

I can’t really say whether I liked this production more or less than the BBC version. I can only say I liked it differently. And – unlike Mansfield Park and the Gwyneth Paltrow Emma – it’s one I probably will be adding to my DVD collection. But it will never replace the book!

P.S. 3 November

Having now re-watched most of the BBC version, I can say that I definitely like it more than the new film. It has a lot more of Austen’s dialogue, very well delivered. The new film is a very enjoyable romantic comedy, but it’s missing many of the fine touches that make the book special.

I really enjoyed the short-lived series Firefly. It wasn’t as good as Babylon 5, but I liked it more than, say, Farscape. Obviously, since it wasn’t a full season, some things were still settling down a bit, but I thought it was a promising beginning to what could have been a really good series. (Then again, I would have said the same thing halfway through the first season of Angel, but after that – IMHO – it went downhill in a really big way. So you can never tell for sure.)

So I’d been looking forward to Serenity for quite some time, and fortunately, I wasn’t disappointed. As usual, the dialogue was great, with lots of funny lines, and the plot unfolded in an interesting way. I think we learned more about the way the Firefly universe works in one two-hour movie than in the entire 14 episodes, although some of the quieter character moments were lost (e.g. there was nothing like the bit in the series where Jayne is sent a home-made hat by his mother, and spends the entire episode wearing it: “A man walks down the street in that hat, people know he’s not afraid of anything”). It is interesting to speculate how far into the series he would have got before revealing so much about the Reavers. My feeling is that it wouldn’t have come out in the first series, but it might have been the arc story in the second.

I knew in advance that characters were going to die in this movie. One of them I had predicted in advance; the other I had thought there was a high probability of, but I was still really disappointed when it happened.

I loved the earlier Wallace and Gromit short films, and Curse of the Were-Rabbit totally lived up to my expectations. I am continually impressed by just how expressive Gromit’s face is, given that he is a dog, made of plasticine, with no mouth!

Madagascar was occasionally mildly amusing, but mostly pretty dull. Not a patch on Monsters, Inc. or Shrek.