Sep 20, 2017

Blade Runner Redux

From The Economist, updated from my book 'Blockbuster':-
Ridley Scott’s “Blade Runner”, which is being re-released by the British Film Institute this week, is different, if only because eyes are so integral to the plot: it tells the story of how it would one day be watched. A flop on its release in 1982, taking only $14.8m, “Blade Runner” then disappeared from screens, only to see its designs show up everywhere from Terry Gilliam’s “Brazil” to the stage sets for the Rolling Stones’ Steel Wheels tour. When laser discs appeared on the market in 1989, the film became a best-seller, and didn’t budge. Here was a movie you went back to, a maze to get lost in, much like “Star Wars”, whose layer-cake of details seemed to cry out for replay. But where “Star Wars” had demanded the big screen—it is, like the Millennium Falcon, fast junk—something in “Blade Runner” seemed happiest at home, in the privacy of the video den and man-cave, where fans could pore over it at their leisure. A film of a million tiny details, it is possible to watch “Blade Runner” pointillistically too. 
The film seems to know this. “If you could only see what I’ve seen with your eyes,” says the head “replicant” Roy Batty, a genetically engineered bio-robot played by Rutger Hauer as Nietzsche in cycling shorts. He is much given to tragic-ironic pensées on the mortal pangs of being a superman, while his irises twinkle gold in the night, just like the owls of his creator, Eldon Tyrell. That is how the cops, or blade runners, tell replicants apart from humans, with the Voight-Kampff test, designed to measure minute “fluctuation of the pupil, involuntary dilation of the iris”. Scott here seems to be offering up a twist on the old private-eye pics of yore: a world in which no eyes are private, but are mass-produced, corporate-owned, bearing their own copyright, the means not just to take in this world, but The blade runner hired to track down these runaways, Deckard (Harrison Ford), has his own way of looking: a voice-operated photo-enhancer that allows its user to get inside any photograph and nose around it, seemingly in 3D. Scott goes into a trance of excitement over the device, lingering over it in a way that has little to do with Deckard’s detective work, and everything to do with the narcotic pleasure of watching this nocturnal solitary figure exercising minute control over a set of images. At a guess, I would say Scott is evoking his art-school roots: the image recalls that of a graphic designer at his board, late at night, and it recurs in his films, from Ash at his computer console in “Alien” to Clarice Starling at her light board in “Hannibal”. No wonder Deckard pours himself a Scotch: this is Scott’s version of freebasing, or pornography, and something about the solitariness of the image, its undercurrent of fussy perfection, hints at why the movies were never really his medium, not in the way they were Hitchcock’s, or Spielberg’s. 
The afterlife of “Blade Runner” on home video points to a central weakness: Scott never did get enough detective work into his film, which moves with the stateliness of one of the advertising blimps that trawl the avenues of Los Angeles, blotting out the sky. The attention he paid his proscenium, as opposed to the humans running through it, resulted in a film, too, which plays perfectly well in the background, almost a piece of ambient cinema whose wall-to-wall gorgeousness represents a triumph of production design over direction, from its opening shot of fire-breathing ziggurats—as great a flame-grille opening for a film as that adorning the front end of “Apocalypse Now”—to its last, of elevator doors closing on Deckard as he wrestles with the possibility that he may be a replicant himself. The more you watch “Blade Runner”, or any other Scott movie for that matter, the more convinced you are that this is his idea of a happy ending. 
So why has the BFI put the film back into theatres? If “Blade Runner” demands to be seen on the big screen today it is as much for its evocation of film’s past as its future. Its achievement is firmly analogue. Here is the vanished world of sets and miniatures, lovingly crafted and photographed through anamorphic lenses which sculpt the space, using all those smog and rain effects, into a series of distinct planes, each with their own depth cues and none of that over-crammed, slightly flat feeling that the digital paintbox brings. Scott’s city is dense but deep, his sense of space as airy and vaulted as Milton’s. If “Blade Runner” has a sense of humanity, or any warmth, it is here—in its evocation of the urban sublime. His Los Angeles is to die for. Released just two years after Michael Cimino’s “Heaven's Gate”, and four years after Terence Malick’s “Days of Heaven”—two titles destined for an afterlife if ever there was one—“Blade Runner” belongs as firmly with them as it does with “The Matrix” or “Se7en”, or any other dark, rain-drenched dystopia to come. Like the Malick and Cimino films, it tells of an Eden spoiled, paradise lost, just as something very similar was happening to the movies themselves.

Aug 24, 2017

When novelists sober up

From Intelligent Life (2008):—
John Cheever was most unhappy to be picked up for vagrancy by the cops. “My name is John Cheever [1]!” he bellowed. “Are you out of your mind?” Found sharing some hooch with the down-and-outs in downtown Boston, he was promptly admitted to Smithers Alcoholism Treatment Centre on Manhattan’s East 93rd Street, where he shared a room with a failed male ballet dancer, a delicatessen owner and a smelly ex-sailor. “The ballerina is up to his neck in bubble bath reading a biography of Edith Piaf,” he noted in his journal. He spent most of his time in group therapy correcting his counsellor’s grammar. “Displaying much grandiosity and pride,” they wrote in their notes. “Very impressed with self.” Eventually he fell silent. Four weeks later he emerged, shaky, fragile and subdued. “Listen, Truman,” he told Truman Capote. “It’s the most terrible, glum place you can conceivably imagine. It’s really really, really grim. But I did come out of there sober.”
He was the first American author of his rank to do so. Much ink has been spilled [2]on the question of why so many writers are alcoholics. Of America’s seven Nobel laureates, five were lushes—to whom we can add an equally drunk-and-disorderly line of Brits: Dylan Thomas, Malcolm Lowry, Brendan Behan, Patrick Hamilton, Philip Larkin, Kingsley Amis, all doing the conga to (in most cases) an early grave. According to Donald Goodwin in his book “Alcohol and the Writer [3]”:
Writing involves fantasy; alcohol promotes fantasy. Writing requires self-confidence; alcohol bolsters confidence. Writing is lonely work; alcohol assuages loneliness. Writing demands intense concentration; alcohol relaxes.
There is good reason to be suspicious of this: one could as easily come up with a similar list for firefighters, or nannies, the only real difference being that writers are more vocal about it—their denial more pithily expressed. As Philip Amis said of his father’s bottle-of-whisky-a-day habit: “He was Kingsley Amis and he could drink whenever he wanted because he bought it with his money, because he was Kingsley Amis and he was so famous.”
In America William Faulkner [4] and Scott Fitzgerald [5] were the Paris [6] and Britney [7]of their day, caught in the funhouse mirror of fame, their careers a vivid tabloid mash-up of hospitalisations and electroshock therapies. “When I read Faulkner I can tell when he gets tired and does it on corn just as I used to be able to tell when Scott would hit it beginning with ‘Tender is the Night’,” said Hemingway, playing the Amy Winehouse role of denier-in-chief. He kept gloating track of his friends’ decline, all the while nervously checking out books on liver damage from the library; by the end, said George Plimpton, Hemingway’s liver protruded from his belly “like a long fat leech”.
In fact none of these authors would write much that was any good beyond the age of 40, Faulkner’s prose seizing up with sclerosis, Hemingway sinking into unbudgeable mawkishness. When Fitzgerald went public about his creative decline in Esquire, in a piece entitled “The Crack Up [8]”—a prototype for all the misery memoirs we have today—Hemingway was disgusted, inviting him to cast his “balls into the sea—if you have any balls left”. Today, of course, “The Crack Up” would be shooting up the besteller lists, and Fitzgerald would be sat perched on Oprah’s couch talking about his struggle and his co-dependent relationship with Ernest, proudly wearing his 90-day sobriety chip, but in the 1930s, the recovery industry, then in its infancy, was regarded by most with the enthusiasm of a cat approaching a bathtub.
“AA can only help weak people because their ego is strengthened by the group,” said Fitzgerald. “I was never a joiner.” Certainly, if what you’re used to is rolling champagne bottles down Fifth Avenue beneath the light of a wanton moon or getting into the kind of barfights that make a man feel alive, truly alive, the basic facts of recovered life—the endless meetings, the rote ingestion of the sort of clichés the writer has spent his entire life avoiding—are below prosaic. Richard Yates professed to find AA meetings impossibly maudlin: “Is just functioning living at all?” he moped, claiming he could not write a single sentence sober. His fall was even more vertiginous, and emblematic of the 1950s; like Kerouac, he was to write one masterpiece (“Revolutionary Road [9]"), then nothing.
Only the advent of rehab, in the 1960s, interrupted this fall—enforced incarceration flattering the writer’s sense of drama, the Kafkaesque me-versus-the-system fable playing out in his head. John Berryman sat in rehab looking like a “dishevelled Moses”, his shins black and blue, his liver palpitating, reciting Japanese and Greek poets and quoting Immanuel Kant. When he found out the doctors around him were serious he buckled under, declaring himself “a new man in 50 ways!” and affecting an ostentatious “religious conversion” which he proceeded to pour into a series of poems to his Higher Power (“Under new governance your majesty”). Ten days after leaving he found he needed a quick stiff one to get the creative juices flowing again and downed a quart of whisky. “Christ,” was all he could say the next morning.
Second time around he got himself a sponsor named Ken, and tried prose, writing a novel about his recovery, called “Recovery [10]”, which goes some way to explaining why the recent spate of bestsellers on the subject have been non-fiction. Pretentious and opaque, including “a bloody philosophy of both history and Existens, almost as heavy as Tolstoy”, Berryman’s book remains an object lesson in how not to recover, as Donald Newlove has pointed out:
First you hang on to all your old romances about your illness, then you suck your old grandiosity for every drop that’s still in it, you vigorously emphasise your uniqueness among the clods who might be recovering with you, and then you defend to the death your right to self-destruction…Starting afresh meant that a massive part of his work so far was self-pity and breast-beating. That was the last mask he couldn’t rip off. It was like tearing the beard from his cheeks.
The book remained unfinished; within weeks of leaving Berryman threw himself from Minneapolis’s Washington Avenue bridge, his body splitting like a melon upon impact with the ground.
It may seem a little impertinent to gauge the literary merits of sobriety—you cannot write books of any discernible quality if you are dead—but clearly, sobering up is one of the more devastating acts of literary criticism an author can face. John Cheever’s alcohol counsellors noted: “He dislikes seeing self negatively and seems to have internalised many rather imperious upper-class Boston attitudes which he ridicules and embraces at the same time”—which must rank among the sternest reviews he ever got.
Cheever emerged from rehab a different man, 20 pounds lighter, feeling 20 years younger. “I am changed violently,” he said, and so too was his work. After years of squeezing toothpaste out of an ever tighter tube, he powered his way through a new novel, finishing it within a year. “It is as if our Chekhov had tucked into a telephone booth and reappeared wearing a cape and leotard of Dostoyevsky’s ‘Underground Man’,” wrote the New York Times [11] of the resulting book, “Falconer [12]”, a “dark radiant fable” about a man’s escape from prison, whose frank depictions of homosexuality and addiction shocked the Book of the Month crowd expecting Cheever’s usual martini-hour melancholy. It was a work of liberation in every sense.
We don’t know how this would have played out, over time—Cheever was to die of kidney cancer within a few years—but for the effects of long-term sobriety we can turn to Raymond Carver, who, after the usual pile-up of emergency rooms, courtrooms, detox centres and drying-out clinics, got sober in 1977. For a year he wrote nothing (“I can’t convince myself it’s worth doing”), just played bingo and got fat on doughnuts, but then he remarried, and he went on to write some of his best work—he was nominated for a Pulitzer prize for his story collection, “Cathedral [13]”, illuminating the downtrodden blue-collar lives he had written about before with unexpected moments of revelation and connection. He addressed this “new opening up” in his work in a poem entitled “Gravy”:
No other word will do. For that’s what it was.
Gravy.
Gravy, these past ten years.
Alive, sober, working, loving, and
being loved by a good woman. Eleven years
ago he was told he had six months to live
at the rate he was going. And he was going
nowhere but down. So he changed his ways
somehow. He quit drinking! And the rest?
After that it was all gravy, every minute
of it…
The radiance of late Carver is so marked as to make you wonder how much the imperturbable gloom of late Faulkner, or the unyielding nihilism of late Becket—like the cramped black canvases [14] with which Rothko ended his career—were dictated by their creators’ vision, and how much they were simply symptoms of late-stage alcoholism. This suspicion is open to the counter-charge: this contentment and bliss is all very well, but readers may simply prefer the earlier, messed-up work. Charles Bukowski teased himself along similar lines when the old whore-monger found himself writing poems about his cats and “little Bluebird in my heart”:
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
Certainly, for those who trade a little too heavily on darkness, the Ozzy Osbournes of the literary world, the transition can be a rocky one. Stephen King says he cannot remember writing “Cujo”, he was so loaded; but after his family staged an intervention in 1987, emptying the contents of his garbage onto his living-room floor—cocaine, beer cans, Xanax, NyQuil, Valium, marijuana—he quit, and the result was a marked slackening of tension in his work. One of the things that made “The Shining” such a great novel about falling off the wagon was that King didn’t know that was what it was about—it was written from inside the belly of an obsession. Once he worked out what the real monster in the closet was, his work took on a therapeutic air, more concerned with the exorcising of internal demons than supernatural ones; it became baggier too, as if the elimination of one indulgence had forced a sideways move into another: the writing became drinking by other means.
From which we can conclude that the writer who can be most grateful he never has to get sober is Salman Rushdie [15]. Minimalists tend to do better than maximalists. Flinty and workmanlike seem to win the day. (Elmore Leonard said that attending AA meetings had made him a “better listener”.) It is the self-proclaimed geniuses who suffer. Writers of long sentences seem to do worse than the writers of short ones—Faulkner’s and Hemingway’s endless clauses being the epitome of the drunken style. Comparing yourself to Tolstoy is a bad sign. (If it has to be a Russian, Chekhov is a much better bet.) Americans do much better than Brits (a recent biography of Kingsley Amis [16] lists drinking under “Activities and Interests”). Americans from the north seem to do better than Americans from the South. Prose-writers fare better than poets. If you are an American poet from the South, you might as well walk into a bar right now. And don’t, whatever you do, write a novel about recovery. 

Jul 22, 2017

INTERVIEW: CHRISTOPHER NOLAN


'I threw myself into reading a lot of first hand accounts by people who've been there, a lot had been compiled by the imperial war museum. Joshua Levine had compiled a book called Forgotten Voices of Dunkirk, he came on as a historical advisor. I spent a lot of time talking with him, reading materials that he was able to find me. Then we were able to have the great honor and privilege of actually going and speaking to people who had been there. Obviously at this point, veterans of Dunkirk are very old and there are not that many left, but some of them very graciously gave us their time, and we were able to actually talk to them about what it was like to be there. One of the stories that stuck in my head and worked it's way into the film was a veteran telling me about watching people just walk into the sea, just as if they're going to swim. I asked him were they literally trying to swim back to England or swim out to the boat, were they killing themselves? He didn't know. He knew they were gonna die. It's a chilling thing to hear.   

My pitch to Warner Brothers was, we're going to put the audience into the cockpit of a Spitfire and have them dogfight against the German Messerschmitts. We're going to put them on the beach, feeling the sand getting everywhere, confronting the waves. We're going to put them on small civilian boat bouncing around the waves on this huge journey heading into this terrifying water. It’s virtual reality without the goggles. I knew that I didn't want to make a film that could be dismissed as old-fashioned, something that wasn't relevant to today's audiences. What that ruled out for me immediately was getting bogged down in the politics of the situation. Seeing the generals in room. Seeing Churchill.  We don't have Generals in rooms pushing things around on maps. We don't name the enemy. We barely glimpse the enemy. It's really about a survival story. I wanted to go through the experience with those characters.  We were very, very clear that rather than using CG recreations of British destroyers, we were trying to find ship and birds that matched closely as possible rather than computer generate them.  We would find the planes, the real planes, and fly them in real dogfights against each other and actually get the camera, get the actor up in the plane.  We were going to do this for real as far as possible.

You have to go to the experts. We got a chap called Dan Freeman who owns like six spit fires and is a fantastic flier himself. We got them involved in the stage to talk about the real characteristics of the planes, how they flew, how they can fly, what G-forces the pilot can really sustain. When people do these dogfights using these computer generated planes, they inevitably violate the real laws of physics. We want to teach the audience how difficult this would be. How you bank chasing a plane and try to shoot it you have to get your gun sight ahead of it and anticipate how far it can move, what wind is going to do to the bullets and the tracer fire. Nothing crashed that wasn't supposed to.  There was a rumor many months ago that I bought an antique plane and crashed it. We didn't do that. We built replicas.I think that for me the marine stuff was the most challenging. Even though this was by far the most complicated set of aerial scenes I've done, I'd done aerial work before on films like Dark Rises; I knew the pilots, I knew the cameraman, I knew how I would approach it, I knew how to split that work up. And I've done a lot of land-based action — not with a ton of extras, this was the biggest I've done  — but I sort of worked my way up to it through the Dark Knight films and so forth. Boats, that was an entirely new thing for me. And very, very challenging. 
I spoke to various filmmakers who'd shot in water before — spoke to Spielberg, spoke to Ron Howard about it, got some great advice. Both Steve and Ron very clearly felt that the best camera mode for shooting on a boat is handheld — even though we were shooting IMAX, because the camera man could steady themselves against the movement of the boat. That really proved to be the case. That's the way you get it done. It was very important for me to talk to actors before they read the script, which was very short — 75 pages, 76 pages, the shortest script I've ever written. Half a normal script. Very little dialogue, no back story. Just hints. So for example, when I went to talk to Mark Rylance about it, it was very important for him to understand the boat and to feel the tiller. He needed to feel the boat, to find how the physics of the situation could inform our understanding of the humanity of the character. The younger actors got very excited by that idea. It was vital for them, being there on the beach, being there out in the water. They're just really being in the elements and experiencing it and moving through it as people would have at the time. 
We knew the water was going to be a huge component of what the actors were going to have to go through. They were gonna have to be in the water, out in the open, in the Channel — not for individual shots, but for the whole shoot —  so it was very important that they be trained to deal with that safely. Our stunt guys put together a team of instructors. They did a lot of intense physical training for weeks where they would run in the waves, swim in the waves, get used to being in rough hazardous conditions. I think it was a shock to some of them, what was going to be required.  The first shooting day was in some of the worst weather —  very few film crews would gave carried on shooting. But for us, it looked marvelous with all this amazing foam washing up the beach. I’m known in the film business for having good luck with the weather. That's actually inaccurate. I often have terrible luck with the weather, but my philosophy is to shoot no matter what the weather is until the safety officer shuts us down. We tried to be opportunistic with how we shot. Grab the bad weather scenes when the weather's really bad, but always shooting, just keeping going, keeping going, no matter what the conditions are, as long as it's safe. 
My cameraman Hoyte van Hoytema and myself put wetsuits or drysuits on; he had housings made for the cameras so they could go out in the waves; when it came to open water work, the camera could actually float out on the water — half in, half out. We're in there, swimming with them. I firmly believe in leading from the front. The fact that we were able to be out there with them and  a part of the same physical elements they were dealing with, to some extent, experiencing what they're experiencing, was very much the spirit of those scenes. Being in it together and not sitting in a tent looking at video, I think it's vital for this kind of film.  By the end of the film the idea behind Dunkirk that we're trying to get across to the audience is, it's not about individual heroics. It's about communal heroism. It's about the tremendous sense of community that was vital to the success of the operation. That's what makes the unique story and that's why I think it's always served as something of a rallying point for British people. I also think it's a very Universal story. It's really about the individual drive for survival. And the very universal concept of a desperation to get home.' — Telegraph

INTERVIEW: NICOLE KIDMAN


'The second season to Top of the Lake took Kidman back to her roots in suburban Sydney where she grew up, and where, in the series, Elizabeth’s Moss’s detective is on the tail of a prostitution ring.  Kidman plays a feminist matriarch with a glorious cascade of grey hair, whose dinner table abounds with talk of Germaine Greer and revolutionary politics, but whose relationship with her adopted daughter, played by Campion’s own daughter, Alice Englert, has degenerated into a haggard war of attrition. Kidman’s performance — ferocious, knotted, full of thwarted love —  joins a growing throng of mothers she has played in recent years, from her saintly adoptive mother in Lion, to her Medea-like, murderously fierce mother in Alejandro Amenábar’s The Others. Kidman’s moms are as indomitable as Pacino’s gangsters.  

The strongest force I can find within me, right now, is the maternal force,” she says. “Romantically I'm obviously incredibly awake and alive. I have a really, really strong, good marriage. But maternal love brings you to your knees. It's surfacing in pretty much everything I do.”  What lends this weight is the hard-fought and at times torturously winding nature of Kidman’s own path to motherhood. The woman has had to fight. Two miscarriages. Two adopted children with Cruise. A miraculous, unexpected late pregnancy with, and finally, a fourth daughter, born via surrogate just a few years ago. The plot of Top of the Lake: China Girl, too, touches on surrogacy, which in Australia is still illegal, feeding a black market. “Jane said to me, ‘Would this be a very difficult place for you to go in terms of what the theme of this is?’ And I said, ‘No, because my story seemed very different.’ It was agreed upon and it was a very beautiful thing, which a woman chose to give us. It was an incredible gift that she did.”  

The role brought her home in other ways, too. Kidman’s own mother was a nurse who sacrificed her career to raise a family but remained active in the woman’s movement of the 1970s. “I grew up in that world of feminism,” says Kidman. “I grew up watching those dinner parties. That's been my life since I was probably four.” If actors have long enough careers, they often end up playing their parents at some point. Brando burst onto the scene playing rebels, wounded and bristling against authority, but his maturity was reached when he stepped into the shoes of colonel Kurtz and Corleone: the very authority figures his youthful rebellion presupposed, viewed through a glass darkly.  
Kidman as a teenager was a handful, hitting the clubs in Sydney by the time she was 14 in tutu, fishnets, and lace-up black boots, fighting with her mother every step of the way. Her fights with her tearaway daughter in Top of the Lake: China Girl thus played  like re-matches with her own teenage self, this time from her mother’s point of view. “Absolutely. I can do, and wear, and behave any way I want, and screw all of this. Absolutely. And, I'm gonna be with any man that I want, and who cares about your beliefs? Totally. So, I've come at it from both sides, which is why Jane is so clever, because was she was able to sort of flip things.  She’s incredibly perceptive.”' — from my interview in the Sunday Times

Jun 4, 2017

Albums of my Lifetime

2016 22, A Million — Bon Iver
2015 Carrie & Lowell — Sufjan Stevens
2014 Morning Phase — Beck
2013 Heartthrob — Tegan & Sarah
2012 Some Nights — Fun.
2011 The Belle Brigade — The Belle Brigade
2010 Contra— Vampire Weekend
2009 Wolfgang Amadeus — Phoenix
2008 For Emma, Forever Ago — Bon Iver
2007 The Reminder — Feist
2006 Alright Still — Lily Allen
2005 Tiny Cities — Sun Kil Moon
2004 More Adventurous — Rilo Kiley
2003 Want One — Rufus Wainwright
2002 Blacklisted — Neko Case
2001 Discovery — Daft Punk
2000 Bachelor no 2 — Aimee Mann
1999 69 Love Songs — The Magnetic Fields
1998 White Ladder — David Gray
1997 OK Computer — Radiohead
1996 Odelay — Beck
1995 What's The Story Morning Glory — Oasis
1994 Parklife — Blur
1993 Debut — Bjork
1992 Ingenue — k d Lang
1991 Diamonds and Pearls — Prince
1990 Nightclubbing — Grace Jones
1989 3 Feet High and Rising — De La Soul
1988 From Langley Park to Memphis— Prefab Sprout
1987 Tango In The Night — Fleetwood Mac
1986 Parade — Prince
1985 Cupid & Psyche — Scritti Politti
1984 Pirates — Rickie Lee Jones
1983 Speaking in Tongues — Talking Heads
1982 Dare — The Human League
1981 Computer World — Kraftwerk
1980 Remain In Light — Talking Heads
1979 Off the Wall — Michael Jackson
1978 Parallel Lines — Blondie
1977 Rumors — Fleetwood Mac
1976 Arrival — ABBA
1975 The Koln Concert — Keith Jarett
1974 Court and Spark — Joni Mitchell
1973 Innervisions — Stevie Wonder
1972 Pink Moon — Nick Drake
1971 What's Going On — Marvin Gaye
1970 Bridge Over Troubled Water — Simon & Garfunkel
1969 Abbey Road — The Beatles
1968 Astral Weeks — Van Morrison
1967 Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band — The Beatles

Mar 19, 2017

My 'favorite films of my lifetime'



Favorite films from each year I have been alive:—
2016 La La Land
2015 Carol
2014 Birdman
2013 12 Years A Slave
2012 Amour
2011 Beginners
2010 The Social Network
2009 Avatar
2008 The Hurt Locker
2007 Zodiac
2006 Borat: Cultural Learnings Of America For Make Benefit Glorious Nation Of Kazakhstan
 2005 Brokeback Mountain
2004 Birth
2003 Mystic River
2002 Catch Me If You Can
2001 The Piano Teacher
2000 You Can Count On Me
1999 The Sixth Sense
1998 Rushmore
1997 Boogie Nights
1996 Fargo
1995 Before Sunrise
1994 Pulp Fiction
1993 Schindler's List
1992 The Last of the Mohicans
1991 The Double Life of Veronique
1990 Goodfellas
1989 Dead Calm
1988 Dangerous Liaisons
1987 The Untouchables
1986 Blue Velvet
1985 The Purple Rose of Cairo
1984 The Terminator
1983 The Right Stuff
1982 Diner
1981 Raiders of the Lost Ark
 1980 The Elephant Man
 1979 Alien
1978 Halloween
1977 Annie Hall
 1976 Taxi Driver
 1975 Jaws
1974 Chinatown
1973 Badlands
1972 The Godfather
1971 Klute
1970 Five Easy Pieces
1969 The Wild Bunch
1968 Stolen Kisses
1967 The Graduate

Feb 26, 2017

Oscar predictions 2017

Here are my predictions for all 24 categories for the Oscar this weekend.  Drinking game suggestion: a shot of ice-cold Stolichnaya for every time Donald Trump is addressed either directly or indirectly. Na zdorovie
Best Motion Picture: La La Land 
Best Director: Damien Chazelle 
Best Actor: Denzel Washington 
Best Actress: Emma Stone 
Best Supporting Actress: Viola Davis 
Best Supporting Actor: Mahershala Ali 
Best Cinematography: La La Land 
Best Editing: Arrival 
Best Original Script: Manchester By The Sea 
Best Adapted Screenplay: Moonlight 
Best Production Design: La La Land 
Best Costume: Jackie 
Best Score: La La Land  
Best Song: La La Land  
Best Make Up & Hair: Star Trek 
Best Sound Editing: Hacksaw Ridge 
Best Sound Mixing: La La Land 
Best Visual Effects: The Jungle Book 
Best Animated Feature: Zootopia 
Best Documentary: O. J. Made In America 
Best Foreign Language film: The Salesman 
Best Animated Short: Piper 
Best Short Documentary: Extremis 
Best Live-action Short: Ennemis Interieurs

Jan 25, 2017

REVIEW: SPIELBERG: A LIFE IN FILM


'Few great film directors are as picked on as Steven Spielberg.For a large segment of the cineaste population, a liking for Spielberg over say, Scorsese, is like saying you prefer McCartney to Lennon, David Hockney to Damien Hirst, pop to rock, sun shine to storm clouds  —  sign of an aesthetic sweet tooth, an addiction to flimsy childlike fantasy over grit and darkness and ambiguity and fibre and all the other things we are taught are good for us in film crit class. I once suggested to a scowling Sight & Sound reader that while a director like Kubrick might be the epitome of the aesthetic will-to-power — bending the medium to do the master’s bidding  — Spielberg’s work was the place you looked to see the medium of cinema left to its own devices — what it gets up to in its free time.  The look of disgust on his face was immediate. Conversation over. I might as well have told him I still sucked my thumb. Partly the is down to his outsized success: he's an unignorable target. That success discomfits our notion of the artist, an ill-notion when applied the movies at the best of times, but particularly someone like Spielberg, athletically slam-dunking one box office record after another in the first half of his career, before omnivorously morphing  in the second half, greedily bent on acquiring the credibility that is naturally accorded someone like Scorsese, the auteur agonistes, tearing his films from his breast like chunks of flesh while wandering in the Hollywood wilderness. Never mind that Scorsese’s reputation for speaking to the Human Condition rests on his strip mining of a narrow strip of gangland and the male psyche. Spielberg is a people-pleaser and nothing attracts bullies more.' — from my review of Molly Haskell's Steven Spielberg: a Life in Film

Jan 11, 2017

MOST ANTICIPATED MOVIES of 2017


  • FEBRUARY 
  • Kong: Skull Island (March 10th) The Circle (April 28) Emma Watson,  Tom Hanks 

  • MAY
  • Snatched (May 12) Amy Schumer w Goldie Hawn 
  • Alien: Covenant (May 19) — Scott, Katherine Waterston, Danny McBride, Noomi Rapace, Guy Pearce 
  • The Dinner — Oren Moverman,  Cate Blanchett , Richard Gere and Steve Coogan, Laura Linney, Rebecca Hall and Chloë Sevigny 
  • JUNE 
  • Wonder Woman (June 2) starring Gal Gadot.
  • The Beguiled (June 30) Sofia Coppola remakes Clint Eastwood’s 1971 western w Kirsten Dunst, Nicole Kidman and Elle Fanning.

  • JULY 
  • Dunkirk (July 21) Christopher Nolan w Tom Hardy and Harry Styles 
  • War for the Planet of the Apes (July 14) — Matt Reeves, Andy Serkis, Steve Zahn, Judy Greer

  • AUGUST 
  • Baby Driver (TriStar, 8.11)  Edgar Wright,  Ansel Elgort, Jamie Foxx, Jon Hamm, Kevin Spacey 
  • SEPTEMBER
  • American Made (Universal, September 29th) — Doug Liman, Tom Cruise  
  • OCTOBER
  • Blade Runner 2049 —   w/ Ryan Gosling, Robin Wright, Dave Bautista, Barkhad Abdi, Lennie James and Jared Leto.

  • Personal Shopper (IFC Films, 3.10.17) — Assayas, Stewart

  • NOVEMBER
  • Darkest Hour  Joe Wright (Focus, 11.24), about Winston Churchill (played by Gary Oldman)  John Hurt  Kristin Scott Thomas  
  • DECEMBER
  • Star Wars: Episode VIII —  Rian Johnson Daisy Ridley, John Boyega, Oscar Isaac, Mark Hamill, Carrie Fisher, Adam Driver, Lupita Nyong’o 

  • Downsizing — Payne,  Matt Damon, Kristen Wiig, Christoph Waltz, Alec Baldwin, Neil Patrick Harris, Jason Sudeikis.
  • Suspiria — Luca Guadagnino, Tilda Swinton, Dakota Johnson, Chloë Grace Moretz.
  • Untitled Dick Cheney Drama — (Paramount) Adam McKay, Will Ferrell and Kevin Messick.
  • Untitled 1967 Detroit Riots Docudrama — Kathryn Bigelow, Mark BoalJohn Boyega 
  • The Current War (Weinstein Co.) — Alfonso Gomez-Rejon, Benedict Cumberbatch, Sienna Miller
  • Lean on Pete (A24) — Andrew Haigh, Charlie Plummer, Travis Fimmel, Chloë Sevigny, Steve Buscemi, Steve Zahn
  • Ismael’s Ghosts (Magnolia) — Arnaud Desplechin, Mathieu Amalric, Marion Cotillard, Charlotte Gainsbourg and Louis Garrel
  • Call Me By Your Name — Luca Guadagnino,  Timothee Chalamet, Armie Hammer and Michael Stuhlbarg  
  • Untitled Paul Thomas Anderson Fashion Project — Daniel D Lewis
  • The Lost City of Z — James Gray
  • Okja — Bong Joon-ho, Jon Ronson
  • Wonderstruck — Todd Haynes, Julianne Moore, Michelle Williams
  • A Quiet Passion — Terence Davies, Cynthia Nixon
  • Happy End —Michael Haneke,  Isabelle Huppert, Jean-Louis Trintignant 
  • A Ghost Story (A24) — Casey Affleck, Rooney Mara
  • Roma — Alfonso Cuaron,  Emmanuel Lubezki  
  • The Kidnapping of Edgardo Montara — Spielberg, Tony Kushner, Oscar Isaac, Mark Rylance 
  • Mother — Darren Aronofsky, Jennifer Lawrence, Javier Bardem, Michelle Pfeiffer, Domhnall Gleeson, Ed Harris
  • Logan Lucky —  Steven Soderbergh,  Adam Driver, Channing Tatum, Seth MacFarlane, Daniel Craig, Katherine Heigl, Hilary Swank 
  • Chappaquiddick — John Curran, Jason Clarke, Kate Mara, Ed Helms 
  • Last Flag Flying — Richard Linklater w Bryan Cranston, Steve Carell, Laurence Fishburne and J. Quinton Johnson
  • Stronger (Summit) — David Gordon Green, Jake Gyllenhaal 
  • War Machine (Netflix) —  David Michod,  Brad Pitt,  Ben Kingsley
  • Suburbicon (Paramount) — George Clooney, Joel and Ethan Coen, Matt Damon, Julianne Moore, Josh Brolin and Oscar Isaac
  • The Shape of Water — Guillermo Del Toro, Sally Hawkins, Michael Shannon, Richard Jenkins, Doug Jones, Michael Stuhlbarg and Octavia Spencer
  • Inner City — Dan Gilroy, Denzel Washington  
  • The Sisters Brothers — Jacques Audiard 
  • Battle of the Sexes (Fox Searchlight) Emma Stone, Steve Carell, Andrea Riseborough, Elisabeth Shue, Sarah Silverman and Alan Cumming
  • Tully — Jason Reitman, Diablo Cody w Charlize Theron, Mackenzie Davis, Mark Duplass and Ron Livingston
  • The Mountain Between Us (20th Century Fox, 10.20.17) —  Chris Weitz, Idris ElbaKate Winslet 
  • Based On A True Story —  Roman Polanski,  Emmanuelle SeignerEva Green.
  • Untitled — Woody Allen, Vittorio Storaro, Kate Winslet, Justin Timberlake, Juno Temple, Jim Belushi
  • Annihilation  Alex Garland, Natalie Portman, Jennifer Jason Leigh  
  • Lady Bird — dir. Greta Gerwig, Saoirse Ronan 
  • Vox Lux — Brady CorbetRooney Mara 
  •