Film review: Capote

Capote is a well-made, intelligent, well-acted piece of cinema that tells an interesting story about a writer without just it being about a man at a typewriter, looking out the window and smoking. However, like the central conflict at the heart of the film, there is an issue of detachment. The film follows the life of Truman Capote as he decides to write about the Clutter murders in rural Kansas by two men, Perry Smith and Dick Hickock. In doing so, he becomes very close to Smith, as he tries to fathom what happened on the night of the killings, in order to write the non-fiction novel that will become In Cold Blood.

Phillip Seymour Hoffman is a wonderful actor and is brilliant as Capote. The little twitches and affectations, as well as the singular voice, are just part of the mask he puts on to portray and inhabit the multi-faceted character of the famous author. The script, building out of two chapters in Gerald Clarke’s biography of Capote, is spare and lean, with occasional flashes of humour to help the audience deal with the relationship that develops between an intelligent man and Smith, an unusual character with a sharp mind but a troubled background, who shot a family with a shotgun after tying them up to rob their house.

The film is told well, with great support in Catherine Keener, as Harper Lee, who was Capote’s research assistant during the initial investigations into the murders, and Chris Cooper as the policeman in charge of hunting down the killers. However, the apparent detachment, perhaps meant to reflect Capote’s trouble in dealing with the writing of the book (we see him in anguish as the killers have several appeals because it means that he doesn’t have an ending to his book yet) compared with his more-affected approach to the world of literature, gives a cold feeling to the movie. This may be necessary to reflect the winter setting of most of the film and the subject of the story, but when a film can’t warm up when Capote is in Spain to write, then it leaves a curious sensation. It feels like a film that is made to make an actor in a central performance look good, rather than telling the story itself. This is only a minor flaw in what is an otherwise good film. The humanising of the killer, the problems that Capote faces in the writing of his book (the last one he finished, although he lived another 20 years, passing away due to problems associated with drinking) and the towering central performance by Hoffman stay with you after the film has ended, wondering how we would react if we became that closely associated with a murderer.

Rating: DAVE

From a Library: JSA Savage Times

Justice Society of America: Savage Times (collecting #39–45)
Geoff Johns, David Goyer and Leonard Kirk

There are two conclusions that can be easily drawn from my From A Library reviews:

1. My local library has quite a good stock of graphic novels/collections
2. I will read just about anything

I’m not a big fan of the JSA; I think I have the original issues written by James Robinson (influenced by my love for his Starman series) but it didn’t do anything for me, and I have always felt they were 'Old Man' comic books, which is completely irrational but also my valid opinion. I thought I’d have a look and see what the stories were like, especially as it still keeps going.

I found these extremely average comic book tales. The JSA may represent a bygone era but it doesn’t mean that the comics should read like they are from a bygone era.

The first story is a flimsy little yarn about a supervillain’s obsession with Power Girl and her special breasts (does that mean that the supervillain is Dave, and that is what is Boob War is all about?) The second tale is the single most cloying and embarrassing story I think I’ve ever read; I’m amazed the pages didn’t stick to my hands, they were so syrupy. A supervillain holds a school class hostage in order for Dr Mid-Nite to operate on his grandfather. The operation fails and he is going to kill the kids in front of the superheroes, who can do nothing to stop him, only for the retarded villain to give up when the kids tell him what they want to be when they grow up. Dear Sweet Zombie Jesus. I could not believe this piece of shite. The pain, the pain!

The main story of the collection involves some silly time travel, just so we can see the original Mr Terrific, go back to ancient Egypt, to meet Vandal Savage, Metamorph, the original soul of Hawgirl, Black Adam as a young man, and Nabu, just so they can tick off the various points of DC continuity. Oh, and there’s some fighting thrown in, just to keep the kids happy. The collection is rounded off with a dreary courtroom drama where the terrorist Lord Naga eventually escapes, for a final page reveal of Mordru taking over Dr Fate. Booooorrrrrrriiiiiiinnnnnnnggggggg. I’m amazed that this series is still ongoing. DC fanboys are strange.

From a Library: Shimura

Shimura
Robbie Morrison, Frank Quitely et al.

The 'et al.' after Frank’s name is quite important; he only illustrates the first story (and a short, sexually charged tale, Judge Inaba: Babes with Big Bazookas) but his shadow falls over the remaining stories, even if he didn’t design the character (that honour goes to Colin MacNeil). His slender, fluid characters and vivid rendering of an unusual setting set the tone for the proceeding stories, which never match his original version.

The concept of Shimura is so blindingly obvious, one is stunned that it hasn’t been done before; essentially, it is a Japanese Judge Dredd, set in the same time and world as the Mega City One lawman, but building on the technological superiority of Japan and mixing it with the samurai ethos, especially the devotion to duty (and the cool fucking swords). This trade collects the various Shimura tales printed, including a crossover with Judge Dredd himself, making it a hodge-podge of disconnected tales.

The first story (and probably the best) follows Shimura and his cadet, who becomes the first female Judge in Hondo City (Judge Inaba), as they fight the corruption of the Yakuza. The story mixes in the futuristic tech that is the basis for a lot of manga and the divine art of Quitely to set up a world and setting for further stories. Shimura is the brilliant samurai warrior with a strict code of ethics, which lead to him becoming, in essence, a ronin, as he breaks away from the judges and becomes rogue in the later stories.

With the exception of the second story, dealing with Yakuzas and corruption in the Judges, most of the stories are short and disposable, with the art quality varying in style and mood. Morrison has done plenty of research into Japan, liberally sprinkling the stories with references and authenticity, but the spark isn’t always there, even if the central idea is a solid one.

The Power of Warren Ellis

I admire the comics of Warren Ellis. His story sense and work ethic is finely tuned, and he writes stories that, for the most part, I actively want to read. I’ve mentioned my appreciation for his work in previous posts, even though I don’t enjoy everything he writes (Tokyo Storm Rising springs to mind). He isn’t blinded by a love for superheroes yet, ironically, he writes them very well. He has a desire to write different things, to own them and promote them himself. He makes sure he gets the best artists for the job and considers his career as a whole. He understands the business but, more importantly, the craft of comics, as well as wanting to understand it further. I have a long box full of his work, I subscribe to his Bad Signal and check out his website regularly for my dose of weird shit. What I didn’t expect to happen was that I would have a dream about the bastard.

Now, it wasn’t a sexual or disturbing dream, let’s get that out of the way for a start. Also, like most dreams I recall, it was odd and jumbled, and I generally feel that talking about dreams is completely worthless. However, it is vaguely connected to the world of comics, so I thought I would allow myself the indulgence of writing about it.

The dream seemed to be set among the bars and restaurants of Soho. The reason behind this, perhaps, was knowing of his trip to see Patton Oswalt at the Soho Theatre, and this photo in a restaurant afterwards (which I think could be Spiga, a restaurant I have eaten at, which is just down the road from the Soho Theatre).

(In looking for the picture on warrenellis.com, I typed Oswald instead of Oswalt – the reply for this was 'Sorry, no posts matched your stupid question and we have called the police.')

The dream is unfocussed, as most of mine are, but seem to involve an evening of drinking in various seedy bars in Soho. Sometimes it would be just Warren and myself; others would involve a group of people. Warren would be vivacious and gregarious in the social setting but more thoughtful and relaxed when just the two of us. This seems to correlate with his public persona and private persona, as one would expect from someone who has to portray the part of cranky old bastard to entertain the masses when he has a new book out, but is also a family man who has strong feelings about issues, as can be seen in his writing.

The conversations weren’t about comics; it was mostly about life in general: happiness, love, death, war, politics, religion, stupid jokes – basically, the type of shit that people usually talk about down the pub. This seemed particularly odd to me, as I have many questions about the ninth art with which I would annoy Warren if I was allowed within spitting distance, but made complete sense at the time.

I should point out that I don’t want to be friends with Warren, even if the dream can be interpreted as such. I get a kick out of his comics work, I appreciate his sense of humour in the Bad Signal and his website, and he seems like a decent bloke, but I don’t want to be his mate. I’m fairly anti-social as it is anyway, but it’s more to do with me not wanting to be a sad fucker who would go round annoying people saying, 'Warren Ellis? Yeah, I know him, he’s a good mate of mine.' That’s kind of pathetic.

I suppose that the dream possibly extends from the idea that the web-savvy audience of his work know so much about him, as he shares a lot with us in his various websites and his journal emails. Combine that with images of him, taken down the pub with his phone, and you have the basis for the possibility of inventing a dream in which you spend an evening with him drinking whisky (which is particularly odd, as I don’t drink alcohol.) I fucking hope so, anyway …

Warren Ellis. He will invade your mind and fuck with your head.

Q&A: Usagi Yojimbo

Miyamoto Usagi is a samurai in 17th century feudal Japan. Having learned from the hermit sensei, Katsuichi, he served under Lord Mifune. Following Mifune’s death at the Battle of Adachigahara, Usagi became a ronin, wandering the country while adhering to bushido, the way of the warrior, although he has been connected with the Geishu clan on several occasions. He has a son, Jotaro, although both are unaware that the other knows their true biological connection.

What is your perfect idea of happiness?
Flying a kite with my friends on a beautiful hill on a sunny day.

Which living person do you most admire?
My sensei, Katsuichi, who embodies the samurai spirit.

What is your greatest regret?
The death of my master, Lord Mifune, a great man.

What is your most treasured possession?
My daisho: my katana, Yagi No Eda (willow branch), and my wakizashi, Aoyagi (young willow).

Where would you like to live?
A wandering ronin is happy to call anywhere in this beautiful country home, but I will always hold a special place in my heart for the village where I was born.

What makes you depressed?
Evil in all its forms.

Who would play you in a movie of your life?
I think Thumper has the range, but not Bugs or Roger – the life of a samurai requires more gravitas.

What is your favourite book?
Go Rin No Sho (Book of Five Rings)

What is your guiltiest pleasure?
Rice balls. And bathing.

What do you owe your parents?
My stubbornness and sense of duty.

Which living person do you most despise?
Lord Hikiji, the man who killed my father and my honourable Lord, and gave me the scar above my eye.

When and where were you happiest?
Training to be a student in the mountains with my sensei.

What single thing would improve the quality of your life?
Full-time employment for all samurai.

What is the most important lesson life has taught you?
Life is hard, but if you follow bushido with honour, you will have lived well.

(With apologies, and the greatest respect, to Stan Sakai and his brilliant creation, Usagi Yojimbo, one of the best comics being published today.)

Film review: Good Night, And Good Luck

I felt a little sorry for Good Night, And Good Luck at the BAFTAs. It got loaded with big award nominations, yet left empty handed. It seemed like a worthwhile film that wouldn’t get the respect it deserved. It didn’t make me see the film; I had made that decision already. Fortunately, it stands up on its own as an intelligent piece of cinema in an age of blockbusters, franchises, teen-friendly pap and inoffensive, bland cinema.

GNAGL tells the true story or Edward R. Murrow, a newscaster in the US on CBS, and his programmes that spoke out against the witch-hunting of renowned anti-communist senator, Joseph McCarthy. Appalled by the paranoia and the ruining of lives by his accusations, Murrow and his team investigate his tactics and present their findings on television, in the face of sponsorship withdrawal, internal politics and the attacks of McCarthy himself.

The story is told in black and white, to achieve a sense of period more easily, and using a looseness of camera work in the television studios and offices to suggest the documentary style without having handheld cameras, which would seem out of place in the 1950s. The only time the camera really sits still is when it focussing on Murrow presenting the television programmes, reflecting the period but also letting the audience absorb what he has to say and the power of the words. In this, Strathairn gives a powerful performance of a man with a conscience and the power to do something about it. He is gripping to watch and deserving of the nomination. His fellow actors support him well, giving a real ensemble feel to the piece, even down to roles that don’t extend to more than a few scenes.

The star of the show, in a sense, then is Clooney, directing, acting, co-writing, producing – all this and he’s handsome too? Talented bastard. You have to respect Clooney and his desire to make worthwhile films, rather than make the easy buck. This is a thoughtful drama, examining a piece of history that has obvious parallels to today in Bush’s labelling of enemies as terrorists as an excuse for not getting his way, as well as looking at the strange relationship between the world of television news and advertising (there are several ads, which I assumed were genuine ads from the time, that are hilarious to look at with a modern eye, including a direct to camera appeal from a serious gentleman telling you to smoke a certain brand of cigarette. Not that you need to be reminded about cigarettes – everyone smokes, especially Murrow, who chain-smokes throughout his show. Can you imagine today’s newsreporters smoking on camera?). Cinema is meant to be entertaining, but it can also inform at the same time, which this film does; after the film, I wanted to read more about the time and the witch-hunts and the junior senator from Wisconsin. That is the sign of film that sticks with you and makes you think.

The film isn’t completely perfect, with the innately episodic nature of the storytelling, the lack of character development for supporting players, and the feel that we’re not getting the whole story. However, these are minor flaws in an excellently acted and excellently crafted piece of cinema that mainstream Hollywood simply doesn’t do enough.

Rating: DAVE

BAFTAs (British Apathy For Terrible Awards)

Not that anyone outside the UK gives two tugs of a dead dog's cock, but it was the BAFTA Award ceremony last night (or, more specifically, the Orange British Academy Film Awards – you can tell we are low rent when we have to be sponsored by a mobile phone company).

It was presented by Stephen Fry, who is the main and only reason to actually watch the show, as he is a genuinely funny human being. You can get a full list of results here if you want.

They used to give out the BAFTAs at a completely different time of year, but they want to get in on that hot awards action and feel important, so have moved to before the Oscars so they look like they might be an indicator of the Oscars. This is absurd and not a little embarrassing, but there you go.

Also, before this change, there was a strong British bias – any academy that has special awards such as the Alexander Korda Award for the Outstanding British Film of the Year and the Carl Foreman Award for Special Achievement by a British Director, Writer or Producer in Their First Feature Film should give you a clue – and the 10 nominations for The Constant Gardener seemed to be in keeping with tradition. As such, there was the feeling that, despite being ignored by other unnamed bodies, Constant Gardener might get props from its homies, as it were. However, the feeling was that the academy should try for that ‘indicator of Oscar’ idea, and Constant Gardener went home with one (for editing), whereas the big awards went to the films that have been getting all that Oscar buzz (Brokeback Mountain as best film, Lee as best director, Hoffman best actor and Witherspoon best actress.)

The only main shock was Thandie (pronounced Tandy) Newton for Crash, who looked so thin and weak that she probably couldn’t lift the award without snapping in half. She also gave the worst acceptance speech by mentioning all the other (better) actresses that she had beaten, which is rather rubbing it in somewhat. The award that surprised me was special effects for King Kong, as the dinosaur stampede was particularly ropey, but even I must admit that Kong was a stunning piece of CGI. The pleasant surprise of the evening was Wallace and Gromit: Curse of the Were-Rabbit getting best British film, even though I thought that Pride & Prejudice would get it, and I had an outside hope for A Cock & Bull Story. It was a bit sad bringing the lovely but ageing Peter Sallis up to say a few words, but it was nice to see it recognised as a film, rather than just animation, as Nick Parks said himself.

Despite this, it came as no shock to hear that the viewing figures were down on the previous years, as the show itself isn’t important or exciting, despite the excellence of Mr Fry. There is no prestige to the award outside the UK, and sitting it squarely between the Globes and the Oscars makes it look like me standing between George Clooney and Brad Pitt – completely unnecessary and totally ignored.

I always wondered why there were so many leagues

I wasn’t a big Justice League of America fan growing up, mainly because I didn’t read any. I don’t think they were especially sparse over here in the UK, but I don’t recall seeing them on the shelves of newsagents as an adolescent in search of superheroes. Or maybe it was the 'America' in the title – how relevant was that?

I got into the Justice League with the hilarious Giffen/DeMatteis/Maguire Bwa-Ha-Ha version. I like funny, and this was just lovely, with a delightful silliness and perfect art to match. This became Justice League International, and Justice League Europe, and then there was the annual of Justice League Antarctica, and there was Justice League Task Force, there is the recent Justice League Elite, not to mention the Justice Leagues of Aliens, Amazons, Arkham and Atlantis in a fifth-week event. That's a lot of leagues.

Basically, what I’m trying to point out is that the word ‘league’ is one that I associate with superhero comics because it is used so often. This makes sense; the word is defined by the OED as 'a collection of people, countries, or groups that combine for mutual protection or cooperation'. So, I was amused and surprised by seeing it in a non-superhero setting connected to part of my day job. The word ‘league’, it seems, is equally popular in the real world.

A quick search based on the my work-related discovery returned some groups that sounded strange to my ears:

• The League Against Cancer (and its junior team, the Student League Against Cancer)
• The League Against AIDS
• The World Hypertension League
• The International League Against Rheumatism
• The International League Against Epilepsy
• The Mediterranean League Against Thrombolic Diseases
• The Pan American League of Associations for Rheumatology

Spread the net a little further and you get:

• League Against Cruel Sports
• World Hypertension League
• Jewish Defense League
• War Resisters League

However, my personal favourites were:

• The French National League against Venereal Diseases (how appropriate?)
• League Against Intoxicants (which seems like an easy enemy to pick …)

And these were just the ones that I found by quick search on the web. How many more organisations exist with 'league' in their title and no web presence? Now, I’m sure that all these very serious, august bodies are noble, and the causes they strive against or for are worthwhile; I just can’t get the superhero association out of my head. I almost imagine a global crossover, with all these leagues fighting against all their listed enemies – it would make for great entertainment …

From A Library: War Stories Vol. 1

Garth Ennis' War Stories Vol. 1

Johann’s Tiger (with Chris Weston) reminds me of Iron Cross, both being about German officers who have had their fill of the war and are trying to protect their squads. However, this story admits our protagonist’s guilt in the atrocities on the Eastern Front, and is a powerful tale of loyalty and honour among men and the horror of war, told through an eloquent inner monologue.

D-Day Dodgers (with John Higgins) tells a story about Lieutenant Ross joining the Antrim Rifles in Italy after D-Day, under the command of Captain Lovatt (‘an enormously disappointed Catholic’) and Sergeant Major Dunn, where the battles are being fought by generals worried more about headlines rather than the men fighting them. The title refers to what the troops in Italy were called by Lady Astor (although she denied it), despite the fact that the conditions of fighting through Italian winters were horrific and the fighting bloody and obstinate. The last pages of the story are full-page spreads of the doomed battle for the regiment, accompanied by the anonymously written 'The Ballad of the D-Day Dodgers', and is both harrowing and heroic simultaneously.

Screaming Eagles (with Dave Gibbons) refers to the nickname for Easy Company, 655th Regiment, 101st Airborne Division. After D-Day, the sergeant and the three troops who survived the landings and subsequent skirmishes with him are sent by a callous lieutenant to take charge of a house nearby for an incoming general and his staff. As the they go about their duty and discover they can have a few days of R&R in the discovered mansion, there are single pages remembering the troops who died in their advance through France and the horrific ways they died. The sergeant is sick of the army, with the generals giving orders when they don’t know or understand everything, while the sergeants run things because the whole thing would collapse without them, and we feel that the soldiers are fully justified in their temporary AWOL status.

Nightingale (with Dave Lloyd) is the most tragic of the four tales, as it relates the story of the HMS Nightingale and its crew. Having survived by default the destruction of a convoy they were escorting through stupidity of faulty intelligence regarding a feared destroyer, the crew feel responsible, even though they are not to blame. Escorting another convoy, they go to the rescue of an escort ship caught in an oil fire, only to be attacked by an Italian cruiser that will damage the convoy and the escorts if they don’t intercede. Despite being hit, they fight off a ship twice their size, saving the ships but at the cost of their own. This is a particularly intense and moving tale of courage in the face of adversity.

All these tales are fictional but based on fact, as Garth likes to read about war. The artists also base the stories in reality and bring real power to the renditions of ordinary people in extraordinary situations. Even Garth’s afterword is moving, as he recounts the stories that inspired these narratives. This is exceptional work from an author who seems to reach another level when telling accounts of war, make you feel the humanity in the midst of so much inhumanity.

NOT a review: Crisis on Multiple Earths

Crisis on Multiple Earths
By Gardner Fox & Mike Sekowsky
(collecting JLA #21, 22, 29, 30, 37, 38, 46, 47)

These seemed like important comics, being the source for the Crisis comics, as well as inspirations for a Grant Morrison JLA story, so I was glad to see it in my local library. I had thought about reviewing it, but I just couldn’t. It’s just so damn goofy that it feels heartless to do it. Instead, here are some of the silly things that leapt out.

The JLA get a Reservoir Dogs/Wild Bunch moment, but the JSA seem to be a chorus line:



The stories, about the crossing of vibrational planes to allow our heroes to meet, our wonderfully imaginative, but the story logic of characters gets in my way of really enjoying things. Dr Alchemy can seemingly turn anything into anything else, as seen by turning a van into a plane, but he pulls off amateur robberies. Why? Why not create whatever he wants? To foil the heroes, he turns Batman’s and Wonder Woman’s planes into horses. Why not turn their blood to liquid nitrogen, for example? Does. Not. Compute. Why does Batman have the Magical Crystal from Merlin with him? Why does Superman give Aquaman a water skiing pull on their way to a mission? Isn't that a little demeaning?


Meanwhile, fish have been studying human oceanography, as they can tell Aquaman that the villain is heading for the straits of Magellan.


I'm distrubed by how much Owl-Man looks like a pervert with nothing on under his cloak, as if he is going to flash us at any second. Even his grin looks sick. I know he's a bad guy, but still …


The barely repressed homosexuality in this image is strangely erotic ...


In order to have a world without the JLA, the Thunderbolt (or genie, if we go by Morrison) stops the origins of the heroes (well, not all of them, as we skip over the ones that can't be easily explained). Batman’s career is stopped before it begins by a bit of a beating. So much for the grim determination of his crusade to stop what happened to him happening to anyone else. Playboy pansy.


Hawkman seems to be very excited by seeing off the fake Martian Manhunter, if we go by where he has his right hand …


The genesis of bobble head superheroes:


The barely repressed homosexuality in this image is just plain strange …


Solomon Grundy, looking a lot like Charles Laughton, bitch-slaps Batman, Sandman and Wildcat. It's the Three Super Stooges:


I did jiu jitsu for a few years, and this is the worst attempt at an ogoshi (hip throw) I have ever seen; you have to have your hips into your opponents, and have the arm wrapped around. So much for her vaunted ‘judo skills’ …


There is a lot of nonsense that permeates these old-fashioned but fun tales. However, one of the aspects that really bugs me is the way that, despite having the most powerful beings in the multiverse, from Superman to the Spectre, to the speed of the Flash and the mighty weapon that can conjure anything that is the Green Lantern ring, the only way for the heroes to defeat the villains is by hitting people. The Flash does fast punches. The Spectre uses Queensbury rules. Fucking Green Lantern creates fucking boxing gloves to fucking punch evil aliens. Aaaaarrrrgggghhhh. They have powers. Please, for the love of God, let them use them. Even Dr Fate does little more than throw lightening from his fingers, poor sod. No, when in doubt, just fucking hit something:


I am obviously a cynical bastard, with no love in my shrivelled heart, but I can’t bring myself to enjoy these comics. I want to; the ideas are delightful and the spirit of heroism is inspirational, but I can’t see past the niggling story flaws. Modern storytelling has inured us to some of the simpler attitudes of another time, and these comics were probably mind-blowing when they first came out, but it looks like the appeal of the Silver Age is lost on me.

Film review: Walk The Line

Walk The Line is fashioned as a rock biopic of Johnny Cash, but it isn’t really. Apart from brief scenes suggesting the rags-to-riches beginnings, it is more about the relationship between Cash and his eventual wife, June Carter. It does this perhaps because we have seen the story before; poor boy has musical gift, gets rich, gets into drugs, is restored by love of good woman. The film is strengthened by good, but not necessarily Oscar-worthy, performances by Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon.

Cash came from a farm he had to escape; from the guilt over the death of his ‘good’ brother and a father who thinks music is nothing but empty noise. He goes into the army, marries his sweetheart and tries to make music while earning a living as a door-to-door salesman. His career begins when the man he is trying to impress with his music challenges him to play something that he thinks he would be remembered by if he was dying. In a nice scene, he plays the song with the line, 'I shot a man in Reno, just to see him die' and you feel the power of Cash, his singing voice and his powerful lyrics.

(As you might tell, I don’t know Cash’s music. He was someone I associated with my father, so I automatically disliked and gave him no more attention. Based on this film, and Phoenix’s portrayal, and the songs within, I would give Cash a second chance.)

Cash became successful after this incident and started touring and making money, meeting other famous people on the way, like Elvis. He also meets up with June Carter, a singer since her early years, and so begins a long infatuation and disrupted romance. The bizarre relationship plays out against the drug period and rehabilitation, with Cash finally proposing on stage to June, which is a pretty hard proposal story to top.

The two performances make this film worth watching. Phoenix channels Cash well, with a great singing voice, while Witherspoon makes June into a real person; fully formed, intelligent, driven and caring, when she could have come across as annoyingly sassy. Having them sing themselves, rather than mime along to the originals adds a real depth to their performances, recreating some of the aura of live shows to the film. However, the film itself is a routine story that doesn’t include what happened after the Fulsom Prison recording (and proposal), which seems to leave a lot out, suggesting that the story isn’t a particularly fascinating one worth a full film.

Rating: VID

Questions & Answers: Batman

(The Guardian Weekend magazine on a Saturday has a recurring section, where they ask the same questions each week to celebrities and interesting people. I thought I’d apply them to some superheroes only without the stupid question about radiators or air conditioning. Seriously, what are they thinking with that?)

Q&A: BATMAN

The Batman is an urban myth, currently residing in Gotham City.

What is your perfect idea of happiness?
A world without crime. Without fear. Without homoerotic subtext.

Which living person do you most admire?
Me.

What is your greatest regret?
That I can’t stop my parents from being murdered. If only I knew someone who could send me back in time …

What is your most treasured possession?
A giant penny. No, a full-size mechanical T-Rex. No, a huge Joker playing card. Can I get back to you on that one?

Where would you like to live?
Somewhere dark. And grim.

What makes you depressed?
Man’s inhumanity to man. And all the gay jokes.

Who would play you in a movie of your life?
Sure as hell not that cissy boy Val Kilmer, I can tell you that for damn sure.

What is your favourite book?
Sun Tzu’s The Art of War

What is your guiltiest pleasure?
My crusade against crime.

What do you owe your parents?
My determination and the never-ending search for justice. And all the money, of course.

Which living person do you most despise?
Shit, where do I start? That sick fuck Joker, Joe Chill, anyone in Arkham Asylum, Frederic Wertham – how long can I go on here?

When and where were you happiest?
I’m sorry, you lost me there – happiness?

What single thing would improve the quality of your life?
Eradication of free will in the population of Earth?

What is the most important lesson life has taught you?
Criminals are a superstitious, cowardly lot.

Trimming the Collection: Bulletproof Monk

The credits on this book are very bizarre. Produced and conceived by Michael Yanover and Mark Paniccia (who are both publishers, and President and Editor-in-Chief, respectively, of Flypaper Press). Written by Brett Lewis & R.A. Jones in various proportions, but based on characters created by Brett Lewis. Story edited by Gotham Chopra, which is perhaps the weirdest credit of all. It all sounds like comics done as a film, with the production company coming up with the idea, hiring people to make it, and having the 'story editor' to do the day-to-day production. Which makes for a bit of a mess of a comic.

The name and concept is pretty cool: Bulletproof Monk sounds great, and the idea of him fighting the Nazis in Tibet is a lot of fun. However, that's about it. The story is, if I may keep up the film production analogy, an executive mixing kung fu and Joseph Campbell's work on mythology, as Kar becomes the one, the bulletproof monk. It takes him three issues to do this, after falling for a girl who becomes leader of the Chinese gang he falls in with in San Francisco. Optimistically, they end the third issue with 'The Beginning'.

The art is good, as Mike Avon Oeming provides his cool and kinetic pencils to elevate the story, but the text boxes and dialogue are sometimes torturous to read, and is dull and annoying when it just tries to be poetic. Kar decides to do things because the plot calls for it, as do many of the characters in the book, and you're left wondering why it was picked up to become a movie in the first place, even if the movie was an unbelievably diabolical stinker that did the impossible of making Chow Yun-Fat look uncool.

Assorted Film Reviews

The Pianist

Based on the book by the actual pianist himself, this film is basically a documentary of the life of someone who survived being a Jew in Warsaw during World War II. This makes for depressing viewing. The awfulness is unrelenting and there is barely a glimmer of positivity to help the viewer along. Personally, I feel the film was awarded Oscars for its subject matter, rather than any particular excellence or special quality to the film itself. Similarly, Brody as the main character, doesn't do anything more than look thin, act deranged and hungry, speak in a foreign language occasionally and look Jewish.

There is no desperate need to see this film once, let alone watch it again. If you have the slightest awareness of the horrors of the second world war, the holocaust and war in general, you know that the atrocities committed were obscene, not just by Hitler himself, but by the ordinary men in the army who randomly slaughter Jewish Poles, even before they sent them to concentration camps to be exterminated. This is a well-made film, and a good one, but not a great one. Polanski brings a sense of reality from his own experiences, but he deserved the Oscar for Chinatown and not this.


Audition

Audition is a rather dull film until the last half hour. A man loses his wife to sickness and, after seven years as a widower, he has a friend who fakes an audition for a film in order for him to meet someone. He picks a girl and starts a relationship with her. There is a vague sense of the work-based solitude of modern Japanese life, perhaps, but nothing more.

The only reason to see this film is for the last thirty minutes, which is worth it. The man has visions of why the girl might have some skeletons in the closet, then the woman brutally tortures him, in a graphically vivid scene. After paralysing him, but leaving his nerves sensitive, she begins by sticking needles in his stomach, then under his eyes, before cutting off one of his feet with a piano wire. Then, the man dreams that this is all a nightmare he has invented as a reason for jilting the girl after sleeping with her, only for him to wake and realise that it is reality. The man doesn't die because his son comes home, surprising the torturer, and accidentally kills her by kicking her down the stairs when she chases him (with the most realistic looking broken neck I have ever seen on film). And the film ends. The torture scene is squirm-inducing and painful to watch, as it is played so realistically, but the rest of the film is just slow build-up to the money shot.


Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter ... and Spring

A boy trains to be a monk with an elderly monk on a small temple in the middle of a lake in the middle of a forest. The boy gets older and sleeps with a girl who is sent to the temple to be cured by the older monk. The boy then runs off to be with the girl, only for the relationship to end badly, requiring him to return to the temple. He replaces the monk, eventually, and ends up with an infant boy left at the temple, who he in turn begins to bring up as a monk.

This is a strange and atmospheric film from Korea. The difference in cultures mean that I did not completely understand everything that was going on, but it had a haunting mysticism to it that I couldn't take my eyes off the screen. There is obviously the cyclical nature of Buddhist philosophy as the basis for the story, but there are other aspects of Korean life involved as well. The film is beautiful to admire, the scenery stunning, especially the stark splendour of the winter, when the lake freezes over; there is a lovely scene of the boy-turned-man training in martial arts on the iced lake that is breathtaking in its juxtaposition of nature and the solitary human.

This is not routine cinema fare. It is absorbing and different and spiritual and thought provoking. The elder monk seems to posses strange powers, allowing him to control the boat and know what is going on in the mind of the boy. The boy is perhaps a cipher for all experience of life and the things we must put aside to understand the wonder of life. However you see the film, it will have an impact through its poetic and otherworldly view of a type of existence that is rare.

From A Library – Superman: Red Son

Superman: Red Son by Mark Millar, Dave Johnson, Killian Plunkett

This is a great story concept – What if Superman was a commie? It brings a smile to the face just saying it out loud. It genuinely subverts the basis of the mythos and uses it for something entirely new, rather than the normal of having a minor change (time setting or location) and doing the same story. So, instead of fighting for truth, justice and the American way, Superman 'as the champion of the common worker, fights a never-ending battle for Stalin, Socialism and the international expansion of the Warsaw Pact.' That's funny.

I tend to ignore politics and history, as I am a useless layabout, so can't comment on the interpretation of alternate histories, but the book tells the tale of what the world might be like if the USSR didn't collapse because it had the ultimate deterrent in the form of Superman, who landed in a collective in the Ukraine, in such a compelling and entertaining way that it doesn't matter.

The art is a fun mix of classic comic book iconography and propaganda stylings, especially the full page spread of Superman holding the Daily Planet globe from crushing a mother and child. It would have been better if Johnson had stayed the course, not that Plunkett isn't excellent, just for visual consistency.

There are lots of Silver Age references, from all the characters who turn up (from the Superman people – Lex, Lois, Lana, Jimmy, Perry – to Batman, Wonder Woman, Hal Jordan, and a cameo from Oliver Queen and reference to Barry Allen), to the whole feel of the story, which turns out to be, at heart, a Silver Age tale told with politics (particularly the sentence that affects Superman so strongly near the end).

There is some sloppy laziness. The sentence 'England, London, Oxford Street', which shows the Big Ben tower getting destroyed annoys me as a Londoner. The houses of Parliament are not on Oxford Street, let alone near them. I know Millar is a bloody Scot, but surely someone could have picked that up. There is the small thing of having a caption saying that Stalin dies in 1953, only for mourners to pass by a tombstone that says 1954. And would Stalin really say 'Okay' as Millar has in an exchange? I think not. The lack of attention to detail here seems irritating compared with the fanboy referencing in the Superman museum (I'm not a Supes buff, so I don't recognise all the history there).

Overall though, it is very enjoyable. I think the final fight is a little weak, and the suggestion that Superman allowed himself to be manoeuvred to allow Lex to think what he believes is ambiguous, but I did enjoy the panel on p142 where Superman says, 'Well played, old friend' and smiles. Millar may have his storytelling crutches, but if the story he tells is as fun as this, I don't mind a bit.

Film review: Brokeback Mountain

I really shouldn't see a film after the Oscar nominations are announced; it colours the way I see the film. 'Why does this deserve to be nominated?' my annoying inner voice shouts.

There were a lot of women in the cinema I saw the film, for two main reasons: it is a tragic love story; and there are two, young, hot male film stars getting naked and trying some man-on-man action. However, the gay thing isn't much of an issue. It is just the barrier necessary in a love story – the Reason Why They Cannot Be Together. From the enemy families of Romeo and Juliet, or the class divide of the silly Titanic, or being on opposite sides of the US in Sleepless in Seattle, or being friends in When Harry Met Sally …, there must be an obstacle to true love. Here, it just happens to be homosexuality in 1960/1970s cowboy country.

Ennis (Ledger) and Jack (Gyllenhaal) are given the job of tending sheep on Brokeback Mountain. While there, a physical act of love begins a relationship they don't fully acknowledge – 'I ain't queer'. They both part ways: Ennis to marry his girl and lead a life of tough poverty, whereas Jack finds marriage with the daughter of a tractor salesman and comfort. They don't forget each other, and the years are spotted with a regular 'fishing trip' where they can be together again.

They can never be together – this is middle America, after all, especially in the tough world of cowboys, where Ennis saw the corpse of one of the men who had been in a relationship that wasn't condoned by the townsfolk. Jack wants them to be together, but Ennis keeps his strength of steely determination in reality. And, like all tragedies, it can never end happily …

This film is beautiful. Lee directs at a slow, composed pace, allowing the emotions to develop and letting the story unfold at a more relaxed pace. The scenery is stunning, an elemental splendour to match the intensity of the feelings the men have for each other. The actors in the main roles bring a lot to their acting; Ledger inhabits the hardness of the character of Ennis, and Gyllenhaal provides the heart of the relationship. (It is a shame that the tactics of Oscar voting means that the actors are split into leading role and supporting role, respectively, as they are most definitely co-leads. Could you imagine the furore if the woman in a love story was relegated to being called a supporting role?) I don't see why Williams was nominated, as she does very little to merit it, the closest she gets being the scene where she discovers Ennis & Jack together.

Time will tell if this film is a classic, but it is a very good film. A strong emotional resonance pervades a small story of big love. I'm not sure if it is the best film of the year, but can see the Academy giving it the big award – it is an old-fashioned, if slightly unusual, love story.

Rating: DAVE

Television: The IT Crowd

There has been much talk about the death of the studio-based sitcom in the UK of late (there have been two programmes on it in recent weeks), after the success of The Office and The Thick Of It, with their documentary styles. So The IT Crowd hits our television sets with a strange mood around it, seeing as it is heralded as a traditional, studio-based sitcom. This feeling is amplified by the fact that it comes from Graham Linehan, the co-creator and co-writer of Father Ted and Black Books.

Set in the IT department of a large company, we are introduced to Roy (Chris O'Dowd) and Moss (Richard Ayoade), the only denizens of the dank basement office that looks after all the computers. Roy is the more socially aware, while Moss it the more traditional geek, with his short-sleeved shirt tucked into his high-belted trousers, bad hair and thick glasses. The company boss, played in full over-the-top mode by comedy god Chris Morris, with more than a little pinch of CJ from The Rise and Fall of Reggie Perrin, appoints them a new manager, Jen (Katherine Parkinson), who knows practically nothing about computers. Hilarity ensues.

Well, not exactly. Even though there are some laughs ('Have you tried turning it off and on?') and the characters are fully realised (as you would expect from Linehan), it is not laugh-out-loud funny stuff, which is the crucial factor. The first episode had some moments, but it was mostly set-up. The second show starts off with some inspired surrealism, with an advert for the ridiculously long new emergency phone number, 0118 999 881 999 119 7253, and has some mangled toes for slapstick, but there is not the sustained and immediate brilliance of Linehan's previous work.

I think that this show has some potential, but it isn't hilarious and isn't must-see television, which is a shame. It is better than, say, Hyperdrive, and shows that there is good comedy out there, but I don't think that it has resurrected the studio sitcom yet.

Film review: A Cock and Bull Story

A Cock and Bull Story is a film about the making of a film adaptation of the reputedly unfilmable novel, The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman by Laurence Sterne. Written in 1760, it is considered something of a classic by value of the fact that it is post-modern before there was anything modern for it to be 'post' about. The book tells the life of Shandy, as written by him, but digresses into flashbacks and other people’s lives without necessarily telling his own, and includes such oddities as a blank page for readers to fill in their own description of a character and a black page to convey the sadness of a death of one of the characters.

The film starts with Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon as exaggerated versions of themselves in the make-up chairs, preparing themselves for the film. Coogan and Brydon have a long association, so the hilarious dialogue about Brydon’s teeth and whether his role is a co-lead or not, ripples with authenticity and gentle rivalry. The film starts after this, with a 'Starring (in order of appearance)' heading to punctuate the preceding conversation, with Coogan as Shandy, talking to the camera as he begins to relate his story. There is plenty of this device, such as when he points out that the child actor playing him as a young boy was 'the best of a bad bunch', or he and the boy discuss how to act the pain of having a penis trapped in a window that had shut on it.

The film continues with Shandy trying to tell his story, as in the book, with many digressions into other aspects of life surrounding his own, such as how his Uncle Toby (played by Brydon) had his penis injured at a battle, the nature of his parents’ sexual congress that led to his conception, his own delivery and the strangeness of his father, as played by Coogan (a fact that he explains within the film). About halfway through the film, we hear someone shout 'Cut!' and the film becomes a behind-the-scenes look at the people who are trying to make the film of the unfilmable book, from the put-upon director (Northam), the writer (Hart) struggling to get the book onto screen, the producer (Fleet) trying to get extra money for the battle scenes, and the troubled life of Coogan the actor, from the new baby with his girlfriend, to the expose with a stripper in a hotel room, to his arguing with Brydon over who looks tallest in the film, to his attempts at getting his personal assistant into bed.

This is an enjoyable, clever and funny film. Michael Winterbottom is a very interesting director, and this reunion with Coogan (after the excellent 24 Hour Party People) is an addition to his always intriguing work. I have a fondness for films that include the making of films, especially where the characters laugh at themselves, as Coogan does bravely here, mocking his own tabloid-grabbing infidelities and the insecurity of the actor with a well-known baggage, in his case Alan Partridge. Although not strictly a complete adaptation of the novel, it uses the novel well, as well as the format of the film to explain it (including Stephen Fry as an expert on the novel, explaining its importance, as well as a parson within the film-within-the-film who explains the joke of the film’s title), and makes you laugh while engaging the brain, at the same time throwing in a host of well-known British faces, as well as Gillian Anderson in a lovely cameo appearance.

The film ends, most appropriately, with a screening of the film-within-the-film to the actors and crew, who seem a bit bemused by it all. The end credits roll as we see Coogan and Brydon have a hysterical discussion about the film, including an argument over who does the best Al Pacino impression, which leaves a smile on your face as you leave the cinema, perhaps the best feeling to have after the end of a film that is about the absurdity of the normal (and abnormal) life.

Rating: DAVE

Trimming the collection: nobody

nobody by Alex Amado, Sharon Cho and Charlie Adlard

nobody is a very good comic book. It is well written, tells the story well visually and has an interesting hook. However, it does not reach the level of must-have or essential reading that my Trimming the Collection rules require.

The story is intriguing: combining hard-boiled with demonology, Jessica Drake is nobody, a sort of freelance agent in the world of demons, magic and the spiritual. She is given assignments by a shadowy contact, and is helped by Marcus, confidant and computer person. Apart from being a tough, feisty, driven, morally centred woman, Jessica also has the ability to morph her face into the image of a person she has seen.

The story joins her as she prevents some silly, rich white men from performing a ritual to conjure the dark lord himself. However, the young man to be sacrificed dies in the process. To save his soul, she blesses him before he passes away, which causes consequences that follow her throughout the rest of the book. Meanwhile, one of the silly white men who escaped has started killing young children under the orders of the devil, who wants payback for failure of the original ritual, and who brutally slayed his wife and child. Jessica catches up with him in New Orleans, the place she grew up, but things don’t go as smoothly as she hoped.

The story has many positives. Jessica is a strong and multi-faceted female character. The art, by Adlard, is earthy, able to convey the reality of the streets but also the otherworldliness of the occult. The mixing of hard-boiled and occult is a good combination – I’m reminded of the film Fallen, which mixed the police procedural with the occult. They both have a bit of bleak ending (the film moreso than this book) which, although appropriate, doesn’t leave you wanting more. Also, by having Lucifer as your nemesis, there is a limit to the scope of your story and the extent of the villainy: you can’t get worse than Satan himself, and he will never be destroyed, so what’s the point? A good, well-crafted book but without the magic sparkle of something, be it dialogue or a certain stand-out quality, to elevate it permanent collection status.

It's only a game: Oscar nominations 2006

The Oscar nominations are here again. Even though I rarely get it right, I thought I would have a look at the major Oscar categories and make some predictions. Take note that I haven’t seen some of the films, due to the fact that some haven’t come out in the UK yet, but that won’t stop me from pontificating from a false position of authority. (For some opinion with a little weight, try here and here for Empire magazine staffers offering their thoughts, and here for the ever-reliable Tom the Dog).


Best picture
Brokeback Mountain
Crash
Goodnight, and Good Luck
Munich
Capote

'No dude, independent films are those black and white hippie movies. They're always about gay cowboys eating pudding.'

I know that everyone mentions this hilarious South Park quote, but it doesn’t stop it being funny. Even though it’s about homosexuality, not something Hollywood is comfortable with, I still think Brokeback will win best picture. It is, after all, a love story, which tend to do well. Hollywood rewarded Philadelphia, didn’t it? The combination of factors that lead to the best picture win (buzz, media coverage, memory of the Oscar voters, worthiness, etc.) point towards Brokeback rather than the others.


Best director
Steven Spielberg – Munich
Ang Lee – Brokeback Mountain
Paul Haggis – Crash
Bennett Miller – Capote
George Clooney – Good Night, and Good Luck

DGA is a good predictor, and I think they have it right this year. Spielberg has got it already, and the other three are very worthy nominations for relative newcomers, but it would seem like Ang Lee’s year, as long as people forget Hulk (although Spielberg got it despite Hook – see, there’s a link right there …)


Best actor
Philip Seymour Hoffman – Capote
David Strathairn – Good Night, and Good Luck
Heath Ledger – Brokeback Mountain
Joaquin Phoenix – Walk the Line
Terrence Howard – Hustle and Flow

Apart from the surprise of Terrence Howard, the others are all worthy nominations with awards behind them. Will Ledger get it for a Brokeback blitz? Will Phoenix get it because the academy favours biopics of famous people? Personally, I go for Hoffman, because he is a man who oozes actor quality, enhances a project by his presence and deserves it.


Best actress
Dame Judi Dench – Mrs Henderson Presents
Felicity Huffman – Transamerica
Charlize Theron – North Country
Reese Witherspoon – Walk the Line
Keira Knightley – Pride and Prejudice

Why is Dench here? Mrs Henderson Presents is an average film with her good performance, nothing worthy to see here. Bizarre. Glad to see Huffman there, but too small a film. I don’t think that they would want to give another Oscar to Theron, but I thought that about Swank, so what do I know? I’m happy that Knightley got a nom, even though this has been the only film where she has actually been that good (but the same can be said for Halle Berry, so that doesn’t mean anything.) Looks like Witherspoon’s year.


Best supporting actress
Rachel Weisz – The Constant Gardener
Michelle Williams – Brokeback Mountain
Frances McDormand – North Country
Amy Adams – Junebug
Catherine Keener – Capote

This is always a strange group to pick, and can throw up surprises. Will Williams get it in a Brokeback love-in, or will Weisz get it based on the awards she’s been picking up all over the place? McDormand is a proven actress and Oscar-winner, and Keener has the chops and indie-cred for a Chris Cooper-style win. I haven’t even heard of Junebug, so apologies to Adams for not counting her as having a chance. I’ll stick my neck out with some unwarranted jingoism and opt for Weisz.


Best supporting actor
George Clooney – Syriana
Jake Gyllenhaal – Brokeback Mountain
Paul Giamatti – Cinderella Man
Matt Dillon – Crash
William Hurt – A History of Violence

Another interesting collection. Good to see Clooney in there, although I don’t think he’ll get it. Dillon and Hurt are possibilities, but I think it is between Gyllenhaal and Giamatti. Gyllenhaal can get it either for the Brokeback sweep or the runner-up prize if the main acting nods go in other directions (despite the fact that it is a co-lead role). However, I think it will go to Giamatti, because he is a great little actor who has suffered snubs, and the academy likes to occasionally make up for previous misjudgements (exhibit for the prosecution: Judi Dench – snubbed for Mrs Brown, rewarded for cameo in Shakespeare in Love).


Best animated feature film
Howl's Moving Castle
Corpse Bride
Wallace and Gromit in the Curse of the Were-Rabbit

I haven’t seen any of these, for which I feel terrible, but it has to be Wallace and Gromit, not just from a jingoistic standpoint, but because it’s Nick Park, and will allow for the 'Cracking Oscar, Gromit' headlines.


Best adapted screenplay
Brokeback Mountain
Capote
The Constant Gardener
A History of Violence
Munich

The screenplay categories are always tricky; there is no real clue other than throwing a bone to a deserving small film that hasn’t got a hope in the main categories. However, with all the films being of the smaller, serious, low-key type, that doesn’t really apply here. Brokeback might bulldoze its way through, but there might be some feeling for Capote, for being the smallest, or Munich for ‘the message’. I think I’ll plump for Brokeback, just because of some literary cred (although I think that Constant Gardener might get it).


Best original screenplay
Crash
Good Night, and Good Luck
Match Point
The Squid and the Whale
Syriana

The same consternations apply for original as for adapted. These are all small films, so which to choose? I can’t see Woody getting it (I was surprised to even see this get a nod). Syriana seems the logical choice, for its complexity, or Good Night, and Good Luck for its earnest message. However, I think Crash will get it because it won’t get any of the other awards.

Although I won’t be seeing it live, I’m still looking forward to an interesting Oscars; the number of certainties is low and Jon Stewart is hosting. I’m jealous of you viewers in the US. I hope there’s a highlights show …