In Defence of 'Lost River'

As soon as I heard that Ryan Gosling's debut film would be a surreal fable starring Saoirse Ronan and Matt Smith, I was deeply excited. Other people, I imagine, were excited back then too; but ever since it was almost universally panned at Cannes, the critics have had endless fun portraying Gosling as self-absorbed, imperfectly mimicking the directors he's previously worked with. The Guardian led the way, claiming that Lost River communicated nothing except Gosling's own importance, and rather brilliantly calling it 'a florid essay in hipster gothic'.

This seems a little unfair. I have seen many worse films than Lost River, most of them Hollywood blockbusters. True, the film's not entirely successful: in terms of plot it's fairly scantily clad (but then again, so was Drive) and seems to pass like a hazy, very pretty dream (but I think this is kind of the point). Yes, it is style of substance, but when it looks as good as this, you don't particularly care. The whole time we're immersed in the titular decaying town, from the wasteland which nature is slowly reclaiming to streets with houses in various states of decay. Then there are the many shades of purple (any significance?) which bathe Rat's (Saoirse Ronan) bedroom and the horror porn nightclub run by the oily Dave (Ben Mendlesohn). There are plenty of memorable sequences: Christina Hendricks taking her face off, Rat's grandmother perpetually watching her wedding video and an episode involving Matt Smith, a rat and a pair of scissors. When Billy (Hendricks) is trapped inside a menacing perspex sarcophagus we can feel her claustrophobia, and there's palpable tension when a very un-Doctorish Smith offers Rat a ride in his Bully-mobile (unfortunately, it's never actually referred to as such).

Although it's sometimes difficult to decipher, there is some form of content at the back of the neon gorgeousness. The premise is that Billy and Bones (Iain de Caestecker) live in a stagnated town that's suffered massively from the damning of a river, some would say in a similar state of urban decay to my native Stoke. Billy, a little hard up, unwisely takes up her creepy bank manager's offer of a job, whilst Bones gets into trouble with Bully (Smith) for pillaging copper, and attracts romantic attention from Rat. So far so weird. The central theme is the sometimes unsayable ties which link us to our hometown. Is home a family, or a place? I imagine most of us would opt for the former, but if Billy and Bones left their home to be demolished, it's easy to see how that would feel like sacrificing a large chunk of the past. Yet the damning of the river is a handy metaphor for the unnatural halting of the process of maturing and letting go. Bones has never left his hometown, never been truly independent, and is therefore suitably juvenile. Bully, with his scissors and dubbing his turf

Bullytown, is no more than a horrifically overblown school-ground menace. In a scene which seems to have been cut, he was driven around in the Bully-mobile flexing his biceps whilst shouting 'look at my muscles!' through a loudspeaker. It's not so much that the town is dying, but it's trapped in a perpetual childhood. Bones still refuses to see his mother in anything but black and white, and hence is hugely judgemental of any whiff of a man on the scene. Billy, meanwhile, when forced to take her son to work, is chastised by the creepy Dave, who complains 'that's not very sexy, is it?'. She's lurched from the moral perfection that Bones seems to require from her at home, to a deeply disturbing voyeurism where showgirls pretend to hack each other to bits.

All this is very well and good, but none of these themes are particularly well developed by Gosling. There's so much happening that everything seems a bit slight. Bones only exchanges a few hostile words with his mother, so we're left to guess the rest ourselves. Similarly, Matt Smith is only allowed the briefest of screen time, much of which he spends screaming intimidatingly in the manner of a pantomime villain, and is only granted one (rather brilliant) scene to flesh out his character a bit. Ronan is brilliant is usual, with a character that suits her much better than the irritating American in How I Live Now, but her dialogue either simply advances the plot or is comically clunky (her attempts at flirting with Bones are far from subtle, but initially still seem to go over his head), so she's left to stay brilliant via those sad and expressive eyes of hers. De Caestecker, who does at least have the virtue of being on screen for much of the film, is hopelessly bland compared to the supporting cast, and only makes for a serviceable protagonist.

But ho hum. I think what really matters about Lost River is not the content, but the feeling. It's the oddest kind of fairytale, lit in bright neon and accompanied by a brilliant soundtrack of retro electronica. Like a fairytale, it is slight: the characters often aren't far away from archetypes and despite three or four main plot strands, not a lot ever seems to happen. But there is something haunting about it. Maybe it's just the little details; the walls of the dilapidated school still declaring that 'every child matters'; the kitschy television programmes Bones and Rat watch or that wedding video on repeat forever. There's a little bit of the past that we cling to, despite realising that we really should let go and it probably wasn't worth that much in the first place, and I think that's what Gosling was getting at when he wrote the screenplay to this odd film. Whilst acknowledging that it did disappoint my great expectations just a little, I'm glad I chose to satisfy my curiosity despite the warnings of the critics. It may not be the best film in the world, and Gosling has little chance of ever directing again after this colossal flop (most cinemas are refusing to show it, I had to watch it on Sky). But I'm glad it exists. The world is better for it.

'Girl, Interrupted': A Short Rant

First of all, I quite enjoyed 'Girl, Interrupted'. It's another film about a psychiatric ward, like a more serious version of 'It's Kind of a Funny Story' and a less good version of 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest'. After pondering deeply for a short while, I discovered the film came to some truly baffling, and slightly offensive, conclusions.

Wiona Ryder as Susanna

For starters, there's the question of whether Susanna actually needs help.One would certainly think she does, the film opens with her having overdosed on aspirin, followed with a bottle of vodka, and her father's friend makes the damning comment 'you're hurting all the people you love'. We're reminded of the (I think much better) 'Prozac Nation', in which we're not only invited to sympathise with the protagonist suffering from depression, but also her friends and boyfriend who find her impossible to deal with. Plus she spends the film's exposition slipping Willy Loman style into the past (which is excellently done), and he definitely could have done with some help. But then, it is fairly strongly implied that Susanna is not 'crazy' (their words), primarily by her hippy taxi driver (don't ask) and one of the more sympathetic doctors (played by Whoopi Goldberg) who tells her she's a selfish and spoilt child. Should we be sympathising with Susanna, or telling her to pull herself together?
Then there's the question of her diagnosis, which we are told is Borderline Personality Disorder. She complains after discovering this that the symptoms are just what it's like 'to be a person'. And with the summary we're given, we're attempted to agree with her: mood swings, self-alienation and 'promiscuity'. A quick look on Google added a few more symptoms which may make us take the disease more seriously: self-harm, delusions and hallucinations. There still seems to be the question of whether it classifies as a condition in itself or is just a handy label for people who don't fit into any other category, but either way, it's definitely not to be scoffed at.
Then there's the issues of Susanna's so called 'promiscuity'. She, quite reasonably, argues to Dr.

Bertha Mason: 'intemperate and unchaste'

Wicke that what is promiscuous for a woman is perfectly normal for a man, but then Wicke reveals the 'damning' news that she committed two sex acts in a day with two different man, therefore she must be a nymphomaniac. This is definitely very silly, and the look on poor Wiona Ryder's face suggests that she now thinks she's a nymphomaniac. Personally, it reminded me of Mr. Rochester calling his 'mad' wife Bertha Mason 'intemperate and unchaste' in 'Jane Eyre'. We're also reminded of the long line of Biblical temptresses (Eve, Delilah, Bathsheba, etc.), and the clear link some people seem to draw between women, madness and uninhibited sexuality.
Next, is the film criticising or celebrating the mental health institutions of the 1960s? It does look suspiciously like they're over-medicating everyone, including sleeping pills and laxatives. And there is the suggestion that you simply have to tell the doctors what they want to hear and confess a dizzying array of character flaws before they let you out. This is confirmed by Lisa and Susannah visiting one of the released inmates when they escape, only to wake up the next morning to her having committed suicide. Susanna begins with a more positive view of her condition, which is quickly shot down as fluffy 1960s hippyism, as the patient who is characterised by embracing her illness (Lisa, played by a fabulous Angelina Jolie) is a raving lunatic. The film ends with Susannah healed by the hospital's fabulous treatment, and let out after a year. Forgive me if I'm a little confused.

Lisa: 'already dead'

Now, Lisa and Susanna are juxtaposed in a number of ways. One of them embraces their condition and ends up in the hospital for life, the other plays the game and is released after a year. Potentially more importantly, Lisa champions openly telling people their flaws in utterly crushing tirades, and the other on the surface appears less judgemental, but in fact just writes down all her snide comments in her journal. Originally, Lisa's technique seems to be very, very wrong: her friend commits suicide because of her honesty and she doesn't seem to care. But then there's a rather unconvincing scene after the inmates have discovered Susanna's journal where Susanna is cornered by Lisa and is saved by telling her that she's 'already dead', at which point Lisa collapses into a teary heap. How is this helpful? Although some of Susanna's comments do at least seem constructive (telling her room-mate that she's living in a fairytale and secretly never wants to get back out into the world), she shockingly tells a patient who's set fire to half of her face that she only adopts a 'sweet' persona so people can bear to look at her. What's more, she's forgiven at the end! I wouldn't forgive her!
It has occurred to me that perhaps the reason that we can't solve these problems is because 'Girl, Interrupted' is a complex film about complex issues, with well rounded characters who we can never fully sympathise with or blame. Maybe we shouldn't be handed easy solutions on a plate. But the unconvincing ending where everyone forgives Susanna and the misogynistic suggestion that she's a nymphomaniac are definitely some of the film's weaknesses. And, is it just me, or do the soaring strings constantly in the soundtrack try and make the film a lot more uplifting than it really is,
Any film about mental health would undoubtedly be a matter of tiptoeing on thin ice, and this should not stop us trying to approach difficult subjects. Rant over.

Woeful Misinterpretation: Mulholland Drive

What ho! A demonic homeless man.

Alas, there is a David Lynch film that is more confusing than Eraserhead! I was feeling smug up to about halfway through the film for managing to grasp the relatively simply plot, but I was soon consumed by woe as it turned out that everything I had witnessed was probably a dream. By the end of the film, the confusion was almost unbearable. Who was the strange creature that haunted the dreams of a minor character who only appeared in one seemingly unrelated scene? Who were the old couple who resulted in the death of Naomi Watts? Was the end of the film a prologue to the start? Did Naomi Watts actually see her own decaying corpse? Was I meant to be this confused?

Betty and Laura attempt to follow the plot of Mulholland Drive

Perhaps there was an antidote to my despair: it transpired that Lynch had released some notes to help gormless viewers like myself wade through his convoluted masterpiece. But this only made it worse! "Notice appearances of the red lampshade". "Where is Aunt Ruth?". Apparently Aunt Ruth is dead. Poor Aunt Ruth. And there is no less than six interpretations of how the dead Aunt Ruth interacts with the film.
In fact the beginning and the end of the film are particularly opaque. Apparently the beginning shows the Jitterbug Contest in which Diane Selwyn rose to fame. But this is only according to the internet, and therefore not true. The internet also posits that the blue haired woman shown at the end is in fact the ghost of Aunt Ruth. Why?
By this point, I had discovered that attempts to unravel the mysteries of Lynch were bordering on hysteria. Perhaps he was just being weird for the sake of it. Why not end the film with a blue haired woman and the protagonist exploding after being pursued by tiny yet demonic old people? Perhaps the laws of reason do not apply to high cinematic art. Maybe the seemingly unconnected array of bizarre images are meant to produce a profound emotional reaction deep in my core. Is it possible that I'm not really communing with my inner being? Or perhaps I'm just a bit thick.
Needless to say, David Lynch has outwitted me.

How Saoirse Ronan Lives Now

One of the eternal truths, that everyone would do well to take heed of, is that Saoirse Ronan is wonderful. Whether it's making an otherwise terrible adaptation of Alice Sebold's Lovely Bones still immensely watchable or being utterly believable as an insular vampire in Byzantium, she rarely disappoints. As the cinematic world (or perhaps just me) waits with bated breath for her to star alongside Matt Smith in Ryan Gosling's directorial debut Lost River, for now we have How I Live Now.

Daisy and Edmund smoulder in a field

I'm not entirely sure what Kevin Macdonald thought he was trying to do. From the start it's crying out to be an average bildungsroman along the lines of It's Kind of a Funny Story, Submarine or The Perks of Being a Wallflower, but not as good as any of them. Troubled teen (in this case Miss Ronan as Daisy) is healed by the awesome power of love. Everyone leaves the cinema beaming ear to ear with a warm and fuzzy feeling inside. But then a nuclear bomb goes off and everyone dies.

Even more disturbingly, I wasn't convinced by Saoirse Ronan's performance, despite liking her new hair-do. It was like she was trying really hard not to be Saoirse Ronan, in order to be American and nasty (which is sort of the point of acting, but stick with me). And every so often, when she wasn't being nasty, a familiar Saoirse Ronan expression would creep out, to remind us that she was indeed a loveable Irish girl at heart rather than a scary American teen. She does do a great variety of characters, but she seems better at the sympathetic ones; I wasn't entirely sold with Hanna either at times. But maybe that's just me.

Anyway, as I was saying, it's all very strange. We go from uber-pastoral idyllic farm where people make love  in hay lofts, and Ronan falls for a swain with floppy hair and an eagle (Edmund). But juxtaposed against this Edenic picture of Britain, the capital is blown to smithereens, and some nasty terrorists do nasty things. Ronan becomes a 21st Century Land Girl, and encouraged by odd visions of her and her paramour running naked through a forest, goes hiking in an attempt to get back to the farmhouse, naively believing that by doing so everything can go back to normal.

What is the film trying to say? To start off with it all seems to be about living a little and disregarding

Daisy hopes the soldiers will let her go by pulling a funny face

reservations and rules. "All those voices in your head," opines Edmund mysteriously, as if he too can hear Daisy's badly managed voice over which attempts to convince the audience that she's a bit OCD. But then when the Government makes the (quite reasonable) request that everyone has to do something for the war effort, they all start kicking and screaming. Is this meant to show that we're all feckless and selfish compared to our 1914 or 1939 counterparts, or are we meant to sympathise? Surely a bit of farming is more productive than going on a long walk. And then all the woes that meet Daisy and her cousin as they try and get home are from unpleasant people taking advantage of the chaos and lack of order to do unpleasant things. So surely rules are a good thing. And what's the take home message about Britain? Is it closer to pastoral idyll or the world one step away from disintegration and anarchy? And is all this confusion or ambiguity?

Either way, I quite enjoyed How I Live Now. By the end of it, Ronan had won me over as Daisy and the ending was nowhere near as twee as I imagined it would be. If the intended audience were younger teenagers, I'm not entirely sure how they would have received the images of massacred children or women being dragged off to be raped. But ho hum. It's cleverly directed too and very well shot, and it's got a new song from Natasha Khan (Bat For Lashes) and a remix of a Daughter B-Side so the music's not half bad. Therefore, if like me you are a Saoirse Ronan lover (and how could you not be), then whilst this is not up there with the lofty heights of Atonement, The Lovely Bones and Byzantium, it's definitely better than Hanna.

Boyhood (or 12 Years a Boy)

Nothing is more annoying in life than getting wind of a critically acclaimed film, before discovering that no cinema was showing Boyhood. The film industry's glib response to Richard Linklater's 12 year long project is to prevent anyone from seeing it. But thankfully, last weekend I outwitted the tyranny of traditional Hollywood film-making and discovered Boyhood playing at The Red Carpet in Burton-upon-Trent, quite possibly the smallest cinema in the world.

Mason has a lie down and ponders existence

cinema is willing to show it (apart from possibly war, famine and death). Such is the case with
The fact that anyone has devoted 12 years of their life to create one film is astonishing in itself. Yet Linklater, along with leads Ellar Coltrane, Patricia Arquette and Ethan Hawke came back every summer for over a decade to produce this gorgeous film. Boyhood communicates the wonder of childhood, the passage of time and the burden of parenthood in a way that could never have been achieved in any other format. Ellar Coltrane (who plays Mason, the eponymous boy) changes from a six year old with his head in the clouds to a philosophical 18 year old photography student. But perhaps just as astonishing is the change in his parents from idealistic twenty-somethings to domesticated adults.

Mason tries not to covet his sister's hair

Linklater, who both wrote and directed, has captured both the joy and pain of an ordinary suburban childhood in the US. Fleeing the home of a drunken and violent step-dad is counterbalanced by a painfully awkward fatherly education on contraception that had the whole cinema in hysterics. The characters are actual people, generally well meaning but deeply flawed, rather than the simplistic stereotypes all too common in traditional cinema. There is no plot, but life has no plot! Different narratives weave in and out of the epic twelve year span. The traditional milestones of first girlfriends, flirtations with alcohol and drugs and deciding upon one's future are all duly ticked off, but it never feels like a run of the mill check-list for the generic childhood.  Boyhood is both highly specific, about one child at a particular period in history, and universal. It is the story of post-9/11 America and the vast changes that took place in the Noughties, but it's also the story of all of our childhoods. Without being overly nostalgic or seeking to idyllicise childhood, the film acknowledges that six to eighteen is a vastly transformative and important period of our lives, and one cannot help smiling when seeing Mason grope through the confusion of puberty and emerge with a definitive idea of who he wants to be.

The many faces of Ellar Coltrane

It is a tragedy that films such as Guardians of the Galaxy are played in cinemas simply by virtue of the amount of money invested in them, whilst cinematic masterpieces like Boyhood are destined to be seen by a fraction of the audience it deserves. But I have no doubt that Boyhood will become a cult classic. At two hours and forty minutes there is not a moment that does not contain acute observations, mundane tragedy or vibrant humour. In short, definitely in the running for the best film of 2014.

Roland the Marxist DJ: Best of Bush

Roland is glum. No work has come his way for several months. He suspects this is at least partially due to his decision to end his last gig with the Les Mis epic 'One Day More', not necessarily the ideal number for hordes of drunk, sweaty and probably high ravers. But Roland is soon forced to abandon his self pity as his front door is blown off its hinges. Roland struggles to upright himself from his sprawled position on the shabby sofa as the Music Police come charging into the room. They are deaf to Roland's protestations as he is bundled in the back of their van.
All is revealed at Music HQ.
"Listen up, my young swain." An unhealthy obsession with folk explains the interrogator's tweed three piece and unconventional address. "We can't have you playing musical theatre in those clubs townies go to. It gets noticed."
"How can I redeem myself?" pleads Roland. He is deeply suspicious of any form of law enforcement. After all, Orwell wrote that the policeman is the natural enemy of the proletarian.
"Why, by proving your Musical Credentials of course. All you have to do is answer one simple question. And if we're happy with the answer, well, then everything's tickety boo!" A sense of relief washes over Roland.
"Ask away,"
"What's your favourite Kate Bush song?" An oppressive silence immediately dominates the room. Roland cannot force a word out of his mouth. Who is this songstress? Suddenly he remembers the inclusion of Snowflake on the Marxist playlist and is about to answer when the Angel of Pop telepathically intervenes.
"Don't be a fool Roland!" His voice echoes inside Roland's skull. "You can't just pick the one you got free from Starbucks, they'll be wise to that."
"What do I do then?" replies Roland mentally, "I am not equal to this challenge!"
"Where's your revolutionary fervour?" demands the Angel, "Don't you want to show up these capitalist swines. Focus!"
"OK....ooo Wuthering Heights."
"Are you mad? Far too obvious, and he may well be an Emily Bronte purist. Try again!"
Roland begins to feel the pressure. Beads of sweat drip into his tracksuit as the tweedy man's expectant eyes deaden his brain. "Erm...Babooshka!"
"Better, but nobody knows any of the words apart from 'babooshka'. Be prepared to quote large sections of the verses to prove you are a true connoisseur."
Roland quickly abandons this idea, but soon remembers another: "Running Up That Hill!"
"What's it about?"
"Jogging?"
"Try again!"
"I can't do this! I'm a fake! I'm a fraud! I have no Musical Credentials!"
"Do not despair! Focus your mind! Plunder the esoteric depths of the land of Bush!"
"I need some advice!" Suddenly the Spirit of Pop descends with tongues of fire and possessed Roland, revealing to him the intricacies of pop music's complex history. An answer is instantly forthcoming.
"The Director's Cut version of Moment's of Pleasure, where the chorus is replaced by humming!"
"Really?"
"It adds to the sense of narrative and mournful tone."
"Hmph...Babooshka's much better."
"Really? I think Army Dreamers is the best song from that album."
"Well sounds like you know best..." The tweedy man cheerily stamps an official looking bit of paper. "Your Musical Credentials. Sorry about the hassle me lad, accept our sincere apologies for doubting you." Roland nervously wipes the sweat of his brow and leaves Music HQ in a mood of elation. He is free to orchestrate the revolution in peace.

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes: Symbolic Masterpiece or Monkeys Fighting?

It's the return of the franchise with far too many words in its title! Once more, talking simians will reveal to us our own arrogant sense of superiority over the animal kingdom. And the critics think it's wonderful! An amazing technical achievement. A worthy successor to the ground breaking original film. But I disagree.

Caeser and Malcolm share an intimate moment

Initially, the film has much to recommend it. The decision to have the apes use sign language was a good one, and for the first half the atmosphere is suitably tense as a fragile peace exists between the menacing monkeys and the human survivors of 'simian flu'. It all kicks off when Koba decides to be bad. This seems a natural decision, Koba is an ugly ape, and as we all know, ugliness is synonymous with evil. And then there are Explosions! and Fighting! and Monkeys....With Big Guns! And any sense of intelligence dies.
It is very pretty (you would hope so with how much money they've spent on it!). The apes settlement looks magnificent, and in a way their attack on the humans' residence is rather thrilling. But if I wanted visual spectacle and people fighting in an Epic Style, I'd go and watch a Michael Bay film.
I gradually became very upset, and my gentle weeping may have distracted some of my fellow cinema goers. In the original Planet of the Apes, the apes had Deep Conversations about the ethics of keeping humans as second class citizens. Here they just shoot them. And I began to realise that the entire film was bereft of characters. Malcolm is Decent. Dreyfus is Selfish and Narrow Minded. Carver is Violent. Caeser is Wise. And the plot is fairly predictable. Spoiler alert, but Good triumphs over Evil.

Koba does his gangster pose

Are there any redeeming qualities to Matt Reeve's simian shenanigans? Well, perhaps you could say that Caeser is actually a little too much like his Roman namesake, and he has a totalitarian hold over his fellow apes. But we're encouraged to see him as warm and loveable, and not question his demand for absolute obedience. The whole thing is a deeply pessimistic comment about humanity: different cultures will always feel threatened when they live side by side and peace is impossible; fitting when you consider the current Middle East crisis. But this film is squarely aimed at people who want a feast for the eyes, not the mind.
So I emerged from the cinema with a heavy heart. Contrary to general opinion, Rise of the Planet of the Apes was a lot better. That had Ethical Questions about animal testing. None of the apes were brandishing machine guns then. So, my advice: ignore those that say otherwise, avoid at all costs.