Archive for August, 2011

The Ape of Things to Come

Posted in FILM, literature, Politics, Television with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 16, 2011 by dcairns

RISE OF THE PLANET OF THE APES. In which, as we always knew he would, James Franco destroys human civilization.

SUDDEN CHIMP ACT

Seriously, think about it: all the decisions leading, in practical terms, to RISE OF THE PLANET OF THE APES’ apocalyptic climax becoming possible are due to unprofessional actions by the film’s hero. To be fair, though, all the emotional drive which makes that climax desirable to the characters engaged in it (ie the apes) are due to the actions of more unsympathetic humans.

Who are all played by British actors (would you entrust your ape to a sanctuary run by Hannibal Lektor and Draco Malfoy?). If it weren’t for the fact that the director and lead ape are British, one would suspect some kind of restaging of the American Revolution in simian drag. Just give Caesar (Andy Serkis) a set of wooden teeth and the illusion would be complete.

Actually, referring to Serkis as Caesar is an oversimplification, in a way that referring to John Hurt as the Elephant Man isn’t. Hurt certainly had the assistance of Chris Tucker’s prosthetic makeup effects (no, not that Chris Tucker), but when he whooped and grunted and shrieked, it was his voice, and when he swung from the bars of his cage and leaped through the treetops, that was really him. That’s not quite accurate, but you get what I mean. And asides from his stuntwork and voicework, considerable portions of his performance, Serkis has had his facial performance “reproduced” by motion capture. Every animator I’ve spoken to is of the opinion that, when this happens, the animators involved (and you had better get animators involved) have to interpret what the mo-cap supplies, and sometimes depart from it, to create an effective performance. Andy Serkis obviously just thinks he’s wearing a pixel suit,  which is fine for him but not TRUE.

I’m not saying he shouldn’t be eligible for an Oscar. I don’t take awards THAT seriously, and in any case, countless actors have been rescued or enhanced by good editing, which is maybe a better reference point than good costumes or makeup. Somebody interfered with those performances, tweaked the timing, censored the misjudged moments, manufactured reactions that never really happened. Mo-cap performances are several stages on from this, but as long as we acknowledge that WHENEVER a movie actor wins an award, it’s for part of a group effort, and that this is true to the power of a hundred with mo-cap, there’s no reason why an effective performance shouldn’t be celebrated. If this thing continues to catch on, though, maybe a special category would be the way to go.

Obviously, ROPOTA *is* a film about revolution, and in some respects a starry-eyed one. As Reid Fleming, World’s Toughest Milkman once remarked, “the right people never get hurt,” but in Rupert Wyatt’s film of Rick Jaffa and Amanda Silver’s hyper-condensed screenplay, swift simian justice is distributed to most of the bad humans, and the movie is squeamish about depicting injury or fatality to the numerous blameless cops who get in the way.

THE APE OF RAGE

OK, I’m just going to wade in here: due to the coincidence of the film’s UK opening being a little behind the US one, it’s impossible not to think, occasionally, of the London riots. One doesn’t have to be the racist joke guy on Facebook who’s suddenly reinvented himself as a patriotic voice of reason and won the endorsement of our mean, vapid PM (himself a vandal and lout in his college days) to compare the insurrections in film and life.

Neither the riots nor the film are fundamentally about race, but it’s at the very least a  complicating factor in both. The APES series always touched on race a little, and in not quite comfortable ways, although the first film has barely a trace of this. By the time you get to CONQUEST it’s all about “ape power” and it’s a bit dubious. Including black humans as peaceful good guys in the last two films helped complicate and blur the metaphor a bit, which was useful, and casting David Oyelowo as a big pharma bad guy in the new one is even better. Really, the movie is about any oppressed group, and how violence erupts when injustice has built to such a point that the only conceivable response is a cry of “No!” and the taking up of arms. Whether the violence will actually produce any positive result has come to seem irrelevant to the perpetrator, so intolerable is the status quo.

The apes in ROTPOTA actually act with a much more effective, coherent and sensible common purpose than the rioters in London… actually, that’s unfair. The various goals of the rioters, insofar as they can be gleaned, were achieved, and delivered the short-term results they aimed at. Those were, in no particular order, (1) attaining a feeling of power by intimidating others, preferably those of a different social class, and by violating normal social rules (2) acquisition of free consumer goods (3) expression of revolt against the police. Some took part in all three activities, some in only one or two.

In fairness to the rioters (!), their festive rampage was basically spontaneous, whereas the apes had been planning theirs, at least a bit. So one uprising had only short-term goals, and probably looks a bit stupid now they’ve had a chance to think about it and now that many of them are under arrest, whereas the other had a long-term, desirable result in mind, although one that probably wouldn’t have worked if not for the movie’s other apocalyptic gambit.

What ROTPOTA does, quite usefully, I think, is show the pleasures and satisfactions of violent overthrow of the social order. In the understandable rush to condemn, there’s a tendency to view the disruptive element as alien, other, mindless and unmotivated. David Cameron has wholeheartedly embraced his predecessor John Major’s moronic sound-bite  ”We need to condemn more and understand less!” A line which suits him, since he really understands absolutely fuck all. (Hearing that line first spoken, to resounding cheers, at a Tory Party Conference on the TV news was a truly chilling moment for me.) When Julien Temple was asked whether turning a race riot into a dance number in ABSOLUTE BEGINNERS risked making it seem entertaining, he protested that a riot IS entertaining and extremely exciting when you’re in one. This movie dramatizes that in a way that speaks to a contemporary audience more effectively than Temple could manage.

ANTHRO-PO-MO

While Time Burton’s inane and abortive series reboot seemed to regard its predecessors as silly, excusing its own dull humour and anything-goes sensibility (gorillas suddenly evice the ability to leap twenty feet straight up — and all because Ang Lee had just boosted wirework), ROTPOTA respects its primate ancestors and builds a credible pseudo-prequel that doesn’t slot into the series (here, Caesar is the child of a lab animal, not time-traveling chimp scientists from the year 3978) but draws upon story elements of the first, third and fourth films, producing a narrative outcome that could lead almost directly to the first movie but without necessarily requiring two thousand years of atomically accelerated evolution to do so.

Accordingly, the movie is stuffed with nods to Schaffner, Wilson and Serling’s Boulle original adaptation, some of which are glaring (can a nod glare?) and some so subtle you’ll only figure them out with a crib sheet or IMDb cross-referencing. The examples below are me taking things too far, as usual.

1) The film is set in San Francisco, which is a homage to actor James Franciscus who starred in BENEATH THE PLANET OF THE APES.

2) The casting of David Hewlett as an unlucky neighbour is not only part of the actor’s ongoing project to appear only in movies about geneticists who take their work home with them (see also SPLICE), but also a reference to SWEET SMELL OF SUCCESS: Hewlett plays a character called Hunsiker, and in SSOS there’s a character called Susie Hunsecker, played by Susan Harrison. And Nova in PLANET OF THE APES is played by Linda Harrison. No relation.

3) In ROTPOTA, John Lithgow plays a man with Alzheimer’s. This is a reference to the original films’ decline into senility with the 1974 TV show.

4) In ROTPOTA, the leading man/doomsday catalyst is played by James Franco. This is a reference to James Whitmore, who plays Dr Zaius some random orang in the original film.

5) The milky eye of Koba, the scary chimp, in ROTPOTA, is a reference to Kirk Douglas in THE VIKINGS, which also features James Donald. Donald also appears in QUATERMASS AND THE PIT, in which ancient visitors in a spacecraft reawaken submerged warlike tendencies in the populace of London, which is exactly what Dr Zaius fears Charlton Heston will do in the original film, as well as being exactly what David Cameron has done in modern London, only without a spacecraft.

He started well but now he’s just got silly.

TARZAN AND HIS (PRI)MATE

Since Fiona’s quite well read on the subject of interspecies communication, she was able to supply me with additional insight into the film’s exploration of the subject. “They’ve really done their homework,” she says, pointing to the moment where Caesar is punished for biting a man’s finger, an incident drawn from the life of Washoe, a signing chimp. Some very experienced people like primatologists  Sue Savage-Rumbaugh and Bob Ingersoll (hero of PROJECT NIM) have praised the film for its expressive evocation of the physicality of our ape relations and sympathy with animal characters over human. There have always, or nearly always, been films that took the side of the outsider — in a way its easier, or more flattering, to take the viewpoint of a rebellious chimp than it is to relate to the fleeing citizenry who are closer to our own type — but this movie takes it further than most. The humans are all either ineffectual or wicked.

The film’s air of somewhat-authenticity even manages it to steamroller over moments of outrageous artifice, such as the presence of another signing ape in the hellish “sanctuary” where Caesar is imprisoned. “Circus ape,” is his explanation for his communicativeness, as if any circus taught signing to its orangs. But the emotional impact of Caesar finally having another of his own kind to talk to is such that the contrivance is swept aside.

Really, quite an interesting film, probably the first blockbuster to even try to do anything interesting with real-world engagement since, I don’t know, V FOR VENDETTA. And it probably incorporates its ideas more neatly than that one. This can be seen, on one level, as the first APES film in the series to be actually about our relationship with the animal kingdom.

To take us out, here’s Johnny the chimp reenacting the end of ESCAPE FROM THE PLANET OF THE APES. This is entirely real.

Khayam the one and only

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , on August 15, 2011 by dcairns

The return of the Limerwreck — the Howard Hughes 3D stripperthon SON OF SINBAD is a weird and delightful Arabian Nights entertainment, featuring eighth-century pole-dancing and Vincent Price as tent-maker and aspiring poet Omar Khayam. Just the kind of thing to stir my poetic muse, if that’s what you call it.

Two on SON OF SINBAD, here and here, and one on THE TINGLER. The Vincentennial continues!

The sensation you get in your spine

Is the work of a creature malign

With a horrible crack

It’ll fracture your back

And render you truly supine.

The Mysterious Mr If, Part the Twelvtieth

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , on August 15, 2011 by dcairns

So, I was looking at my Master Copy of the script of THE MYSTERIOUS MR IF, our Monday serial, and finding it rather funny, if I do say so myself. This is a good bit. Also quite exciting. Normally it’s easy to pick a cut-off point for an installment, I just end at a cliffhanger, but this is was fast-cut dramatic sequence and it’s ALL cliffhangers. Then I realized it would be better to cut it off BEFORE we get to the good bit. Sorry about that.

This episode seems to touch on the creepy, intrusive feelings I got from watching Vincent Price saw Arthur Lowe’s head off as he slumbers in bed in THEATRE OF BLOOD, as well as the paranoid phone-booth anxiety of LA CABINA and THE PRESIDENT’S ANALYST. And also by an experience I actually had on the High Street, when a phone booth unexpectedly started ringing. I was waiting at the traffic lights, and the only other person at the lights was a girl, and we looked at each other, and neither of us answered the phone. 

If we had — who knows?

Now read on…

(Why are the Norwegian soldiers standing to attention for a penguin at Edinburgh Zoo? It’s a good story…)

EXT. EDINBURGH ZOO – DAY

A copy of THE UNBEARABLE LIGHTNESS OF BEING.

Howie mopes in his cage, riffling through this library book.

The Zookeeper appears carrying an old phone on a silver tray.

HOWIE

Cheers.

Reaching through the bars he picks up the receiver and dials.

SHEENA’S ANSWERPHONE (OS)

Apparently I don’t want to talk to you but you can talk to my phone. Beep.

HOWIE

Sheena, I’m sorry about last night. I behaved like a lower primate. I’d like to make it up -

A rude COYPU severs the phone cord.

ZOOKEEPER

If she doesn’t take it in the right spirit, she’s not the girl for you.

Howie smiles weakly. The Zookeeper wanders off.

ZOOKEEPER

(to himself)

Bloody loony.

Howie returns to flicking through his Milan Kundera. He can’t concentrate – the page swims out of focus. Unintentionally he focuses on the ground outside his cage. He spots something. A trail of bacon leading past his cage.

Howie releases himself and goes to investigate.

Seeing him exit the cage, an OLD WOMAN drops her ice cream and runs off shouting.

OLD WOMAN

The human’s escaping!

INT. REPTILE HOUSE – DAY

Howie follows the trail into the shadowy reptile house.

Empty. Skinks scuttle about boss-eyed, all else is silence.

The bacon trail stops at a SIGN that reads “FEEDING TIME”

From behind Howie, a growl.

EXT. ZOO – DAY

SCREAMS from the Reptile House. A ROAR.

EXT. THE BLUE MUSEUM – NIGHT

The RUMBLE of a closing metal shutter.

After locking the shutters of the museum, Mr. Netherbow heads up the High Street for home.

A voice from behind!

SHEENA (O.S.)

Help me…

Netherbow spins. Sheena stands before him in a transparent raincoat and vicar’s vestments. Netherbow is disgusted.

MR. NETHERBOW

Ms. McQueen! Cover your shame!

Her face crumples like a bag. Her whole figure folds up into a PUPPET. Operating it – a sinister figure in black.

Netherbow splutters and flees.

EXT. HIGH STREET – NIGHT

Hurrying down the sooty street, he passes an empty phone box, the old-fashioned red kind.

The phone inside rings. Netherbow hesitates, then decides to ignore it. He hurries on, the ring hectoring him from behind.

Rounding a corner, he finds another identical phone booth, also ringing. He tuts and hurries past.

He passes another ringing booth, and another.

INT. MR. NETHERBOW’S LONELY GARRET – NIGHT

Netherbow arrives home at his lonely garret and slams the door on the ringing phones, immediately silencing them.

He turns and switches the light on.

RING!

RING!

Standing in the middle of the room is a red phone box. Netherbow is livid. Purple-face, he opens the door and lifts the receiver.

MR. NETHERBOW

What IS it?

A JET OF WATER smacks him in the face, the receiver behaving like a shower head.

Netherbow drops it and backs away, but the door of the booth has jammed shut. He shoves against it, as the dangling phone soaks his ankles with a continuous spray of water.

Netherbow shoulders the door but can’t budge it.

Water laps at his shoes.

He pounds on the glass but it won’t break.

He’s ankle deep.

Picking up the receiver, Netherbow tries to hang it up, hoping the water will stop, but the powerful jet of fluid refuses to let the receiver rest in its cradle.

Knee deep.

He yells into the phone, getting sprayed in the mouth.

MR. NETHERBOW

What do you want from me? I’m – glub – just a museum curator!

Mr. If, shadowy, sits up in Netherbow’s bed, next to a nude Police mannequin.

MR. IF

That’s right, Mr Curator, put things in boxes, categorize them, file them away. Let’s see how you like it in a box.

He circles the police mannequin’s nipples with lipstick.

Netherbow is up to his waist. He hammers on the glass with the receiver.

MR. NETHERBOW

I’ll give you money! Sex! Anything!

If gets out of bed and crosses to the DRESSER.

He scrawls NO SALE on the mirror in lipstick.

MR. IF

Riddle me this, museum fellow. Did the enchantress McQueen return your dossier – the one celebrating my modest escapades?

MR. NETHERBOW

I don’t know what you glub! I have powerful friends! My mum’ll glub glub -

He’s struggling to keep his head above water.

If strolls up to the booth and draws a set of full lips on a pane of the glass.

Drowned, Netherbow sinks down until his face rests against the glass and the lips seem to be his.

MR. IF

Alexander Graham Bell was a great Scotsman. But not as great as Esther Williams. Let that be a lesson to you.

(singing)

A sailor went to sea sea sea

To see what he could see see see

But all that he could see see see

Was the bottom of the deep blue sea sea sea.

As he strolls off, we see that the phone booth is gone.

Netherbow, waterlogged and dead, is in bed with the dummy.

If flicks the light off and closes the door.

DARKNESS.

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