Archive for Gillian Hills

Things That Aren’t Films ~

Posted in Comics, literature, Television with tags , , , , , , , , , on September 5, 2012 by dcairns

I’ve been reading lately –

Donald Westlake’s work writing as Richard Stark — the Parker novels. I’ve resisted Point Blank, the first one, because the writing seems a little florid by his standards, although it’d be fascinating to compare it to the Boorman film. The later ones are like meaner versions of the Dortmunder books, with a ruthlessly efficient killer in the lead, and a slightly less fickle universe for him to struggle against. In their deadpan way, they’re nearly as funny. Parker is like Bugs Bunny to Dortmunder’s Daffy Duck. Ask the Parrot is good, Breakout is better.

Fredric Brown — short short science fiction stories, including Knock, billed as the world’s shortest horror story — and also noir thrillers. Night of the Jabberwock is a near-surreal comic nightmare about a news editor in a lifeless small town who suddenly finds himself at the end of fifty years of crime stories in a single night. Amid the chaos there’s a visit from a fat man called Yehudi Smith who claims that Lewis Carroll’s fantasies were really encrypted mathematical instructions for accessing alternative dimensions…

Marc Behm — a varied and peculiar author whose screen credits include both HELP! (original story) and EMMANUELLE, and whose works include Eye of the Beholder (filmed by both Stephan Elliott and, hauntingly, Claude Miller [as MORTELLE RANDONEE]). I’m reading The Ice Maiden, his vampire novel. His prose is abominable, clunky and littered with exclamation points: reading him is like trundling over the Martian landscape. But his focus on the financial and other mundane worries of vampiric life (or undeath) is quite fresh and interesting — and the novel is, perhaps uniquely, a vampire heist.

The pop stylings of Gillian Hills ~

Breaking Bad — finally yielded to peer pressure (Damn you, peers!) and started this, and it is as great as they say. We’re up to season 3. Nice seeing Giancarlo Esposito again, and interesting to catch familiar names like Peter Medak and Tim Hunter directing episodes. Everybody say it just keeps getting better, and that does indeed seem to be the case so far…

Batman Incorporated. Grant Morrison has been writing Batman comics for forever by now, an unlikely match in many ways — working class Scottish anarchist magician pacifist writes American billionaire vigilante. It’s furiously complicated, nasty, funny and clever stuff — what distinguishes it from the recent movie versions is the combining of Tim Burton’s carnivalesque grotesque, the cold, high-tech glitz of the Nolan films, and occasional touches of gleeful silliness recalling Adam West (but shot through with a much darker sensibility). Unlike all of the above, though, Morrison seems to love the character. His oft-repeated narrative trick, that whatever the outrageous scheme plotted against him, Batman will have prepared a defense and a counter-attack, should get old, the way the reversals in Soderbergh’s OCEAN’S films become tiresome. But to me, anyway, it doesn’t.

Batman’s son Damien, the new Robin, is a wonderful creation — the first time Bruce Wayne’s sidekick has been cool.

Euphoria #21

Posted in FILM, MUSIC with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 17, 2008 by dcairns

The Euphoria shows no sign of subsiding here at Shadowplay. We are always OVER THE MOON here from watching these great clips, even when we go to the bathroom.

Duncan Aitchison, my film quiz running-mate (and uncrowned TEAM LEADER) suggested a bunch of great stuff, including this mighty scene of a young Oliver Reed DANCING from Edmond T. Greville’s seminal sixties juvie melodrama BEAT GIRL, which will also provide our Quote of the Day (a Shadowplay first!).

Fiona says Ollie Reed dances like I do, which I take to refer to his lack of co-ordination, weirdness of movement, and marked tendency to respond to unknown music in his own head rather than to the soundtrack provided for us mortals by John Barry and his Seven.

This is right before Barry started scoring Bond films, and his style has evolved from the rather random imitations of different commercial pop styles, and the annoying pizzicato noodlings of his earlier work. What we have here is just a hair away from the full-on Bondian torch-song brassy blast, and I FIND IT MAGNIFICENT.

Oliver Reed’s dancing makes me feel PROUD TO BE BRITISH. I think his only other connection to the medium of dance is his tiny cameo as a camp ballet dancer in Basil Dearden and Bryan Forbes’ marvellous crime caper THE LEAGUE OF GENTLEMEN. Nobody’s idea of a gay prancer, Ollie stepped into that role at the last minute and made it his own.

“Do you want Moody 1, Moody 2 or Moody 3?” Ollie would ask Michael Winner, and it’s that lowering Heathcliffian menace that he’s been hired for here, not his terpsichorean dexterity. I like how he manages to preserve his essential Rugged Solemnity even while capering like a loon.

BEAT GIRL stars Gillian Hills, a sort of Brit-brat-Bardot, as the daughter of awful architect David Farrar (best known for riding a TINY DONKEY in BLACK NARCISSUS: his feet touch the ground when he straddles it, so he can make it go just by walking above it) who falls in with beatniks and strippers and Adam Faith (who exudes Proletarian Adenoidal Suavity — a STAR).

Nigel and sexiness

Sleaze is trowelled on by a nubile Christopher Lee and the reliably button-eyed psychosis of Nigel Green, both of whom I love more than oxygen. Plus there’s those strippers. Most of the onstage undressing is very mild and half-hearted, certainly less impressive than the same year’s EXPRESSO BONGO, but one number, by “Pascaline”, is a sizzler. Perhaps thinking that the dancer’s dusky complexion would render her gyrations safely asexual, in the way that naked National Geographic “savages” were the only kind of photographic nude permissable for years, the filmmakers let this former Crazy Horse artiste unleash her pelvis like a randy bronco, all over our screen. Alas, the censors fairly fell over themselves to truncate Pascaline’s masturbatory movements, but in these permissive naughty naughties, the film has been restored with all this previously unseen frottage.

But my other favourite favourite thing in this film — no, not a FILM exactly, more a PAGEANT OF ASSORTED MATERIÉLS, is David Farrar’s CITY 2000 — of which more anon.

Footnote: Duncan has chosen this scene because of his nostalgic-patriotic love of a particular British sleaze/romance, as embodied by his favourite line in David Cronenberg’s SPIDER: Gabriel Byrne’s silky come-on: “You wanna go down the allotments?”

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