Archive for Mr Arkadin

Flub

Posted in FILM, Television, Theatre with tags , , , , , , on October 22, 2014 by dcairns

King Lear cock-up from David Cairns on Vimeo.

I was always rather disappointed by the live TV King Lear directed by Peter Brook which Orson Welles starred in. I pretty much loathe Brooks’ film of KING LEAR with Paul Scofield too, but that’s based on my love of the play, my reading of it, and my feelings about what I’d want from an adaptation. Brooks’ film certainly has the courage of its convictions, and is almost a compelling and well-made film, if it weren’t for his ridiculous habit of cutting to the backs of people’s heads. (There are times, explained the Great Director, when you don’t want to see anything, you just want to listen to the text; but as it’s unacceptable to have the screen go black, he opted to show the backs of the heads. This, needless to say, perplexes and distracts the viewer far more than the faces of excellent actors ever would.)

The TV Lear, heavily cut to fit into a one-hour time slot, isn’t as radical a reinterpretation of the play as Brook’s later film, which strips it of emotion and nobility and tragedy and settles for a kind of lumpen, petrified grimness. What wrecks the TV play is Orson’s makeup, probably the worst he ever wore. To see his Lear, who looks like Krankor from PRINCE OF SPACE, with his cardboard beak, is to suddenly think far more highly or Gregory Arkadin’s tonsorial choices. Wearing a false beard on top of your head, matching the one on your chin, at least suggests a kind of symmetry, like a playing card. As with his regrettable IMMORTAL STORY makeup, Welles is attempting suggest old age by painting shadows on his face like a set from CALIGARI. But he’s gotten carried away, and ended up darker than his Othello, and blotchy with it. Welles as Lear is somewhat embarrassing to look at, and I love Welles too much to take any pleasure in being embarrassed about him.

The worst moment in the telecast is the best moment in the play. The reconciliation scene is the bit that moves audiences to tears. I saw a Kenneth Branagh production with Richard Briers as Lear, and THAT moved me to tears. I don’t recall feeling anything except disgruntlement at the Scofield version, mirroring the Scofield performance, but in general the scene seems almost impossible to screw up.

Welles, alas, blows his lines. Lear says to his loving daughter, Cordelia, whom he has wronged ~

Be your tears wet? yes, ‘faith. I pray, weep not:
If you have poison for me, I will drink it.
I know you do not love me; for your sisters
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong:
You have some cause, they have not.

This refers to Lear’s casting out of Cordelia, for which she should hate him, and to his other daughters’ casting out of him, after he gave them his kingdom.

But what Welles says, unfortunately, in the last line, is ~

They have some cause ~

Here, he pauses. He has just made Lear say that his wicked daughters, who kicked him out in a storm, had good reason to do so. This makes no sense. Worse, Welles realises that if he finishes the line, he will be making things much, much worse. But the alternative is to go back and correct himself, making the mistake completely obvious to the television public. I think we can see him thinking, calculating, for an anguished second. He decides to plough on ~

you have not.

So now he’s saying that his banishment of Cordelia was justified and she’s not entitled to hold it against him. Worse, this means that Cordelia’s next line, “No cause, no cause,” is not a daughter forgiving her old father’s terrible flaws and saying that she loves him and nothing has stood in the way of that. Now it means that she’s just agreeing with him that he was right to give her the boot.

Fortunately the scene gets back on track after this and they do the lines as written. But Welles is still wearing a ludicrous great hooter.

Welles farrago

Posted in FILM with tags , , on April 6, 2011 by dcairns

In a castle, baroque, bleak and Basque,

At the height of a Goyaesque masque,

The Saturnine host,

Makes a Georgian toast,

‘Bout a scorpion’s tale — please don’t ask!

***

OK, I have no idea if Arkadin’s castle in Spain is in the Basque country — I expect it isn’t. What can I say? I liked the rhyme.

Two more limericks on a Wellesian slant here and here.

Going Dutch

Posted in FILM, Theatre with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 22, 2009 by dcairns

“Where’s your compassion?”

“Nowhere YOU can get at it!”

doubt

The questioner is Philip Seymour Hoffman (a Jack Kirby drawing of a baby) and the answer comes from Meryl Streep (Mrs Doubtfire) in DOUBT, the Oscar-nommed drama from John Patrick Shanley. Way back around 1992 I saw half of Shanley’s JOE VERSUS THE VOLCANO on TV and thought it did a very good job of capturing some of the eccentricity of classic Hollywood comedy (Luggage salesman: “May you live a thousand years.”) and it was disappointing that Shanley didn’t continue as a director thereafter.

Now he’s back with a very Oscar-worthy (read: worthy) filmed play which does make good use of his comedic skills, while progressively trundling into darker territory. It’s perfectly good, and exactly the kind of thing the Academy likes, and so do a lot of other people. While it’s been opened out from the stage version, it’s still theatrical/televisual at heart, with characters continually pausing at the door to deliver a parting shot, like Columbo. Top cinematographer Roger Deakins shoots it, but the only real gesture towards “cinema” is the frequent recourse to that old cod-expressionist standby, the Dutch tilt.

I think, in the case of DOUBT, the technique is too obtrusive, too obvious (“The world has slipped off its axis!”) and unsupported by sufficient stylistic ebullience elsewhere in the filmmaking, apart from some nicely coloured walls, so it sticks out as a lone grab at aesthetic awareness. And this is one of the problems of the technique. How and when can you use it?

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MR ARKADIN throws a wobbly.

My friend Comrade K, a sort of Saint Michael figure positioned at the gates of art, deciding which techniques should be allowed through, takes a hard line on the Dutch tilt, allowing its value in the sole case of Orson Welles. I think THE THIRD MAN gets a partial pass by association, and probably he’d allow Raoul Ruiz, since R.R. uses technical language the way a balloon artist uses latex, and who could criticise funny balloon animals? I agree that Welles’ canted angles are beautiful and striking, and his stylistic brio is so fulsome all round that they don’t even stand out as being extreme or eccentric, surrounded as they are by so much creative perversity.

But if anything I find Reed’s THIRD MAN tilts perhaps even more interesting. One distinguishing feature is that they are mostly but not all POV shots, and that they tend to come in clusters. Once one D.T. has been used, a second starts to feel very desirable, preferably going the other way to balance it. So while the first example may have a certain sore-thumb quality, the second will be easier to take, and so on. Also, in the exotic Viennese ambiance of this particular film, askew views seem almost natural, a part of the cityscape. I feel as I watch the film that Vienna must actually look like that, and so it does, if you lean your head onto one shoulder.

I confess to mixed feelings about Ophuls’ use of the D.T.s. While a certain world-out-of-balance vibe is sometimes conjured by Ophulsian slants, sometimes the effect feels more decorative, and since Ophuls pushes the decorative to an extreme, sometimes this feels like perhaps a step too far. I’m not overly bothered, mind you, it’s just an item in his stylistic arsenal that I admire a bit less than the others.

Brian DePalma’s sloping compositions in CASUALTIES OF WAR feel more like the ones in DOUBT. When Michael J. Fox reports a case of rape and murder to his superior officer, and is told not to rock the boat, DePalma capsizes the whole film with a TITANIC-type list to starboard. The meaning is crashingly obvious, but so is the whole film, a sincere yet borderline cartoonish morality play where subtlety has no place and so a moment like this is not only acceptable, but barely distinguishable from the stylistic swagger elsewhere. Good luck to him.

Who else does good Dutch?