Archive for Reece Shearsmith

A Cocktail for the Corpse

Posted in FILM, Theatre with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 19, 2009 by dcairns

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“Well, the Davids of this world merely occupy space…”

1) In honour of Hitchcock’s experiment in long-take technique, ROPE, I was going to write this post in one very very long sentence, but then in view of the fact that Hitch begins the film with a blatant cut right after the credits, and features two more in the course of the action which he doesn’t bother to cover up by having actors block the camera with their jackets, I thought, “Why bother?” — although I did also wonder why Hitch had gone to all the trouble of shooting in that style and talking it up as a big experiment and then copped out in those few instances: I mean it’s not as if the idea was totally unsound (photographing a play in real time in a continuous flow of action, as it would be experienced by a theatre audience) or as if he wasn’t very close to achieving it — I even wondered if the second and third cuts were the result of problems in hiding the cuts at the reel changes, but dismissed this idea as improbable… at any rate, I decided to compose my piece in nine or ten long sentences, like Hitchcock’s (more or less) ten long shots.

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“I never strangled a chicken in my life!”

2) Room perhaps for a digression (Already?) — in the recent BBC series Psychoville, a macabre comedy written by Reece Shearsmith and Steve Pemberton of The League of Gentlemen, one episode was given over to a single-take experiment in the ROPE vein, using DePalma-style digital trickery to hide a cut or two in a subtler manner than Hitchcock was able to achieve (and I’ve often wondered why he couldn’t have had somebody pass briskly across the lens from side to side, or zip-panned around the room to hide a cut in a much more unobtrusive way), and playing on the audience’s familiarity with the original in some cunning and amusing ways,  as well as exploiting the fact that suspense plays and bedroom farces share a similar reliance on tension and dramatic irony to create their effects — although the piece isn’t flawless, sometimes shifting comic register too abruptly, and sometimes forcing awkward verbal gags in against the grain of plot and character (when the story is as morbidly amusing as Psychoville’s, you really needn’t strain to insert puns and “jokes”), it’s nevertheless an ambitious and very unusual bit of television, going well beyond straight homage, and I was interested to read the line, “I have done murder,” in the Rope play, since it seems to provide inspiration for a key line in Psychoville: “I did a bad murder.”

3) I’m a bit of a Patrick Hamilton fan, The Slaves of Solitude and Hangover Square being two of my favourite books, so I took this opportunity to finally read his play, the source for Hitchcock’s film, sometimes called Rope’s End but originally titled Rope by its author, who set it in London in 1929, necessitating some adaptation (by Hume Cronyn and Arthur Laurents) to transfer the action to post WWII New York, and from a first floor flat to a penthouse apartment — but the structure is largely unchanged, Hitchcock having carefully looked around for a play with continuous action (the play is in three acts, acts one and two climaxing at suspenseful moments, the action resuming after each break without any time having passed in the play’s world) and remaining true to his principle of not violently altering the shape of a play when bringing it to the screen, since playwrights generally take a good bit of trouble to get the structure right… nevertheless, there are plenty of small difference: a cinema ticket is used as evidence in place of a hat, a poker from the fireplace provides menace in place of a revolver, and a police whistle summons the authorities at the climax, rather than the implausible but dramatic device of having Rupert, the philosopher-detective fire a pistol out the window… in addition to this, there are intriguing anticipations of later Hitchcocks: a tie pin is used as a clue (FRENZY) and a character says, “You wouldn’t hurt a fly,” (PSYCHO) — I’m pretty sure these are coincidental, but they’re amusing nonetheless.

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“Well, murder can be an art, too.”

4) Some of the biggest differences between play and film come from the casting and playing, with Farley Granger a more sympathetic presence than that suggested by Hamilton (Granillo, the play’s version of Philip, is of Spanish descent, a very Agatha Christie way of making him untrustworthy) — although Fiona, who like me saw the film on its re-release in the 80s, found the performance of his lower lip annoying — and James Stewart, merely by being James Stewart, entirely changes Rupert Cadell from a war-weary cynic and homosexual intellectual with a cutting sense of humour, into, well, James Stewart, about whom nothing bad can be suspected — Arthur Laurents suggests that James Mason would have been a better match for the character (better even than Cary Grant, Hitch’s first choice, who found it much too close for comfort) — the result is perfectly decent but a lot less interesting than it could have been — one so rarely gets a snarky gay detective in a thriller, and just imagine a British version with Dirk Bogarde (STOP PRESS: according to Wikipedia, the great Denis Price played in two TV versions, years apart, playing Brandon the first time and Rupert the second: better casting I cannot conceive of)!

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“We all do strange things in our childhood.”

5) ROPE is not only Hitch’s first Technicolor film (adding a whole series of new burdens to a technically challenging production), it’s his first independent one, away from the control of Selznick or anybody else for that matter (except the censor, who flipped when some of the play’s dialogue was used: the English “dear boys” were adjudged unspeakably effeminate) so that he could experiment freely with the long take technique which he’d been interested in for some time, but which Selznick had always forced him to curtail — it might even been supposed that Selznick’s supervision distorted Hitchcock’s technique, causing him to make exactly the kind of technical experiment Selznick would have instantly vetoed, despite the fact that it flew in the face of his own theories about the importance of montage, and that he made the film in reaction to Selznick’s previous interference.

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“Nobody commits a murder just for the experiment of committing it. Nobody except us.”

6) Leopold and Loeb — Arthur Laurents claims that nobody ever discussed the true-life murder case that inspired Hamilton’s play, but true-crime enthusiast Hitchcock was certainly aware of it — while both play and film end with the supposition that both the killers will hang for their crime, in reality they got off lightly: life plus 99 years, thanks to smart lawyer Clarence Darrow, played by Orson Welles  in the movie COMPULSION (director Richard Fleischer notes with bemusement that Welles disliked being watched by his fellow actors, so when he made his speech to the jury they all had to close their eyes, a striking, dreamlike image which somebody should film one day), a movie which Loeb Leopold tried to block, citing invasion of privacy — anyhow, Leopold Loeb was killed in prison by a fellow inmate who claimed he’d tried to sexually assault him (Chicago Daily News: “Richard Loeb, despite his erudition, today ended his sentence with a proposition.”) but Loeb Leopold volunteered to be infected with malaria for a study of the disease, served his sentence, worked as a lab and x-ray assistant, and donated his organs: I’m guessing he’s the Farley Granger one.

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“Out of character for him to be murdered, too.”

7) John Dall isn’t the most charismatic actor (“He’s hideous!” — Fiona) but he’s effective here and in GUN CRAZY, playing entirely different characters in radically different styles, and these noirish roles have largely outlasted the source of his fame, THE CORN IS GREEN; Sir Cedric Hardwicke has to be the boring voice of moral authority (Hamilton in his character description makes out that this guy is “completely captivating” but rather fails to live up to this in the action and dialogue, whereas the moral voice of Rupert acquires startling power at the end of both play and film because it’s earned by the story and comes as a surprise to both him and us) so he can’t really shine here, but Constance Collier is an amusingly bizarre presence (Hitchcock’s films link up in the oddest ways: Hume Cronyn acted in SHADOW OF A DOUBT and LIFEBOAT and writes here; Emlyn Williams wrote for THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH and acted in JAMAICA INN; and Collier was co-author with Ivor Novello of the play Downhill, which Hitch filmed with Novello in the lead role… I have previously remarked on the striking similarity of the set in ROPE to the one in THE RING) and Joan Chandler is perky and sweet (“Her shoulders are all the rage at the moment,” observes Fiona)… I guess some people would find Douglas Dick likewise charming, but his character is boringly conceived and the actor can’t enliven it — Hamilton’s young lovers are more maladroit, which makes them a little more appealing.

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“Well, now, you don’t really approve of murder, Rupert? If I may?”

8) Random odds and ends — Hitchcock has two cameos, walking buy in the first shot (the only location scene) and as a neon sign outline — this movie would make a seriously dangerous drinking game, all champagne and whisky, with Farley Granger alone enough to jeopardise the liver — remember, a full stop is just a hyphen coming right at you (Charles Fort) — Arthur Laurents reports that, since Edith Evanson was playing a maid, the other actors treated her AS a maid (the same kind of automatic prejudice that caused the actors playing chimps, gorillas and orangs to segregate in the studio canteen on PLANET OF THE APES!) — Evanson is good, in a role that doesn’t exist in the play, a sort of ineffectual mother figure for the boys (Hitch’s villains as often have weak mothers as domineering ones), a Thelma Ritter kind of role replacing the French cook in the play as part of the Americanizing process — the long take style throws up many side-benefits, not all of them obvious, like the extraordinary close-up of Stewart that plays out for about a minute of offscreen dialogue, and the low angle as the maid clears the fatal chest of plates and candelabras, a precursor to the safe-cracking sequence in MARNIE — what is this strange affinity, confirmed in VERTIGO, of James Stewart with green neon light?

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“They’re coming.”

9) Hitch’s independent company, Transatlantic Pictures, set up with Sidney Bernstein and intended to make films on both sides of the ocean, fulfilled its brief in a minimal way: ROPE, filmed in Hollywood, and UNDER CAPRICORN (which I’m in the minority on, since I rather like it) in England, two sort-of-minor but fascinating experiments in long-take storytelling, which form a bridge between the Selznick years and the years as a studio director with considerable but by no means total independence.

OK — can’t resist ending on a quote from the play ~

Rupert: (suddenly letting himself go — a thing he has not done, all the evening, and which he now does with tremendous force, and clear, angry articulation) What do I mean? What do I mean? I mean that you have taken and killed — by strangulation — a very harmless and helpless fellow-creature of twenty years. I mean that in that chest there — now lie the staring and futile remains of something that four hours ago lived, and laughed, and ran, and found it good. Laughed as you could never laugh, and ran as you could never run. I mean that, for your cruel and scheming pleasure, you have committed a sin and a blasphemy against that very life which you now yourself find so precious. And you have done more than this. You have not only killed him, you have rotted the lives of all those to whom he was dear. And you have brought worse than death to his father — an equally harmless old man who has fought his way quietly through to a peaceful end, and to whom the entire universe, after this, will now be blackened and distorted beyond the limits of thought. That is what you have done. And in dragging him round here tonight, you have played a lewd and infamous jest upon him — and a bad jest at that. And if you think, as your type of philosopher generally does, that all life is nothing but a bad jest, then you will now have the pleasure of seeing it played upon yourselves.

Brandon (pale and frozen) What are you saying? What are you doing?

Rupert It is not what I am doing, Brandon. It is what society is going to do. And what will happen to you at the hands of society I am not in a position to tell you. That’s its own business. But I can give you a pretty shrewd guess, I think. (He moves forward to the chest and swings back the lid) You are going to hang, you swine! Hang! Both of you! Hang! (Whistle in hand, he runs hobbling to the window, throws it open, leans out, and sends three piercing whistles into the night)

CURTAIN.

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Correspondence

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , , , on November 15, 2008 by dcairns

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‘interesting fact: if you google “david cairns”, shadowplay comes out at the bottom of the page; if you google “christina alepi”, shadowplay is the first result. (!) Typing my own name is the quickest way to get to your blog (after bookmarking, but it can’t beat googling my OWN NAME!)’
~ Christina Alepi, via Facebook.

A few things happening with the old email and Facebook, which I just joined in a spirit of “Why not?” Maybe once I year I do something daft like that: about a year ago I started a blog. Yep, Shadowplay celebrates her birthday on December 1st. Will have to think of some special way to mark it. Suggestions welcome.

Some time back I got one of the few bits of negative commentary I’ve had here, after reviewing a depressing British horror “comedy” called THE COTTAGE. I’ve tended to avoid trashing stuff most of the time, since it’s nice to be nice and it seems more interesting to find the exciting or strange bits of films and pare away the dull stuff, but when it comes to modern British cinema I sometimes get a bit upset. Anyhow, the piece attracted an irked comment from someone pretty obviously connected with the movie, but I never knew who. But when I joined Facebook, it swept through my emails looking for contacts, and suddenly identified the commenter as actor Reece Shearsmith, one of the stars of the film. Mystery solved!

Not sure how I feel about this, since I’m a fan of the first two series of The League of Gentlemen, and would have said at least some nice things about THE LEAGUE OF GENTLEMEN’S APOCALYPSE, which seemed an honorable attempt to do something interesting in British cinema. So it’s not like Shearsmith was ever on my shitlist. (Do I have a shitlist? Note to self: compile shitlist.) I may have said something about his performance in THE COTTAGE not quite working, but that’s kind of the same as calling him a flawless genius, since the rest of the film doesn’t work the way a dead horse doesn’t work as an air freshener.

More pleasant correspondence: after the excellent Charles Drazin suggested I contact David Thomson and let him in on The Great Duvivier Giveaway, my scheme to reshape the movie canon, in hopes of getting him to change his mind about Julien Duvivier and maybe rewrite his rather critical piece in The Biographical Dictionary of Film, I wrote to Thomson with a disc of LA FIN DU JOUR, and received this very charming reply:

Dear Mr Cairns,

I was touched to receive your letter and the DVD of La Fin du Jour.  On the spot, I proposed you to the House of Edinburgh Saints (your only fellow there is Mark Cousins – maybe you know each other).

[We do.]

As it happens, yours is not the first plea on behalf of Duvivier. The other one came from no less than Stephen Sondheim (at the Telluride Film Festival). So I am re-examining the matter, and I am very grateful to you for the prompting.

More to come, I’m sure.

All good wishes

David Thomson

So I seem to be in good company. I wonder, if you’re David Thomson, if you’re constantly getting grabbed by bloggers and composers and bums off the street who want to convert you to the cause of John Ford or Tony Richardson or William Wyler?

Makes me think I’m lucky I only have the cast of THE COTTAGE to contend with.

In other news: I was vaguely thinking of starting Borzage Week in a week’s time, but since I have a number of pieces all ready and nothing else to post of any substance, I’m bringing it forward to Monday 17th. That’ll still give us time to invent something suitably exciting for December 1st.

“Isn’t it a bit old-hat?”

Posted in FILM, Theatre with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 7, 2008 by dcairns

Kenneth Branagh usually comes up with some interesting directorial strategies. The trouble is, they usually don’t work, and neither do the films. He’s inventive, ambitious, and courageous, but I somehow never feel he’s a natural film-maker.

Nevertheless, some critics were perhaps too nasty about SLEUTH. The film unites an interesting bunch of people, looks very handsome, and is easy enough to watch. There are good bits. Harold Pinter’s reworking of Anthony Shaffer’s play is often amusing.

JL: “Maggie never told me you were… such a manipulator. She told me you were no good in bed, but she never told me you were such a manipulator.”
MC: “She told you I was no good in bed?”
JL: “Oh, yes.”
MC: “She was joking. I’m wonderful in bed.”
JL: “I must tell her.”

As in the original, a successful thriller writer confronts the much younger man who has made off with his wife, and a variety of vicious mind-games are played. Pinter dispenses with Shaffer’s critique of the English mystery novel tradition, leaving the piece as simply another Pinter power-play of pauses. Even the title becomes irrelevant.

One can’t escape the fact that the gimmick casting — Michael Caine returns from the original Joe Mankiewicz version, but playing the other part, Jude Law, who’s already played a Caine role in the ALFIE remake, plays Caine’s part from the original —  is a titillating concept, but not necessarily the best way to fill the parts. Olivier, in the original film, stood boldly for the English establishment, and Caine was the working-class upstart — it was almost too perfect. With cockney Caine as the rich author and the vaguely classless Law as his romantic rival, the distinction is lost. But more important is what Branagh can get out of these actors in the way of acting.

Caine starts off like he’s trying for poshness, perhaps imitating Alan Bates (a fine interpreter of Pinter), which is a bit queasy. The it starts to feel like he doesn’t know his lines well enough — little hesitations and bodging of the difficult bits are either methody additions or genuine screw-ups, and either way they’re harmful to Pinter’s rhythms. But gradually Caine’s undiminished charm and inexplicable authority work their spell, and he becomes enjoyable.

Law is fine when he underplays, and rather embarassing when he tries too hard. He’s a star when he just holds the camera’s gaze. Some insecurity forces him to spoil it by doing stuff, and the effort shows. He’s probably most useful when he’s being tormented by Caine, since some evil part of this viewer derives some pleasure from seeing Law having a hard time. Later, he will do foolish things with a loaded pistol, much like the detective in PLAN 9 FROM OUTER SPACE.

Nobody would call this prime Pinter. Although the Great Man has written screen thrillers successfully in the past (THE QUILLER MEMORANDUM, under-valued) here there are odd, damaging implausibilities. Why does Caine have an automated rope ladder in his stately home? Why does Law take his gun from his holster for no reason, lay it on the bed for no reason, thus allowing Caine to grab it at the climax? That’s quite bad playwriting, or direction.

What makes the film watchable? The set, designed by Branagh’s regular collaborator Tim Harvey, is very nice, all shiny surfaces and disco lighting, and the photography of Haris Zambarloukos serves up innumerable great widescreen close-ups. But the James Bond lair doesn’t make much sense, and is part of the overall watering-down of Shaffer’s original concept, the conflict between tradition and progress. The Bond vibe is both apt and ironic, since original Bond designer Ken Adam created the look of the original SLEUTH,

The stylised environment is doubtless meant to provide a comfortable setting for the stylised talk, but Pinter’s verbal gymnastics are defiantly archaic, and sound more so amid these glossy surfaces and pointless hi-tech appurtenances. I’m reminded of the grand staircase in FRANCIS FORD COPPOLA’S KENNETH BRANAGH’S MARY SHELLEY’S FRANKENSTEIN (I think that’s the full title), which has no bannister and makes you nervous to look at it. It’s quite an interesting effect, but you can’t help wonder WHY would anybody have a stair like that in their house?

This next is a bit spoilerific — if you’ve read the above and still plan on seeing SLEUTH, skip this last stuff.

Full disclosure — Stephen Murphy, prosthetic makeup artist for Jude Law, did the make-up on my clown film and is a good friend. He’s been working on HARRY POTTERS and stuff, turning ex-porn dwarfs into goblins, working his way up, and this is is his biggest job yet. Oddly, the transformation reminds me of another make-up creation, even though Stephen didn’t design the Law job.

It’s the Ringo Starr/Mexican bandit look Stephen created for Alice Bicknell in my film CLARIMONDE using mainly liquid latex and wet tissue paper. I’m also reminded of another makeup creation, Reece Shearsmith as Geoff Tipps in THE LEAGUE OF GENTLEMEN:

I am a man

Even the voice is the same! The transformation works OK until Law starts overdoing it again, which makes him more recognisable. Stephen reports that Law was a very nice chap to work with, which is about what I’d expect, actually. Hitting the odd paparazzo doesn’t make him a bad guy, in fact I give him points for it, even though I’m anti-violence.

In the original SLEUTH, make-up artist Tom Smith, required to transform Michael Caine completely, executed a self-portrait, changing Caine into a Smith clone. I asked Stephen if he’d been tempted to do the same, but alas, he hadn’t known. What might have been REALLY interesting would have been if the remake’s make-up DESIGNER, Eileen Kastner-Delago, had given Law a sex change and made him over in her own image.

Made Up

Sexual ambiguity does enter the picture in the last act, with both Caine and Law suggesting bisexual sides, a motif borrowed from Sidney Lumet and Ira levin’s DEATHTRAP, the low-rent version of SLEUTH — Caine, having kissed Christopher “Superman” Reeve, now kisses “Sky Captain”. But this additional twist leads to no new dramatic suspense, and certainly doesn’t carry the mild shock value it did in 1982 (“But it’s so juicy,” Lumet pleaded, when Reeve objected to the kiss). As with the despised DIABOLIQUE, the re-makers try to preserve the twist surprise by adding a further wrinkle to the already-creased story, but it does nothing but drag the film long past its emotional climax… which is about half an hour in.

For all that, the film is diverting, short, and at least it has a different set of flaws from the ones we’re used to seeing all the time. Any bets on what the next Michael Caine remake will be?