Archive for The Holcroft Covenant

“Maintain Visual Contact!”

Posted in FILM, literature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 16, 2018 by dcairns

Some computer-jockey actually yells that in THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM. He’s having a laugh: director Paul Greengrass is going all-out this time to stop his enemies, the audience, from getting a fix on what the hell is going on in his violently unstable frame. He apparently went so far as to tell his camera operators that if they ever felt like violently reframing a shot, looking at something else, or just messing up the composition, they should do it. A producer opined to me that camera operators, as a breed, if empowered to do whatever they want, will tend to offer up a stable, eloquent and graceful composition, so I think there’s a sense that Greengrass is nudging them towards this chaotic approach pretty sharply.

What makes the idea dumb is that you can TELL the operator is edging around, not to get a better view, but to get a WORSE view, so unlike in THE IPCRESS FILE, we don’t get a feeling of covert surveillance, but one of filmmakers mucking about.He doesn’t go THIS far very often, thankfully. This reminds me of Peter Brook’s back-of-the-head shots in his KING LEAR, intended to fill in spaces whe”re the text is enough,” and any imagery would be too much. A pathetic idea, I always thought, an abdication of the filmmaker’s job, which is to find the right image the way a writer chooses le mot juste. Brook’s choice, like Greengrass’s here, has one main effect, which is to make the viewer wonder what’s gone wrong.

Having said that, I enjoyed this film more than its predecessors. It has a number of completely joyless, garbled fights and chases, but towards the end also delivers the best punch-up and the best car chase in the original trilogy (which has since sprouted two more films). The sequence of Bourne leaping from window to window in Tangiers, crossing streets a storey or more above ground level, is slightly absurd but very dynamic, with the abrupt changes of angle and movement forcing the eye to work hard but not quite defeating our ability to make sense of what we’re seeing.

Was Robert Ludlum obsessed with The Guardian newspaper? John Frankenheimer and George Axelrod’s gloriously ludicrous film of Ludlum’s THE HOLCROFT COVENANT has Anthony Andrews as a journalist who writes “brilliant but mysterious articles on international finance for the Guardian.” Here we have Paddy Considine as a hapless hack who gets in over his head and becomes for Bourne the equivalent of the Act 1 Girl in a Roger Moore Bond film, fated to be unceremoniously offed to create a bit of jeopardy and establish the baddie’s credentials.There’s also David Strathairn, Scott Glenn (moving sideways from NASA and the FBI to the CIA), Daniel Bruhl, Albert Finney, and the return of Julia Styles and Joan Allen. Edgar Ramirez, so striking in CARLOS, is almost invisible here as a thug, as the talented Karl Urban was in the previous film.Regular series scribe Tony Gilroy is credited with “screen story,” making me wonder what the source novel contributed, and various other hands (Scott Z. Burns, George Nolfi, an uncredited-as-usual Tom Stoppard) make this the film with the best dialogue and plot twists too. There’s also a furious amount of retconning — the second film already changed Bourne from a man who refused to be an assassin, to one who actually completed several missions, and now we find out he volunteered to be brainwashed in the first place. The flashbacks, shot with a deliberately malfunctioning camera, make the brainwashing look like waterboarding, adding “contemporary relevance,” which is commendable I guess, but left me unconvinced that drowning someone is good training to set them up for a career in homicide. Plus we learn that Julia Styles was Bourne’s lover before he chose to be brainwashed by Daddy Warbucks (Finney’s mishmash accent contains stray bits of John Huston) — so this is basically THE ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND with added punching.

 

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A High Silk Hat and a Silver Caine

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 11, 2016 by dcairns

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SILVER BEARS is one of a crowd of Michael Caine movies from the seventies which, it turns out, deserve to be better known. PULP is, in my view, great, and PEEPER comes close, but is let down by a weak last act. The fact that the climax, with supreme, toe-curling unfortunateness, involves Natalie Wood fighting in a lifeboat, may explain why the film isn’t more often revived.

SILVER BEARS is just very enjoyable. Caine plays a finance expert for the mob who conceives the idea of casino owner Martin Balsam buying his own Swiss bank to store his loot in (as if Swiss banks were notoriously picky about their customers — see also THE HOLCROFT COVENANT for Caine’s continuing PR campaign on behalf of Switzerland’s financial institutions). Caine buys the bank but finds he’s been conned, then gets offered a chance to come in on a silver mine in Iraq, which is right where the Bible says there should be a silver mine…

Ivan Passer directs with deadpan modesty. CUTTER AND BONE is the US film of his with the best reputation, but I prefer BORN TO LOSE, a defiantly uningratiating movie about junkies with George Segal. Like the best US seventies stuff it has a Twilight of the Gods melancholic downfall built in — somebody was bound to make something like JAWS and STAR WARS eventually, and as soon as they did films like this were bound to stop being made. It’s a movie that has no interest in explaining to us why we should care about its lead character. It knows we don’t even care about his real-life counterparts, so what will induce us to get interested in a fictional version? Doesn’t matter. He’s a human being. We SHOULD care. A brief early appearance by DeNiro, unusually cast as a cop, also enlivens.

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SILVER BEARS is positively jolly by comparison, and it has an even more impressive cast — Caine and Balsam are supported by a host of co-stars, most of them on their last legs as box office phenomena — Cybill Shepherd, Louis Jourdan, David Warner, Stephan Audran, Tommy Smothers, plus Charles Gray, Joss Ackland and a fleeting Nigel Patrick. And Jay Leno, for God’s sake, who turns out to be a very funny actor. Maybe he just didn’t want to go on playing idiots and low-lifes.

Caine is very funny (“He’s not a fag, he’s just English,” explains Balsam), caught midway between the Adonis of the sixties and the puffy-eyed, blotchy Caine of pay cheque fame. Fiona felt Louis Jourdan stole the show, though. And David Warner looks like this ~

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A big hand for Bernard Gribble’s editing, which enhances the comedy with slow-burn reaction shots. Jourdan steals the show, but it’s one of Shepherd’s good jobs too, and Caine is very funny. There’s a great bit of exposition delivered while marching at high speed through a stately home, led by Gray (one of the stately homos of England, as Quentin Crisp would have it). Good bit with Jourdan and Audran slapping each other — a dicey moment to get laughs with, but she sells it by looking more shocked when she slaps him than when he slaps her. Her surprised face looks like the outrage alien at the end of the Star Trek end credits.

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Peter Stone, who scripted CHARADE, has some good short circuits stored up for getting out of predictable situations in unpredictable ways. When Cybill realizes Caine slept with her to get info on her husband’s bank, she only pretends to be furious for the sake of appearances, for as she immediately explains, she realizes that he did her three times in one night, which was far more than necessary to learn what he needed to know. It’s a lightweight movie but it has enough inventions like that to keep me charmed.

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Explosive

Posted in FILM, MUSIC, Politics with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 23, 2013 by dcairns

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“What’s with the Frankenheimer kick?” asked Fiona. She’s a great fan of SECONDS, in particular, but even she was puzzled by some of the crap I was watching.

“I just think he brings a professionalism and a stylistic brio to anything he does,” I explained. “So I’m looking for the worst film he ever made.”

So far THE HOLCROFT COVENANT might be it, but even that was entertaining in a “was that meant to be funny?” way. I still have PROPHECY to enjoy. Given that it’s about a mutant grizzly bear, I have a suspicion it might be Frankenheimer’s most autobiographical work.

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99 AND 44/100% DEAD is such a terrible title, I’d always avoided watching the thing, but I think it was Glenn Kenny who mentioned its pop art credentials and that got me intrigued. It’s a queer thing, marrying said Lichtenstein visuals to an episodic, shambling narrative about warring gang lords, and throwing in lots of gratuitous grotesquerie along the way. Chuck Connors as a hitman with a steel claw that takes various attachments (bottle opener, cat o’nine tails) seems to have inspired a similar character in Joe Dante’s INNERSPACE.

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Irish people — please explain Richard Harris’s hair to me. I know the top part is a toupee. But that part’s practically normal compared to those weird flanges at the sides. He’s like a cross between an Elizabethan clown and a zombie Michael Caine.

Pointlessness hangs heavily over the thing, as with much of Frankenheimer’s expensive, explosive work, but much of it is amusing in a nihilistic sort of way — Bradford Dillman invents one of the screen’s most distinctive villainous laughs, sucking in air through pursed lips like a man whistling in reverse — Edmund O’Brien seems to be on hand to evoke THE KILLERS or D.O.A. but just makes me think THE GIRL CAN’T HELP IT — Henry Mancini provides a great score, adding a lot of wit to the scenes that don’t feature sewer alligators, giant inflatable lady sculptures or crowds of bodies in concrete boots standing around the bottom of the East River.

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The cops and even the regular population seem indifferent to the mass slaughter being waged around them, and its strange to see the characters walking casually down the street one moment, just after being chased by machine-gun wielding assassins. Don’t they ever get nervous?

DEAD BANG seemed like it was going to be true shit, but it really wasn’t. Don Johnson is a cop on the edge, chasing neo-nazis… The story is rather televisual, especially how it ends (monologue from about-to-be-slain baddie, freeze-frame on shit-eating grin from Johnson), but the script adds surprising details and funny bits (a hungover Johnson throws up on a suspect) and Frankenheimer aggressively hurls production values at it. A car ride to investigate a white supremacist church rates a big crane shot AND a helicopter swoop.

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The Frankenheimlich manoeuvre.

Don Johnson may be a furious drunken maniac, but he gets results, damnit. Amusing to see his character intimidate, infuriate or repel virtually everyone he meets. In common with BLACK SUNDAY, the movie suggests that torture is really your best bet if you want to achieve anything good in this world. Odd that Kathryn Bigelow is picking up so much flak over ZERO DARK THIRTY when US cop movies have quite blatantly endorsed torture and the threat of torture for decades. DEAD BANG makes DIRTY HARRY look quite nuanced in this department.

Not, I have to say, a very good title. A friend suggests that having a title people are embarrassed to say is probably unhelpful. “You wanna go see DEAD BANG?” But I did like the idea of a drunkard cop who fights crime by puking on it. THE EMETIC DETECTIVE should have had a whole series of movies made about him. “Don Johnson is a cop on the edge… of nausea.” “Crime makes me sick!” It’s not too late for a sequel, in which Johnson (trailing glory from his DJANGO comedy turn) could come out of retirement/rehab to take on one last case and barf on it. “It takes guts to be a cop, and Don Johnson is going to empty them all over this city!”

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