Archive for The KNTV Show

The Deluxe Treatment

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , , on May 13, 2013 by dcairns

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My favourite bit in EASY LIVING is probably the guided tour of the opulent suite at the Hotel Louis. A bewildered Jean Arthur is shown around by Louis Louis himself (Luis Alberni). The sequence seems to exemplify screenwriter Preston Sturges’s concerns — sudden reversals of fortune, the fickle finger of fate, the absurdity of the lives of the rich, funny foreigners, linguistic play — and those of director Mitchell Leisen — most of the above, plus lavish sets. There’s a lot more to Leisen than that, of course — one might mention his love of all different modes of camp, his fondness for Mexicana, Freudian motifs, and romanticism. In a way, this scene shows how for years critics have tended to regard the deep stuff in Leisen’s films as entirely the work of the writer, while regarding his own contribution as window dressing. Yet the visual choices of a filmmaker are not secondary to the thematic ones. And Sturges couldn’t have staged this scene as well as Leisen, because Sturges’s visual style favoured vulgarity and boisterousness over elegance. If Leisen had made THE PALM BEACH STORY, it wouldn’t have been as funny but Claudette Colbert would have had better frocks. The Hotel Louis IS vulgar, but it’s also beautiful.

The scene could have been written for Leisen, since it’s suck a design showcase. At the same time, Louis’s garbled descriptions of the suite’s features provide a ludicrous counterpoint — I particularly like his cockeyed neologism “gymnasalum,” which suggests some kind of workout regime for the nostrils — perhaps Kenneth Williams had such a facility in his flat (we’ll never know because he banned visitors).

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The gymnasalum features a hobby-horse, leading to a surprise bit of slapstick. It’s not surprising that Louis should attempt a demonstration, but it is a surprise that Luis Alberni should prove to have such very short legs. They’re like thumbs. Since most of the film is shot in that forties mid-shot standard, the sudden appearance of the micro-limbs is startling, and we suddenly see that Alberni’s tailoring makes him virtually a circus clown, with the costume exaggerating rather than concealing his physical oddities. And, mounted on the horse, his movements acquire a herky-jerky peculiarity perfectly in tune with his dialogue.

The most fabulous thing is the bathroom, with its “plunge” (see top) — it’s bigger than it looks, as we see later when both Jean Arthur and Ray Milland get in together. And, in operation, it looks like it might be annoying rather than invigorating — little streams of water spouting from all directions. Like Dolby Atmos only wet. But I like to believe the plunge is as wonderful as it looks, and to hell with such practical considerations. When I’m a billionaire, I’ll order four.

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The only bum note here is one I’ve got only myself to blame for. When I wrote for a Channel 4 “education” show called The KNTV Show, I borrowed Louis Louis’s habit of randomly pluralizing singular words, and gave it to the Eastern European characters on the show. And then a set of commercials featuring a CGI meerkat stole this idea from me — otherwise, how to explain that the meerkat has an Eastern European accent? I don’t like most commercials, and I certainly don’t like the idea of some rich advertising jerk-off making money off an idea he stole from me, even if I stole it from Preston Sturges in the first place. Probably the meerkat isn’t as annoying as KNTV was. But I’d prefer, on the whole, not to think of either.

Meanwhile: I score co-authorship on a limerick. And a movie Fiona and I wrote seems to be tumbling erratically towards production. Remain skeptical, but we’ll see…

Support Shadowplay, and your classic Hollywood habit: Easy Living (Universal Cinema Classics)

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Return to Monkey Island

Posted in FILM, Politics with tags , , , , , , , , , on June 16, 2008 by dcairns

Following one of Shadowplay’s Golden Rules — “ANYTHING WITH A MONKEY” — we ran recent documentary feature THE LOST COLONY, by Astrid Bussink. Ulterior motive: Astrid was a student at Edinburgh College of Art, where I teach, and is one of the most talented people to have moved about in my professional vicinity.

Astrid

My first encounter with this slightly eccentric Dutchwoman was seeing a short she had made that got her onto the course. I forget the title, BUT:

A beauty queen, in full bathing costume and sash regalia, is driving a car and sobbing. The radio announces the build-up to the prize-giving at a beauty contest, and remarks that two of the contenders have not turned up. As the announcer burbles on, the weeping contender parks her car and drags a slain opponent from the boot.

Obviously we were in the presence of insanity/greatness.

It was kind of weird that I had so much to do with teaching Astrid, since I’m not a documentarist, but we had lots of fun chats anyway. She started by telling me that in her previous career as a photographer she had taken pictures of a notorious Amsterdam gangster, which had been published in a true crime mag, possibly leading to the guy getting whacked. I could see why she fancied a change of profession.

She then admitted to a fascination with female serial killers, which is always a slightly worrying thing for a man to hear, but this lead to her desire to make a movie about that town in Hungary where the women all killed their husbands. It seemed a tricky proposition, since it would involve travelling to the dead centre of a distant-ish land and trying to find living people who could talk knowledgeably about events that took place in 1929. Dauntless, Astrid made the trip and uncovered enough material for several different movies, honing it into an incredibly assured and beautiful piece, THE ANGELMAKERS, reviewed here, coincidentally, by regular Shadowplayer John Seal (whose column is well worth investigating, especially for those with access to US cable, but actually for everyone else too).

Angelmakers

Although the same historical facts were the basis for the bizarro silent art-film HUKKLE, Astrid’s film gives us the straight poop on Nagyrev, where oppressed wives, long used to employing the local midwife to rid themselves of unwanted foetuses, took wholeheartedly to the less respectable practice of retroactive abortion, granting a slow death by arsenic poisoning to unproductive husbands disabled by the war, drunken and brutal husbands, and husbands whose presence was inconvenient for the pursuit of more attractive prospects. It’s a defining characteristic of Astrid’s work that extreme situations and behaviour are observed in a non-judgemental, oddly amused way, allowing the audience to make up its own mind, discover it is entirely wrong, reach a new conclusion, discover that’s wrong too, and so on.

This even applies to Astrid’s most Scottish project, RÜCKENLAGE / UPSIDE DOWN, which recreates the flight of Rudolph Hess to Scotland, in a doomed attempt to make peace between Britain and Nazi Germany. The plan was to let Hess’s own words seduce the audience and then whip the rug away when he reveals his enduring love of Hitler and pride in his “achievements”. Astrid asked me if I thought the scheme was working. “I think so. At first we sort of feel he must be one of those nice Nazis we’ve all heard so much about.”

So to THE LOST COLONY. Come with Astrid, your silent yet sagely observant guide, to Abkhazia, a place I’d never heard of and which sounds like one of those Ruritanian phantasies like Fredonia and Klopstokia, or my own contribution to the genre, Slabovia*, but is a genuine place on the map, a republic fighting for its independence and recognition.

The title of the film refers literally to a tribe of monkeys from a primate research centre, escaped into the Russian forests, and perhaps, just conceivably, still out there eking (and eek-eeking) a fragile living from the hostile landscape. But the “lost colony” could also be the troubled would-be nation of Abkhazia itself, or the film’s true subject, the primate centre.

Having survived a war (soldiers would stop by and abduct monkeys as mascots for their tanks), the centre is still experiencing hard times, with funding minimal and many of the staff and monkeys absconded to Moscow. The centre’s director, a quite literally hopeless optimist, wants to turn the centre into a tourist attraction, with all Russian wildlife roaming the grounds, and visitors riding around on the backs of bulls.

I remind you: this is a documentary. This shit is real.

During the early scenes, we grow to admire the fortitude of the staff who have kept this historically important site open through impossible times. Then, through their testimony and some frankly disturbing stock footage, we learn the terrible fates of many of the monkeys kept at the primate centre. For this is no animal sanctuary, but a laboratory that produced research leading to the eradication of some of the world’s deadliest diseases. What do we think now? The noble staff are struggling to save an institution that tortures animals in the name of science and for the benefit of mankind.

By the time we discover that, during Stalin’s reign, attempts were made at the centre to produce a strong but mentally inferior slave race by cross-breeding humans with apes (artificial insemination was the method, I assume you’ll be glad to hear. And it didn’t work, in case you’re wondering) it’s clear that we’re truly on the other side of the mirror.

And once again, I remind you. Shit. Real.

As always, Astrid’s symmetrical, Kubrickian longshots impose an emotional distance, yet the characters are observed with warmth as well as humour. It’s almost maternal.

And through it all, one staff member, a traumatised survivor of the war, keeps up a lone vigil for the lost colony, playing a cassette of monkey noises in an attempt to lure them back to the welcoming claws of civilisation. Although the monkey professors are convinced that the lost primates must have surely perished in the winter cold, as far as this man is concerned they are DEFINITELY still out there, somewhere in the great Abkhazian wilderness. After all, if they’re not out there, who is eating the monkey food he leaves out?

*Bit of a sore point. I named Slabovia, the last communist country in Europe, and created most of its population for Channel Four Education’s surprisingly unenlightening THE KNTV SHOW, but have no further involvement with the thing, which has now become a website/multimedia brand/whatever. I wouldn’t have minded being asked, since I think ideally things like that should actually be funny. But the EXCRUTIATING PAIN OF REJECTION is fading now and I wish the thing well.