SGS On Film

Natural Born Killers is a brutal and uniquely potent film. Its exploration of the media perpetuating the two main killers is fascinating and gut-wrenching. Oliver Stone evokes this idea throughout the entire picture. He makes the film feel like a series of television shows, idealised and patently absurd, which allows the commentary to be a constant presence. Additionally, his use of black and white is commendable. In the beginning, it is used as a means of showcasing absolute romantic idealism as Mickey (Woody Harrison) and Mallory (Juliette Lewis) nostalgically remember their first meeting. In the third act, it is used as a means to illustrate painful moments of the past as Detective Jack Scagnetti (Tom Sizemore) expounds upon a tragic incident in his childhood to Warden Dwight McClusky. (Tommy Lee Jones)

Finally, it is also compelling to consider Natural Born Killers within the context of Bonnie and Clyde, which was an equally controversial coupled based crime drama. That picture can be seen as a romanticised portrait of the outlaw life with an ironic and pessimistic ending. Stone advocates Natural Born Killers to be a positive film because, “it’s about freedom, and the ability of every human being to get it.” I disagree with Stone as the film seems to show that killing is an innate state of nature, which extends to humanity. With this in mind, even the most positive aspects of the human condition cannot hope to contain this idea at all.

As much as I admire Pauline Kael’s approach of only seeing a film once, insofar as it forces the reviewer to come to firm opinion and yields an exciting immediacy. There is something to be said for the second viewing of a film. The reviewer has a fixed impression of the picture in question as well as the images and moments that have struck them. What is left are those, little moments, possible reconciliation and clarifications as only the second viewing can provide.

Watching Mad Max: Fury Road again proved to be revelatory. What had immediately struck me was that some previously harrowing scenes played more comically. For example, the scenes where Max was strapped to the front of Nux’s car played like comedy from the silent era. Director George Miller goes so far to evoke this by intentionally speeding up the footage, which results in some amusing moments of unnatural movement. In fact, if one were to ignore the overt harrowing portrait of how people have become dehumanised and a means of flittering out resources, then the first half of Fury Road would play like absurdist and a farcical piece, depicting a man’s unlucky woes as he attempts to escape at the hands of his mad capped captors.

The comedic edge of the film extends to other parts of the film. Miller has always filled his previous Mad Max directorial efforts with strange and quirky peripheral characters and that is no different here. There is one character who is a brother of the primary antagonist, Immoten Joe who looks like a political cartoonist interpretation of a banker. And his dialogue even aligns with this conception, which is shown when he talks about assets and prices in regards to the primary goal. There are even nice little amusing moments when some of the gang members comment upon Joe’s plan, one encapsulates it as a pointless family squabble.

Finally, the most impressive aspect of Fury Road is in its editing. In the Trailers From Hell video on the picture, the Australian director, Brian Trenchard-Smith revealed that George Miller had shot over 480 hours of footage. The continuous playback of this would add up to three weeks of film. It’s commendable that Miller was able to distill all this into a coherent and purely visual two hour film.

Pauline Kael famously remarked on the nature of films that “When you clean them up, when you make movies respectable, you kill them. The wellspring of their art, their greatness, is in not being respectable.” Fury Road is a pure vision that thankfully has not been censored or made to answer for its maddening existence.

Cinema has been kind to The Scottish Play. Orson Welles’ 1948 iteration impressed with its potent expressionist imagery despite its meagre budget and behind the scenes woes. The American literary critic Harold Bloom called Akira Kurosawa’s 1957 adaptation “the most successful film version of Macbeth.” And Roman Polanski’s 1971 version stands out as a piece of powerful cinema where the film transcends the bard’s original text, with its lingering violence, powerful final image and an acute sense that the director is bearing his soul through the titular character.

Onto the bloody screen enters Justin Kurzel’s 2015 adaptation in which nature and war are at the heart of this artful retelling. The former could almost be considered a character as it lingers and watches our characters do their grisly work. Whether it is the hissing flames that reflect in the eyes of Macbeth before he commits murder. Or the gentle snow that falls upon Lady Macbeth’s brow when she reflects on the bloodshed of the past.

The most compelling illustration of nature and its place in this film is when it harmonises with Shakespeare’s words. The line, “And now a wood comes toward Dunsinane”, resonates with chilling new clarity as Macbeth breathes in the ashy air of the burned forest around his castle. The evocative colours of brown and orange permeate this scene and reflect Macbeth’s blood-soaked reign in a fresh and terrifying manner. Additionally, the camera and how it captures shots of still icy mountains, torn down tents and tall church spires are as dynamic as the famous soliloquies.

War is the other central fascination of the picture as Macbeth’s tragic fall comes across as the result of the effects of war more than ambition and prophecy. For example, in the aftermath of Ducan’s death, Macbeth relishes the murder, even going so far as lying with the dead king. This interpretation of Macbeth paints the picture of a man who can’t stop his compulsion for killing. The reason for which firstly comes from war, the second is the grief over his children’s death. In an interesting new facet, Macbeth has two children, one of whom dies in battle and the other from an unknown reason. This choice results in its some fascinating new details in the story.

The witches become constant figures of grief as you see Macbeth’s dead daughter with them. Macbeth’s son appears in the story as the person holding the dagger in the famous soliloquy of the object. All these figures appear at some point on the battlefield, which speaks to the importance of war in this retelling. Whether it is the weird sisters watching Macbeth in the battle scenes. Or Macbeth having a vision of his dead son. Or the title character seeing his comrades bathed in a golden light when he visits the witches for the final time.

All these additions result in a Macbeth, who is haunted from the start. This suggests that the conditions for him becoming murderous emerge from a need to keep committing violence because of a lack of heirs and a war driven nature. The most enduring shots of this interpretation come from its ending ones that depict Malcolm and Banquo’s son, Fleance picking up swords in different locations. Much like Polanski’s last shot, they suggest an eternal cycle. In that film, it was the nature of ambition and violence within man. In this picture, it is the inevitability of war and the consequences that ensue.

Pulp Fiction is an example of a rarely seen sophisticated and transcendent style over substance film. It would seem like a contradiction in terms to assert this, however, the influential 1994 picture warrants this claim in a few ways. Firstly, compared to his other films, Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction is not really about anything. He does not have a thesis and his usual fascination with the appointed and self-created persona are only given lip service by a few characters. However, the style of the picture is so masterful and interesting that it does become one of those rare films where the lack of substance does not matter.

For example, the structure of the film demands repeated viewings as it creates a fascinating time line for all the characters, which in turn makes the universe they inhabit richer and their depth boundless. With this in mind, one could essentially watch the film through the prism of a single character and still walk away feeling satisfied with the experience. For instance, in the course of my recent viewing of the film, the character of Mia Wallace (Uma Thurman) resonated with me most. Her plight was not only tense but also tragic as she comes across as a woman who is deeply unhappy but is nonetheless biting and charming. Thurman plays Mia with a precise balance of seductive and sad edge, which makes her dialogue and actions some of the best in the entire film.

Finally, Fiction has to be commended for its impeccable balance of disparate genres and tones. The picture goes from a scene that evokes 1950s Americana and Film to a scene that feels like it came out of a nasty, 1970s revenge exploitation film. This is an aspect that extends to some of the camera work and shots. For example, there is a scene that feels superimposed on a frame of a film from the 1960s, with an unnatural and surreal looking city surrounding, which is black and white. Along with the same fascination as Sergio Leone, which is a concern for the build up and drama before the gunshot and Tarantino has made a film that feels like a warm and loving embrace of the cinematic medium.

The Quiet Ones is a frustrating if at times intelligent, fascinating and ultimately sly picture. It primarily impresses as being a period found footage film. The camera moves that come in the form of academy aspect ratio have this great grainy, desaturated look that gives the film its creepy edge. Additionally, the film proudly steeps itself in the canon of Hammer Horror films. For example, the central character Professor Joseph Coupland feels like he is in the same vein as Van Helsing and Nicholas, Duc de Richleau. These are characters who have a fundamental mad obsession with their pursuits, whatever the means or cost of them. Jared Harris plays Coupland with enough understated menace to prevent him from being a one-note figure.

Finally, the film’s slyness is amusing. References to the Exorcist and The Grudge give the film an odd self-knowing edge that is appreciated even if it does occasionally undermine the period proceedings. Aside from that, the film proves to be a disappointing mess. The premise is intriguing, however, for all the scientific and psychological reasons that are given for Jane’s behaviour, these ultimately prove to be foolhardy. The lasting explanation did not have any build up and it made the entire film lose the intelligence that it once possessed. As a result, the Quiet Ones turned into a generic, twisty, jack in the box affair that while appealing to aficionados of Hammer Horror films may disappoint general audiences.

At his best, Quentin Tarantino provides fascinating interpretations of schlocky and often overlooked genre fare. No where is this more apparent than in his 1992 directorial debut, Reservoir Dogs. The premise of the picture suggests that it is a heist film. However, it plays like a trashy exploitation film combined with the depth and richness of an engrossing crime drama. The genre synthesis is rewarding as it gives rise to an interesting theme that Tarantino revisits through the course of his career.

Tarantino loves grappling with the idea of people taking on a persona. Essentially, the film is a meditation on the nature of how one acts during a crime. All the characters are assigned code names while additionally being provided with strict instructions on their conduct and what they cannot reveal to their colleagues. Part of the drama and tension comes from how the characters deal with these rules. For example, Mr. White (Harvey Keitel) chooses to his disclose his first name to bleeding and close to death Mr. Orange (Tim Roth). Whereas, Mr. Pink (Steve Buscemi) chooses to stay professional in the face of escalating problems, in the aftermath of the diamond robbery.

The one objection that could be raised against the picture is in its filmmaking. The film can be accused of being stagey, but Tarantino employs interesting uses of close-ups, 360-degree angles shots and scene transitions that counter this potential problem. There is no doubt that the film lives by its screenplay, in a way that few other films do. The coherency of the script is commendable, and its plot developments and twists are sublime. It is a picture that marked a new voice in independent cinema and it remains an important call to arms picture, which reinforces Tarantino’s obsession with the self-constructed and appointed persona.

Battle Royale is a potent, violent and darkly comic cult film that delivers on being an interesting vision of dystopia and an illustration of teenage angst. It is this latter aspect that is the most engaging facet of the picture as it takes normal moments of adolescent and subverts them on a big bloody canvas. As a result, teenage crushes, first loves and instances of excessive bullying are injected with a frighting and tragic edge, which is gut-wrenching and emotionally gripping.

SGS On Film has reached fifty posts and to commemorate this minor landmark, I am going to pay tribute to the late great filmmaker, Wes Craven. However, in stark contrast to the usual manner in which I discuss figures in cinema that have recently passed away. I am going to do it through the prism of one film, which, in this case, is apropo as this film encapsulates Craven’s appeal as a writer/director. Additionally, it is a formative picture that cemented my love of the seventies as a decade for horror cinema.

Wes Craven will be remembered for many things. Firstly, he was the creator of the conceptually fascinating childhood monster, Freddy Kruger. Secondly, he was the overseer and instigator of the self- reflexive and snarky horror pictures that primarily resided in the nineties and early twenty-first century, with his Scream series.

While he will be primarily remembered for these two outstanding feats in the horror genre, I shall remember him fondly the most for his 1977 picture, The Hills Have Eyes. The film has a deep intelligence and was the first picture that showed me that horror films can be about something, as opposed to just being mere ninety-minute exercises in unrelenting shocks. The film can be interpreted as being about two things.

Firstly, it showcases the fight between the civilised, which are the Carter family and the uncivilised, which are the feral and caveman looking characters that embody the title of the picture. In this way, the film is a ticking time bomb, where we witness the civilised brought down to their knees and with nothing left but their survival instinct. The true horror of the picture is in the closing moments where we witness Doug Wood mercilessly stab Mars, (the leader of the people in the hills) to death.

Despite, what we might feel about the justification of the killing in the moment, Craven lingers on Wood’s face in the aftermath of the act. It shows utter shock and instant remorse. The film leaves us with the idea that it does not matter how civilised human beings may think they are, this can be easily broken and we can lose that civility and rationality in the face of survival. Thus, this illustrates the fragile nature of man and how we are no different from the people in the hills who already do deprived acts for the sake of living.

On this viewing, I read the film as being a representation of the Vietnam War, which had ended two years earlier in 1975. Craven famously drew upon Vietnam imagery in his earlier film in the decade, The Last House on the Left. I feel that Craven is still grappling with the issues that have to do with the war in this film. Firstly, the parental figures in the film are the first to go, leaving the younger generation to survive and fend for themselves.

To me, this evoked the Draft-card burning protest, which illustrated the younger generation’s disenfranchised attitude with the establishment over the merits of the Vietnam War. Similarly here, the younger members of the Carter family are reluctant inheritors of the situation that are caused by one of their parental figures. Their father did not heed the advice of an old man called Fred, who advised them to stay on the main road, which they do not. Additionally, some of the insane imagery, events and plots points evoke Vietnam in a particularly potent manner. I do acknowledge that this the reading seems to be a foolishly reaching at times, but this is what struck me on this viewing of the picture.

Elsewhere, the craft of the film is impeccable, which results in Craven effectively creating an atmospheric horror film, that scares the audience. Firstly, Craven’s use of the camera results in an ever-present tense environment. Sometimes he shows a usual medium shot that has two characters talking. Then he employs a point of view shot of the people in the hills looking down, which is a terrifying reminder that the Carter family is not alone and that every word and action they make is being watched.

Additionally, the use of sound in the film also contributes to some of the film’s most tense scenes. Most are curiosity of the family dogs, Beauty and Beast, who initially meet the people in the hills. Their barks are a constant reminder of the omnipresent evil that lurks beyond the Carter’s family car. This aspect coupled with Craven’s camera work and methodical pacing, results in one of the best horror films of the 1970s. The film is a testament to Wes Craven, who always imbued his films with an intelligence and a primal edge, which resulted in his themes of dreams, family and vengeance feel eternally potent and horrific.

RIP Wes Craven.

The Rover is a visually arresting and fascinating illustration of the nature of selfishness and savagery. In his second feature film, David Michôd has shown his true directorial trademark, which is providing a strong microcosm for the characters and the world that they inhabit. Michôd’s bare desert landscape feels like a Western Hobbesian state of nature that forces the weak to survive and the good to be suspicious and trigger ready. At the centre of this harsh picture is Guy Pierce’s Eric, who is a cynical and silent former farmer and soldier. His past has made him into a man who is terrifying for his pent up rage and penchant for violence. It is Pierce’s commendably subtle performance that makes the film truly special as his small moments of regret and empathy contrast with the desolate environment extremely well. It once again shows that Michôd can create a bleak, believable and scary portrait of humanity, which was last seen with Ben Mendelsohn’s performance in the director’s first feature film, Animal Kingdom.

Mad Max: Fury Road

Discovering the Mad Max films, this year have been a true revelation because of their unique protagonist and vision of a post-apocalyptic world. Fury Road reinvents not only the Mad Max series, but also the western action picture with a fierce intelligence and bleak portrait of the world.

Ex Machina 

Ex Machina is the equivalent to watching a tense chess game unfold; it is calculated, precise and commendable in how presents abstract ideas to a general audience. Finally, it paints the most striking representation of artificial intelligence that we have seen in cinema this decade.

Whiplash

Whiplash presents a harrowing picture of the nature of ambition and how it can isolate and destroy us. Moreover, it features an imposing performance from J.K Simmons whose central point about the subject will linger with you long after the film has finished.

                                                      A Most Violent Year

A Most Violent Year is a stripped down and controlled crime drama. Its power derives from the look of a character and its cold and oppressive atmosphere. The film also has career-defining work from Oscar Issac and Jessica Chastain.

                                                            Inherent Vice

Inherent Vice is more than just a mere subversion of Film Noir conventions. It is also an enduring period piece that has profoundly strange and beautiful moments amidst some inspiring direction from Paul Thomas Anderson.