I always want this to be a better movie than it is. A loving tribute to the Doris Day/Rock Hudson films of the 50s but with the latitude of a modern film. Down with Love *should* work, yet it doesn't quite. Nonetheless, it's a fun frothy little romp and for once, Renée Zellweger doesn't annoy too much as her squinty cherubi doll-like face fits the hyper hip fashions and the bouncy feel of it. Ewan MacGregor plays the Lothario part note perfect and with great glee. Sarah Paulson does great as Vikki Hiller, the would be tough editor who can't quite stand up to the old men and really just wants to get married, and of course, the always delightful David Hyde Pierce shows why he should be inundated with roles in the Tony Randall vein. So funny! And yes, terrific to have Randall show up in a cameo, too.
The costumes, the sets -- all perfect. Peyton Reed's direction for the most part maintains that light touch needed for the story, but the script churns to a halt when switching gears. Like a lot of nostalgia production these days, it tries to have it both ways: reveling in the old times and the hilarity of women's lives sucking (-_-) but also 'updating' for a modern audience. And it's the latter part that doesn't quite work. In the end the script is not clever enough to overcome that challenge. It's a difficult thing to do, but I can't help wishing they'd worked harder to do so.
But it has ample charms and it would make a great double feature with Pillow Talk, so give it a whirl. And then drop by Todd's to see other recommendations.
From pal Samuel Walker on Facebook: Dublin street art. What a great idea! I may need to do something similar. Hmmm, QR codes on promo postcards? Might be the way to go. You have checked out the QR code on the sidebar, right? Scroll down.
I thought today I would point you toward some things you ought to try from people I can heartily recommend. I keep saying the future of the internet belongs to "sifters": people who will sort through the dreck out there to show you the gold. So here we go:
I first knew Anne Billson from her sharp and insightful reviews of films; I don't always agree with her, but I would rush to read what she had to say about films like The Thing; reading her BFI book on that film kept me enraptured to the end of the Central Line, which fortunately was my destination that day. Then I realised she was the same Anne Billson who wrote Suckers. Want a different spin on vamps that's also delicious satire? Try it. Try all her books.
Mr B + Luca Veste + money goes to charity x good causes = what are you waiting for? Do you need to know it's got some of the best Brit Grit writers around? Well, it does. Get stuck in.
Another good cause: Vic Watson put this together. "The 'I Am Woman' campaign is about using our voices to help other women.
To raise awareness of women across the planet who have in effect 'lost
their voice' or had it taken away either through, fear, abuse, illness
or war. We must speak for them until they can do it for themselves." Click on the picture for more.
Don't forget: the 99¢ you pay for Burning Bridges on Amazon also goes to charity, and for the rest of May, Matt Hilton is siphoning off profits for ACTION: Pulse Pounding Tales to give to Help for Heroes.
Here's a lot of writers who take it upon themselves to do some good in the world and stand up for what's right. To their own cost in most cases: writers don't make much money, especially when you consider how long it takes to write a novel or even a short story. You write because you can't not write: and you give what you can because you can't not do that, too.
And all you Americans who think North Carolina's vote is "not your problem"
-- please remember history: discrimination does not disappear of its own accord.
"Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere."
-- MLK "Letter from Birmingham Jail," 16 April 1963
I'm writing this on Sunday to post Monday as I'll likely be in transit about this time; if all goes according to plan I ought to be on the Piccadilly Line heading to Russell Square and my swanky hotel. Hurrah for internet deals! Plans include seeing as many friends as I can, visiting my namesake at the Butterfly World Project on Tuesday, seeing Kaurismäki's new film Le Havre and the new Moomin Shop in Covent Garden, maybe catching the Hirst exhibit at the Tate Mod and definitely seeing the Wednesday matinee of The Ladykillers -- very excited about that.
News as I have time and wifi to pass it along: check Twitter. Alt-Fiction this weekend!
Hectic day ahead, much to do so I leave you some entertainment by way of one of Richard Lester's early films featuring the Goons Spike Milligan and Peter Sellers as well as other luminaries. If you don't know it, you should. If you do know it, isn't it great to see it again?
See all of Tuesday's Overlooked Films at Todd's blog.
Fresh from the success of helming the Beatles' films Hard Day's Night and Help!, Richard Lester chose to adapt the play The Knack by Ann Jellicoe. I plan to pick up the original play (and Jellicoe's essay, "Some Unconscious Influences in the Theatre") to see how her work compares to the film, as I suspect there will be some significant differences.
There are all kinds of Lester-ish touches -- I particularly love the OAPs as Greek chorus. The art direction is marvelous; from the opening frames onward there's a marvelous look to the film, often taken to be a signal example of the British New Wave cinema. The black and white palette offers a chance to explore shadings and shapes, glossy blacks and dazzling whites. From the start we have Lester's playful surreality as Michael Redgrave Crawford's neurotic schoolmaster Colin imagines the endless line of women, all dressed identically in their white tops and swinging medallions, waiting for the door to his housemate Tolen's (Ray Brooks) room to open and admit the next one.
Colin seems about ready to burst from sexual frustration and looks unfavourably on Tolen's suggestion that his mate Rory McBride -- similarly blessed with "the knack" -- should move into the vacant room, but Tolen tries to convince him that he'll pick up tips galore. Unbeknownst to both, however, the clever if often non-sequitor-spouting Tom (Donal Donnelly) has already moved into the room and begun painting everything white ("I can't bear brown"). He also moves all the furniture into the hallway, leaving the room looking rather like a John and Yoko space.
Meanwhile, girl from the North, Nancy Jones (played by the 60's zeitgeist Rita Tushingham) wanders through London trying to make her way to the YWCA and being led astray by everyone she meets. Having experienced at first hand the reluctance Londoners have to admit they don't know where something is, I was amused. Tushingham's Nancy seems content to keep looking, entertaining herself with the people she finds, but doggedly keeping on until she runs into Tom and Colin as they've located the bed the schoolmaster thinks will be key to his finding "the knack" -- a huge metal Edwardian affair. The voyage of the three and the bed through London is a delight of silliness and surreality (likewise the farcical doors scene a bit later).
If you're wondering why this film has been overlooked by many, I can tell you in one word: rape. This is why I really want to read Jellicoe's play. The attitude toward rape in the film is, well, strange. It's not simply some loathsome male rape fantasy like Straw Dogs, but it is partly that kind of outlook. When Tolen makes a move on Nancy, to her obvious discomfort, he tells her "No one's going to rape you. Girls don't get raped unless they want it." Yes, loathsome. But it doesn't end there. There's a real reluctance to let things go quite in one direction. At first Nancy seems to change her mind, mostly out of curiosity, but when Colin and Tom balk at Tolen taking her up to his room, Tolen takes her out to a park and tries to persuade her to more intimate contact which she refuses and then faints away. Discovering her senseless body, Colin and Tom accuse Tolen of murder, but when Nancy comes round, she accuses him of rape.
The succeeding scenes are quite strange: Nancy goes around shouting "rape" to people, who react in very different ways, but she can't get the word out when she comes up to a constable, though there's a pregnant pause as she opens her mouth. Returning to the house, the camera angles give all the power to Nancy the accuser, who retreats to Tolen's room and strips. The last part of the film shifts the power to Nancy and to Colin, making clear that their real connection between the two virgins becomes more important than the "fake" Tolen who gets exposed as ineffective -- and humiliated by Rory McBride who fills the Albert Hall with his women. Eventually he joins the chorus as Nancy moves into the house, flagrantly embracing a sexual life with Colin -- if we believe the fireworks in the sky as they walk chastely hand in hand. I can't help seeing the last part of the film as embodying both the male fear of rape accusations (look how quick the media are to cover false accusations, while the numerous daily rape go unreported) but also a rather idealistic belief in a less manipulative kind of love.
Tolen's smug arrogance ("All women want to be dominated") does get shot down by the end and the hapless Colin wins the girl, but it's such a bizarre little time capsule, I really don't know how to think about it. Have you seen it?
