Tuesday's Overlooked A/V: Algol

Pressed for time, so I'm pointing you to a sublime blog called Strange Flowers, who has a write up of an absolutely amazing film, Algol: Tragödie der Macht (or is it Nacht? That's what the title cards say) which is Algol: Tragedy of Power (or Night). UPDATE: James confirms that other references to the film use Macht, so the title card is likely wrong. More fitting for the theme anyway.

Wow, just wow: an SF German silent that pre-dates Metropolis by seven years and features the amazing decadent Sebastian Droste. Do yourself a favour and read the whole write-up, then watch the film. I'm still making my way through; I cheated and watched the last reel so I could see Droste dance. I think you can make your way through it fairly well even if your German isn't that good; that's the beauty of silent films. Watch out for the eye of the devil!

As always, check the round-up of overlooked gems over at Sweet Freedom. And if you want a preview of what I was up to yesterday, take a gander here (you may need to be logged into Facebook but it's a public album).

Tuesday's Overlooked A/V: Brett's Holmes

We had thought to head out to the islands today but the winds put the kibosh on that idea. So we may head out to the movies, which reminds me it's time for Tuesday's overlooked films or in this case, television. With all the attention being given to the new Sherlock and the Guy Ritchie Holmes, it's well worth reminding folks of my fave version of the detective's adventures starring Jeremy Brett. Absolutely wonderful. If you're unfamiliar, do find yourself the DVDs or the stream and treat yourself.




And if you like things a little lighter, there's always Brett's fine turn as Freddy in My Fair Lady.




Be sure to check out the full range of suggestions for your audio/visual pleasure over at Todd's.

Tuesday's Overlooked Films: The Long Kiss Goodnight

I got into a discussion on Twitter with Anne Billson about Finnish music and films, and we both lamented the lack of love in Hollywood for Renny Harlin when people like Ridley Scott continue to be trumpeted. I suppose I have a weakness for a Finnish director who always manages a little nod to his homeland in the midst of a blockbuster, whether it's a pirate ship flying the blue and white flag in Cutthroat Island or the Finlandia vodka prominently served in Deep Blue Sea. I find it hard to believe that I have not written about this film here before, but I searched the blog and turned up nothing, so let's assume it's true (yes, I did mention it in a column on holiday films for BitchBuzz).

I love this movie.

A lot of this is down to Geena Davis' winning performance as the amnesiac suburban mom who discovers she's really a lethal weapon. Davis has done a lot of work behind the scenes since then with the Geena Davis Institute on Gender in Media and while promoting the film she spoke about how her then-husband Harlin would balance the punishment she took on screen with therapeutic massage at night. She takes a beating in this film, but she's also warm and funny as well.





Samuel L. Jackson is great fun of course: Shane Black's script (written before repeating Lethal Weapon films sucked a lot of life out of him) sets him up as fairly hapless and yet always hopeful, though he can't get song lyrics right (heh!). Brian Cox is terrific (of course) in a small role and utters one of the funniest lines in the film (although the humour is due as much to his dry delivery as to the line). Craig Bierko makes for a fetching psychopath. David Morse and Patrick Malahide offer terrific performances as well in supporting roles. But this is Davis' star turn and she makes the most of it.

Chefs do that.

See the round-up of overlooked films, television and other audio-visuals over at Todd's blog. And if you haven't seen this film? Do. Look, it's really cheap. And it totally kicks ass.

Know-vember: Peg Aloi

My movie buddy! Peg and I have seen a lot of movies together, good and bad -- and have often argued about which was which (hee)! Peg is also a writer and academic as well as an amazing cook and baker (mmmm, deliciousness). I haven't gone to the movies yet in Galway, surprisingly. The good theatre is a bus ride away (I may eventually rent a bike), but I think part of it is not having someone to go to movies with in the middle of the afternoon (AKA the best time). Miss you, Peg! Hope you can make it over here :-)

1. What's the first thing you do upon waking in the morning?

Nudge the dog to get off the bed.

2. What's a song you might be persuaded to dance to?

Was enjoying "Get Down Tonight" by KC and Sunshine Band at the dentist's office today...but I like to dance and to all kinds of music, generally.

3. Where in the world do you live?

Albany, New York.

4. What's a great night out for you?

Great food and drinks with friends, a film premiere, a super hot play ticket in London or New York, a walk along a sparkling city street, sitting in chairs beneath a starry sky in the country, a bonfire, I am easy.

5. What's a great night in?

Steak and a TV marathon of The Tudors...or having friends over for food and drinks.

6. If you were offered an all expenses paid trip anywhere in the world, where would you go?

Good question...probably Paris.

7. What book do you wish everyone would read so you could talk about it?

The Children's Book by A. S. Byatt, or Harvest Home by Thomas Tryon.

8. What movie makes you cry?

The ones where sad things happen. [Ed: hahahahahaha]

9. What makes you laugh?

The Colbert Report, at the moment.

10. Are there fairies at the bottom of your garden?

I should hope so.

Tuesday's Overlooked Films: Curse of the Werewolf

My fondness for Oliver Reed is well know, I suspect. Curse of the Werewolf is a fine Hammer offering that doesn't get the love Cushing and Lee get or the vamps and Frankies do. But as it's October already, it seems appropriate to highlight one of the less well known films of the famous British studio that brought cleavage to horror (well, maybe not single-handedly, but --) and helped boost a number of new actors into the spotlight.

Before Curse, Reed had mostly had parts with titles like "Man with Bucket on his Head" and "Teddy Boy in Cinema Fight"although he also had "Poet" and in Tony Hancock's The Rebel a rather noticeable (okay, maybe it was just me) French "Artist in Café" who help inspire Anthony.

In Curse, Ollie turns out to be the Christmas-born spawn of a mute servant girl raped by a bestial beggar, thrown together by an evil Marques. Raised by the kindly Don Corledo, the wolfish boy learns his terrible curse and gets cautioned that only love can tame the beast. When a friend takes the grown up Leon to a brothel, the beast emerges (Freud who?) and only his innocent fiancée can keep the beast at bay. But can the beast be chained?

Well, it is a Hammer film, so don't expect that all will be well. For more overlooked films, drop by Sweet Freedom for Todd's compendium. In case you missed it, I am now an officially registered alien and have my card to prove it. A long day, but at last it's done.

Tuesday's Overlooked Film: Old Acquaintance

Why do I like pseudonyms? I don't know. I'm sure it means something. For the first novel I wrote back in high school, Ace Spies Incorporated (my friend Carla claims to have the only existing copy as blackmail material), I gave myself a nom de plume. Weird, eh? So my taking up the moniker Kit Marlowe continues an existing habit.

The original Kit Marlowe was of course the playwright who would have outshone Shakespeare had he lived (being far more daring and audacious). Less well known is Bette Davis' character from the movie Old Acquaintance, a big favorite of mine, based on the play by John Van Druten (he's worked on the script, too), who also wrote Bell, Book and Candle (love that movie, too). Bette Davis stars as Kit Marlowe and Miriam Hopkins as her best pal who envies her success and then emulates it. Of course, Kit Marlowe is the "arty" writer while Miriam Hopkins' Millie Drake is the popular romance writer. Why didn't I choose hers as my rom nom de plume? What can I say? I'm perverse that way.

One of the gratifying things is that the friendship between Kit and Millie outlasts both their rivalry and the man they both love. In fact, you can easily read the film as a coded lesbian narrative, with a lot of elements coming across as far campier to a modern audience than they would have done to most contemporary viewers, I suspect. Just look at the masculine way they dress Davis at the start in contrast to Hopkins' flounces and frills. Davis actually has a tie. She's very guy-ish and at their reunion at the train station gets swept away by a giggling gaggle of co-eds -- her fan club -- leaving the jilted Millie fuming and spilling milk (literally!). Hopkins' character embodies the ideal of the flibbertigibbet, but she's spurred on by a very strong sense of competition with her best friend, yet can never quite settling for winning. She alienates her husband and then her daughter, both of whom turn to the more gentle Kit for comfort. Kit continually forgives Millie's excesses despite the latter's lack of emotional generosity, until one day her patience finally runs out -- and provides one of the most satisfying cinematic moments ever:




The film was remade as Rich and Famous in 1981. It was George Cukor's last film and starred Jacqueline Bisset and Candice Bergen. I also have a fondness for that film, though it's not as good as the earlier one. I do love the way Bergen, upon having her work called "trash" by her increasingly estranged husband, snarls to correct him that it's "successful trash!" Here's to success, however trashy.

See the full list of TOFs over at Todd's blog.

BitchBuzz: Made (Over) in Dagenham & News

Good news: "High Plains Lazarus" finished 9th in the Predators & Editors poll for Best Horror Short of 2010. I seem to be the only woman in the top ten. Thanks to everyone for their support and voting. It's always awkward asking people to vote for you, but I'm learning to be a little more shameless.

If you need a chuckle, stop by and read my piece for Polite Company Magazine, "Deleted Scenes from the State of the Union." I'm particularly proud of the birthers joke.

I'm still buried under the madness of the semester's start. Ay yi yi -- why re-entry has been so difficult, I don't know, but it has. I have to find some way to get minions. It's the only answer. But of course, the main event: my column for this week incorporates (obliquely) my review of Made in Dagenham, grumbles about the inflated praise for The King's Speech and the Oscars' preference for women who are mad, drunk or dying. Bleh:

Made (Over) in Dagenham

 We don’t really need to see the true grit of history, do we?

The road to Oscar success for women can be easily codified, as Film Site does for us:

"Biographies of remarkable, real-life individuals (showbiz figures and entertainers) and portrayals of the mentally ill are heavily represented among Oscar winners (and nominees), particularly in the acting awards. It helps an actress's chances of winning (or being nominated for) an Oscar if the character dies during the movie, or is alcoholic (or drug-addicted), or is a murderess."

It seems that Natalie Portman will most likely prove the winner this year, despite the incredible performance turned in by Jennifer Lawrence in the finest film of the year, Winter's Bone, for her turn as a prima ballerina falling apart, given that True Grit's Hailee Steinfeld received a nomination as a supporting actress, despite being the star of the film.

It's ironic that a saccharine "biography of a remarkable, real-life" man, The King's Speech, has scooped so many nominations when somewhat less saccharine "biography of a remarkable, real-life" woman, Made in Dagenham, was overlooked completely (right down to the Billy Bragg-penned theme song sung by real former Dagenham worker, Sandie Shaw)...

Read the rest at BBHQ: http://culture.bitchbuzz.com/made-over-in-dagenham.html#ixzz1CG9jcRzS

Tuesday's Overlooked Films: Straight to Hell

I blame Todd. Well, I often blame Todd -- he is uniquely blame-worthy for any number of things -- but this time I blame him for getting me to participate in a new (regular) meme. But it's better than doing the work I really need to be doing (then again, after a snowy and slushy and now icy start, they've cancelled classes for the afternoon, so there it is).

So my first offering for Tuesday's Overlooked Films: Alex Cox's Straight to Hell. Yes, it's true: some films are overlooked for a reason. It's not really a good film, to be honest. But it's a fascinating one. I know it looks like a bunch of mates went to Spain for their holidays to drink, make music and play cowboys --- well, it kind of is.

But what friends! There's the Pogues first off; the reason I went to see it and got the tape and soundtrack and eventually the DVD despite that criminally ugly cover. Shane MacGowan with most of his teeth and that insane laugh, the fabulous Spider, the lovely Jimmy Fearnley, Phil being sweet and the rest playing bad guys with all their hearts.

Then there's Elvis, too, playing a butler and the incomparable Joe Strummer repeating my second-favourite line in the film. Eddie Tudorpole! Cameos by Jim Jarmusch, Dennis Hopper and Grace Jones. All the usual stalwarts of Cox's films like Xander Berkeley, Zander Schloss and the poor man's Samuel L. Jackson, Sy Richardson. Dick Rude! Catchy songs!

Kathy Burke as a psychotic caretaker. Genius.

Although it was her first starring role, for some reason Courtney Love never lists this on her resumé. Huh. It's got the ambling humour of Repo Man and the punk sensibilities of Sid & Nancy, but it's totally loopy and silly and a loving (if dissolute) tribute to the spaghetti westerns they all love.

Well, I recommend watching it with lots of beer and friends -- in Spain if you can swing it. You can just watch it on YouTube, but what's the fun in that? Prove to me I'm not the only fan of this film, folks!

See all the overlooked films over at Todd's blog.

Review: Hamlet

I am eternally grateful for the NT Live broadcasts; they bring a little bit of the London theatre experience to the (currently) frozen north, which seems so far from the city of my heart. Thank you, Spectrum 8 for hosting the broadcasts, even if Monday night's show seemed to have its share of technical difficulties, including some on-screen monkeying with the display. Hard not to call out, "No, not resolution! position!"

I'd heard great things about this production of Hamlet from the start. I'd seen Rory Kinnear in other productions at the NT and had been impressed with him, but hadn't really thought of him as a Hamlet. He fits perfectly into Hytner's vision of Denmark as police state where everyone's under constant surveillance. Hamlet, far from being a pampered prince, seems to be a confused young man mourning a father he admired and idealised. Patrick Malahide plays his uncle/stepfather as a cold and calculating bureaucrat; Clare Higgins plays his mother as a weak woman with a drink always to hand. When Hamlet speaks of how her first husband cossetted her, we see that weakness and a fear of being alone. I loved how Polonius (David Calder) is not the buffoon he's usually played to be: there's something almost chilling about him, though sometimes he pauses as if realising all at once what he's doing to his own children. His cruelty to Ophelia in particular is sharp here.

Ruth Negga, who was so lovely as Aricia in Phèdre, plays Ophelia with affecting vulnerability, goofing with her brother while their father reels off his advice, then naïvely meeting with Hamlet and guiltily giving the game away (the bible she reads has a hidden mic inside). When mad, she pushes a shopping cart across the stage like a street person though tracked yet by two of her father's staff. In an exquisitely chilling moment, Hytner has her pushed out the door by the security guys. She's become too embarrassing, so she gets bumped off.

David Calder doubles as the gravedigger, a good choice to show him as affable as Polonius was creepy. James Laurensen doubles as the Ghost and the Player King, also a nice pairing. Giles Terera's Horatio didn't seem to be quite the confidante the character normally is, though his regard for Hamlet came across clearly. The atmosphere of paranoia affects all the relationships, which gives a new reading to the dialogue -- which is everything you hope for with Shakespeare. It helped bring out the machinations of Fortinbras better as well, which is seldom done well.

But Kinnear really was a wonder. The first few lines, his delivery seemed almost too clipped and arch, but it worked. In the first speech he's conveying his anger and betrayal. Throughout Kinnear presents the lines as if they were thoughts arising from his head, not "speeches" written down. It's hard: even people who've never seen a Shakespeare play know "To be, or not to be." I get impatient with actorly excesses: Kinnear gave an utterly natural performance -- especially so when Hamlet is conscious of performing as he puts that "antic disposition" on and overplays. Hamlet is trying to figure out what's real and what's not, and like so many people, sometimes it's the loss of things that makes him realise what matters most. It's a wonderful process of discovery in this production.

The only real disappointment -- it's a stellar cast, the sets wonderful, everything really moved along despite the three and a half hour length -- was Patrick Malahide. At times it looked like he might have been reading off a prompter as he stared too fixedly in the same direction. I know he can be fantastic. I saw him with Jeremy Irons in Embers, where he spends most of the play listening to Irons' character, yet he seemed every bit as present as Irons. Maybe it was an off night. I loved this. I wish I could see it again. Maybe they'll put it out on DVD. I hope so.

And yes, you can buy the t-shirt :-)

BitchBuzz: The Quiet Grrl Riot

Today's column:

The Quiet Grrl Riot

By K.A. Laity

The biggest revolution this year may be one you didn't even notice.

The year end reviews seem to be having a nerd-gasm over The Social Network, which I figured out finally—thanks to Edgar Wright's roundup for a 'gentleman's magazine'—is all about "geeks as gangsters" and not the merits of a very uneven film with an often choppy script. I realise any film that allow genteel suburban white guys feel a surge of vicarious toughness will be a hit (hence the career of Guy Ritchie). Bond films are just romances for men and let's not even go to the fantasy world that is Apatown.

Women usually get the statues for dying or hooking, so it seems significant that the most stunning—though seemingly little trumpeted—parts went to young women who were not bravely succumbing to a mortal disease or providing eye candy for a male audience who can revel in their eventual downfall because it's all the women's fault for arousing them. No, they were adolescent but no Lolitas. They were suffering, but not in silence. They were victims, but they were not victimized.

Find out what films I'm talking about here (though I expect you might be able to guess): http://culture.bitchbuzz.com/the-quiet-grrl-riot.html#ixzz19bgcyACH (ironic photo choice, eh?)

I've got a bunch of things to do before I head to Memphis and Miss Wendy tomorrow. So far this morning makes it look like I can expect everything to go awry. Nothing tragic, just irritating -- though it may be that my Paypal account has been broken into (how very irritating). My muses have been playing the coquette, too. Normally, if one's not cooperating, I switch to another, but they're all being maddeningly elusive at present. I did get a query letter sketched out last night, but it's a completely different project than what I ought to be working on. It's frustrating to have such a stubbornly recalcitrant head.

Reviews: Harry Nilsson/King's Speech/True Grit

I have no doubt about the finest film I saw last year this past year: hands down, it was Winter's Bone. I've heard people carp about how "accurate" it was, especially people who felt it portrayed their part of the world unflatteringly. I don't know -- there's plenty of areas like that, even here in upstate New York. And if "accuracy" is going to be some kind of gauge for best picture of the year, there's an awful lot of statues to be handed back. All the trailers I saw before True Grit today claimed to be "based on a true story" which always makes me groan. The truth is no basis for a story: too messy. But let me save that rant for another time.

Who is Harry Nilsson? (And Why Is Everybody Talkin' About Him) offers an insightful look at the brilliant singer songwriter and his life. The film benefits from the ailing Nilsson's decision to try to record a kind of autobiography, the found tapes proving a real treasure trove of commentary that makes the late singer a very vivid part of the film. It helps too that his family including his third wife, Una, with whom he had six children and seemed to be as happy as he found possible, were also cooperating. The tragedy of course is that someone so talented was also so troubled. Paul Williams' description of Nilsson as a great big bunny with real sharp teeth captures that succinctly. He had many hits, collaborated with the Beatles and the Pythons, but wasn't able to shake the ghosts that haunted him, from the father who abandoned him to the friends near to him who died like Keith Moon and John Lennon. As a bonus there are so many extras, too -- as if they couldn't bear to part with any of the footage shot, including Eric Idle's tribute song. They talk to all kinds of people who worked with him from Richard Perry to Van Dyke Parks and with his wives and kids. Excellent: I highly recommend it.

The King's Speech has already received laurels a-plenty which has a lot to do with its cast: they are indeed splendid, including many fine actors in tiny roles who get a couple of lines each (like Claire Bloom, alas). Like so many films now, the background is left enigmatic (well, you know the history, fill in the details yourself, I guess) and only the central actors received development. That really only means Rush and Firth: Helena Bonham Carter is reduced to appearing with corgis and going "there, there" on occasion (AKA a MWW masquerading as a MW1W). The direction is bizarre at times, especially in the first half hour, with angles that take you out of the narrative wondering where on earth the camera is supposed to be. Worse, in the set-up scene between the Prince-soon-to-be-King and the Aussie therapist, the camera work is so bad as to make it look like they're both gazing off into space rather than talking to each other. What really makes the film fall flat is the overwrought ambiance, from the overplayed music to the mountain-out-of-a-molehill plot. Yes, as someone once crippled by the thought of public speaking and who overcame it, I know what a trial it can be for people, but to have someone who treated men just back from Gallipoli call the pampered royal "the bravest man I've ever known" (as do half the people in the film) is just ridiculous hyperbole. If you love Firth, you'll still enjoy it, I guess.

True Grit is like a truly satisfying meal when you're really really hungry. The Coens have a great team of people (apparently Matt Damon has his own whole team, too, according to the credits) from Carter Burwell's musicians to Roger Deakins' seemingly flawless eye. You know Jeff Bridges is going to be good, and yeah, I'll admit it though it burns me a bit, that Matt Damon can be truly skillful when he wants to be. There's a whole host of grizzled frontiersmen, too: Peg and I were joking after the film that they must have put out a call for the ugliest character actors with the tag, "Must have abundant facial hair."

The real star is Hailie Steinfeld. Like Jennifer Lawrence in Winter's Bone, here's a young woman who more than capably carries the film flanked by powerhouse actors who might easily intimidate many a seasoned performer. From the get-go Steinfeld strides into town and into the part with all the certainty of the true believer that she is. You believe her, the grudging respect she wins from the men and when her faith falters, you see that she is a child yet and so very young. It's incredible work. For the Coens, this is a bit different from a lot of their work because there's not that distance that allows ironic humor (we have to be able to laugh at Barton Fink's sufferings because they would be too harrowing; A Serious Man walks that razor's edge with dizzying grace). It's a straight-forward adventure. Don't get me wrong; there's humor, but as in Shakespeare's dramas, it's there to give you a breather from the tension. Well done: go see it.

Thankful

I'm thankful for many things like the wonderful words of Kurt Vonnegut and about a billion other things that make me laugh, sing, cry and sigh. Far too many to list, though today while I made my chocolate chip cheesecake, I watched this:





I'm always thankful for the Marx Brothers. My column today also features films as my suggested Thanksgiving meal.

6 Courses of Films Perfect for Thanksgiving Day

If you need to survive the holiday by distracting yourself from thoughts of murder, what better way to do so than by fixing your glassy stare on the nearest video screen? Here are six "courses" of films to help get you through Thanksgiving.

Appetizer: Home for the Holidays

Get yourself in the right mood with Jodi Foster's film about the horrors of family, which gives a bunch of great actors a chance to play eccentric and loopy.
It's also a very human film that suggests that time heals a lot of wounds....

Read more: http://culture.bitchbuzz.com/6-courses-of-films-perfect-for-thanksgiving-day.html#ixzz16Etbq5GP

Off to Bertie's for a fine fine meal; I'm bringing along a chocolate chip cheesecake for nourishment. I'm sure Robert will cook other things as well. I won't be cooking, although I might be drafted into peeling potatoes. My christmas cactus continues to beat the season:

BitchBuzz: The Social Network

My latest for which I cannibalize a bit of my review of The Social Network in order to make a different point, namely that women need to continue to squeeze their way into these clubs and make friends with the boys despite their resistance -- oh, and have the skills to do so:

The Social Network aka The Old Boys Club

By K.A. Laity

 

I tweeted my initial review of The Social Network: Why not spend a couple of hours with really unpleasant people? No? Well, I did so you don't have to do so. As many of you know, I am a happy user of "The Facebook" and have written about it once or twice - or maybe a lot. So I had to see The Social Network for professional reasons.

Sigh.

Despite the inexplicably glowing notices for it, there are all kinds of problems with this film but let me start with the most irksome because it's a problem bigger than this picture. Sorkin's screenplay paints Zuckerberg as a pathetic misogynist whose empire is based on rejection by one woman. No, I don't have a problem with that portrayal, it looks to jibe with the facts as known. It rings a little hollow, however, coming from the same misogynist Hollywood system that cannot conceive of women as anything but sexual trophies or emotional security blankets. This is film is yet another example of the dread Movies Without Women™.

Read more: http://tech.bitchbuzz.com/the-social-network-aka-the-old-boys-club.html#ixzz12Qez7EvH

 

Isn't that a lovely picture from Women in Technology?

 

It would be tedious to mention yet again how busy I have been -- same old, same old -- so I'll just say I'm seeing Laurie Anderson tonight at EMPAC, that gorgeous venue! But right now, I'm going to head out for a walk if it's stopped raining. Much writing to do this weekend and a bit of grading, too. Still feeling fatigued -- can I keep blaming Albacon for it?

Review: Phèdre

Despite being exhausted by Albacon, I decided to head out to the Spectrum Monday night with my pals Ron and Peg because they were rebroadcasting Helen Mirren's star turn in Ted Hughes' translation of Racine's Phèdre at the National Theatre in London. I was sighing from the get go: they had a new introduction from one of the execs at NT, who was speaking from somewhere up high, so you could see Waterloo Bridge and the Southbank Centre in the background across the Thames.

I miss London so much :-(

But the production at the Lyttleton (the medium size of the three stages) quickly made me forget about London as it thrust us back to ancient Greece and the illicit longings of the queen for her stepson, Hippolytus, played by the smoldering Dominic Cooper. It's amazing to think how much fear and disgust an older woman's sexuality can still arouse (hence the existence of the disparaging term "cougar"). In the play, it brings down a nation.

The absolutely gorgeous Ruth Negga plays Aricia, the true love of Hippolytus and the rival to power in the vacuum created by the supposed death of Theseus. The only other older woman, Oenone, played by the always amazing Margaret Tyzack, proves to be scheming and trouble-making even more so than her queen, condemning them all in this tragedy by her maneuverings. John Schrapnel as Théramène, not only has to act as wise adviser to Hippolytus, but also has to relate a tragic death that happens off-stage (as is normal for Greek drama). Schrapnel brought the audience to tears with his moving re-enactment with just words and gestures. The real power of theatre.

The only weak link was Stanley Townsend's Theseus; perhaps he was having an off night, because at times he seemed to capture the magic that the others made look effortless, but all too often his movements and speech fell flat, losing that fragile connection to the imitation of life. A pity.

I love the NT and I am really grateful that the Spectrum 8 carries their broadcasts -- really looking forward to the Hamlet with Rory Kinnear and Danny Boyle's Frankenstein.

Review: The Social Network

Why not spend a couple of hours with really unpleasant people? No? Well, I did so you don't have to do so. Yes, intrepid movie pal Peg and I headed over to the Spectrum, fortified by a good lunch at the Fountain. As many of you know, I am a happy user of "The Facebook" and have written about it once or twice -- or maybe a lot. So I had to see if for professional reasons.

Sigh.

There are all kinds of problems with this film; I'll get to a few of them in a moment, but let me start with the most irksome because it's a problem bigger than this picture. Sorkin's screenplay paints Zuckerberg as a pathetic misogynist whose empire is based on rejection by one woman. No, I don't have a problem with that portrayal, it looks to jibe with the facts as known. It rings a little hollow, however, coming from the same misogynist Hollywood system that cannot conceive of women as anything but sexual trophies or emotional security blankets. This is film is yet another example of the dread Movie Without Women.

Yeah, there are female actors in the film, but not a one is a character. They're just props: one to make him angry, others as trophies to demonstrate success, one to cross examine him, one to offer an emotional pat on the head. There's even a "crazy girlfriend out of left field" to ramp up the tension pointlessly -- and then immediately abandoned.

The opening scene is painful -- as intended. We need to see what a schmuck Zuckerberg is and Jesse Eisenberg makes him completely unsympathetic (while looking like Michael Cera's older cousin). But it creates problems for an audience looking for someone to connect with -- and will look in vain. The nearest we come is Andrew Garfield's Eduardo Saverin, but he becomes a character far too late in the film. Attempts to set up the Winklevoss twins as the opposition fail, too; Syracuse-grad Sorkin's loathing for the privileged Harvard elite is palpable, but ineffective (and I've dealt with the Harvard snootiness on a first hand basis while working there).

It's only with the arrival of Justin Timberlake as Napster creator Sean Parker that the film sparks a little. I admit to having never thought much of Timberlake until his stellar turn on SNL, but he did a lot with a part that was not up to much. A very flawed character, he's nonetheless compelling to watch -- and that's what's missing with Zuckerberg's character. Perhaps it's a flaw of the original model, but this ain't a documentary.

The screenplay is the biggest problem: in addition to the above problems, it also attempts to juggle two lawsuits with the unfolding historical narrative. The lawsuits however are not equal in importance, but set up as if they are. The whole Winklevoss storyline seems to focus primarily on sneering at the old money wealth and privilege (while nonetheless glamorizing it). And so clunky! As soon as Larry Summer's admin talks to the twins about how old the building is and how they need to be careful, you just count the minutes until they break something. Later, when Zuckerberg uncharacteristically asks Eduardo how his girlfriend is and he says she's acting crazy and scaring him, you count the minutes until -- shock! -- she's acting crazy for the first time.

They seem to be using Wall Street greed as a model, when that's not what this story is about; they do realise that Zuckerberg is not motivated by money, but it's clear that while they know what Facebook looks like and they know what the trajectory of the network is -- there's a pointless "dramatic" interweaving of coding at one point as if it were somehow like explaining the Dow Jones ticker -- it's clear none of the key people involved in the film have used Facebook or social media or have the slightest understanding of its significance.

I suppose this is no different than most Hollywood attempts to capitalize on a popular phenomenon. But their contempt for the public and the fact that money seems to be their only motivation blinds them to what's really going on.

To get the taste of this out of our mouths, we headed off to the Filament fest at EMPAC. Oh, how I love this space! But it will get a separate review to avoid the taint of this film. Random words to intrigue you: crows, giant panda, R. Buckminster Fuller, nations, installations, performance, studios, cheese. Intrigued? :-)

The Relax and How to Get It

Squeak shows us how it's done: just kick back and let your troubles find their own way home. We've had a hard weekend of watching movies, eating, drinking and talking. Today we're off to the Biltmore; should be interesting.

Now, everybody canteloupe dance!

BitchBuzz: Hate Cute

My latest column:

Mainstream Media Realize RomComs Hate Women

Suddenly everyone in the media seems to have noticed what women have been talking about for years: how rom-coms seem to really hate on women.

 The high profile story is Maureen Dowd's back-and-froth with social historian Sam Wasson about "Why romantic comedies now reek." It's a fairly entertaining exchange with highlights like Wasson saying, "Every time I see Jennifer Aniston’s or Jennifer Garner’s face I wince. Basically, every time I see someone named Jennifer." But they also get a few good points across, such as Dowd's suggestion that more female-run studios ought to have resulted in more female-positive films. Wasson laughs:

“Even the studios that are run by women aren’t run by women. They’re run by corporations, which are run by franchises. Unfortunately for us, Jennifer Aniston is a franchise. So is Katherine Heigl and Gerard Whatever-His-Name-Is, and even when their movies bomb, their franchise potential isn’t compromised because overseas markets, DVD sales and cable earn all the studio’s money back...The worst part of it is, from Hollywood’s point of view, it ain’t broke."

Read more: http://culture.bitchbuzz.com/mainstream-media-realize-romcoms-hate-women.html#ixzz0vmT9ndaW

There's a reason people still love and adore films like His Girl Friday, Philadelphia Story, The Lady Eve and Holiday: they're fun and funny. I guess writing romcoms that don't insult women is going to have to go on my list of things to do. What's your fave?

BitchBuzz: Women Filming Women

My latest column for BitchBuzz incorporates some of my review of The Runaways. The Queen and I had an interesting discussion on Facebook about it -- I was a bit more critical of it, mostly because I found it choppy and too often given to clichés, but on the whole I liked it and would recommend it. Among the reasons:

The recently released Runaways movie, directed by Floria Sigismondi, gives an inside view of the ways women are exploited and manufactured for display in the glitzy world of rock-n-roll.

We've long ago grown accustomed to the star story so compelling laid out in countless reiterations of A Star is Born and could recite the arc by heart: talented kid with gumption struggles with obscurity for a few minutes before being discovered and almost immediately resenting the terrible toll that stardom takes, finally crashing and burning in glorious Technicolor [tm]. Lives that don't quite fit the mold get remolded; after all, the audience knows what it wants.

The Runaways both ascribes to this genre and complicates it...

As always, read the rest at BBHQ. Already had a nice comment from Cecilia Tan, who noted the disparity between the way the Sex Pistols have been mythologized but the Runaways merely dismissed as a novelty act. A gender issue? You bet. Will this film get the attention other rock-n-roll movies get in the music press or will it be dismissed as a chick flick? We shall see.

BitchBuzz: Movies without Women

My latest column for BitchBuzz is on a pet peeve I have: Movies without Women (or the dreaded Movie with One Woman). It's an irritating popular trend in the last few decades that seems to have arisen from the focus-group approach to movie making (AKA micromanaging per the unconsidered comments of a bunch of random people).

My pal Mildred shared a HitFix review of the latest Travolta/Williams fiasco Old Dogs because it made her burst out laughing.

Admittedly, it is hilarious when Drew McWeeny writes:

If you truly hate your family and you're all trapped together this weekend, and you reeeeeally want to punish them and show them just how little you value their joy, then by all means, pile into the car and rush out to find a theater playing "Old Dogs."

But I have oodles of sympathy for his wail of pain; it's a howl I have made often, though frequently only at the inadvertent viewing of a movie trailer, because I would never go to a film like Old Dogs anyway because it epitomizes one of the primary problems of current Hollywood fare: movies without women...

As usual, read the rest at BB HQ, feel free to pass it along and share with your friends.

I've been enjoying myself to much this week, including the usual Thanksgiving food coma (thanks, Robert) so now I am back with too much work facing me (also as usual, I guess).