Dunkirk (2017 – Christopher Nolan)
There was a lot of talk about this film, but really, when it came down to it, it was utterly thrilling. I was completely gripped by the whole thing. Easily Nolan’s most proficient film by a considerable distance, Dunkirk seemed to capture a nostalgia and dignity for a time that only exists in the most patriotic fantasists. The brutality of war and the hopelessness of survival were buried under a British reserve. But this all seems far away… thought the deliberate refusal to refer to Germany or Italy or any other of the Axis powers in the opening crawl did seem to suggest that all-consuming capitalism and the fear of offending these potential markets has managed to trump an antiquated notion of decency.
But there is moment where Tom Hardy looks at his fuel gage and realises he now has to choose whether to turn back home or stay in the air and defend British ships in the Channel. And there is fear and deliberation and finally resolve… all performed solely with his eyes. It is the most exquisite piece of acting I have seen for many years. The best special effect in cinematic history.
Seen on 15/70mm at the BFI IMAX. Ticket cost £18 or something like that. There was a typical backlash against the fetishisation of release formats that accompanied the release of this film, but it really did benefit from being seen on this huge, all-encompassing screen with extraordinary sound. The experience was slightly let down by my neighbour referring to me as ‘middle-aged’ though!
The Conversation (1974 – Francis Ford Coppola)
I don’t think I knew that the dream sequence in this movie was the result of an abandoned waking chase scene that Coppola didn’t have the time to shoot completely before he began shooting The Godfather: Part II (1974). I mean, I probably did know it once, but had forgotten it. My memory sometimes feels like a cinematic dream sequence, desperately clutching onto thoughts and images that have some meaning.
I don’t think I understood Harry Caul’s paranoia the last time/first time I saw this movie. I certainly didn’t know the solitude he had imposed on himself. But as I get older, the dislocation he senses within himself towards the surrounding world feels more profound. It is a deeply unsettling film; one that masterfully indicates how our own perceptions shape our senses and a film that technically anticipates the digital revolution a few decades before it arrived.
Seen on 35mm on the main screen at the Curzon Soho followed by a gracious and intelligent Q&A with Walter Murch. Without any justification, the fact that the film was projected from 35mm was described as being inherently better by the event’s organiser… a statement slightly deflated by Murch’s stated wariness of film projection a few minutes later! Ticket cost £18.
A Ghost Story (2017 – David Lowery)
I liked it at the time, but I can’t remember much of it now. I think I wanted a nastier ghost. Or a ghost that didn’t experience all that silly going forward and backward in time towards the end (that felt like a little too ‘narrative clever, clever’ where an early moment of confusion is later revealed to be the action of a character we see on screen. It’s a little too pretentious and tidy for my liking. And not very impressive anymore.)
But I wish I never found out that Rooney Mara had never eaten pie before her traumatic gluttony. It’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard. Who goes their life without eating pie? What miserable, self-denial of happiness convinced her that that was an acceptable life choice?
Can I recommend a good steak and kidney Rooney? It’s what I turn to in moments of grief/boredom/Tuesdays.
Seen at the Curzon Soho on the large screen. Ticket cost £10.50.
Big Wednesday (1978 – John Milius)
Meditative and full of the lost highways and broken relationships that are scattered about our lives, it’s easy to see why Spielberg and Lucas thought that Milius was the real deal in comparison to them. From the start, Milius imprints himself upon the film; you wonder whether he realised the brokenness of his central characters and the substantial limits they place upon their existence. The violence is ridiculous, the draft-dodging scene is offensively hilarious and the surfing shots are beautiful. A great, contemplative movie.
Projected from 35mm at the BFI Southbank on Screen 3. Like all screenings in London, there was a homeless man in the audience. Ticket cost £8.
Atomic Blonde (2017 – David Leitch)
It’s such a boring movie revolving around such tediously predictable spy tropes (the MacGuffin is a list of undercover agents for Pete’s sake)… which becomes understandable once you realise that the film is an adaptation of a comic book. And it was probably one of those lowest common denominator comic books that was made solely for the purpose of selling off some film+TV rights. The shallowness of it all is only underlined by some of the most basic music cues committed to celluloid.
But, in the middle of this film is the most extraordinary fight scene I have seen for many years. Shot to simulate a single take, it is a thrillingly brutal scene of Charlize Theron murdering henchmen in a stairwell. It is everything you want in a fight scene. It has verisimilitude, stacked odds and amazing choreographed performances from a stunt team.
And so you’re left with a boring movie with one exceptional scene. And you have to ask yourself… is it worth it?
Seen on the decent-sized Screen 3 at the Odeon Covent Garden. Ticket cost £6.50
Love Streams (1984 – John Cassavetes)
It’s just a film with such empathy. And two profoundly different portrayals of individuals suffering from mental health issues – Cassavettes all crashing and burning and chequebooks and pens and Rowlands nervy and impulsive. There’s an extraordinary couple of dream sequences – an amazing car crash and a dance on stage that may or may not have been directed by peter Bogdanovich in a desperate attempt to save himself from his depression. I love how you feel they only figured out that they were siblings after several weeks of shooting. It’s delightful to spend time amongst the clutter of their house, so familiar it is to us from their previous movies. It’s immediate – Cassavetes’ desire for truth sees him include shots where camera crews that are visible. And it’s utterly hilarious – the scene where Rowlands tries to get home whilst abroad is possibly the funniest thing ever.
It contains pretty much everything I have ever loved about movies.
Seen on the downstairs screen at the Prince Charles. Projected from 35mm. Had a migraine, but still enjoyed myself. Ticket cost £4.50.
The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974 – Tobe Hooper)
Throughout the runtime of this film there was a man sitting behind me laughing every thirty seconds. The Prince Charles is an amazing cinema, but it does frustratingly encourage this behaviour with its knowingly ironic screenings. And I gave this dude the half-turn… and then the turn, but it had no impact. I’m not the most intimidating fella.
And as I walked out I heard him turn to his friends. ‘You see’ he sneered ‘I think it’s meant to be funny.’
Well, it’s not you absolute cockhead. It’s a horrifying movie. The soundtrack of the second half of the film is a never-ending cacophony of guttural screams and the grinding a whirring of a chainsaw. That in itself is as unsettling as cinema ever got, and that’s before you mention the inevitable dread of the hitchhiker, or the sudden violation of the metal kitchen door slamming shut out of nowehere, or the…. I could go on.
It’s a terrifying movie. It’s not a comedy. And you are not worthy of watching it.
Projected from 35mm on the downstairs screen at the Prince Charles. Print seemed to originate in France. Beautiful condition. Ticket cost £6 or thereabouts. Obviously a screening that gained some retrospective poignancy after Hooper’s recent death.
Tom of Finland (2017 – Dome Karukoski)
Which is an ‘18’ for some reason. Someone needs to let the BBFC know that we can all cope with seeing a few drawings of penises. Because it deserves a wider audience. It’s a joyous film that encountered much of the gay experience of the second half of the twentieth century; repression, violence, S&M, the gradual slipping out from the closet, desire and HIV. A lovely little film.
Seen on one of those awful little small screens at the Curzon Bloomsbury and I had to pay £10.50 for the privilege.
Out of Sight (1998 – Steven Soderbergh)
About half an hour into the film, there was a moment where I suddenly became profoundly aware of how much I was enjoying myself. It’s a great, big pleasure of a movie, and more and more, I realise what a rarity that is.
I’ve been thinking of the nineties quite a lot recently – the decade in which my burgeoning cinephillia blossomed – and a time when we were all told that The Usual Suspects (1995 – Bryan Singer) was an important film. And a little bit pathetically, I feel nostalgic for it, remembering how surprising it must have been to hear the Coen Bros. for the first time. But there are real mainstream gems from that era, and Out of Sight is at the forefront of that, so drowning in acting talent is it. I don’t think I’d ever realised that Albert Brooks is a major part of this film!
Projected from 35mm on the downstairs screen at the Prince Charles. Ticket cost £4.50.
Logan Lucky (2017 – Steven Soderbergh)
Which I watched with a huge smile on my face. It was just wonderful to watch all those modern actors who I actually like – Tatum, Keogh, Waterson etc. – in something enjoyable for once. A real favourite already (which as I type I realise isn’t as a powerful statement to make… in September!)
Seen on a big screen at Bluewater Showcase. Ticket cost £9.
American Made (2017 – Doug Liman)
It’s just Tom Cruise and I love Tom Cruise and this is Tom Cruise in a comedic twist on a sub-Goodfellas (1990 – Martin Scorsese) fall-from-grace. I don’t think I’ll ever watch it again – hell, I barely remember any of it now – but I loved every minute of watching it. Great stuff.
Seen on a pretty big screen at Bluewater Showcase. Ticket cost £9.
Detroit (2017 – Kathryn Bigelow)
It was a surprisingly tame film… which seemed to only make the case even more convincing for a more ethnically diverse directorial landscape within mainstream cinema. Because this film seemed to pull its punches, in a way that made me suspect that it was fearful of being perceived a racist itself. And I get it… no-one wants to have the dodgy racial politics of Quentin Tarantino, but it was a horrific moment in history, and it needed to be horrific, not unpleasant.
And this only adds to the case that John Krasinski is not a movie star. He totally derails the final half-hour of the movie. What is it with Bigelow and her desire to cast mediocre television stars in her films. John chuffing Barrowman is in Zero Dark Thirty (2012) for christssake.
Seen on a huge screen at Bluewater Showcase. Ticket cost £6.50.